[hr][center][h1][color=007236]Mahendra Huq Zalil[/color][/h1]
[img]http://st1.bollywoodlife.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/rkmog-top-5-mahatma-gandhi-portrayals-on-screen-png-92679.jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=007236]Location:[/color] Second Deck (Personal Cabin) 
[Color=007236]Skills:[/color] N/A[/center][hr]

The dream continued to swurl around his Mahendra's head as he was still fast asleep in his bed, changing from one dream into another with a seamless transition that only made sense in a state of sleep. The burning heat of the Sinai-desert was slowly but sure replaced by the less hot air of a military hospital. It was still in Egypt, his bed neighbours were still soldiers, but the sounds of artilley, gunfire and screaming had changed to the usual sounds of a hospital. Chattering between nurses, soldiers and doctors, people playing cards or shuffling in their beds due to itchy bandages, and himself lying motionless in his own bed. His own father, pale as a ghost but with a smile on his face stood beside Mahendra, comforting him while an officer from his regiment told him the impossible; his father was dead. Mahendra couldn't understand it as he was standing right there, comforting him. What was true? Was he then himself dead? His father comforted him, even as he faded from existance, and a soft voice told him not to worry. 

The dream shifted scene once again, now to an even colder climate as the Bengali son of a poor trader in Kolkata who had never travelled far from his home, now saw the smoke rising tall in the distant horizon. Ships of countless sizes and designs sailed to and from them, as themselves sailed towards the coast. England, the heart of an empire that was as eternal as the moon and stars. This was his future now. Mahendra, in his dream, both smiled and showed concern as he packed himself tighter in a coat that was obviously too big for him. He was so far away from home, but perhaps this could give him a better future there? Soon he would step out onto proper British soil for the first time, and embrace what his future had in store. But all the people he could see from the ship were grey and obscured, and no-one said a word. Or if they did, he didn't understand them. Or did they not understand him?


[hr][center][h1][color=#255DB3]Richard Barker[/color][/h1]
[img]http://westernscreen.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/a_chinatown1974.jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=#255DB3]Location:[/color] Lower Deck (Dining Area)
[Color=#255DB3]Location:[/color] N/A[/center][hr] 

[Color=#255DB3]"It's probably okay enough to drink, if it's the same water served on all decks of the ship. But if you start to feel sick, you know the drill."[/color] Richard answered Faye's question about the water, while he himself was personally setting his sunglass-less eyes set on the beer on the table. But first, the various bits and bobs of food. He recognized several dishes of Egyptian street food from his time as a street cop back in Little Egypt; Kushari, Falafels, Kofta, you name it. Even if the New York Egyptians had their own variants, made with American ingredients, the smells rang true to his bandaged nose. Too bad they didn't have any Greek food, he'd like a small pot of souvlaki. The detective grabbed a few foods onto his plate, enough to fill his nicotine-filled stomach, before grabbing a beer. 

[Color=#255DB3]"Good girl, you're starting to learn. But one glass is good."[/color] The beer looked okay enough, better than most speakeasies had to offer in the various hidden joints that he wasn't supposed to know about, and certainly not go to. But in all honesty, he missed the taste of a good beer. [Color=#255DB3]"That's one thing I gotta give to'em; they still serve beer in this country. Say what you want about 'The Destructive Effects of the Devil's Drink', but outlawing it was a stupid move by stupid men in the top that still drink it like the rest of us, just behind their back while lying to everyone else."[/color]

Richard made his way over to a bench and table where there were resonably enough space for Faye and him to sit. Sitting down on the bench and putting his plate and glass down on the table, he looked around to show Faye where he was sitting, while making sure no-one else took her spot. It was like the subway or bus during rush-hour; it was a fight of life and death, only with seats. [Color=#255DB3]"Say Faye, you never told me how you got cooked up in the whole 'supernatural' business, did you? What made you believe in ghosts?"[/color]