[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 (Mahendra's quarters -> Hallway)
[Color=007236]Skills:[/color] N/A[/center][hr] 

Mahendra's waking hour was far from as comfortable as he had exected one to be when traversing the Nile on a dedicated and reasonably luxurious passanger steamer, as the sunlight shined upon his sleeping face. Now the light that woke him up he was no stranger to, but the shivers? Mahendra woke up to find himself cold to the bone, shivering and clattering teeth a little as he came to an consciousness after a long rest. He rose from his slumber, looking around the room for the source of this winter's cold that could be flowing through his university window back in England. 

But he was on a steamboat in Egypt, and the chill was his own fault. Mahendra slowly got out of bed, remembering the past night's events with growing clarity as he went on with his traditional Hindu morning-ritual for a new day; cleaning and praying to the Gods. Eventually he went on to shiveringly get dressed. It was slower than usual, but what would you except? That morning Mahendra dressed in a blue-striped three-piece suit, though that did little to alliviate the spine cold that had grasped around his very soul. He really needed some warm drink to warm up. Perhaps the burning sun of the Nile would warm up his cold corpse? 

That's when he noticed it. Lying on the floor, having been slipped underneath his quarter's door was a ticket. Mahendra picked it up, reading it was his new ticket for the one he lost yesterday. At least the crew were competent at something, he thought as he unlocked the door, exited his room and locked the door before he stood out in the hallway. Mahendra only hoped that his cold disposition would not bring a bad view of the others upon him. Especially not the Lord Major, as a former soldier of the Empire. The others might view him as weak...

[hr][center][h1][color=#255DB3]Richard Barker[/color][/h1]
[img]http://images.complex.com/complex/image/upload/t_article_image/pxv8ashdo6bwszyzi55g.gif[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=#255DB3]Location:[/color] Lower Deck (Richard's quarters)
[Color=#255DB3]Skills: [/color]N/A[/center][hr]  

[Color=#255DB3]"...ugh...Will you for the love of God stop that racket!"[/color]

Richard hadn't been dreamning anything particular that night, though he wasn't a person that enjoyed dreams. They usually revolved around some unsolved case, his missing daughter or the nearly-losing-his-nose-event back in New York, all cranked up to a hundred and seriously messing up his sleep. Tonight he hadn't dreamt anything, at least nothing he could remember as he woke up to the sound of a thousand plates breaking, so he couldn't complain about that. It was the breaking plates that made his morning sour. 

Now he was a New Yorker, used to most disturbances an overly-filled city of dubious people could offer, but the private detective was equally used to shouting at said disturbances. Waking up from he commotion outside, Richard rose slowly and annoyed from bed, staring at his quarter's door with half-closed eyes and his hair looking like a Welsh sheep. [Color=#255DB3]"Jesus Christ, who put that bright idea in their head of breaking every plate on a passanger steamer in the morning?"[/color] He mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands and ruffling his hair. He looked at his wrist watch lying on the sink, it was sometime before 6 am. Time to get up he guessed. 

Richard started his normal routine of the waking day, perhaps with the exception of thinking about his dream; he hadn't dream, so so far the morning had been okay except for the circus outside. He washed his face and hair, combing his hair back in his usual fashion before he turned to the part he always dreaded. Shaving. After the Portugese Barber Incident, he had always done his shaving himself. He couldn't pass a barber's shop without taking those walking strides that much quicker and avert his eyes from it. But he still had to shave, or else he'd look like the hobo he was in danger of becoming. So with extreme caution and dread in his body, Richard started shaving, glad that he was alone in his quarters without anyone seeing him like that; afraid.