The Diamond Eye, Manhattan, New York 1938

[henry_jones_jr]

[March 12th, 1938 @ 8:23 pm EST]It's a crisp Spring evening in Upper Manhattan. On the twenty-seventh floor of one of the many skyscrapers in the vicinity, the exclusive Diamond Eye nightclub plays host to a fund raising gala to benefit the National Museum. Though it's been scheduled for several months, this particular gala has a new highlight: the

Comments

[balletrat]

Fundraising galas don't change much over the decades, Meg thinks, as she accepts her glass of wine from the neatly clad waiter at the bar.

Certainly, the dresses don't take up as much room, and the nightclub uses electric lights rather than relying on (dangerously) dangling chandeliers, but the essential interactions don't much change -

"- excuse me, miss," says a reporter, interrupting her thoughts, "but you're the girl who came with Indiana Jones, aren't you?"

"Oui," Meg answers, and smiles charmingly, accenting her English a little more than usual. "Monsieur Jones was kind enough to allow me to accompany him to the gala, after he rescued me from teenage mutant ninjas during one of his daring adventures in France."

(The last reporter got the story of her hair-raising rescue from terrifying shark people in Belgium.)

The gala isn't much different from the ones in the nineteenth century - but Meg might be having a little more fun.

[henry_jones_jr]

Since arriving, Indy has barely had time to breath, let alone start recuperating from the shopping experience. He's been introduced to countless elligible heiresses and dogged by reporters. Curiously, he's found himself having to set the more recent interviewers straight on many of their background 'facts'.

Eventually, he manages to find respite in a quiet nook of the ballroom. Having collared a passing waiter, he settles back into the alcove with two glasses of champagne.

[dr_marcus_brody]

Of course, it's not long before he's discovered.

Thankfully, it's only Marcus who joins him.

Indy tugs him into the shadows and takes a few moments to explain his latest companion. After some typical incredulous discombobulation, Marcus comes to terms with the ballerina story. It's not the craziest thing he's heard from Indy recently.

Together they then toast the idol and secretly poke a bit of fun at the attending aristocracy.

[balletrat]

A few moments later, the ballerina edges over at their table, looking oddly fidgety considering her apparent ease thus far.

Politely: "Salut, Indy - oh, and you must be Monsieur Brody, oui?"