[OPEN]
WHO: Indiana Jones, anyone who is willing to talk.
WHAT: Lets talk about provenience.
WHERE: Tavern attached to an Inn, Market District.
WHEN: Late Evening
Indiana knew something was wrong before he even has a chance to open his eyes.
When he closed them he was on a plane to Peru, on his way to check out an Inca ceremonial mask that supposedly gave the wearer telekinetic powers. He was most certainly not on a plane when he woke up.
There is a distinct difference between air turbulence and the rock of a boat at high seas.
What really bothered him was that someone was able to move him here without disturbing his fedora. If someone had even looked at it the wrong way, he would have noticed.
Something was very wrong indeed.
There was so much disorientation on the ships decks that he could glean very little information about who was on it or why. Or where they were going. It wasn't long before they reached their destination, and even then the swiftness at which the ship passengers were swept off of the ship and onto the streets was alarming.
Indiana barely had time to catch his breath, never mind reflect on the whole ordeal.
It had been a nearly whole day of wandering the city before he could start processing what was happening to him.
Indiana had now separated everyone he encountered into one of two categories. The first category were the majority, the Locals. The anthropologist in him wanted to get to know the Locals more than anything. They spoke English, which was relieving. It meant that they must have had contact with the "Old World" relatively recently on an archaeological time scale. They were odd-looking to his eyes, one giant anachronism. All in some kind of period costume, which varied in style between 15th and 19th century dress. The locals had places to be and things to do, a daily routine which seemed unaltered by the sudden appearance of a second group in the New World.
These were the Expatriates. The Expats all came from the ships, Indiana assumed. They were by and large confused and wandered semi-aimlessly throughout the streets. All of them were dressed contrary to anything he had ever seen, in bizarre, almost futuristic clothing. Quite a few of them had found lodging and/or liquor at an Inn in the Market District, although how they were paying for it all he was unsure. They didn't seem to be at all.
He sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, and was not surprised to get it. He was an Expat too, after all. He added 'a decent meal' to his order and turned to face the rest of the tavern. He hoped he looked approachable enough.
Tomorrow he was going start figuring out how this place worked.
WHAT: Lets talk about provenience.
WHERE: Tavern attached to an Inn, Market District.
WHEN: Late Evening
Indiana knew something was wrong before he even has a chance to open his eyes.
When he closed them he was on a plane to Peru, on his way to check out an Inca ceremonial mask that supposedly gave the wearer telekinetic powers. He was most certainly not on a plane when he woke up.
There is a distinct difference between air turbulence and the rock of a boat at high seas.
What really bothered him was that someone was able to move him here without disturbing his fedora. If someone had even looked at it the wrong way, he would have noticed.
Something was very wrong indeed.
There was so much disorientation on the ships decks that he could glean very little information about who was on it or why. Or where they were going. It wasn't long before they reached their destination, and even then the swiftness at which the ship passengers were swept off of the ship and onto the streets was alarming.
Indiana barely had time to catch his breath, never mind reflect on the whole ordeal.
It had been a nearly whole day of wandering the city before he could start processing what was happening to him.
Indiana had now separated everyone he encountered into one of two categories. The first category were the majority, the Locals. The anthropologist in him wanted to get to know the Locals more than anything. They spoke English, which was relieving. It meant that they must have had contact with the "Old World" relatively recently on an archaeological time scale. They were odd-looking to his eyes, one giant anachronism. All in some kind of period costume, which varied in style between 15th and 19th century dress. The locals had places to be and things to do, a daily routine which seemed unaltered by the sudden appearance of a second group in the New World.
These were the Expatriates. The Expats all came from the ships, Indiana assumed. They were by and large confused and wandered semi-aimlessly throughout the streets. All of them were dressed contrary to anything he had ever seen, in bizarre, almost futuristic clothing. Quite a few of them had found lodging and/or liquor at an Inn in the Market District, although how they were paying for it all he was unsure. They didn't seem to be at all.
He sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, and was not surprised to get it. He was an Expat too, after all. He added 'a decent meal' to his order and turned to face the rest of the tavern. He hoped he looked approachable enough.
Tomorrow he was going start figuring out how this place worked.