Cairo, Egypt 1938

[henry_jones_jr]

[January 20th, 1938 @ 3:03 pm EET]The Al Ghourieh quarter of Old Cairo is a spellbinding latticework of streets and alleyways. The severed head of Touman Bey, Egypt’s last Mameluke sultan, was hung over the gate to this neighborhood after the Ottoman Turks killed him in the 16th century. A year earlier his father, Sultan Al Ghouri, had been killed

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[slayer_fray]

Mel ignores the beggars with the ease of someone who sees them every day, instead whipped a leather glvoed hand up to protect her eyes from the sudden bright sunlight.

"Jesu, how're we supposed to see anything?"

[slayer_fray]

She does so, squinting horribly at the white stone under foot. One hand pulls the brim down to shade her pained eyes, the other fumbles for his.

"This is toy. Defeated by rutting sunlight."

[slayer_fray]

Mel squeezes his hand in return through the thin black leather, and takes a deep breath of warm dusty air.

"Not even the bar was this bright in summer," she observes form hazy memories.

After a few seconds, she blinks again, and lifts her head carefully, still ingoring the persistent beggars.

"OK"

[slayer_fray]

She smiles at him and gives his hand another squeeze before letting go. She needed that.

"You're so smart. I'm glad you're here.

"Where do we go now?"

[slayer_fray]

"Marketplace it is then," Mel says, holding up a hand again to scan the area. She quirks her head towards the left. "That way, then?"

[slayer_fray]

Mel swallows back on a giggle and takes a few seconds to straighten her face, and another two to straighten her skirt.

"Ready?" she asks, before turning on her heel in the proposed direction.

[slayer_fray]

"The hat looks skitzed," she complains, striding at usual Mel-pace in a random hopefully market-bound direction, "and the garters are rubbing my legs and these rutting gloves..."

[slayer_fray]

"Y'should have seen what she wanted me to wear," Mel mutters idly, also scanning their surroundings. "I left them in the office. Wonder what Stabby'll make of'em."