I agree - where's the next part?!?! :-)

Posted by Muppet from dialup115.tattooine.kingston-internet.net on December 22, 1999 at 15:03:02:

In Reply to: Great start!! Keep it up!! posted by The Man with the Hat on December 22, 1999 at 11:25:22:

: : Prologue

: : Somewhere in the jungle of the Yucatan, Mexico 1932
: :
: : The heat was virtually unbearable, but what made it even worse was the humidity. The leaves of the foliage surrounding them seemed to stick to them with every move. The mist that seemed to go on forever offered no relief, only adding to the dampness. But the group trudged on, some more determined than others. At the crest of the next small rise, one man, tall with a gangly build, fell back, and made his way over to an old log, where he sat down and removed the pith helmet from his head, before wiping the sweat away. The man had dark brown, almost black, hair, which was slightly thinning on the top, despite his relatively young age of thirty-two. His face had an aura of dignity mixed with haughtiness and with the exception of a small mustache, was clean-shaven. He was a skinny fellow, weighing in at about 170lbs. He was dressed like the typical ěexplorerî of the era. Khaki pith helmet, khaki safari shirt and trousers with a leather belt and big brass buckle and highly polished knee-high brown leather boots. Hanging from the belt on one side was a large hunting knife, on the other side hung an expensive metal water canteen. The entire outfit looked as though it had come from the front window of some expensive travel-clothing store in London or New York. It certainly wasnít appropriate for this kind of environment, it was probably more suitable for a safari trip to the plains of Africa, not the Central American jungle. The others began to come to a stop as they realized he had fallen behind. One man seemed particularly annoyed.
: : ěChrist Robedeux, this is the third break youíve taken in the last hour! At the rate youíre going, itíll be three hours before we even reach the bottom of this hill!î The man who spoke was somewhat of a contrast from Robedeux, the man sitting down. He was about the same age, only a year older, but it seemed as though they were years apart, due mostly to the other manís incredible lack of maturity. The man who had spoken was a tad shorter, an inch or two over six feet. His body was lean, but well toned and muscled, and he weighed in at a fit 190lbs. His hair was a light brown, and his face was covered in unshaven stubble. He was dressed in a way that suggested he had been on this type of expedition before, and was very much in his element. The mink brown fur-felt fedora on his head seemed to hold just as many stories as the man himself. His entire appearance was best described as worn, but not worn out. Besides the dusty, faded hat, he wore a dark brown leather jacket over a light khaki, safari-style button shirt, with the top three buttons undone. A dark brown military style-webbing belt, with a brass buckle held up dark khaki pants. Another belt circled his waist, dark brown leather, and attached to it was a brown leather bullwhip, and on the other side, a Smith and Wesson N-frame .45 caliber revolver, in a tan leather holster. Over his right shoulder was slung a faded olive green canvas shoulder bag, with a brown leather strap, that crossed his chest diagonally ending where it met the bag by his left hip. The man lifted one leg and rested it on the log, his brownish-tan boots crunching on the dried, rotting wood. He turned his head to face the other man, who had begun to speak.
: : ěLook Jones, this heat is getting the better of me, and unless I rest, Iím afraid I wonít be able to go on much longer.î The words came out very eloquently, and with an overtone of melodrama, thanks to his rich English accent. And with that, Robedeux took a long swig out of his canteen.
: : ěDonít waste your water, thereís not much left, and weíre not likely to find another clean source anywhere around here, unless you want to do some more walking? The way you move, there could be a freshwater lake fifty yards away and it would take you all day to get there!î Jones countered, as he removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his own brow.
: : ěHow much further is it anyway to this Godforsaken ruin youíre chasing after?î Robedeux asked, as he made it to his feet.
: : ěI donít know exactly, but I know weíre close, shouldnít be more than an hour before we begin to see some signs of ancient Mayan activity in this area.î Jones returned his hat to his head, and then scratched his stubble-covered chin. He glanced back to the other members of the party, all of whom were native Mexicans, mostly locals that had been hired to help them with their expedition. Many had worked with British and American archaeological teams before, so they knew what to expect, but this was no run of the mill archaeological excursion. ěRoberto, let me see the map again. I want to see how far it is.î As Jones spoke, one of the men rummaged through his shoulder bag, looking for the means to satisfy Jonesís request.
: : Indiana Jones had been a student of Archaeology at the University of Chicago, and had taught Archaeology in a few prominent colleges and universities worldwide. Jones (who most people called Indy) had been through some very dangerous and amazing situations and was known throughout the archaeological world as a risk taker, and a daring adventurer. He had a reputation for obtaining rare antiquities and going to any lengths to do so, just as much a treasure hunter as he was a scholar.
: : ěAn HOUR!!!! Oh dear, I donít know if I can last that long!î Robedeux groaned. Indy turned back to Roberto, who had retrieved the map.
: : ěShouldnít be any later than four oíclock when we reach the temple. That is, if we donít keep stopping to rest your feet!î Indy exclaimed. ěGracias Roberto, here you go.î Indy said as he handed the map back to the Mexican guide.
: : ěSi senor Indyî Roberto replied as he took the map from Indy and made his way back over to the other porters. Indy and Robedeux were unlikely partners. Indy got along better with the Mexican help, than with the snooty, stuck-up Englishman. If Robedeux wasnít complaining, he was bragging, if not bragging, then insulting anyone he considered inferior (which to him was nearly everyone). William J. Robedeux had been a so-so college student, who had dropped out to ěpursue adventure and richesî after his fatherís death. The only reason he had gotten as far as he had was due to his fatherís name, and the generous distribution of the wealth so often associated with it. Upon his fatherís death, Robedeux had gotten a share of the inheritance, but so had his mother, and his three brothers and two sisters. His portion was now dwindling, and he needed something to give him newfound fame and fortune, something to set him apart from his father, but in a way recapture the glory of his name. But since then his inheritance had run out, and he was basically broke. He had no job, no college degree, and a bad reputation. He was here, now, hoping to change all that.
: : Indy had met Robedeux in the library and archives section of Marcus Brodyís museum in New York. He was thoroughly immersed in a book on Egyptology, and occasionally glanced over beside him to a map of the Valley of the Kings. After a brief chat Indy had discovered that Robedeux was interested in finding another lost tomb of an Ancient Pharaoh deep in the Egyptian desert. He had muttered something about how he was going to be the next Howard Carter, and then asked Indy to leave. Indy was a bit stunned by the Englishmanís abruptness. Indy had explained who he was, and how he basically had more of a right to be in the room than Robedeux did (Marcus was an old friend of his). And with that, the Englishman had given him sort of a snooty look, but did not oppose Indyís presence. After a few awkward moments, Indy decided to initiate some conversation. They began talking; Robedeux did reluctantly anyway, about modern Archaeology, Egyptology in particular. Indy had suggested to Robedeux that he might want to seek ěfortune and gloryî elsewhere, as Egypt had been a hotspot for Archaeologists and amateur Treasure Hunters for the past few decades, the last decade being the most influential, with the discovery of Pharaoh Tutenkamenís tomb. Indy tried to explain that while there were still a number of undiscovered finds in Egypt, most were either buried under tons of sand, or hidden so well, no would ever find it. Egypt had been in the public eye for years, while Latin America, had been explored, but not in depth. Indy had told him how the jungles were so thick, it was possible to walk right past an ancient temple and not even see it. There were still plenty of places to search in the Yucatan area of Mexico, and northern Guatemala, Indy was saying. But he was quickly interrupted when Robedeux started to tell his sob story of his fatherís death and his trials and tribulations with college and how he had wanted to do something spectacular to stop comparisons to his late father, to set him apart. Indy somehow felt sorry for Robedeux, and could identify with his need to be different, and his anger at being compared to his father. Indy had been constantly compared to his father all throughout his life. Anyone his father knew (or who knew his father, for that matter) always made a comment about how ěProfessor Jones Sr. would surely never do a thing like that, now would he?î when Indy had told them of one of his many harrowing tales. And so, out of the kindness of his heart, Indy had decided to tell Robedeux about his upcoming excursion to the jungles of Mexico. Indy had told Robedeux about his quest to locate the tomb of a young Mayan prince, deep in the heart of the Yucatan region, and how it was said to hold great riches. Indy had seen Robedeux perk up at the talk of treasure, but he didnít think twice, after all, he wouldíve acted the same. That was when Indy had made his fateful decision to invite Robedeux along with him. ěYeah, I could use the help, itíd be great to have someone else who speaks English as their first language along for some of the cataloging and research, and it will give you some of the experience and recognition youíll need to make it in this field.î Indy had said. After all, what harm could this Englishman be?
: : It wasnít until he and Robedeux had started their quest that Indy had begun to see Robedeuxís true colors come shining through. Ever since they had boarded the plane for Mexico he had been complaining, and or bragging and or insulting someone with his superior, know it all attitude. Not to mention the fact he had bragged to several people about how he and Indy were going off on a treasure hunt. Indy had tried to get through to him that when one is on this kind of ětreasure huntî one shouldnít announce it and make it common knowledge, and one certainly shouldnít brag about it. But Robedeux had reacted indifferent to Indyís warnings, saying he knew all of that, and he wasnít a fool. And so it had gone right up until now. Indy had long since forgotten any feelings of sympathy for Robedeuxís plight with his late father, hell, he couldnít even remember why he wanted Robedeux to come along in the first place. Each day that went by Indy cursed himself for being so stupid as to bring Robedeux along. And with each separate instance of Robedeuxís unbearable behavior, Indy seriously considered leaving him in the jungle. Now they were but a few mere hours away from what could be one of the most significant archaeological finds in this region of Mexico, perhaps even on this continent. And they were being held up by Robedeuxís sore feet?! Indy was disgusted and the Mexican workmen were becoming agitated, they had been trekking through the jungles for at least three days. And even after they had discovered the temple, it was at least another two days until they reached the village of Casa Verde, about twenty miles from the coastal port of Puerto Maria. It was there that Indy and Robedeux would catch a boat back to New York, and showcase their findings in Marcusís museum hall. Indy made up his mind, if Robedeux falls behind again, he stays behind. Indy was determined to reach the temple today, and a petty annoyance like an Englishmanís sore feet wouldnít stop him.

: :
: : Just figured I whet everyone's literary appetite with this entry. What do you guys think? Potential? Advice? Opinions? Let me know if you want to read more (don't worry, all of this IS leading up to some traditional action, well SOME is an understatment.)Anyway...let me know! Thanks!
: : -GCR

Follow Ups:

Post a Followup:

Name:    
E-Mail:  
Subject: 
Comments:

: : : Prologue

: : : Somewhere in the jungle of the Yucatan, Mexico 1932
: : :  
: : :      The heat was virtually unbearable, but what made it even worse was the humidity. The leaves of the foliage surrounding them seemed to stick to them with every move. The mist that seemed to go on forever offered no relief, only adding to the dampness. But the group trudged on, some more determined than others. At the crest of the next small rise, one man, tall with a gangly build, fell back, and made his way over to an old log, where he sat down and removed the pith helmet from his head, before wiping the sweat away. The man had dark brown, almost black, hair, which was slightly thinning on the top, despite his relatively young age of thirty-two. His face had an aura of dignity mixed with haughtiness and with the exception of a small mustache, was clean-shaven. He was a skinny fellow, weighing in at about 170lbs. He was dressed like the typical ěexplorerî of the era. Khaki pith helmet, khaki safari shirt and trousers with a leather belt and big brass buckle and highly polished knee-high brown leather boots. Hanging from the belt on one side was a large hunting knife, on the other side hung an expensive metal water canteen. The entire outfit looked as though it had come from the front window of some expensive travel-clothing store in London or New York. It certainly wasnít appropriate for this kind of environment, it was probably more suitable for a safari trip to the plains of Africa, not the Central American jungle. The others began to come to a stop as they realized he had fallen behind. One man seemed particularly annoyed.
: : :      ěChrist Robedeux, this is the third break youíve taken in the last hour! At the rate youíre going, itíll be three hours before we even reach the bottom of this hill!î The man who spoke was somewhat of a contrast from Robedeux, the man sitting down. He was about the same age, only a year older, but it seemed as though they were years apart, due mostly to the other manís incredible lack of maturity. The man who had spoken was a tad shorter, an inch or two over six feet. His body was lean, but well toned and muscled, and he weighed in at a fit 190lbs. His hair was a light brown, and his face was covered in unshaven stubble. He was dressed in a way that suggested he had been on this type of expedition before, and was very much in his element. The mink brown fur-felt fedora on his head seemed to hold just as many stories as the man himself. His entire appearance was best described as worn, but not worn out. Besides the dusty, faded hat, he wore a dark brown leather jacket over a light khaki, safari-style button shirt, with the top three buttons undone. A dark brown military style-webbing belt, with a brass buckle held up dark khaki pants. Another belt circled his waist, dark brown leather, and attached to it was a brown leather bullwhip, and on the other side, a Smith and Wesson N-frame .45 caliber revolver, in a tan leather holster. Over his right shoulder was slung a faded olive green canvas shoulder bag, with a brown leather strap, that crossed his chest diagonally ending where it met the bag by his left hip. The man lifted one leg and rested it on the log, his brownish-tan boots crunching on the dried, rotting wood. He turned his head to face the other man, who had begun to speak.
: : :      ěLook Jones, this heat is getting the better of me, and unless I rest, Iím afraid I wonít be able to go on much longer.î The words came out very eloquently, and with an overtone of melodrama, thanks to his rich English accent. And with that, Robedeux took a long swig out of his canteen. 
: : :      ěDonít waste your water, thereís not much left, and weíre not likely to find another clean source anywhere around here, unless you want to do some more walking? The way you move, there could be a freshwater lake fifty yards away and it would take you all day to get there!î Jones countered, as he removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his own brow. 
: : :      ěHow much further is it anyway to this Godforsaken ruin youíre chasing after?î Robedeux asked, as he made it to his feet. 
: : :      ěI donít know exactly, but I know weíre close, shouldnít be more than an hour before we begin to see some signs of ancient Mayan activity in this area.î Jones returned his hat to his head, and then scratched his stubble-covered chin. He glanced back to the other members of the party, all of whom were native Mexicans, mostly locals that had been hired to help them with their expedition. Many had worked with British and American archaeological teams before, so they knew what to expect, but this was no run of the mill archaeological excursion. ěRoberto, let me see the map again. I want to see how far it is.î As Jones spoke, one of the men rummaged through his shoulder bag, looking for the means to satisfy Jonesís request. 
: : :      Indiana Jones had been a student of Archaeology at the University of Chicago, and had taught Archaeology in a few prominent colleges and universities worldwide. Jones (who most people called Indy) had been through some very dangerous and amazing situations and was known throughout the archaeological world as a risk taker, and a daring adventurer. He had a reputation for obtaining rare antiquities and going to any lengths to do so, just as much a treasure hunter as he was a scholar.  
: : :      ěAn HOUR!!!! Oh dear, I donít know if I can last that long!î Robedeux groaned. Indy turned back to Roberto, who had retrieved the map. 
: : :      ěShouldnít be any later than four oíclock when we reach the temple. That is, if we donít keep stopping to rest your feet!î Indy exclaimed. ěGracias Roberto, here you go.î Indy said as he handed the map back to the Mexican guide. 
: : :      ěSi senor Indyî Roberto replied as he took the map from Indy and made his way back over to the other porters. Indy and Robedeux were unlikely partners. Indy got along better with the Mexican help, than with the snooty, stuck-up Englishman. If Robedeux wasnít complaining, he was bragging, if not bragging, then insulting anyone he considered inferior (which to him was nearly everyone). William J. Robedeux had been a so-so college student, who had dropped out to ěpursue adventure and richesî after his fatherís death. The only reason he had gotten as far as he had was due to his fatherís name, and the generous distribution of the wealth so often associated with it. Upon his fatherís death, Robedeux had gotten a share of the inheritance, but so had his mother, and his three brothers and two sisters. His portion was now dwindling, and he needed something to give him newfound fame and fortune, something to set him apart from his father, but in a way recapture the glory of his name. But since then his inheritance had run out, and he was basically broke. He had no job, no college degree, and a bad reputation. He was here, now, hoping to change all that. 
: : :      Indy had met Robedeux in the library and archives section of Marcus Brodyís museum in New York. He was thoroughly immersed in a book on Egyptology, and occasionally glanced over beside him to a map of the Valley of the Kings. After a brief chat Indy had discovered that Robedeux was interested in finding another lost tomb of an Ancient Pharaoh deep in the Egyptian desert. He had muttered something about how he was going to be the next Howard Carter, and then asked Indy to leave. Indy was a bit stunned by the Englishmanís abruptness. Indy had explained who he was, and how he basically had more of a right to be in the room than Robedeux did (Marcus was an old friend of his). And with that, the Englishman had given him sort of a snooty look, but did not oppose Indyís presence. After a few awkward moments, Indy decided to initiate some conversation. They began talking; Robedeux did reluctantly anyway, about modern Archaeology, Egyptology in particular. Indy had suggested to Robedeux that he might want to seek ěfortune and gloryî elsewhere, as Egypt had been a hotspot for Archaeologists and amateur Treasure Hunters for the past few decades, the last decade being the most influential, with the discovery of Pharaoh Tutenkamenís tomb. Indy tried to explain that while there were still a number of undiscovered finds in Egypt, most were either buried under tons of sand, or hidden so well, no would ever find it. Egypt had been in the public eye for years, while Latin America, had been explored, but not in depth. Indy had told him how the jungles were so thick, it was possible to walk right past an ancient temple and not even see it. There were still plenty of places to search in the Yucatan area of Mexico, and northern Guatemala, Indy was saying. But he was quickly interrupted when Robedeux started to tell his sob story of his fatherís death and his trials and tribulations with college and how he had wanted to do something spectacular to stop comparisons to his late father, to set him apart. Indy somehow felt sorry for Robedeux, and could identify with his need to be different, and his anger at being compared to his father. Indy had been constantly compared to his father all throughout his life. Anyone his father knew (or who knew his father, for that matter) always made a comment about how ěProfessor Jones Sr. would surely never do a thing like that, now would he?î when Indy had told them of one of his many harrowing tales. And so, out of the kindness of his heart, Indy had decided to tell Robedeux about his upcoming excursion to the jungles of Mexico. Indy had told Robedeux about his quest to locate the tomb of a young Mayan prince, deep in the heart of the Yucatan region, and how it was said to hold great riches. Indy had seen Robedeux perk up at the talk of treasure, but he didnít think twice, after all, he wouldíve acted the same. That was when Indy had made his fateful decision to invite Robedeux along with him. ěYeah, I could use the help, itíd be great to have someone else who speaks English as their first language along for some of the cataloging and research, and it will give you some of the experience and recognition youíll need to make it in this field.î Indy had said. After all, what harm could this Englishman be?
: : :      It wasnít until he and Robedeux had started their quest that Indy had begun to see Robedeuxís true colors come shining through. Ever since they had boarded the plane for Mexico he had been complaining, and or bragging and or insulting someone with his superior, know it all attitude. Not to mention the fact he had bragged to several people about how he and Indy were going off on a treasure hunt. Indy had tried to get through to him that when one is on this kind of ětreasure huntî one shouldnít announce it and make it common knowledge, and one certainly shouldnít brag about it. But Robedeux had reacted indifferent to Indyís warnings, saying he knew all of that, and he wasnít a fool. And so it had gone right up until now. Indy had long since forgotten any feelings of sympathy for Robedeuxís plight with his late father, hell, he couldnít even remember why he wanted Robedeux to come along in the first place. Each day that went by Indy cursed himself for being so stupid as to bring Robedeux along. And with each separate instance of Robedeuxís unbearable behavior, Indy seriously considered leaving him in the jungle. Now they were but a few mere hours away from what could be one of the most significant archaeological finds in this region of Mexico, perhaps even on this continent. And they were being held up by Robedeuxís sore feet?! Indy was disgusted and the Mexican workmen were becoming agitated, they had been trekking through the jungles for at least three days. And even after they had discovered the temple, it was at least another two days until they reached the village of Casa Verde, about twenty miles from the coastal port of Puerto Maria. It was there that Indy and Robedeux would catch a boat back to New York, and showcase their findings in Marcusís museum hall. Indy made up his mind, if Robedeux falls behind again, he stays behind. Indy was determined to reach the temple today, and a petty annoyance like an Englishmanís sore feet wouldnít stop him.

: : : 
: : : Just figured I whet everyone's literary appetite with this entry. What do you guys think? Potential? Advice? Opinions? Let me know if you want to read more (don't worry, all of this IS leading up to some traditional action, well SOME is an understatment.)Anyway...let me know! Thanks!
: : : -GCR

Optional:

Link URL:   
Link Title: 
Image URL:

[ Follow Ups ] [ Post Followup ] [ The Indyfan Fan Fiction Forum ]