uncalendula | {rping} open post

[ Maybe in hindsight, Egypt isn't the best choice. The Middle East lately is anything but calm and ordered, with as many levels to the conflict as there are grains of sand. Then again there are a finite number of places Bruce can go and hide without asking to hitchhike with Thor. Not that he could now, with the Asgardians Brothers Karamazov back off to Asgard and him hightailed out of New York. Arabic is brand new and makes him yearn for the days of butchered Portuguese and Brazilian muppets but the country is slightly more forgiving. Bilingual signs and a half dozen more languages spoken in the streets help him along as he mutters phrasebook pages to himself in the search for a job.

Agent Romanoff had said S.H.I.E.L.D. kept Ross off his tail before and she would keep S.H.I.E.L.D. off him now — promises that were nice in theory but Bruce is reluctant to test. Thankfully there are always intrepid expeditions in need of extra hands and he looks for the one heading farthest out for the longest period. Archaeology and its practical studies never crossed over with nuclear physics or biochemistry so he feels safe enough dipping a toe back in academia without fear of being recognized. (One of the few benefits of Hulk that he'll admit to — nobody without seeing firsthand evidence would connect him with the monster bellowing at alien warships above Manhattan's skyline. Tony Stark can have that media circus all to himself and welcome to it.) It doesn't matter that it's not his sciences, not the cool clean lines of a controlled laboratory; the excitement in the air is the same as is the looks of expectations on the faces around him. It slakes the ache in his bones — getting some sun on his face after too long out in the cold.

Of course the only cold in this situation is metaphorical because it's hot as Hades, sweat beading down the back of his neck when he sticks his head in the main tent. ]

Excuse me, ma'am, [ he offers with a respectful tip of his baseball cap. ] I heard something in here was on the fritz?

[ There's a veritable fleet of machinery that's been toted out with them. Computers for logging everything, metal detectors to ping out anything buried too deep for coring, sonar emitters sonograms to probe potential sites without wasting manpower, scores of lights, and generators to power it all through petrol or solar panels. The constant war with sand and wind guaranteed at least something breaking down in a huff but with only one certified engineer on site... Well. What was the harm in taking a look? And stop things from grinding to a complete halt. ]

[It's temperature feels like Hell, but there are some parties so accustomed to the arid climate that they have adapted, thus sufficiently proving Darwinism to spite those belonging to societies not unlike that of the "Flat Earth." Beyond localised and regional evolution there are special cases, people who prefer the warmth and bask in it not unlike adders, or cats.

Evelyn is one such creature, whose love of Egypt's climes might give the impression that she were actively cold-blooded and required solar power to thrive. Even with sweat-damp skin and flushed, freckled cheeks, she appears perfectly at ease behind a beaten laptop that has both seen better days and is probably struggling with its own air conditioning issues.

Archaeology is an inherently sticky field, and there are some things to which one must become accustomed.

The intrusion isn't unwelcome. She looks up quickly, picking out a new face - not yet listed on the roster? she must ask Jonathan - that is likely in to work on their more mechanical issues. No one comes out this far in the desert without damn good reason.]

You must be our engineer. Please, come in.

[Evelyn grins at him, always eager to make a new acquaintance, and happily shuts her suffering laptop. Moving around the work table and several other boxes of not-yet-unpacked material, she belatedly supposes he's expecting an introduction to the project leader.]

Dr. Evelyn Carnahan, and yes, a few generators have been acting up, as well as our lidar equipment. Did you just get in?

[ Nodding himself in, he feels the need to clarify a few points. ]

Pretty recently, ma'am, [ as he doffs his hat, swipes at his forehead with the back of his hand. ] But I'm not your engineer. He's at the other end of the site and wouldn't be done fixing the solar panels for a bit. I have a little experience with these things, so he sent me over. Figured I couldn't make things much worse than they already are.

[ Bruce smiles at that, unable to suppress it in the face of that irony. ]

Lyle Decker, [ and the lie comes too easily for Bruce not to feel a little sick with himself. But he can't help an eyebrow at the way the laptop fan whirs on, whining its abuse before finally slowing down. That was another problem in the making, and he adds it to the list. ] If you're busy with something delicate, though, I can wait until you're through.

[He's polite, even though formalities aren't exact necessary out here. By the end of a dig, almost everyone has seen everyone else's underthings and oi, shitwad has become a term of endearment.]

Ah. Apologies.

[With the number of people present on an active dig site of this scale, it's often difficult to keep track of everyone's names and positions - though she does make an extremely concerted effort to try. Lyle Decker, arbitrary facilities laborer, is not a face she remembers hiring herself, and he has the look of someone unaccustomed to the heat. An unusual trait in a person who should have some small experience in desert work.

The meat of it is that he sticks out like a sore, pale thumb, and Evelyn's immediate desire to probe for more information is tempered in light of the fact that he'll be working in her tent for the better part of the next hour, making him a relatively captive receptacle for questions.]

No, not at all - I was just cataloguing some of the acquisitions, I won't get in the way. Part of me wishes we could go back to a time where half a million dollars' worth of equipment wasn't required to do work out here. [She picks up a clipboard, frowning at its contents briefly before giving him a wry smile.] Not that I don't love ground-penetrating radar...

No worries, ma'am. Though it was more me in the way than you I was thinking of.

[ He answers her smile with one in kind before he steps around her towards the first generator. Fishing a pair of work gloves from his back pocket, he slips them on and pops the hood. He hefts the satchel from his shoulder to rest in easy reach as he starts poking around.

Egypt is a different sort of heat than he's used to, and it's taking a while to build back a tolerance. In Calcutta, in Rio, there was always shade to be found somewhere — trees or buildings crowding each other until you felt crushed between them. What got you there was the humidity that poured in like soup no matter how much you hid from the sun. Here there was no escaping the sun and the omnipresent wind begrudged every ounce of moisture it could lay hands on. He feels spoiled now, months in a rundown clinic with rickety air conditioning, but there's something refreshing to be found about the raw expansive emptiness.

Maybe it's some psychobabble reason appealing to his baser, more animalistic side. Maybe it's that there's so little he can break should the worst happen. ]

Figure things like that are a little more effective than going inch by inch with a brush. Or at least just the brush. [ Sticking his head in the generator is like peering in an oven but he knows better than to think this will be solved any other way. ] But I see what you mean. Sand gets everywhere out here.

[The "emptiness" is what appeals to Evelyn, a wide expanse of blank slate pockmarked with the occasional Bedouin well, salt-cracked earth and rock formations, dunes made of sand so fine it could be powdered sugar. Afternoons are scorching and the nights are cold, with no foliage to break the winds and nothing but sky.

The desert is purifying.]

You have no idea, [she mumbles over her clipboard again, leaning against one of the workbenches, before looking up and amending herself.] ...I mean, you...you probably do, obviously, you're the one digging it out of small spaces with dental equipment. Thank God for rubber keyboard mats, or nothing would work.

[Watching him carefully Evelyn chews on the end of a mechanical pencil - it's one thing to postulate about the origins of an employee, but another thing entirely to ask. Presumably he handed some paperwork over to the foreman that she can pick up later for perusal. Something about him screams city boy.]

What brought you out here, Mr. Decker? If you don't mind my asking.

[ His laugh echoes in the metal of the generator at that. ]

Anyone out here longer than fifteen minutes would get some kind of idea, I think.

[ Scrabbling around his bag blindly, Bruce finds his supply of canned air and pulls it in with him. The soft pfft, pfft is barely heard over the hum of equipment puttering in the background.

(The twitchy, rabbit-ready part of him itches under her eyes, knowing full well when he's being watched. It spurs paranoiac spirals round the more methodical train of thought regarding what to do about this blasted hunk of junk. She knows, this was a bad idea, get out of here. Calm down, he replies to himself blithely, she doesn't know anything yet. It's fine. I'm fine. Shut up and let me work.

The saying goes that you're only crazy if you start talking back to yourself. Bruce hit that point ages ago.) ]

The money, [ is one part of the answer and an honest one at that. Likewise honest, ] And it sounded like interesting work.

[She laughs in return. Archaeology humour. Anyone unused to the sand at this point really ought to pack up and leave, although they'd still be finding it in their things years from now.]

Hm.

[Evelyn hums in response, accepting the answer - as it echoes a great deal of the same sort of responses around camp - and reaching for the manifest Jon keeps at the far end of the bench. "Pretty recently" in time might have given her brother the five seconds it might take to put the correct paperwork in the proper place, but with Jonathan Carnahan it's difficult to tell what constitutes as work, and what constitutes as faffing about.]

Just curious, [she adds, also honest.] The field is a small one, everyone tends to know everyone else to the point of overfamiliarity. It's nice to see a fresh face.

[The binder of personnel files is pay dirt, apparently, with a single sheet detailing previous experience and designated working title: Day Labourer. The sheet is so normal and unassuming that his name might as well be Average Joe. She looks between it, and the generator into which he's placed himself temporarily.]

Are you just generally handy? I tried to fix a radio once and I'm fairly certain I fried its everything.

Edited 2016-03-17 01:53 (UTC)

Fresh as in, not entirely weather-beaten yet?

[ Cleaning things up shows the fraying wires leading to a short. The generator's nowhere near new, he can see that much, and additional exposure through a couple loose seams certainly didn't help anything. Should be a simple fix though time-consuming to do properly. ]

Jack of all trades and master of none. [ Unless his ears mistake him, he can hear the rustle of papers. Then again it's half what he can hear and half what he'd do in himself in her shoes. ] That's me. If you want me to check the radio next, ma'am, wouldn't be any problem.

[Not entirely weather-beaten, and it doesn't look like he has a great deal of experience on his résumé. This isn't to say that Evelyn wouldn't hire a first-timer, just that first-timers usually pick somewhere less remote, arid, and covered in sand.

Like northern Italy, or Greece.]

If you think you can fix it, [she replies, turning his sheet over and disappointed there isn't much on the other side. The radio itself is useful within their perimeter, but worthless in an emergency - only a handful of satellite phones keep them tethered out here. It might concern her if she was less adept at finding her way back to civilisation when the occasion calls for it.

Evelyn tucks the paperwork away and laces her hands together, watching him work. It might eventually behoove her to learn how to fix one of these things herself.]

How do you find Egypt?

Can't hurt to give it a once over, and I'll be able to tell you from there.

[ Retracting himself from the generator, he moves slowly — there's too many jagged edges ready to snag and tear him up. Too dangerous for all involved and besides, there's no way to find bleach in a desert much less spray it in delicate equipment without someone wanting an explanation. No, much better to be safe than sorrier than he already is.

He flips open the tool box, he paws through with one hand while the other finds his glasses. Needlenose pliers to strip the wires, spare copper to bridge any gaps, and a soldering iron to put it all back together. ]

I'd say hot but I think that's a given, ma'am.

Oh? I hadn't noticed,

[she replies wryly, only slightly irked by the ma'am and not for the first time in her life (it certainly wouldn't be the last time, either). Mr. Decker's toolkit suggests that he does this on the regular - unusual work for a day labourer who seems to be spending more time inside than out - with a practised familiarity. Spectacles on and implement in hand, all deft precision.

This isn't exactly practical knowledge.

Evelyn drags another clipboard toward herself in an attempt to look like she's occupied, which means that her interest is thinly-veiled and she's doing a piss-poor job of covering it up.]

...I know it isn't a part of your duties, but...if you do have time, I'd very much like to learn about this sort of thing. [She flashes an apologetic smile that is largely sincere.] For the times when we've misplaced those with engineering experience and I'm forced to fumble through it.

I'm sure I'll have time, but will you? I mean, you've got to be swamped. [ It's almost too knowing, and Bruce catches a smile as he remembers the research teams he'd led back in the day. There was always something going off that needed a look in, and then everything else could use a check to make sure it wasn't off-kilter, never mind managing a dozen grad students and a half dozen more doctoral ones along with maneuvering around the egos of actual peers. He'd had the best help in the world with that in Betty but it was still an obstacle course every day. One that he still loved even as he'd fallen into bed complaining about a sincere lack of common sense in the next generation of scientists. (...It's more funny now than ironic. Or at least he tries to tell himself so.) But that was nothing compared to the magnitude of what he's seen on the dig so far, and certainly nowhere as dependent on independent conditions. A lab was always a lab but between weather, various poisonous things slithering around, and logistics to provide for a whole camp? ] It's no small production out here.

[ There's zero doubt that she can, just an understanding of what that can entails.

Once he can see what he's doing, he finds the last piece — a small flashlight — and holds it between his teeth as he gets back inside the generator. ]

Edited 2016-03-29 03:57 (UTC)

[Evelyn grimaces with an eloquence that communicates the fullest extent of her displeasure at the thought of her innumerable responsibilities, including (but not limited to) her interns and the handful of graduate students wandering the dig site. Most of them are reasonable, thank God, but there's always one that has to butt into everyone else's business and show off as if their life depended upon it.

(She would know, because she was that doctorate candidate several years ago.)]

Don't remind me.

[Jonathan helps to maintain some semblance of order - as best he can, at any rate - but a good deal of the work falls to Evelyn, who is already stretched thin and determined not to let it show. That Mr. Decker has noticed and made a point of bringing it up in idle conversation must say something about the way things are run. It might behoove her to delegate better instead of putting out fires when and if they happen.]

I'll...find the time, [she says, as if convincing herself of the fact.] I try to treat most things around here as learning experiences.

[ Oh, no. No, he knows that tone like an old friend and the last thing he wanted to do was cast shade on a colleague. It makes for a comical sight as Bruce once again pops his head out of the generator — a flashlight between his teeth as he frowns, worry lines etched deeper than usual on his forehead.

He starts to speak but of course the flashlight's in the way and he just mumbles, nearly drops the damn thing before he catches himself. There's a swallow after he picks the light up because there's nothing that gets a ton of spit going than trying to hold something in your mouth. ]

Dr. Carnahan... You're doing good work out here. That's what I meant. It takes a lot to keep that up, which is. That's all I was getting at. I'm sorry.

[He hastens to correct himself and it's rather charming, flashlight sticking out of his mouth with a look of mild concern - he'd probably swallow the thing if startled and she can't quite help the crooked slant of her smile as he tries to reassure. It's fine, it's fine, it's always fine, she frequently suffers from 'bouts of self doubt and knows it. He didn't mean anything by it.

The compliments certainly help.]

Apology not necessary, there's...a lot. Going on. Sometimes it feels a little overwhelming- not...that you. Want or need to know that, I'm sorry, erm-

[It might be best to let him get to work now that he's given her a means of backing out with an excuse. Work is work is work. She flusters for another moment before nodding and clutching for the clipboard.]

The radio is on my table, just there. I should check on Trench D. I take it you'll be all right unsupervised for the next thirty minutes.

[A joke, if anything is meant by her lofted eyebrow.]

[ He ignores the deflection, the easy out that Evelyn offers through propriety and embarrassment. Likewise the apology goes unacknowledged — Bruce has enough of his own. ]

Of course there's a lot. Always is with projects this size.

[ But then he sees the out is for her instead and he smiles sheepishly before nodding. ]

Yes, ma'am. If not, I'm sure you'll hear the explosion from Trench D.

[ A joke in kind. ~~Mostly.~~ ]

[While prying tends to be her express speciality it appears as though this is as much as she'll get out of Lyle Decker for the time being, and takes this as the greatest hint that she should probably a.) tend to some other responsibilities and b.) let him do his job, whatever his job happens to be. At least he acknowledges the difficulties.

Evelyn meanders over to the tent flap with a nod, clipboard under one arm, and pauses just before leaving with a funny look.]

...don't...call me "ma'am," please.

[ He's halfway to popping the flashlight back in his mouth when Evelyn catches him again. It's clear he expects something graver, and he waits for anything else to be tacked on afterward until the silence stretches half a moment too long into awkward.

A chuckle surprises its way out of him and he ducks his head into a nod. ]

My apologies, m- [ he catches himself. ] Dr. Carnahan. I'll try and remember that.

[Evelyn is braced to protest when he corrects himself, and Dr. Carnahan is considerably better than ma'am. It's good to know that he's attempting to do his best even if his best seems to be bending amenably to duties.

(This is not to say that most people on-site do not follow procedure, but he's so unabashedly nice about it that it feels...off.)]

Thank you, [comes the sigh of relief, and she looks considerably lighter than before.] Cheers.

[ Bruce flashes a smile in response before diving back inside the generator. The repairs take another hour or so, but it's fixed by the time Evelyn returns to her tented headquarters.

The radio is in the exact spot Evelyn left it, but the next she tries to turn it on she'll find the innards fine-tuned and repaired to off-the-production-belt standards. Perhaps even a little bit better, with some tweaks to improve reception and sound quality. Nothing to it, really, and Lyle will stick to that statement no matter how thankful Evelyn may end up being. ]

{rping} open post

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