It's the sound of loud cursing that makes Indiana stop in front of the closed office door, his hand hovering over the doorknob as he listens. He can't understand it very well since it's in French, but he has a good idea of the colorful phrases leaving his friend's mouth. Still, she's normally calm and collected and to hear her going off like this makes anger curl in his belly.
Quietly, he turns the knob and pushes the door open to reveal the woman inside, a phone pressed to her ear and a packet of papers clenched in her fist. He stays in the doorway, watching as she paces the cramped space, back and forth, her grip only tightening on the phone until Indiana is surprised when the plastic doesn't break from the pressure. To see her this mad has him remembering how capable she can be in bad situations.
Justine Laurent is absolutely terrifying as she spins around, wisps of dark hair framing her face and gray eyes narrowed in anger, teeth bared as she snarls at someone down the line. A regular one hundred and twenty-six pounds of whoop ass, Indiana thinks with an amused smile. He feels bad for whoever is on the receiving end today, wondering if it's the lawyer that doesn't seem smart enough to figure out the function of a rubber duck or the husband that's too arrogant to sign the divorce papers.
"René, you sign those damn papers this time or I will come to France and make you," she shouts, slamming the phone down in the cradle. For a moment, the only sounds in the office are Justine's rapid breathing and the papers being thrown down on her desk. It's the husband then, the worthless bastard.
"I take it now is a bad time," Indiana says once Justine's breathing is back to normal. She straightens up, fixing her hair back into the elegant chignon before facing him.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Yeah, I understand, Tina." She nods a little, lips pressed together as she smooths out the skirt of her dress. She always seems to be so put together, clothes wrinkle-free even during their excursions through jungles and deserts; not a hair out of place nor a run in her stockings.
"I just don't understand why he doesn't sign the papers. He gets the better end of the deal and the only thing I ask for is half the profits from the vineyard." She throws her hands up in the air, frustration bleeding through the anger. "And do you know what he tells me?" Indiana shakes his head, wisely keeping silent. "Not now, mon amour, I've got a dig I'm focused on, or I'm so sorry, mon cher, this divorce would simply cause too big of a scandal."
"He's an asshole."
"Yes! All I want is to have my own surname back so I don't have to be associated with that… That…" She lets out a loud groan of frustration, only just stopping herself from burying her fingers in her hair again. She takes a few deep breaths, moving to sit on the edge of her desk. "Sometimes I just want to get the thickest book out of his study and bash him over the head with it."
"We could always shoot him in the foot," he offers, moving to sit beside her," then he won't be able to steal our dig sites." She lets out a pitiful laugh, resting her head on his shoulder. Indiana has only known Justine for a few years, but he's protective of her and hates that he can't help her in dealing with her husband troubles.
René Belloq is the biggest asshole on the planet, all smug arrogance and able to manipulate his way out of most situations. He's handsome and charming, but he cares nothing for the historical value of objects, doesn't even love the woman he'd tricked into marrying him. He likes pretty things and that's how he views Justine.
"Is there a reason you came in here," she asks after a moment, looking up at him with those big eyes of hers. She's barely a year younger than him, but sometimes that small gap seems like much more.
"I got the funds for a dig and thought you'd like to tag along. It'll get you out of the States and might even take your mind off Belloq."
"Well, I suppose work is better than languishing around here." He takes a look around the office, the only thing unorganized being the divorce papers currently fluttering to the ground. She's an orderly woman, unable to truly rest until her living environment is just as composed as she is. He'd once seen her hitting a man with a silk slipper because he'd refused to help her shoo a scorpion out of her tent. It wasn't even because the scorpion was capable of killing her, she wanted it out because it kept scurrying around the tent instead of staying in one place.
"Come on, we'll get some take-out and pack our bags in the morning."
