ALERT ALERT: In case you don't notice I have rewritten this first chapter than how it was originally written. Don't worry, the same things do happen but, I believe the words and phrases are much smoother and not as choppy as before (however, I might have missed italicizing a Karaboujan or two. Whoops.). However, if you just so happened to just discover this Fanfiction, don't worry, you didn't miss anything that was here before (and you are blessed in not seeing my choppy writing) so without further adeu, enjoy!

AN: GREETINGS.

I know, I know. I'm working on other Fanfictions right now, But, I just HAD to upload this one! Honestly, I am disappointed at the lack of Tintin fanfictions featuring Allan, Tom, and the rest of the Karaboujan crew (seriously they're not even on the choice of characters to pick from when upload!). Next to Blindsided this is my favorite piece of Fanfiction I've written. I hope you like it, I've never written in an AU before and I hope y'all enjoy it. Please don't forget to tell me what you think! By the way, I've updated the cover for Blindsided. Go check it out!

"Smell the sea, and feel the sky, let your soul and spirit fly." ~ Van Morrison

" 'Job hunting, applications, resumes, and interviews are fun!' said no one ever." ~someecards

Chapter 1: Of Interviews and Pencil Shavings

Allan was disappointed.

No, scratch that.

He was very disappointed.

Wiping his face in the blistering afternoon heat, Allan Thompson looked up from papers spread before him in unbridled disgust.

"This is it?"

"Allan!"

"What? I'm just asking, for Pete's sake."

"Allan," A male voice hissed in his ear, as he rolled his eyes underneath the brim of his cap, "He's standing right in front of you! Show some respect!"

"Yes, mother..." Allan whispered mockingly under his breath, forcing his eyes back down on the paper as he wrote a few illegible marks with his chewed up pencil.

Seeing that his friend was too preoccupied to pay any attention to the man waiting quietly in front of them, Tom, Allan's faithful friend and second-in-command, gave the grungy sailor a strained smile.

"Thank you for your resume...uh... Sir. We'll keep in touch."

Returning the kind gesture with his own gap-toothed grin, the strange man, whose name Tom already forgotten, staggered off, muttering under his breath about "blasted sirens" and how he "needed a drink of water from this heat."

Waiting till the man rounded the corner of the nearest building, Tom let his smile falter, a loud groan escaping his mouth before his forehead smacked against the wooden table.

For hours on end, Captain Allan , joined by none other than his best friend (and apparently honorary mother), Tom, had been conducting interviews and questioning in the middle of Brussels port. When his last radio operator quit nearly a year before, the crew of the nearby merchant freighter, the Karaboudjan, tried their hand at the job and stocked up on all the material about radios and telegraphs they could find.

Now, the captain was much more desperate.

Tired of ineligible hire and shoddy workmanship, Allan searched desperately for a new radio man, combing through the streets of Brussels and going to the ports offices in search of anyone eager for a job. But, even with countless flyers and Help Wanted signs slapped and stapled around the vast port and in numerous flea markets scattered across the city, the duo of sailors found no such luck of acquiring a new shipmate, or better yet, an eligible radio man.

Sure, people came, hungry for adventure, eager for a job but, were they eligible as a radio man?

Maybe.

If you squinted.

Letting a tired sigh spiral out of his mouth, Allan placed the pencil in between his teeth, wishing he had remembered to grab a new pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket when he placed it in his cabin. As he sank further into his chair, he let his head rest on the worn table he had set up in front of his large freighter, the Karaboujan. The noise of countless repairs and improvements rung from inside the steel ship, making interviews inside impossible and interviews outside just as worse. In the blistering afternoon sun, Allan had long since shed off his signature tan long coat, the thick sleeves of his dingy grey turtleneck rolled all the way up to his elbows. Turning his head, Allan could clearly see that Tom, for once, went with the smarter choice and sported his thin yellow shirt, his favorite grey hat left in his cabin for the day.

A bell chimed, gulls screeched and laughed overhead but, silence stretched for an eternity between the pair of exhausted sailors.

It was Allan that broke it first.

"Seventeen men..." He growled, pressing his teeth harder on the wooden pencil, "seventeen men and still not a single bloody one has the slightest idea how to work a telegraph or a radio. You did put in what we wanted on the signs, right?"

"Of course I did," Tom replied, his voice muffled by the piles of application papers he had his nose buried into. "Ernie and I checked every one of them before we stapled them. You think a person would have the slightest about of sense to read the poster the whole way through. They probably stopped at 'Help Wanted' "

Sighing and releasing his iron grip on his poor pencil, Allan stood and stretched. "Well, it's no use just sitting here with nothing to do. Let's at least find something to do in Brussels, while we're still here. Although, we've wasted half of our time already with this bloody nonsense."

Lifting his head and wiping off the eraser bits that had somehow clung to his face, Tom gave Allan a queer look. "What about the applications? What are we going to do without a new radio man?"

Sighing, Allan looked at the sky, the laughing gulls, at the strewn papers before turning back to Tom.

"Forget them," Allan growled, kicking a pebble over the side of the port, "All of them were never going to work out anyway. We can use them for emergency fire starters if we have to, but otherwise, I'm gonna' get rid of them. Probably burn every last scrap of those confounded papers." There was a pause. "As for a new radio man, our luck is thin. We'll have to continue using you as our substitute, although, you do it as well as you can cook..."

Rising to his feet, Tom gave a small irritated "humph!" before he followed Allan, eyes burning imaginary holes into the back of Allan's skull. However, before the worn pair of sailors had gone even a few feet away from their sad, little booth, a sound of sharp, rapid footsteps approached them from behind.

"Wait! Please, wait!"

Turning around at the plea, both Tom and Allan were taken back by the peculiar sight. A young man, probably between the age of eighteen and twenty one, was running their way. He wore a sky blue sweater, light brown trousers and a long coat that fluttered and flapped like a banner. On his right side was a satchel, slapping his side and ultimately causing the poor boy to lose his breath faster than he could retrieve it. High above his head, the young man held a torn piece of paper, bent completely over by the force of the wind and how fast the he was running.

By the time he'd reached the pair of dumbfounded sailors, the younger man was completely out of breath, his face almost as red as his ginger tuft of hair peeking out from underneath his brown cap.

"I came...to apply... for a job," he gasped between puffs of fresh air, "I hope I'm not too late..."

"Sorry, kid. We just got-."

Without warning, Allan gasped aloud when a sharp pain shot up his side, the salty sea captain shooting Tom a sideways glare as his first mate retreated his sneaky elbow.

"No, no. You're not too late. Is that your application?" Tom asked with a cheeky smile, pointing the the wrinkled paper still clutched tightly in the youth's hands.

The young man gave a puzzled look before he looked down at his hands and chuckled, "No, no. That's your flyer. Here. This is my application."

To their shock and surprise, the young man produced a stuffed, clean, envelope from his satchel, the youth temporary struggling to pull out the massive folder for Tom to take.

It was so nice and neat, Tom was afraid to touch the application, but, quickly realized he hadn't been making repairs all day long and took it out of the youths small hands.

"Wow. That's impressive." Allan commented aloud, taking the folder from Tom and flipping through the several page packet. Sitting in silence for a moment or two, Allan looked up from his observations and gave a shadow of a smile.

"Thank you, boy. We'll certainly consider it."

With quiet understanding, the two groups began to depart, the wind blown stranger raising his hand as he stepped away.

"Thank you so much... Mister...?"

"Allan," the sharp nosed man replied with a sly grin, "Captain Allan."

"And I'm Tom!" Tom called out from behind Allan, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

In response, the young man smiled, a small laugh escaping his lips, "Well, thank you Captain Allan. Tom. Have a good day!"

Giving one last wave, the stranger, still smiling, rushed off in the direction in which he'd came, his energy already restored.

"Goodness," Tom commented, shading his eyes to watch the boy grow into a speck on the horizon, "He seems to be in a hurry."

Not paying any attention to his blabbering first mate, Allan flipped through the contents of the overstuffed folder, completely awestruck, "Skill with assorted equipment..." he read aloud from the resume, "...vehicles, tools and communication systems... including radios and telegraphs!"

Tom whistled low, leaning heavily over Allan's shoulder with a playful smirk, "Daww! And to think you were about to give up on him..."

Shooting Tom a heated glare and irritably shrugging his shoulder, Allan grumbled under his breath and shook his head, "Darn... we forgot to get the blasted boy's name!"

"Oh, I don't think that's a problem." Tom said slyly, snatching the papers out of Allan's hands and flipping a few pages back. "See!" He cried, flashing the papers under Allan's crooked nose, "What did I tell you?"

Furrowing his eyebrows and grabbing the edge to get a better look, Allan was greatly relieved to find, at the bottom of the resume, the man's neat signature.

"Tintin..." Allan murmured, looking back over his shoulder to where the boy disappeared to, "Tintin Francis Haddock..."

AN: SOOOO... What do you guys think? Good? Bad? Need improvements anywhere? I hope you liked to first installment of "Of Crab Tins and Diamonds"! A cover will be updated soon and I hope to get the next installment ASAP. Don't be shy to leave a comment in the comment section below. I just love those little things! They really push me on.

Anywho, until the next chapter I'll just say...

Cheerio!

~Tintinfan101

UPDATE: I just found a few typos! Whoops! :)