You know the drill. I own nothing from The Mummy.... and such.
*Thank you so much for the reviews. I feel loved now! I'm trying my best to update, but I've just been so busy. Well, enough of my rambling..... on to the story.*
Rick ran his hands back and forth through his newly combed hair, mussing it to his preference, as Winston returned with a few pieces of bread and a cup of milk.
"Not much food to go around this week. We'll just have to settle with bread and goat's milk." Winston said in the jolliest tone he could manage.
Jolly or not, Rick immediately spit out what little of the milk he had drank onto the table and proceeded to wipe his tongue on the sleeve of his new shirt.
"It looks as though goat's milk isn't your style, young O'Connell," The elder smiled, "Perhaps this will suit your taste." Winston pushed a small glass of dark golden liquid in his direction.
Smelling it first, Rick cringed, but then downed the glass without thinking twice.... and experienced a taste far worse than that of goat's milk. His eyes began to water and he coughed dryly, feeling as if his stomach were on fire. He'd been poisoned!
But the reality of him being poisoned by the older man who sat next to him, laughing as though a camel had spit on his grandmother, quickly diminished as Winston explained himself.
"And of course you aren't ready for that, young one!"
'Apparently not.' Rick thought, but not as cheerfully. He'd have to watch what he'd been given from now on.
Living with Winston hadn't seemed as bad as the previous week's experience had foreshadowed. The food wasn't too horrible, and while there wasn't very much to do, he always found that Winston could keep him busy by regailing him with some of his old war stories.
"And so I said to them," Winston continued, "Men! Do you want to die running, or do you want to die trying?" He waved a stick in the air to signify leadership.
"Then what happened?" Rick's eyes were bright, intent on memorizing every portion of the old man's story.
"Well we..... we..... Well, they turned around and ended up running. Apparently, they weren't ready to follow a man with bravery such as mine. And of course, the fact that I didn't have shoes or a gun had done little to persuade them."
Rick's eyes were glowing, wishing that he could have been part of the action.
"This, of course, was all before I took up air combat." A comment like this usually sent Winston reeling into another story. He opened his mouth to start, but quickly noticed that his audience was slowly wilting into himself as he yawned widely. "But that can wait until tomorrow." He smiled as he picked up the young boy and carried him to his bed, hesitating when he spotted something smeared on his wrist.
As he got a closer look, he noticed that it wasn't a smear, but a perfectly sketched tattoo: a mariner's compass pointing down, with falcon's wings pointing up, forming a pyramid. And in the center was the eye of Horus.
He didn't know why he was surprised, but as he closed the door and walked to the desk in the study, Winston lit a lantern and, grabbing a sheet of paper, began to write a letter.
*Thank you so much for the reviews. I feel loved now! I'm trying my best to update, but I've just been so busy. Well, enough of my rambling..... on to the story.*
Rick ran his hands back and forth through his newly combed hair, mussing it to his preference, as Winston returned with a few pieces of bread and a cup of milk.
"Not much food to go around this week. We'll just have to settle with bread and goat's milk." Winston said in the jolliest tone he could manage.
Jolly or not, Rick immediately spit out what little of the milk he had drank onto the table and proceeded to wipe his tongue on the sleeve of his new shirt.
"It looks as though goat's milk isn't your style, young O'Connell," The elder smiled, "Perhaps this will suit your taste." Winston pushed a small glass of dark golden liquid in his direction.
Smelling it first, Rick cringed, but then downed the glass without thinking twice.... and experienced a taste far worse than that of goat's milk. His eyes began to water and he coughed dryly, feeling as if his stomach were on fire. He'd been poisoned!
But the reality of him being poisoned by the older man who sat next to him, laughing as though a camel had spit on his grandmother, quickly diminished as Winston explained himself.
"And of course you aren't ready for that, young one!"
'Apparently not.' Rick thought, but not as cheerfully. He'd have to watch what he'd been given from now on.
Living with Winston hadn't seemed as bad as the previous week's experience had foreshadowed. The food wasn't too horrible, and while there wasn't very much to do, he always found that Winston could keep him busy by regailing him with some of his old war stories.
"And so I said to them," Winston continued, "Men! Do you want to die running, or do you want to die trying?" He waved a stick in the air to signify leadership.
"Then what happened?" Rick's eyes were bright, intent on memorizing every portion of the old man's story.
"Well we..... we..... Well, they turned around and ended up running. Apparently, they weren't ready to follow a man with bravery such as mine. And of course, the fact that I didn't have shoes or a gun had done little to persuade them."
Rick's eyes were glowing, wishing that he could have been part of the action.
"This, of course, was all before I took up air combat." A comment like this usually sent Winston reeling into another story. He opened his mouth to start, but quickly noticed that his audience was slowly wilting into himself as he yawned widely. "But that can wait until tomorrow." He smiled as he picked up the young boy and carried him to his bed, hesitating when he spotted something smeared on his wrist.
As he got a closer look, he noticed that it wasn't a smear, but a perfectly sketched tattoo: a mariner's compass pointing down, with falcon's wings pointing up, forming a pyramid. And in the center was the eye of Horus.
He didn't know why he was surprised, but as he closed the door and walked to the desk in the study, Winston lit a lantern and, grabbing a sheet of paper, began to write a letter.