I am not making any money with this. I do not own Lara Croft, Tomb Raider
etc.
Only to be archived at Fanfiction.net and 'Lara Croft's Tales of Beauty and Power'. All other sites email me first to gain permission.
========================================================= The Last Revelation Part IV: Merit by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi) =========================================================
Chapter 2
"Seriously Lara, what's to know about you and Jean?"
Lara didn't say anything.
"I only know you had a little affair going on years and years ago. Nothing big. Yet every time I see you, you seem more concerned of his well-being than mine."
"He's a friend," Lara replied repugnantly. "He's a friend - maybe we were something years back but he ruined it. Typical."
"Ruined it?" Merit replied.
Lara was grateful for the fact that her tone showed no curiosity. It wasn't like she was Pamela Anderson or someone similar, yet her personal life was under focus everywhere. The star of the British Museum - she felt like a mascot. 'We have Lara Croft, therefore we are wonderful and likeable.' The old feeling of wanting to climb into a dusty closet and stay there returned, amusing Lara slightly.
"Not many people know that I declined his offer for marriage. He did not win me over. He did not dump me. I did not dump him. We were kids and he was tactless." Lara explained nonchalantly.
"That's a pity," Merit replied. Ten years older than Lara, she had acted as her teacher, friend and counsellor over the years of the acquaintance. Lara usually came to her with these things.
Although not very recently.
"I've grown up since that," Lara replied, and Merit started. Lara had not been talking of the things she had been thinking, yet she answered her unspoken question.
"You know," Merit said. "I don't know whether I should tell you, but. He speaks of you an awful lot."
Lara looked at her, questioning.
"I'm starting to feel like a messenger here. When I see him it's the same thing - it's like you two are avoiding each other."
"He's always somewhere studying some libr."
"Never underestimate him. He's not a librarian, he's an archaeologist just like you. He may not skulk through caves for a living or put his life on the line, but in the matter of new discoveries, I don't think he's much behind you. He's brilliant. So are you, but.. in a different way. He is one of the people who do your basework for you. You get offered tombs and temples on silver plates after they've shared painstaking hours of trying to find them."
"Quit lecturing, Merit. I don't deserve it." Lara replied, extremely annoyed. "And saying I get tombs and temples on silver plates - that's ridiculous. I do my own research. Mostly."
"Pardon me." Merit said, slightly annoyed herself.
"Please do continue," Lara said disarmingly.
"What I was saying is that he's complaining that he has no-one to talk to. You're complaining that you have no-one to talk too."
"If this is wrapping up a 'match made in heaven' -speech, please, I beg you to spare me." Lara said, her voice full of sarcasm.
"This isn't," Merit promised. "I'm just suggesting that you visit him. If I were you I would."
"We're not an item," Lara replied to no-one in particular. "Don't play Cupid. I can't believe this. This is absolutely ridiculous."
"Always above everything else. Come down here Croft, and call Jean."
She didn't. The thought crossed her mind a dozen times, but standing literally on the brink of a new venture into the unknown history of Egypt, Lara hardly had the time to sit down or sleep. Countless fights with the airlines and daytrips to London to clean and modify her collection of required weaponry. As other women treated themselves with a new bottle of perfume, Lara enjoyed the individualistic feeling following the realization of the fact that she had spoiled herself by investing in a brand new crossbow.
Five days after returning home from France, she boarded a KLM flight to Cairo.
"Miss Lara Croft, please." She walked up to the counter and banged her backpack on it. Dressed in a long linen skirt and a matching blazer, she looked like any ordinary, but wealthy tourist wishing to smell the air around Cairo and upper Egypt for the weekend.
"Thank you. Let me see. Here, suite number ten. Seventh floor, the porter will show you."
"Thank you." Lara flashed a smile and turned to spot a similar smile on the porter's face. He was a young Arab, obviously smelling a big tip. Lara followed him to the elevator, and replied to his ever-present smile - lacking some teeth - with an occasional mildly accepting look. He carried Lara's bags to her room, and Lara tipped him generously, as expected.
Left alone in the suite, she cursed her habits silently. She always reserved a suite despite the fact that she hardly ever spent more than one night at a hotel during her trips. Nevertheless, a quality shower and a quality bed were sometimes all she needed.
But not tonight. Glancing at her watch, it told her she had five hours to prepare herself for the desert.
Without bothering to turn on the lights, Lara opened her suitcase, threw a pile of clothes on the bed and started changing clothes. Pondering the circumstances in her destination she decided on a black shirt. Shorts were a regular choice, the usual double-stitched camping-model shorts. She had brought her highest-reaching boots - they would prevent sandburns inside the shoes.
Having a sudden urge of wanting to do something differently, she unbraided her hair and tied it up to a high ponytail. She grinned at her own sight in the bathroom mirror. She looked nothing but perky - an adjective she most detested. 'What do you say, I look like a hippie,' she thought, and left her hair that way.
She switched on the lights.
Something was placed on her bed. A postcard. A simple postcard - one of those annoying landscape postcards that everyone's relatives send from places like Paris or the Canary Islands saying "weather's great, we all have severe cases of stomach flu, but we love the sun".
Lara picked it up, trying not to step on her still-open shoelaces dragging after her as she walked.
"Miss Lara Croft, Nile Hilton, Cairo.
If you have any spare time (which you never do, I know I know) please come around. One day you'll save the world with that plait of yours.
Jean"
Smiling to herself in a manner that disturbed her with its uncontrollability, she wondered what Jean meant with the last phrase.
She walked to the bathroom, having a sudden epiphany.
She felt like Sampson. Maybe it was her hair that kept her lucky.
'I make my own luck. Not the time to fall in for superstition. You are being silly, woman,' she mused, and switched on the mirror light.
'I do look like a hippie.'
She started undoing the ponytail and then started braiding her hair in her usual manner.
'Sure, I can make my own luck but fate isn't something one should mess with.'
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
As always, comments and reviews would be much appreciated - they're the fuel that feeds this creative furnace.
siirma6@surfeu.fi
Only to be archived at Fanfiction.net and 'Lara Croft's Tales of Beauty and Power'. All other sites email me first to gain permission.
========================================================= The Last Revelation Part IV: Merit by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi) =========================================================
Chapter 2
"Seriously Lara, what's to know about you and Jean?"
Lara didn't say anything.
"I only know you had a little affair going on years and years ago. Nothing big. Yet every time I see you, you seem more concerned of his well-being than mine."
"He's a friend," Lara replied repugnantly. "He's a friend - maybe we were something years back but he ruined it. Typical."
"Ruined it?" Merit replied.
Lara was grateful for the fact that her tone showed no curiosity. It wasn't like she was Pamela Anderson or someone similar, yet her personal life was under focus everywhere. The star of the British Museum - she felt like a mascot. 'We have Lara Croft, therefore we are wonderful and likeable.' The old feeling of wanting to climb into a dusty closet and stay there returned, amusing Lara slightly.
"Not many people know that I declined his offer for marriage. He did not win me over. He did not dump me. I did not dump him. We were kids and he was tactless." Lara explained nonchalantly.
"That's a pity," Merit replied. Ten years older than Lara, she had acted as her teacher, friend and counsellor over the years of the acquaintance. Lara usually came to her with these things.
Although not very recently.
"I've grown up since that," Lara replied, and Merit started. Lara had not been talking of the things she had been thinking, yet she answered her unspoken question.
"You know," Merit said. "I don't know whether I should tell you, but. He speaks of you an awful lot."
Lara looked at her, questioning.
"I'm starting to feel like a messenger here. When I see him it's the same thing - it's like you two are avoiding each other."
"He's always somewhere studying some libr."
"Never underestimate him. He's not a librarian, he's an archaeologist just like you. He may not skulk through caves for a living or put his life on the line, but in the matter of new discoveries, I don't think he's much behind you. He's brilliant. So are you, but.. in a different way. He is one of the people who do your basework for you. You get offered tombs and temples on silver plates after they've shared painstaking hours of trying to find them."
"Quit lecturing, Merit. I don't deserve it." Lara replied, extremely annoyed. "And saying I get tombs and temples on silver plates - that's ridiculous. I do my own research. Mostly."
"Pardon me." Merit said, slightly annoyed herself.
"Please do continue," Lara said disarmingly.
"What I was saying is that he's complaining that he has no-one to talk to. You're complaining that you have no-one to talk too."
"If this is wrapping up a 'match made in heaven' -speech, please, I beg you to spare me." Lara said, her voice full of sarcasm.
"This isn't," Merit promised. "I'm just suggesting that you visit him. If I were you I would."
"We're not an item," Lara replied to no-one in particular. "Don't play Cupid. I can't believe this. This is absolutely ridiculous."
"Always above everything else. Come down here Croft, and call Jean."
She didn't. The thought crossed her mind a dozen times, but standing literally on the brink of a new venture into the unknown history of Egypt, Lara hardly had the time to sit down or sleep. Countless fights with the airlines and daytrips to London to clean and modify her collection of required weaponry. As other women treated themselves with a new bottle of perfume, Lara enjoyed the individualistic feeling following the realization of the fact that she had spoiled herself by investing in a brand new crossbow.
Five days after returning home from France, she boarded a KLM flight to Cairo.
"Miss Lara Croft, please." She walked up to the counter and banged her backpack on it. Dressed in a long linen skirt and a matching blazer, she looked like any ordinary, but wealthy tourist wishing to smell the air around Cairo and upper Egypt for the weekend.
"Thank you. Let me see. Here, suite number ten. Seventh floor, the porter will show you."
"Thank you." Lara flashed a smile and turned to spot a similar smile on the porter's face. He was a young Arab, obviously smelling a big tip. Lara followed him to the elevator, and replied to his ever-present smile - lacking some teeth - with an occasional mildly accepting look. He carried Lara's bags to her room, and Lara tipped him generously, as expected.
Left alone in the suite, she cursed her habits silently. She always reserved a suite despite the fact that she hardly ever spent more than one night at a hotel during her trips. Nevertheless, a quality shower and a quality bed were sometimes all she needed.
But not tonight. Glancing at her watch, it told her she had five hours to prepare herself for the desert.
Without bothering to turn on the lights, Lara opened her suitcase, threw a pile of clothes on the bed and started changing clothes. Pondering the circumstances in her destination she decided on a black shirt. Shorts were a regular choice, the usual double-stitched camping-model shorts. She had brought her highest-reaching boots - they would prevent sandburns inside the shoes.
Having a sudden urge of wanting to do something differently, she unbraided her hair and tied it up to a high ponytail. She grinned at her own sight in the bathroom mirror. She looked nothing but perky - an adjective she most detested. 'What do you say, I look like a hippie,' she thought, and left her hair that way.
She switched on the lights.
Something was placed on her bed. A postcard. A simple postcard - one of those annoying landscape postcards that everyone's relatives send from places like Paris or the Canary Islands saying "weather's great, we all have severe cases of stomach flu, but we love the sun".
Lara picked it up, trying not to step on her still-open shoelaces dragging after her as she walked.
"Miss Lara Croft, Nile Hilton, Cairo.
If you have any spare time (which you never do, I know I know) please come around. One day you'll save the world with that plait of yours.
Jean"
Smiling to herself in a manner that disturbed her with its uncontrollability, she wondered what Jean meant with the last phrase.
She walked to the bathroom, having a sudden epiphany.
She felt like Sampson. Maybe it was her hair that kept her lucky.
'I make my own luck. Not the time to fall in for superstition. You are being silly, woman,' she mused, and switched on the mirror light.
'I do look like a hippie.'
She started undoing the ponytail and then started braiding her hair in her usual manner.
'Sure, I can make my own luck but fate isn't something one should mess with.'
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
As always, comments and reviews would be much appreciated - they're the fuel that feeds this creative furnace.
siirma6@surfeu.fi