Prologue
Indiana Jones: archaeologist, professor, ladies man, hanging from a cliff. He weighed his options. If he let go of the rock, he would plunge down into the mist, and probably land in some very cold water or some very pointy rocks. If he pulled himself up, spear-toting pigmies awaited him.
His free hand desperately clutched the rock and dirt, which was now eating away at his fingers, making the tips bleed and sting. His other hand was wrapped around a rather raggedy looking doll, the sweat from his palms making the job of holding the doll much harder.
With his ear against the cliff (or rather, his head banging into the cliff as he swung back at forth) he could hear the pigmies approaching. They did not sound happy. That rope Marcus had suggested before he left was looking better and better. But that was all in the past, now.
His leather jacket was beginning be a great burden, and his fedora was also holding some weight that Indy had not noticed before. The foot beats of the pigmies were growing closer every second. It seemed almost impossible that he had jumped off the cliff only moments before.
He had to make a decision, and he had to make it now. Luckily, right when Indy was about to figure out a solution, the cliff made one for him. He heard a most discouraging crunching noise, and before Indy could even hope it was something else, he found himself tumbling, tumbling down. And as the pigmies and their spears grew smaller and smaller, and the pointy rocks and the ice cold water slowly became Indy's future, he couldn't help but smile.
~*~
"Oh, Dr. Jones," Anne McCoy gasped as she laid eyes on the bloodstained and thoroughly ruffed-up Indy, who had just stumbled into the archaeology office of Barnet College. "You went on the plane like that, didn't you?"
Indy collapsed into the chair, and heaved out a huge sigh.
Anne McCoy wasn't gorgeous, but she wasn't down right ugly. She had a certain attractiveness without looking like a super model, and that's how she went about things. She got things done her way, but the important thing was, she got things done. Indy was very confused as to why Marcus Brody had given him an assistant, and then it became quite clear when Marcus admitted that Anne was his niece. She wasn't a hopeless case at archaeology, but she knew one thing, and one thing only: Mythology. Ask her something about Noah's Arc, and she'd stare at you for a few seconds and walk away. But ask her something about a Golden Fleece, and she'd follow you until she'd finished the whole story.
"Dr. Jones," Anne said, tipping some disinfectant onto some cotton balls, "how in the world did you do this?"
Indy looked like the thing he least wanted to do was recount the fall. "Fell." He said, simply. Anne made a face at him, and adjusted her chunky brown glasses.
"That clears it all up," she replied, gently touching the cotton ball to Indy's forehead, attempting to clean the huge gash that ran across his forehead. "You really need to be more careful, Dr. Jones. I don't think Irene could take it if you were out one more day."
She was right. As wonderful as Indy's secretary, Irene, was, she wasn't up to taking care of all his classes for a week. Usually, he would leave Anne in charge, but she tended to mix up the Egyptian gods with the Greek.
"Maybe I should call a doctor?" Anne asked, continuing to press the lukewarm cotton to Indy's head.
"The bleeding will stop eventually." Indy said, wearily getting up. "Where's Marcus?"
"He's in his office..." Anne said, looking confused. "Dr. Jones, I really think you should-..."
But he was gone.
Indiana Jones: archaeologist, professor, ladies man, hanging from a cliff. He weighed his options. If he let go of the rock, he would plunge down into the mist, and probably land in some very cold water or some very pointy rocks. If he pulled himself up, spear-toting pigmies awaited him.
His free hand desperately clutched the rock and dirt, which was now eating away at his fingers, making the tips bleed and sting. His other hand was wrapped around a rather raggedy looking doll, the sweat from his palms making the job of holding the doll much harder.
With his ear against the cliff (or rather, his head banging into the cliff as he swung back at forth) he could hear the pigmies approaching. They did not sound happy. That rope Marcus had suggested before he left was looking better and better. But that was all in the past, now.
His leather jacket was beginning be a great burden, and his fedora was also holding some weight that Indy had not noticed before. The foot beats of the pigmies were growing closer every second. It seemed almost impossible that he had jumped off the cliff only moments before.
He had to make a decision, and he had to make it now. Luckily, right when Indy was about to figure out a solution, the cliff made one for him. He heard a most discouraging crunching noise, and before Indy could even hope it was something else, he found himself tumbling, tumbling down. And as the pigmies and their spears grew smaller and smaller, and the pointy rocks and the ice cold water slowly became Indy's future, he couldn't help but smile.
~*~
"Oh, Dr. Jones," Anne McCoy gasped as she laid eyes on the bloodstained and thoroughly ruffed-up Indy, who had just stumbled into the archaeology office of Barnet College. "You went on the plane like that, didn't you?"
Indy collapsed into the chair, and heaved out a huge sigh.
Anne McCoy wasn't gorgeous, but she wasn't down right ugly. She had a certain attractiveness without looking like a super model, and that's how she went about things. She got things done her way, but the important thing was, she got things done. Indy was very confused as to why Marcus Brody had given him an assistant, and then it became quite clear when Marcus admitted that Anne was his niece. She wasn't a hopeless case at archaeology, but she knew one thing, and one thing only: Mythology. Ask her something about Noah's Arc, and she'd stare at you for a few seconds and walk away. But ask her something about a Golden Fleece, and she'd follow you until she'd finished the whole story.
"Dr. Jones," Anne said, tipping some disinfectant onto some cotton balls, "how in the world did you do this?"
Indy looked like the thing he least wanted to do was recount the fall. "Fell." He said, simply. Anne made a face at him, and adjusted her chunky brown glasses.
"That clears it all up," she replied, gently touching the cotton ball to Indy's forehead, attempting to clean the huge gash that ran across his forehead. "You really need to be more careful, Dr. Jones. I don't think Irene could take it if you were out one more day."
She was right. As wonderful as Indy's secretary, Irene, was, she wasn't up to taking care of all his classes for a week. Usually, he would leave Anne in charge, but she tended to mix up the Egyptian gods with the Greek.
"Maybe I should call a doctor?" Anne asked, continuing to press the lukewarm cotton to Indy's head.
"The bleeding will stop eventually." Indy said, wearily getting up. "Where's Marcus?"
"He's in his office..." Anne said, looking confused. "Dr. Jones, I really think you should-..."
But he was gone.