the_lioness | (no subject)

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*It's a fairly busy night in the bar, so it's entirely possible that most patrons take no notice of Alanna, Adam and Indy as they make their way down the guest stairs, stop by the bar for a few things and nonchalantly saunter toward the staff quarters.

Nothing suspicious about this at all, really.

Nope, not a thing.

There is certainly nothing untoward about the large pair of boots tucked under Alanna's arm or the gleam in her eye.

Once in the staff quarters, they make for the gym located in Raph's old room. It's as good a place as any to discuss their plans.*

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Indy flops down on the vinyl cushioning of the peck deck and looks up thoughtfully.

"What I can't figure out, more than anything else," he says as he starts to apply the corkscrew to the first bottle of wine, "is how to exercise or work out on that motorbike."

*Expression thoughtful, Alanna carefully places the boots in the center of an exercise mat and backs away slowly. She looks over at the motorcycle and starts.*

Mithros, that's... extraordinary.

*She's intrigued. It's like a horse, only... not at all. Smiling at them, she climbs on and eyes the boots.*

You know, I've never been in here.

*Adam had only been in there once before, and he doesn't much feel the need to tell that story right now. Instead, he sits on the floor, cross-legged, his chin in his hand. His eyes follow neither Indy nor Alanna, though he does motion for a glass of the wine that Indy's opening.*

"It's Raph's," he tells the knight about her new steed. "I dunno if it goes or not."

Whether he fits the status himself or not, Adam is in the company of two hardened drinkers, so there are a distinct lack of 'wine glasses' in evidence. Indy is not sure what he's motioning at, but after a pop and a first appraising pull from the bottle's neck, he passes it over and starts uncorking another.

"Me either. It's far too healthy and just... Mel-ish for me. I can get all the exercise I want... um..." He trails off haltingly.

*Occupied with tapping various dials and investigating the bike, Alanna nods.*

Aye. I like to work outside. It helps me breathe and think. Besides, there isn't enough room in here for extended sword work.

*She abruptly looks up and reaches for wine herself, taking a long drink.*

Well. I don't... that was interesting, wasn't it?

*Hardened drinker, no. Drinker with a high tolerance, yes. And so it is that Adam takes the bottle willingly, though it's possible that what comes out of it wasn't the wine that was put in at bottling.

Adam had been waiting outside the door, and the two of them had been alarmingly silent on the way to the gym. But he can't stop staring at the damn boots.*

So what happened?

The third bottle relinquishes its cork and Indy proceeds to imbibe deeply.

"Oh, you know, the usual stealthy ransacking, and then mass panic and grabbing stuff when you tapped on the door for apparently no reason."

He looks skeptically at the boots. "Chuck 'em over, doll..."

I will challenge you to an arm wrestling match for every time you call me that, Indy. See if I don't. And I'm quite sure he had a good reason, but that is neither here nor there. What matters is why these boots caught your eye.

*Alanna has a history of chucking boots at people's heads, but the bottle prevents her from doing so now. Climbing off the bike, she walks one over to him and bites her lip.*

Why?

He takes one of them and turns it sole-side up. Then, having placed his bottle down, he scratches his fingernail through some of the dry dirt around the welt.

"The environment can be your best friend or your worst enemy."

He inspects the residue on his fingertip and sniffs at it.

*Another long drink, and Alanna sits down by Adam, more than a little jumpy still.

Really, she should be used to breaking into Roger's room by now.*

Mud?

*Adam watches the look on Indy's face carefully, all the while putting his arm around Alanna's shoulders. It still feels strange to be doing so in front of Indy, when they'd kept it a secret for so long.*

Somehow, I doubt it.

Indy's face falls into a deep frown.

"Shit."

He takes several big swallows from the bottle and casts the boot aside.

*Eyes wide, Alanna turns to watch the boot hit the floor, rolling over once before coming to a stop against a stack of weights.*

Ew. Roger is usually so fastidious.

Stables?

*Blinking, she takes another drink and looks at Adam.*

*Adam rolls his eyes, shaking his head.*

You really think Roger would let that stay in his room? He didn't mean it literally, Alanna.

"Chocolate," Indy says sourly. "It's chocolate."

Face even grimmer, "And that means only one thing around here..."

That Roger is even more bizarre than I thought? How does one get chocolate on one's boots?

If this is some sort of kin...

*She trails off and drinks. A lot.*

*Adam raises an eyebrow at Indy and Alanna, and makes a so? sort of motion.*

Ice cream? Sundaes? What's the chocolate mean?

Somewhat dispassionate now, Indy places his forearms on the pads of the apparatus and absently attempts one rep. The bars move together quickly with almost no resistance, resulting in a big clang as they meet in front of the explorer.

Startled, Indy blinks and peers round at the weights as he releases the tension. The pin is slotted in under three plates, totaling a meager thirty kilograms.

"Who the crap uses this place? Meg?"

The weights clank back together and he shakes his head dismissively.

"There's only one place on this rock that has an abundance of chocolate."

*Something is sparking a vague memory, but Alanna can not quite place it.

She drinks.*

The kitchen?

I really don't know, so you might as well just come out and say it.

*Adam snaps at Indy, but they've got the boots, they've got what they need, and Indy knows something, and he's anxious to get this over with.*

"Calm down, kid. I just really hate the damn place, so forgive me a moment of annoyance."

He pours a large amount of wine down his throat, then stabs his finger at the floor. "Under the bar. Oompa Loompa world. Everything down there is made of candy and chocolate."

*Alanna sucks in a breath.*

He... he said he had been wandering places I couldn't imagine. Isn't that where you... and the bar of chocolate... and my breeches?

*She rubs her nose anxiously, scooting closer to Adam. Indy's tale had not been pleasant.

Particularly the part where he wore her pants.*

*Adam blanches a bit at the mention of Alanna's pants, and makes a mental note to ask her about the story later. Much later.*

Okay. So. What do we do?

He gives Alanna a scowling nod. "This time I'm bringing extra pants, and you should too."

To Adam, "I dunno yet. There's sugar-coated horrors down there there you can't even begin to imagine. Are you in?"

Extra pants. Check. We should make a supply list.

Swords are key.

*Hastily setting the bottle down, Alanna shakes her head and rolls up on her knees, looking seriously at Adam.*

Will you stay here and watch out for Roger? Thom? Roger AND Thom? If they try to leave... this may all be in vain. And Goddess, if anything happened to Ingress...

Please?

*He nods at Alanna, speaking to Indy.*

I think it's best that somebody stay.

*And Adam's not above subduing Thom. Again.*

"Fair enough."

As much as Indy likes to work alone, going back down there he wouldn't have minded some magical back-up. He sets down his empty bottle and broaches another one without much ado.

"Flashlights. Ones that go on your head. We'll have to go in through the garage. It's the only way I know, and it's hellish dark and confusing down there in those tunnels."

*Alanna settles back down, gripping the neck of her bottle between finger and forefinger and swinging it back and forth. After a moment, she stands and fiddles with some sort of pulley device.*

Sadly I won't have my Gift light, so yes. Food of some sort, I imagine.

One can not survive on chocolate alone.

"One will never eat chocolate again after this little trip, hun, I can guarantee you that."

"I've got some pies kicking around."

He leans back and puts one arm up round the pad, taking another pull from the bottle.

"Chocolate proof backpacks would be good."

*She yelps a little as she pulls something and sends weights crashing against each other. Backing away, she retreats to a freestanding bicycle.

Alanna has no idea how to ride a bike.

She drinks, staring at the pedals.*

Change of clothes. *She giggles, feeling the wine now.* Light. Food. Packs.

Coffee. There should always be coffee.

Any other weapons?

"Coffee. That's a given."

Indy eyes her speculatively, swaying just slightly on his perch. "Don't you have like a zillion daggers about you at all times? Ooh. And nuts. Gotta bring cashew nuts. But not peanuts."

*primly* Wouldn't you like to know?

*She smiles slowly. That looks in her eyes? Yeah, she's a bit drunk.* No peanuts. Right. Allergic?

"Noooo..." he says with a sneer. "It's an offishul boycott, as organized by me and the Great Baldini... um... Baldrick."

"Bring a shooter, if you've got one." Hell if he can remember.

Cashews? Coffee?

*Adam looks skeptical.*

Those don't exactly sound like weapons to me.

Clearly you've never been pelted with nuts for no good reason like putting frogs in a friend's bed.

*She smiles innocently.*

Aye. I've got the gun. I'll bring it.

Indy gets up and wanders over to the treadmill. And then onto its runway.

"The greatest weapon we have, Ciderman, is up here." He taps his temple sagely.

"Booze. We should bring booze as well," he notes enthusiastically, bringing his hand down emphatically on the console. Seconds later, the conveyor has unceremoniously deposited Indy flat on his back at the end of the machine. The machine continues to whir away to itself innocently.

*Adam stands and turns off the treadmill, making no comment about how well Indy's weapon is working.*

Just-

*He looks back and forth between the two of them.*

Be careful.

*Staring at Indy in horrified amusement, Alanna nods.*

Always.

*And then she starts laughing. A lot.*

Indy is not laughing.

He scrambles to his feet, somewhat unsuccessfully at the first attempt, then walks calmly over to Alanna on the bike. And shoves her.

Then he walks away and sits down on one of the rowing machines, using his feet to propel himself up and down the slide on the movable saddle.

"And we'll need some games for when we get bored. I like Buckaroo, and Dinosaur Operation... er..." The official name fails him for a moment, but another swig of wine helps his recall.

"EXCAVATOR!"

Or we could just wrestle.

*Alanna managed to keep from crashing to the ground, but only just. In the interest of saving the bottle, she had fallen sideways and caught herself on the wall rather than grab the handlebars.

She sets the bottle on the ground with a calm that would scare most of her friends and walks over to the rowing contraption.

Within moments, Indy is in a headlock and she's leaning on him with all her weight.*

Games? *grunt* I would have thought you wanted in and out, Indy.

"But we're bound to wind up lost," he says in a strangled voice, not really fighting the hold. "Then at least we'll have something to do until Mike comes to get us."

Grimacing, Indy suddenly pushes on the foot pads with all his might. Normally this surprise backwards pressure wouldn't be a problem for Alanna at all...

*She squeaks and falls on him, knocking them both sideways.*

Ouch.

*Snickering, she pokes his side.*

Mike. Mike, Mike, Mike. We should tell him we are going then. No details, however.

We just really want some chocolate.

The wind is knocked out of Indy. He looks around as he tries to regain his breath. "Yeahhh. Needta write Mike."

"Pen. Pen. My kingdom for a pen," he cries mournfully.

"And paper."

*Adam's watching this spectacle, shaking his head, but nonetheless, he brings a pen and paper to Indy.

Eyeing Alanna,*

Perhaps you should wait to set out until you've... sobered up a bit.

*Alanna scrambles to her feet and wraps her arms around his waist.*

He shoved me.

I'm fine. Too nervous to eat earlier.

Ahem.

*She looks a touch ashamed of herself.*

No more wine.

"Gimme that."

Indy snatches the writing equipment away rudely and sets the paper on his knee. After tapping the pen against his wine-marooned lips, he starts to write...

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