Napoleon's last tour, with a couple of well-to-do Yanquis, had left him near Manaus, in Brazil.  It was more city than he was accustomed to, but there were places were one could feel welcome.  The little bar at the end of town, for one place.  It was run by a colleague of his, one Jack O'Shea, a very strange Irishman who had married a local girl.  Jack knew of jobs, however, so it was worthwhile putting up with his eccentricities, and of course the beer was very good.

The afternoon thunderstorms were rolling in, so it was good to get out of the rain. He ducked under the thatched roof and stepped over a fat spotted dog, who was sleeping on the doormat, and looked through the gloom and tobacco smoke to see who was here.  Two old men, smoking and nursing their beers in a corner, and the luscious form of O'Shea's wife, Maria Alonza, who was scrubbing at the countertop, a slab of polished tiger maple.  She looked up as Napoleon moved closer and smiled a warm smile.  Just then the rain began to patter, then beat hard on the tin and thatch roof.

Napoleon La Tour nodded respectfully to the elders sipping their beer as he stepped into the dim bar room. In his mid-twenties, Napoleon looked more Guyanese Indian than French but, when he spoke his English was thickly accented Fracais. He had chosen English, knowing it to be the only language he and Jack's wife had in common.

" It has been a long time Maria, " La Tour said in response to her freindly smile. " You are still as lovely as the day you married Jack. " Napoleon returned her smile then and bellied up to the bar, sort of.

He only stood five feet tall and weighed 135 pounds soaking wet with sinewy muscles and a dark, swarthy complexion. His black hair was bowl cut with bangs just reaching down to above his chocolate, intelligent eyes. Napoleon wore a white cotton t-shirt, a grubby pair of tan trousers and sandals. He carried a canvas duffelbag, of the type that sailors use, over his left shoulder. It contained everything he owned in the world, yet it was only half full.

" Beer please, Maria." La Tour asked and waited for the pretty young woman to draw him a glass, watching her all the while. She really was easy on the eyes. Once she'd handed him the glass of dark liquid, he placed it to his lips and took a long pull, draining half it's contents before speaking again.

"So, the Irishman is here, Oiu ? I am seeking to speak with him, about work. My sort of work. Tracking, guiding in the jungle."

Napoleon studied the patterns of the wood in the highly polished countertop and listened to the percussion of the rain on the roof  while he waited for Maria to speak.

Maria Alonza replied in her sweet, husky voice, blushing from Napoleon's compliment. "He will be back in a while,"  and gave him his beer, offering him some fresh-cut limes if he wished. "Sit down, rest."

The rain beat heavily, the old men sipped and nodded at each other, and the dog stretched and rolled over, paws in the air.  Just as Napoleon was at the end of his glass, he heard the booming voice in the heavy Irish accent outside.  "My girl !"  roared O'Shea, as the dog leapt up and barked excitedly, dancing around his feet, but O'Shea ran first to the bar to give his wife a resounding kiss.  She laughed, delighted, and then the Irishman greeted the dog.  He was of course sopping wet.

Then the pale green eyes went straight to Napoleon, and the jovial expression on O'Shea faded into the glazed look and tranced face that he sometimes got.  "Oh." he said, and murmured something in Irish to himself, or to whatever ghost was whispering in his ear.  Then he shook himself like a dog shedding water, and grinned at Napoleon, awake again. "M'lad !"  he said, holding out a hand to shake.  "It's good to see you. There's something I wanted to talk to you about."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:26, Fri 10 Dec 2004.

Napoleon had seen this trance like behaviour before from O'Shea. He'd observed it with some of the elders and shamans among his mother's people as well. LaTour was a man that walked in two worlds, the primitive jungle and the modern world. He could maneuver in either adeptly.

Still, it unnerved him a bit the way Jack's trance like state seemed to be brought on by viewing Napoleon himself. He glanced at Maria, to try to gauge her reaction to her husband's behaviour.

La Tour reached out his smaller hand to the big Irishman and took it, bracing himself for the usual agressive pumping that accompanied these reunions.

"Oiu! I too am glad to see you, Jack." Napoleon forced a smile despite his misgivings about the trance Jack had momemtarliy lapsed into.

" I hope you wanted to talk about some work you have found for me. I have just ended my last job."

Maria's gentle smile had faded to a serious frown as Jack O'Shea's trance came on, but since it seemed to be nothing foreboding, soon relaxed.   O'Shea carried on as if there had been nothing at all, and his booming voice resounded over the loud rain.  The Irishman shook hands and rocked Napoleon nearly off his feet, which was normal enough.  "It is well you came along, then.  You're staying the night - no, I wouldn't hear of anything otherwise.  There's a job come along, a tricky sort of job.  I'll tell you about it over a few drinks."

Somehow, the evening was taken care of. Maria Alonza poured them more delicious dark beer, and somehow managed to provide floury tortillas with plenty of beans and sweet pork for dinner.  Once dinner was well-seated in Napoleon's belly and the bar was empty of customers, the sun long set, O'Shea began to discuss business.

"There's a woman come along here," he said, "She's looking to mount an expedition into the deep Amazon.  She needs a guide who knows the natives and who can get her there and back, safely.  She's been to other guides, like Florry Pachino, and he turned her down, so you know she's got money to be talking to the likes of him, and that where she wants to go, is not easy to be getting to.  She'll be along tomorrow with the sunrise."   How O'Shea knew this, who could say.