PETER O'KEEFE || RIFLEMAN
Location: Personal purgatory
Out of the assorted weaponry Mr. Green had collected for their expedition, the Model 97 was by far the most powerful gun they had. The monstrous force of the shotgun was a sight to behold. In fact, it worried Peter; so strong was the bullet’s impact, that a man not need to be a good shot to do detrimental damage to its intended target. It was cutting-edge technology, new and untested. Untried by his own hand. Roland had apparently made quick use of it. The M97 lay jammed between his lips, one thunderous shot from it having scattered the contents of his head against the far wall. The same gun that Roland had insisted on keeping in his quarters, against all common sense.

Perhaps that wasn’t the first thing Peter should have noticed. But it was.

The biting scent of gunpowder bleeding into smoke spilled out from the space beyond him. The room was made all the more smaller by their shared presence: his, Roland’s, and Miss Volkov. The latter of them had nearly slipped his notice when he’d first barreled in behind her. The young woman remained off from the doorway on her knees, hand pressed trembling over her mouth. The hellish sight of Roland’s corpse had paralyzed her; a terrible shock to her, no doubt. Peter, on the other hand, could only feel his own feelings shriveling up inside of him as his eyes landed next on the dying fire burning by the dead man’s foot. There within lay the golden demonic baby: unburnt, unharmed, and ungodly. Roland had tried to destroy the Khuman Tong before he died.

Peter wished he didn’t understand the implications of that act. But he did.

When he reached the former rifleman’s body, he dropped down into a low crouch, studying Roland intently. His jaw hung unhinged, the force of the shotgun blast having blown out the sides of his head and shattering his jawbone. And Roland’s eyes...

Eyes, dull and listless, peering into nothing. The thousand-year stare of a military man, preserved in time memoriam.

The war was over. But the battle raged on.

When Peter’s hands lifted to gently smooth down Roland’s eyelids, it was an action done out of repetition, the countless eyes of others having looked so balefully into his own as he closed them. When he jerked the scalding hot rifle barrel from between the rifleman’s locked teeth, pushing closed the bloodied mouth with his forearm, he wondered how long it would take for him to get that point, for someone else to stumble across his battered corpse, killed in a fit of madness.

His gruesome work allowed him to drown out the loud chatter that went on behind him. It was not until he physically rose back to his feet that he saw what was transpiring behind him. Peter appeared surprised, but not affronted, to see their guide standing there in the doorway.

“Lung El. Miss Volkov.”

His attentions wavered between the both of them. Ana was still on the ground. The young Russian woman was clearly shaken, as she ought to be. This was something that would be seared irreparably into her memory, and he felt guilt, guilt that he could not do anything to prepare her for the nights to come. A long pause drew out before him, his own personal ethics warring with concern for the writer. In the end, duty prevailed, and his expression flattened.

“Please help me...clean up, if you can stomach it,” He said, pointedly directing his words at Lung El, “Get his affairs into order. I don’t know if he has family...”

The faint gleam of the Khuman Tong beckoned to him once more. He peered at it momentarily, a wary look passing over his features. His next decision was executed promptly; with a resounding stomp, Peter snuffed out the remnant embers of the dying flames. He did not realize his hands were shaking as did so. His eyes drew up haltingly to meet the others’ before him.

Eyes that mirrored Roland’s deadened gaze.

“Please. Help me tend to him, so he can be buried proper. After that...after that, I’m done. Done for good. I want no more part of this cursed mission. This...is not what I signed on for.”
 
The Mourning After

Lung El looked over the scene with somber eyes, though he looked not outwardly affected by Roland's violent, sudden death. He nodded slowly, and he helped to lift Ana off of her feet, beckoning her leave the men to do the gruesome work before them. Not long after, Danford arrived with several other auxilliaries, and Lung El quickly set him to keeping everyone away from the boat, recruiting the older, more taciturn Frenchmen Orville to keep back the curious and concerned. Angelica and Green happened to be among them, the latter fighting his way through to see what was going on. A short conversation with Lung El illuminated the situation, and Green immediately began to tell them to head back to their tents.

Green seemed not at all surprised.

The body was swiftly moved in a sheet, the bargeman handsomely paid for the damage to his boat. It wasn't enough to take away the sting of knowing that the death was connected with the golden charm Roland had had in his possession - the bargeman made it known he would not be ferrying anyone back with him. He was leaving then and there. As a final task, Green asked he send word to a natureman-in-reserve, to arrive the next morning, and this the bargeman did with some begrudging.

The night became abruptly, rudely lonely despite the sounds of the jungle keeping the air alive. Just as the night's air was full, so were the night's dreams. Dreams, unbidden. Sleep proved to be a coveted commodity.

The next morning came softly, gently, in gold and in red. It was hard to imagine that such a tragedy had occurred upon the water. Up well and early, Lung El had not missed that before the barge had left, the Khuman Tong had gone missing, unaccounted for. While the bargeman had considered that part of its preternatural nature, Lung El had considered that man's intervention was more likely.

In Ana's tent, he left a small note just inside the door: Please come find me. We need to talk about the boy. He did not expect her to come find him - but he certainly hoped she did, for his sake at least.

Meanwhile, Danford paced by the water's edge to welcome the new botanist who was to accompany them, chewing over the mystery of the night's events -- as well as keeping out of trouble. The rest of the crew, sans Angelica, were making camp, waiting for word from Green on their heading - and answers. Angelica, stir-crazy and concerned, had taken to exploring the edge of the jungle on her own, though not necessarily out of sight.

Alright! It is the next morning and the smoke has cleared. Breakfast is cookin', and of course there are plenty of things to do! @Quiet, you are now able to come in on this little shindig by the river. @Kuno @Red Thunder, it is up to you two what you want to do, as I've left some leeway for you guys. Do you want to greet Harry? Do you take Lung El's missive seriously? Or are you going to do your best to find Green and get the heck out of Dodge?

Your choice! Go hogwild!
 
TROUBLE IN PARADISE​
Word passed quickly through the camp of the terrible thing that had happened aboard the barge, and immediately, Green's expedition expressed the desperate need for some sort of meeting with their benefactor. It was obvious that this was a horrific event that had shaken the members of the group, especially after rumors had gone around that something of a preternatural disposition took place during Decha's inspection. Uneasy, full of misgivings, many of the expedition - the specialists in particular - voted to go back to Ayutthaya post haste.

It would seem that Green's expedition had ended well before it started. Scoffing, but unable to fight the larger group or offer them a larger sum to continue, Green acquiesced. As soon as they were able, they flagged down the nearest passing barge and paid passage back to the city.

It would seem they would need to try next year, and hope that fresher faces will be able to brave even these such terrible tidings. In the meantime, Green has offered a bonus to any who pledge to remain aboard for the next dry season. It seems the adventure will have to continue another time....