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[Tearlach]

Luxor, Egypt, 2014.

The sun was just rising above the horizon as Misha walked across the landing pad to the heli-jet that stood there. The arctic fox cursed his ancestry and the events that had led him to Egypt. Even at this early hour the heat was only just bearable for him. The thick white fur of his species that meant he could stand naked in a snow blizzard in temperatures of -40º in his native Russia and still consider it quite balmy, was a anathema in a land were even at night the temperature rarely fell below +25º.
To compensate Misha dressed in the absolute minimum that modesty allowed, today that consisted of blue knee-length shorts, a black baseball cap and dark pilot glasses. The latter was not due to the brightness of the sun, which had barely risen, but rather to the grandmother of all hangovers he was nursing after the night’s festivities and only two hours sleep. He had taken a de-tox tablet, which had cleared the alcohol from his system making him fit to fly the heli-jet. But the resulting headache was even worst then sleeping the drink off. However he was contracted to fly three archaeologists their equipment and other much needed supplies out to the digs at Bubastis the ancient city dedicated to the feline goddess Bast.
Misha could have cited technical difficulties with the heli-jet to get out of flying until the next day, God knew it wouldn’t be too far from the truth. The heli-jet was an ex-USSR MI 56 Yak VTOL transport, nicknamed “The flying brick” because of its squat rectangular shape, aerodynamics and sluggish response to its controls.
Misha shook his head, dammed piece of junk was older then he was, but the supplies were urgent and besides the archaeologists were two of the most desirable vixens he had met since coming out to this hell-hole three years previously. He lent against the cool hull of the transport, soaking up the chill of the night from its alu-tainium frame, closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to the night before.

The height of summer in Egypt was the worst time for any thing, few tourists and fewer digs, too hot to work and too boring to stand around. So when a party had been announced at the Old Winter Palace Hotel, out of season, in honour of the discovery of an almost intact third dynasty library; Misha had jumped at the chance to break the monotony.
The Old Winter Palace Hotel had been built in 1886 and in November 1922 its residents at the time had been the first to be informed of Howard Carter’s discovery of the Pharaoh Tutankhamun’s tomb and its fabulous contents. So it had seemed appropriate to celebrate an equally important moment in archaeology in the historical hotel.
Misha had paid off the taxi straightened his rented tuxedo and looked up at the hotel. A large square sand coloured building its granite steps swept up to a crenellated porch supported by two pillars, the affect he mused was one of entering a ancient temple.
This feeling was re-enforced by the porter standing just inside the lobby gently pushing the revolving door. The wearied-eyed hare dressed in a pure white cotton shirt and pantaloons, with a red cummerbund and fez gave him the appearance of a novice priest. Misha nodded and murmured his thanks to the porter, but the hare gave no sign of acknowledgement. Bored witless was Misha’s conclusion as he walked up to the hotel’s reception desk. Presenting his invitation to the clerk he was pointed in the direction of the festivities.
The sound of dozens of voices speaking in as many languages reached him as he walked along. The lobby was about a hundred meters long and twenty meters wide at the end of the lobby a grand marble staircase rose to give access to the hotels bedrooms, two large lounges lead off from the lobby each filled with dignitaries, celebrities and archaeologists. Misha lifted a glass of champagne from the silver tray a passing waiter was carrying and adjusting his bow tie walked into the swirling mass of fur.
“ MISHA!” He was sipping his champagne and nearly choked as his name was bellowed out across the room. The entire lounge fell silent and turned towards the source of the cry, a tall middle aged yet still muscular and attractive lioness who was pushing her way through the crowd oblivious to the angry stares and mutterings she was provoking with her passage. Misha’s ears folded side-ways and his tail darted between his legs as he cringed in embarrassment as the owner of the charter transport company he worked for and its chief pilot bore down on him.
“What the hell is Elsa doing here!” Misha muttered to himself. “ She’s supposed to be on flight duty tomorrow. “ The lioness was attired in dark blue strapless dress, matching finger-less evening gloves covered her arms and from these hung swaths of the same material. The whole affect was that of a gothic vampire swooping down for the kill.
Elsa was close enough for her sharp ears to catch what Misha had said even above the myriad of prevailing discussions and she opened her arms wide in a gesture of pacification.
“I know I shouldn’t be here darling” Elsa crooned in her English public school inflection as she reached him. “ But this party was really too good to miss.” She was whole foot taller then the fox and Misha now found that he was staring at her large bust, barely contained by her dress and threatening to reveal its self with every passing moment.
Elsa turned her head towards the bar and raising her empty glass high in the air, roared out. “ I say Drink-Walla, very large Scotch whisky over here imshi! I’m dying of bloody thirst “ She turned back and saw Misha hypnotically entranced by her prominent features. A puzzled look crossed her face, looking down she saw the reason for his stupor and her muzzle broke out in a wide grin. “ Why Misha darling. I didn’t know you cared.”
This served to break Misha’s trance and he held up his free hand in a gesture of denial inadvertently brushing it against Elsa’s bosom. Shock turned to horror as he realised what he had done.
The lioness however was more then pleased, taking the offending hand by the wrist she pressed it against her right breast. Misha could feel the nipple hardening against the palm of his hand and he tried to pull away but Elsa held it firm. She lowered her head and whispered.
“ No need to be shy my little Cossack. I know a quiet room where we won’t be disturbed.”
At that moment the waiter arrived with the drink Elsa had ordered. He coughed politely and held out the whisky on a small silver tray.
“Ah good show.” Elsa released Misha’s hand and retrieved the full glass and replacing it with the empty one. Misha took this opportunity to snatch his hand away from her breast and step backward a few paces, putting a more comfortable distance between each other. The lioness drank almost half of the glass’s contents in a single sip. She grimaced, and scowled at it.“ Oh Hell fire, the fool’s given me that bloody awful Japanese counterfeit piss! “
Misha took a sip of his own drink and said in an officious manner. “You’re on flight duty first thing in the morning should you should be abstaining from alcohol.”
Elsa grinned broadly, a rather disconcerting sight, and said ” Ah well, the fact is that the schedule has been changed. We will be flying out three passengers to the dig site as well as the supplies and for that regs state that two pilots are required.”







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