IN> "The Waters will Rise!" setting: Finding things in the last place you look?

[-=|horsefly|=-]

The dark man wore gaucho's clothing but road a burro. His lips were
parched and split from the heat, but he kept them pressed together in
a feral grin. "To think I'd find word of this getting a Falklander
saused," he looked over his shoulder and regarded the bulge in one of
his saddlebags. "A little 'Margaret Thatcher's a posturing bitch' and
the idiot's buying me a drink. Drink. Heh. Why did I have to go there
in this...?" There was nothing to see beyond his burro but sand in
every direction. Even the sky above him was bland, and the sun felt
like it could scorch the color out of his boots if he stuck around
much longer.

"Stupid humans," he sighed. Cortez had found this little prize back
when he was exploring for the glory of the empire and all that rot,
but it had sunk with one of the smaller ships on the return voyage.
Never even reached Europe.  Argentinians had recovered it just a few
years ago before the fighting started, and it was promptly stolen.
That was when he'd had to barter several strong Geases at the
Guildhall! He opened the flap on his burro's right flank and pulled
out a hunk of aquamarine larger than his own head. It pulsed in his
hands as he held it briefly, considering... Nah, stick to the
punchline. If his Prince ever found out what he held in his hands, if
The Game ever found out... Heh, that was a joke right there. Not a
very happy punchline for him, but ironic all the same.

He lobbed the fissured gemstone high over his head, out, out out, and
clean into a sand dune... he had to squint, well over five hundred
meters away. Who said maintaining the status quo couldn't be a gag?
Spurring the mule, he turned about and headed out--forty-five degree's
difference from his point of entry. Altamira was only a few days' trek
away, and it's not like he didn't have supplies.

-- 
-=|horsefly|=-

"It was a different time: a time of blood and guns and killings.... It
was a time when killers needed saints, for so much of God's
good work was being done."
        --SAINT OF KILLERS #4, Garth Ennis