The Shitteth Hitteth The Fanneth

"You are in charge!" one of Jacob's minions yelled in Flynn's face, his spit flecking the air, making Flynn's nostrils wrinkle in frightened disgust.

"I'm not in charge," Flynn repeated nervously as several of his colleagues were frogmarched past, hands raised in the air, AK-47s trained on their backs. Clara kept her own gaze fixed on the ground, discreetly wrestling with her bonds, the sweat dripping down her spine. Jacob had disappeared into a nearby tent, probably to bathe in blood and recline on couches made from the flesh of beautiful women, if Clara were to judge by his vampiric accent.

"You are in charge!" the minion bellowed, slapping Flynn, sending his spectacles sideways.

"Would you put another record on!?" Clara snapped, losing all self control. "If he says he's not in charge, he isn't in charge, savvy!?"

"Be quiet!" the minion spat, ramming his face into hers, trying and failing to stare Clara down.

"I am in charge," Flynn said hastily, straightening his spectacles, "but not of whatever you think I'm in charge of."

"Then vat are you in charge of?" the minion hissed, straightening up.

"I'm in charge of the archaeological dig," Flynn said in a rush, "I have a lot of responsibilities - I mean, I'm more of a supervisor slash Professor" -

- "Professor of vat?" the minion demanded.

"That is a fascinating story," Flynn said pompously, perking up, "I actually hold the world record of PHDs, more of a student of learning than any kind of discipline or doctrine, but I like to think of myself more as a" –

- "He's going to shut up now," Clara said hastily, elbowing Flynn in the side as the minion raised his machine gun, aiming it at Flynn's face.

"This area is closed to all foreigners," the minion spat, "including American and European scum."

"Closed until when?" Clara dared to ask, trying to get a grip of the situation. She still didn't know what the hell was going on, her memory a mixture of blank spaces and broken pieces, making her feel like she'd been flung headfirst down the rabbit hole. Everything was happening too fast, what with Jacob turning Translyvanian, and Flynn in full on geography teacher mode, neither one of them not seeming to know her either. Whatever hold she had on this world was rapidly slipping, and she couldn't afford to fall.

"Until the Board resolves the dispute," the minion snarled, rounding on her.

This made no sense to Clara whatsoever, but it was another nugget of information to add to her slowly growing store. There was an archaeological dig, and there was a dispute over the aforementioned archaeological dig. It wasn't a lot to go on, but it was a start of sorts.

"Give me your papers," the minion demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"My hands are tied," Clara pointed out, hiding her unease with sarcasm, not liking the way he was looking at her.

"I vill just have to search you then," the minion said coldly.

"There's nothing to find."

"Let me be the judge of that," the minion retorted, his gaze raking her.

"Well, my papers are right here," Flynn said hurriedly, pulling out his passport.

The minion snatched it from him, his mouth twisting into a bitter sneer. "I'll deal with you later, darlink," he leered at Clara, before leaving, signalling one of the other minions to stand guard. Time ticked past, Flynn humming to himself, getting on Clara's last nerve.

"You really don't know me?" Clara suddenly asked Flynn, startling him.

"No, I really don't," he said, edging away from her again, "I mean, I'm not even supposed to be here - they said to me, go out into the field and get your hands dirty, Flynn, and I said, okay, I'll do it, and I have allergies, you know? But I was up for the challenge - I'm very big on broadening my horizons" –

- "Don't you remember Venice?" Clara said, cutting across his tangent, her voice cracking. "That sunset? You said we'd tell our grandchildren about that sunset" -

- "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Flynn said, backing away from her, almost falling off his seat, "grandchildren?"

Clara just looked at him, her sky starting to fall.

"I'm very flattered," Flynn said, trying not to panic, "but I consider myself married to my work" -

- "Vestern spies!" the minion screamed, stalking over to them.

"Oh golly," Clara breathed, face paling. "The shitteth is now hitteth the fanneth."

Baby, you understand me now?
If sometimes you see that I'm mad
Don't you know, no one alive can always be an angel?
When everything goes wrong, you see some bad...