A photographer on a dream assignment, Eric never suspected that leaving his pack on the bank of the Amazon River would lead to theft, which would lead to his partner and he developing a cover story for his editor in order to track down his pack themselves, which would lead to their capture by the infamous Ficionato Tribesmen, which would lead to uncomfortable nudity and being carried towards their fire pit at this very moment.
"Eric," Travers questioned, "I surely hope you have a plan."
Just don't look at him, just don't look in his direction, Eric thought. Last time he'd looked up the trail towards Travers' voice he'd seen a bit too much of the Travers family jewels, thankyouverymuch.
"Well," Eric answered, carefully not looking anywhere but at his own hands which were tied above his neck to a long stick, "I'm working on it. But innovative ideas may help. I'm fairly certain they don't speak English."
"Right, well obviously since they weren't persuaded by your very convincing and philanthropic offer of a travel size tube of toothpaste for our lives." Travers responded.
"Well," Eric started, "innovative ideas may help."
They smelled the fire as the bushes ended, only a memory in front of them as the tribesmen continued on into a clearing.
"Maybe they would like a tale? You know, at least it might buy us sometime?" Travers offered.
"Right, except they don't speak English but thank you anyway." Eric retorted.
"I do." A man answered from behind them with a dark and husky voice. He shouted something in a foreign tongue and the men were dropped to the blissfully-not-on-fire rocky ground.
"Tell me a great tale and perhaps I will release you." the man ordered. As they turned towards the, gratefully, clothed man they could see light blue eyes under ebony skin. "I am the chief. Obey or die!"
At this, the tribe went nuts. They were shaking about, throwing perfectly acceptable items to the ground and shoving each other, all complete with screaming incessantly.
"One day in Amsterdam!" Travers began, and turned very slowly to Eric.
"In a certain dingy coffee shop on Mercy Street-" Eric began.
"Nice." Travers whispered.
"Two friends met for the first time in eighteen years." Eric continued.