Bon Temps Roules

Jessica was the greatest of Bigeasyologists, scholars of the Sunken City of New Orleans. She’d researched the films, books, holocordings, music, and cooking her whole life.
Now, the final force-barrier against the Gulf of Mexico was in place. The osmotic pumps were revealing what was before only accessible to divers, drones, and avatar-subs.
Sure, the French Quarter would take weeks to dry out, but Jessica didn’t want to wait. She wanted to be the first.
She’d earned it.
The hover-cameras followed as she landed on Bourbon Street, took off her helmet, and then her top.
“Bon temps roules!” she shouted.