That's too bad seems to be the obvious sentiment. Nonetheless, Marcoulf sloshes along with the torch raised before them, the sound of the surf and weather persisting even as the scant daylight quickly dwindles behind them. It isn't long before the only light cast along the slick, mildewed tunnel is that of the flame. It casts long, foreboding shadows and the fire twitches anxiously in the hiss of wind that must be moving through the highest point of the passage.
When they arrive at their first crossroad, Marcoulf pauses there. Studies the eddies of granular dirt on the ground beneath their feet and-- looks to his companion expectantly.
"Oh, you want me to read the signs?" With a smidge of theatrics, she sighs and crouches down, studying the dirt. She hums, then swipes the ground with her fingers and rubs them together, assessing the feel of the grit.
"Hmmm...I wonder..." She tastes the dirt, then spits it out and stands, marking the wall with her chalky rock. "That way."
Well surely she doesn't expect him to do it, does she? They'll be wandering around in circles if that's the case. So Marcoulf does what he's perfectly useful at: holding the torch nice and high while she sighs and eats dirt, waiting patiently for what must be her considerably more expert assessment). Further, when she straightens he doesn't delay - just moves off in the indicated direction content to trust her opinion despite whatever insult he might impart by asking for it.
The cave winds further into the darkness, the crash of the sea diminishing to a murmur behind them. Soon, he thinks, they will be left with nothing but their own footsteps and the heavy non-sound of the earth around them. If it weren't for the fact that they might be making their way toward a confrontation, that surprise would be best and their voices would carry to ruin it, he might suggest conversation. The knowledge of going down into the ground, of the weight of the earth hanging above them, tingles uneasily between his shoulder blades.
It's fine. They'll find their way to the main chamber of the cave any moment now, face down with the smugglers, make quick work of their cargo between them and then be done with the place. Nothing could be simpler.
When they reach another crossroads, his heart sinks a few meters deeper. "How much farther?"
She's left behind for a moment after he sets off, which is fine because she spends that moment mourning the bit he didn't engage with.
That's fine, just ate dirt for nothing, it's cool. Cool, cool, cool.
Shuffling along in Marcoulf's wake, Athessa keeps an eye on the ground, noting the difference between his fresh boot-prints and the old, faint prints left by whoever traversed this path before. It would seem that her instinct at the last fork in the cave was correct, considering that one branch has definitely had more foot traffic than the other, though truthfully she chose this direction because it was the way the torch flickered.
She defaults to the same tactic now, looking to the flame and seeing it list towards the left moreso than the right; they're deep enough in the cave that it isn't drawn back the way they came, but further inward, following the air flow.
Athessa looks, deadpan, at Marcoulf.
"Because I'd know that," she remarks, then starts down the left path, marking the wall with her little rock. "Can't be too far, right? Who'd wanna do that much work?"
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no subject
When they arrive at their first crossroad, Marcoulf pauses there. Studies the eddies of granular dirt on the ground beneath their feet and-- looks to his companion expectantly.
"Well?"
no subject
"Oh, you want me to read the signs?" With a smidge of theatrics, she sighs and crouches down, studying the dirt. She hums, then swipes the ground with her fingers and rubs them together, assessing the feel of the grit.
"Hmmm...I wonder..." She tastes the dirt, then spits it out and stands, marking the wall with her chalky rock. "That way."
no subject
The cave winds further into the darkness, the crash of the sea diminishing to a murmur behind them. Soon, he thinks, they will be left with nothing but their own footsteps and the heavy non-sound of the earth around them. If it weren't for the fact that they might be making their way toward a confrontation, that surprise would be best and their voices would carry to ruin it, he might suggest conversation. The knowledge of going down into the ground, of the weight of the earth hanging above them, tingles uneasily between his shoulder blades.
It's fine. They'll find their way to the main chamber of the cave any moment now, face down with the smugglers, make quick work of their cargo between them and then be done with the place. Nothing could be simpler.
When they reach another crossroads, his heart sinks a few meters deeper. "How much farther?"
As if she has any way of knowing.
no subject
That's fine, just ate dirt for nothing, it's cool. Cool, cool, cool.
Shuffling along in Marcoulf's wake, Athessa keeps an eye on the ground, noting the difference between his fresh boot-prints and the old, faint prints left by whoever traversed this path before. It would seem that her instinct at the last fork in the cave was correct, considering that one branch has definitely had more foot traffic than the other, though truthfully she chose this direction because it was the way the torch flickered.
She defaults to the same tactic now, looking to the flame and seeing it list towards the left moreso than the right; they're deep enough in the cave that it isn't drawn back the way they came, but further inward, following the air flow.
Athessa looks, deadpan, at Marcoulf.
"Because I'd know that," she remarks, then starts down the left path, marking the wall with her little rock. "Can't be too far, right? Who'd wanna do that much work?"