2022-07-07 - When Light is Shadow

Fourth of July is past, fireworks and all, and finally, the nights are quiet. A long day at work and some lingering soreness in her ankle sent Ariadne to bed earlier than usual this evening; Sam had to make do with a shorter walk outside and a puzzle toy, but he's content, yawning up a toothy gape in his curl towards the end of the bed. Triangle-flop ears lift as he blinks dozily at his owner.

"Yep, time to sleep. G'night, buddy," the redhead tells the Windhound as she gives him a gentle behind-ear scritch until he groans appreciatively. Then, it's lights out. Click.

Sometimes, as Ariadne falls asleep, she knows there's going to be a sense of vertigo. Hopefully the hypnogogic drops aren't too bad tonight.

Twitch.

Drop.

She lands with practiced ease on the packed flooring of the dim-lit tunnel and slowly straightens, hand on her...

...what.

Her startled glance takes in the comfortable grip of the dagger. The weight of the strap of the quiver at her back is a familiar cross-weight, as is the draping of her robes. Not pale this time, but a deep and dusty wine-red trimmed with gilded thread and matched to the bronze-colored centrally-draping sash tied about her waist. She reaches to flick back her hood, the better to look around the walls. The boots on her feet are familiar ones, knee-high, as are the layerings of armor at her forearms and legs. Her hair, coiled and tightly-pinned, is out of her way. About her waist, the usual menagerie of belt plus satchels for both safe and deadly sundries.

Hieroglyphs can be seen displayed where time and hands haven't worn them away on the walls. Ibis, owl, reed bed --

"Egypt again," the barista sighs before turning in place again. Did anybody follow her into this one?

Bad dreams-that-are-probably-not-Dreams have interrupted Una's rest of late, and kept her awake when she ought to be sleeping. Even Hephaestus' furry body curled up against the curve of her own body hasn't been enough to send Una peacefully off into sleep, recently, and that makes for restless nights (for both woman and kitten). Tonight, Hephaestus has sensibly abandoned his chosen human's side to curl up further down the bed where he might be less disturbed--

-- and it turns out that's a wise decision, because Una finally, finally drifts off and... thud.

Her landing is significantly less practiced and easy, and her low moan of pain and frustration demonstrates just how much. Una lays there, eyes closed, feeling her way through her extremities piece by piece, long before she's willing to identify her location. Toes-- tucked away into boots, okay-- legs, yes, robes, sword... is that a knife too?

It's a not unimpressive amount of weaponry, actually, and this takes her attention for a few moments of consideration and likely would for longer except-- "Ari?" That's Ariadne's voice, right?

She opens her eyes.

It isn't too much of a change from closed eyes to open in terms of light intensity. Down the narrow, low-ceilinged hallway, two torches gutter low in brackets on the walls. It makes a silhouette of the person now walking swiftly to kneel down and see about offering gentle hands to at least get Una to sitting up on a hip.

"Yeah, it's me," Ariadne indeed replies with a wince in her tone. "I'm glad it wasn't a higher drop. You alright?"

Above and behind both of them, the dim opening of the higher section of back-tunnel glows in contrast to the dark walls. Ahead of them, darkness is velvety and deep beyond the reach of the torches. It's very quiet in the tunnel, with no sounds of life other than their own to echo back to them. The temperature inside the tunnel is a relief compared to outside; Ariadne vaguely remembers, in the manner of Dreams, arriving on-horse and in the late heat of the day.

"I haven't checked my pockets for any scrolls yet. Do you know why we're in a tomb this time?" she asks of Una once she's certain nothing worse than a bruise is going to linger on the younger redhead.

Una sighs, but it's a sigh of resignation not pain, and with Ariadne's hands on offer, she's able to pull herself up into a seated position and not wince more than briefly. "You and me and Egypt again?" she says, not mirthfully but at least not with outright dismay, either. "Yeah, I'm okay. In one piece, anyway, and if I'm cataloguing correctly, carrying a pretty impressive array of sharp, pointy things."

Sitting, she's able to get a better look around their location, eyes easily adjusted to the dim light, and widening slightly as she gets her head around it all. Her fingers drop towards her clothes, checking in case she's missed anything so far; she shakes her head. "No, no idea. I remember, vaguely, arriving-- I think. But it's a complete blank as to where 'here' is, not to mention why."

Carefully, she begins to climb towards her feet.

While Una makes her way to her feet, the older redhead takes a step back and starts carefully looking through her own satchels. She frowns and mutters to herself, something about unpredictability and gods-damnit and she manages to come up with something. It's a small scroll, a piece of papyrus not much larger than a standard greeting card, and she takes a few steps towards the pair of torches as she unrolls it. Flickering firelight illuminates a set of notes, one in Greek and one in the local hieroglyphic script.

Ariadne sighs and squints. "It's not a riddle, thank gods...I think. The Greek is a translation of the hieroglyphs, something about two guardians looking solemnly at darkness and following their gaze to find the hidden light." She wrinkles her nose and glances over at Una. "I take it back, it's totally a riddle, damnit. I don't remember Cleopatra and her snake-smile sending us on this particular errand. I wonder if we were just...bored and wanted to figure this mystery out. Or maybe the boss sent us?" She thinks for a second. "Maybe that, I have some little inkling in my head about the boss sending us."

The darkness beyond the torches gets a long and leery look. "...man, I bet the spiders in here are fucking ginormous," the barista grumps as she slips the papyrus scroll back into her satchel. "And I swear to god, if this place pulls an Indiana Jones on us and there's a snake pit, I'm going to be really annoyed." Understatement.

"The boss," repeats Una. Maybe this is more comforting, more stable, than the riddle itself, which has a distinct element of the unknown to it. The unknown is frightening; it is to be feared. "Well... good. Okay. The boss sent us. He sent us because he trusts us, probably. Not because he'd want to get us killed. I mean-- anyway, yes. That's what I'm going with. I never imagined people like us would get sent into tombs in the actual ancient days to retrieve things... I mean, I know it must have happened, just." Just.

So many words and thoughts and they go a long way to demonstrating how apprehensive Una is. To be fair? The last time she (and Ari) were in Egypt, they jumped off a building. Perhaps it's not unreasonable.

"I'd prefer snakes to spiders, I think. I'd rather not run into either in the wild, though. So you said... two guardians, following their gaze to find the light? So we're looking for two statues, probably?"

"Yeah, I'm going to guess statues and hope it's not living people as guardians because dude...anybody volunteering to guard something in a place like this has a level of zealotry we probably haven't seen back when." 'Back when' being Gray Harbor proper, modern times. "And it probably means they don't like trespassers, adorable as we both are." Ariadne can at least scrounge up a rueful, lopsided smirk for her comrade, easily seen with her hood pulled back. "So...yes, we're likely trusted to get the job done and expected to bring back information if not an object."

She takes a moment to wipe her palms on the fall of the robes along her legs and then walks forward to take up one of the torches carefully. Embers fall and go out on the sandy stone floor. "I guess have your...sword ready -- sword -- shit, come on, brain." Her snapping fingers click in the heavy quiet of the tunnel. "Khopesh. Have that ready, I'll have my dagger ready and we'll see about these guardians."

And maybe part of being brave is pretending to be brave rather than giving in to the cold shiver in her stomach. Pretending to be cavalier, head lifted high along with the torch, helps too. Ariadne hates unknowns as much as her fellow redhead does. She still waits to make sure Una's right behind her before walking further down into the tunnel.

As is the wont of tombs, it seems to go on forever -- adrenaline and nerves don't help to allay this impression. Hieroglyphics continue to span the walls in broken sections of carven stone, their message on the tip of the tongue; the Veil isn't giving up this info easily. About a minute into travels, the path begins to slope downwards. Ariadne pauses to consider it and scowls. "...I hate this, I feel like there's a trap. Do you see any loose pebbles? Something we can throw or bounce down it?" she asks of Una, steadfastly ignoring the cobwebs tucked into the higher meet-points of wall and low ceiling.

Una's hand drops immediately towards the khopesh hanging at her hip, and makes a face. "Here's hoping they've also equipped me with enough knowledge to actually use this thing," she mutters. "Just in case." It didn't matter, last time. Maybe it still won't matter. She has to hope.

The glance she aims at Ariadne suggests pretty plainly that the other woman is not the only one fighting back discomfort here, though like the taller redhead, Una is clearly trying to fight it back. Fake it until you make it, right? One thing's for absolute certain: she's not going to be left behind, which means following, if not precisely at her heels, then certainly not too distantly.

Any fascination that the younger redhead holds for the walls and their secret messages has fallen away; instead, she focuses intently upon where they're walking, and on squaring her shoulders and fighting back those fears. Ariadne's pause draws one from Una, too, who frowns. A quick glance around confirms it: "No pebbles... but there are some pots. Let's try one of those."

Maybe she hasn't seen the cobwebs. Her attention is firmly on picking up one of the pots, and then setting it rolling down the slope.

Una gets an honest half-grin from her fellow redhead at the idea regarding pots.

"Clever thing, you," she compliments of taking advantage of their surroundings. The pot is set and rolls...and picks up speed...and just about two-thirds of the way down, when an unsuspecting (or suspecting) being might be thinking they're trap-free?

WHAM.

Something is tripped, some sunken lever or thin gut-twine, and a hefty section of log as wide as the stretch of an arm drops out of the ceiling to smash the hell out of the pot.

Ariadne clears the floor with a yelp and ends up grabbing up handfuls of Una's own robes, her eyes wide. "Mother-FUCKER!!!" she splutters as the noise echoes back at them from some distant point beyond the empty doorway leading into the next section. "Jesus fuck, good call!" It's impossible to keep the waver out of her voice, though she's quick enough to stomp it down because feeling brave is part of being brave and so there!

Una's smile curves up, a little, though she'd probably be quick to point out that the other woman suggested the tactic in general were it not for the pot being in motion, and who can ignore that? "Oh, maybe it's fi--"

No. It's not fine. It's not fine at all and Una lets out a squeaking sound that has her grabbing for Ariadne in turn. "Fuck," she says, succinctly. And then, less succinct: "Fuck, fuck, fuck, holy shit, Ari. Thank god you suggested we... I would have just kept walking."

Her expression is positively stricken. "So... we know we need to watch for traps. That's good to know, right? And we worked it out before we got crushed by anything." This is also bravery. Don't mind her expression.

"Yes!" Okay, voice, come on, no more falsetto. Ariadne clears her throat. "Yes," she repeats as she makes herself untangle fingers from Una's robes. "We've just got to keep an eye-out. I don't think every tunnel is going to be booby-trapped, but it helps to have this experience because yes, it's very good to know." Her own expression works through lightheadedness before she seems to grit down on her nerves. "Now it's a matter of climbing over the damn log without snagging shit."

Stooping to pick up the dropped torch, the redhead then lifts her chin in defiance against the ancient tomb's makers and walks down the easy slope towards the log. Granted, she does mince closer to it and holds the torch high to see if there's another section of gigantic tree waiting above. Nope. Looks like a one-shot shot, as it were.

"All clear," she says with confidence she fakes, not feels. Unfortunately, the torch has to be dropped onto the other side of the tree section for her to climb over, but she manages it without anything being caught or yanked. On the other side of the doorway, she waits and peers into the darkness beyond her again-lifted torch. Now?

Now there's a feeling of vast openness -- of an expanse of air barely disturbed for a long time, cool and dank on the tongue. It certainly makes her feel small. If she squints hard enough, she can pick out what appear to be the ghostly forms of pillars leading up and up into pure blackness. Nothing like a tomb to remind one of how critical a torch is. No natural sunlight enters this place.

"Maybe we should get you a torch too," Ariadne says over her shoulder without looking back.

Una hesitates, holding herself back from following Ariadne over the log both out of nervousness and a natural sensibleness: there's no point causing more issues with crowding, even if she does miss the immediate presence of her fellow redhead (and probably that torch, too). The other woman gets to the other side, and after a deep breath of her own, Una leans down to pick up another pot, carrying it with her as she attempts to follow. It's fine. This'll be fine.

The pot gets set atop the log, a short distance from where she herself intends to climb, since she clearly can't climb and hold at the same time. She's watched Ariadne climb, which ought to help her, but-- apparently not.

Nope, because Una gets tangled in the draperies of her own clothes, teeters, and then falls with a thud... at least managing to do so over onto the other side of the log. Sadly? Her pot falls too, smashing onto the ground.

So much for being prepared for the next might-be-a-trap moment.

"Ow," she says. And, "Can I be trusted with a torch?" She's not convinced.

The torch whispers as Ariadne sharply turns in place, her reaching arm just as quickly pulled back because gravity beat her to it.

"I'd rather have that pot busted than you," the barista says as she walks over and offers a hand up. "I think you can be trusted, yes, it's fire. You've got that little friendliness with fire anyways, right?" After Una's on her feet, the older redhead spots an unlit torch bracketed to the wall outside of the doorway they'd just maneuvered through. Fire catches easily on the dry stuffing and the little reservoir of oil at the bottom chalice of the torch's handle is sure to keep the torch lit for some time as fire both eats and draws it up into the stuffing. This second torch is then offered to Una.

"Here, two lights are better than one, yeah?" Ariadne's smile is still nervous, but she tries hard to remain upbeat and it shows in an honest gleam of her teeth. "This room is...really fucking huge, so...we're going to have to kind of wander. I don't know, maybe we should stick close to the walls? We've got the torches, we're going to know where each other is easy-peasy."

Una climbs back to her feet and dusts herself off, wincing slightly at what is almost certainly going to be a beauty of a bruise; no matter. "I suppose I do," she allows, holding back until Ariadne returns with the second torch in hand. "I'll try not to burn anything down. Let's just hope I don't need to do anything too athletic... Indiana Jones I am not."

She doesn't look any less nervous than the taller redhead, but she attempts a smile of her own. "Good thing we're not scared of dark shadows, right?" she adds, aiming for levity though it falls a little flat. "Okay. Close to the walls. We're fine. I can burn any spiders we run into, and... anything else. We're fine."

Definitely fake it until you make it.

"I'm no Indiana Jones either...except for the snakes. Snakes just..." And Ariadne shudders, making the light of her held torch shiver. "They're going to be cobras or asps too because of course they would be too. If you hear a hiss, let me know, I'll throw my torch and I'm not apologizing for screeching."

Sounds like sticking close to the walls is the best idea. Warm light from the torches grants a lessening of the nervousness of close pitch black around them. It also brings the distant pillars into closer and clearer relief as they travel within two arms' lengths of the wall. Hieroglyphs continue in dedication along the heightless stone and around the pillars too, these requiring at least four men fingertip-to-fingertip to reach around. Stacked glyphs rise on them too, paint dulling with time and metal inset still gleaming.

But there's something off to the left, not clear enough to be immediately identified, and it makes Ariadne go abruptly still, her spare hand reaching out to seatbelt in front of Una. "Wait!" she hisses, staring at the distant silhouette of the object. It looks like...something just human enough located centrally between pillars. It also means traveling away from the walls in the expanse of the room. Silently, Ariadne gestures for Una to follow and then starts making her way diagonally towards the object. Her hand strays to her dagger's hilt without much thought -- thank you, alternate personality who's more savvy with this weapon.

She blows a great sigh of relief when she realizes what it is: a sarcophagus overlooked by a single statue of what should be Anubis, if the face is correct and matches her knowledge. Offerings of gold and rich wood plus textile are clumped around it, some turned over, all bearing wisps of spiderweb. The statue's black stone is gilded in accents of bracelets, chest-collar, eyes, and shendyt skirt.

"Just a coffin," she says back to Una and then blinks. Out in the middle of a gigantic room like this? Creeping closer, she holds the torch high and comes to another quick stop. "Fuck, it's open?!"

And it is, the great stone lid shifted to one side in sacrilegious attempt to get to something within -- or see. Whomever did it sure as hell isn't around right now to fess up.

It's fascinating... or it would be, if Una weren't having to expend so much energy keeping her breathing steady and even. Maybe it's the still, slightly musty air; maybe it's just the fact that, yeah, they're in a tomb, and it's dark, and who knows what they'll find. It's humbling to know that whenever this is, this place is already old.

Those musings get set aside fairly immediately as Ariadne's arm goes out: Una freezes, then slowly follows, blinking to get a better look as she lifts her torch. "Oh," she begins, sounding impressed and surprised and almost relieved, too, except-- "It's open?"

Time to freeze all over again, and to breath in short, sharp little pants.

"Grave robbers?" she wonders.

The other option is worse. Still, she takes a few more paces closer. Also? "Well, Anubus has a gaze... is he part of what we're looking for? The light? Something?"

"Maybe...?" Very softly, Ariadne admits grave robbers as an option, though the entire duration of their travels have been with their sounds alone. No other living creature seems to be rustling about in the vast, mysteriously-dark space. She too takes a few steps closer to the cracked-open sarcophagus; torchlight continues to gleam from golden objects and precious gems.

"Two guardians, I think, that's what the scroll said. This is just one status of Anubis. If there's not another of him nearby, it's not this statue. Besides, he's just staring at a pillar," the barista notes as she holds the torch up to better see what direction the carved and pointed nose is facing.

It's curious, yes, but maybe architecture didn't matter here when this particular deceased individual required a statuary overseer.

Now she's within visual distance of seeing within the grand coffin...and it's nothing but a few empty cobwebs in the corner. "Nothing in it," she reports with a quick glance over her shoulder at Una. "Whomever opened it took the body. The mummy. Or it was empty all along, a fake one...but why the offerings...?Wait, unless they're not real gold somehow, not real gems." She's speaking almost as face as her mind can concoct answers.

Una's shudder is distinctly uncomfortable, and she's hasty in following Ariadne to get a better look at the sarcophagus, looking not at its contents but at the lid of it: inspecting the weight-- well, visually anyway: clearly she could never lift it-- and substance of it. "Right," she agrees, unhappily. "So there would need to be a second statue. And," she glances back over her shoulder, then shrugs again. "Well. I don't know. Is this a trick chamber? Like, didn't they sometimes do that to try and prevent tomb robbing?"

Her uncertainty is audible, and faintly echoey within the grand space.

"Or the mummy got up and walked, and I like that idea a whole lot less. I don't like this. You're right: they'd go for the offerings, if it were someone trying to steal something. Maybe the mummy hasn't been placed yet? But-- you'd put the offerings in after that. No."

Torchlight riffles off of the gold-like objects. Ariadne shakes her head to herself after straining to see if anything can be marked along the sightline of the statue of Anubis. Nothing save for the pillar. She doesn't dare touch anything, as tempting as it is to reach out a fingertip and paint along one of the glyphs carved and painted.

"I don't think the mummy got up and walked. There's no footprints." Sweeping her torch lower, she nods. "It's just us. I think grave robbers got here first, but it wasn't recently -- and yeah, this must be a trick display. I bet they opened the sarcophagus and nothing was in it. This room is so huge. A smart grave robber would give up, especially if they were around after a recent internment. There are going to be guards around."

Still -- no one but them and the ghostly echoes of their voices.

Then comes the oddest sense of hearing a sound below the range of standard hearing. Subwoofers turned low to vibrate the ribs, the deep grind of rock on rock...but in the mind? Is the ear actually hearing it? Ariadne turns on the spot in a swoosh of torch and stares at the darkness further up along the supposed pathway between disappearing lines of pillars.

"Did you hear that?" she whispers, looking at Una with wide eyes.

It comes again, the sense of resonance to tingle molars and brush like napped velvet against skin.

And it's coming from that direction.

As Ariadne more closely inspects the sarcophagus and that which lays around it, Una turns her head off into the distant dark, lifting her torch as high as she can as if this might ease what are, at this point, distinct heebie-jeebies. "I'm not sure how I feel about that: that we're confirming the mummy didn't get up and walk. I know I raised it, but--"

It's the oddness that captures her attention, then. She freezes, torch wobbling in her hand though she doesn't drop it.

"Uh-huh," she breathes more than says, a moment later. A sharp, unhappy intake of breath follows, as she turns to meet Ariadne's gaze. She's very pale in the dim torchlight, her eyes just as wide as Ariadne's, and distinctly unsettled.

"I don't think that was... verbal." Wrong word, maybe, but it gets the point across.

Again, Ariadne shakes her head, still staring leerily off in the direction of the subsonic sound.

"Yeah, not verbal. I...heard it but I didn't," she replies, voice briefly lost to a tremble before it solidifies again. "Elephants. Elephants talk like that. But there can't be an elephant in here, it's impossible."

They both catch it at once: a faint, almost icy-blue gleam in the distance, only as bright as foxfire over the marshes.

-- and then another, far away in the darkness yet, down in the lightless pathway framed by pillars.

Ariadne's inhale catches as again, the sensation of sound crawls over them. "...it's freaking me the fuck out to think about it, but...could something be trying to get our attention?" she whispers squeakily.

"Elephants?" Una sounds incredulous and-- just for a moment-- distracted from whatever horror (or otherwise) is waiting for them.

But there's that icy-blue gleam, foxfire-bright, and elephants will need to be set aside for some other moment: Una is too busy staring to think about anything else.

It takes her a moment or two to register what Ariadne's saying, her free hand curling into the fabric of her clothing, twisting uncomfortably as she grasps for purchase, as if this might ease some of her fears. "Um," she says, a little uncomfortably, once she's caught up. "I mean, it's definitely doing that. My attention... it's definitely caught. Do you mean, it wants us to follow it?"

"Yeah. Like, go that way." A portion of Ariadne's higher logic is horrified: how easy it was to capture their attention, with something bright and shiny. The joke about magpies flits through her mind; the rest of her feels her stomach knot because humanity cannot ignore a gleam of light, not like this, not when presented with it unawares. It's simply hardwired in.

-- and whatever's in the darkness knows it.

Thanks for making it creepy, Veil.

Her throat works. "Let's just...go see what the first bluish light thingie is and if it's nothing or it disappears, we turn around, okay?" She's not so bold as to not offer out her spare hand for Una to take. Really, it's more for her own sanity than anything else, proof of support nearby as she takes the first soundless step towards the faint glows.

"I was hoping you weren't going to say that," admits Una, with what could almost be distantly related to a laugh, but if so, it's a very tenuous link indeed. That hope that it was only her brain suggesting such a thing, that it could be talked away and ignored, has guttered and died (thankfully, the torch in her hand does not do likewise; that really would be a disaster).

"Fuck this," she says, which is not an indication that she's turning tail. Instead, she detached her hand from her clothes and extends it to meet Ariadne's, squeezing it between her own clammy hands as she echoes the taller redhead's movements: one step, and then another. "Okay. We're just going to do that. It's fine."

"Oh, definitely fuck this," Ariadne agrees with one of those weak, high-pitched rills of laughter. Her torch shivers for a second, but she doesn't drop it. Their steps take them away from the empty sarcophagus, lid ajar and undignified, and the Anubis statue's unending stare into the pillar. What a pain, to be stuck for all eternity staring at a pillar. Darkness cloaks these and wipes them away.

Sand continues to shift beneath their soles. The pillars' attachment points to the ceiling still can't be seen. The subsonic summons appear to have stopped for now, but the foxfire gleam of icy-blue continues to linger. At least it's not jumbling about; if it had been moving, even Ariadne's curiosity streak would have quailed.

"Maybe...fire?" she whispers, knowing Una will hear her just fine. The farthest reach of torchlight spills onto a wide set of carved steps, more than wide enough to span six people with arms spread. The walls appear not too many steps after -- they must have reached the far end of this ginormous room. Somehow, to Ariadne, that's a relief; her shoulders slump slightly even if her palm, damp too, doesn't detach from holding Una's at all. Up the stairs they must go, it seems.

"Fire," repeats Una, not quite a question, but equally, not quite not one either. Maybe as much as anything she needs the word to exist in the air around her, in her voice: made concrete, perhaps.

It's such an unnerving thing, to walk through a room this large, this dark. Unable to see more than a few steps ahead, unable to know what is coming. All Una can think, as she matches Ariadne's stride, is: thank fuck I'm not alone here.

"Oh," she says, as they approach the stairs, peering through the darkness as if in hope of identifying where they lead. "Fine. Up the stairs. This is fine."

Up the stairs, one at a time, Ariadne testing each step with a half-rock of weight (in case of booby-traps) and they make it to the landing. Lifting her torch high again, the barista looks left and right and frowns. They're gigantic, at least forty feet tall, several tons of pharaoh-esque carved stone with the traditional crossed arms and royal accoutrements including the well-known headdress.

"Two statues here...but..." She turns in place without dropping Una's hand to look back at the pillars. "No light out there." Back to looking down the high if somewhat narrow corridor ahead of them now. "Light this way. Maybe we bypassed some statues?" Her gaze turns back outwards into the vast room they just traversed and she squints. "Unless..." Something wants to form to her vision, a pattern in the near-perfect darkness.

To Una?

Look! It's fire after all! Blue fire, impossibly burning on what appears to be normal coals within the chest-high brazier's bowl. Who lit it? Was it always lit? How...fascinating it is. It...wants...for something. It wants for...her...touch? Touch it, it seems to simper to the younger redhead.

"No," says Una. Ariadne's let her hand go, and it's good timing, because the younger redhead? She's inclined to abandon her anyway, to step towards the fire and lift her hands towards it, warming them. There's an instinctual desire to follow the urging of the brazier's flames, to reach her hands in and touch.

Something keeps her from doing so, though, as much as there is flame in her eyes as she stares at it; flame, too, in her heart, perhaps.

"Here," she says. "It's here. It's right here."

The more Ariadne stares out into the darkness, the more her brain starts to put two and two together. Is that...? That curve there and an impression of something there...wait. She steps to the left and squints. Oh! "An oil reservoir!" Right out of the Mummy -- not oil, but tar, but who can blame the barista for misidentifying. Dipping the touch down, the tar catches afire and zips down the side of the stairs in a breath of life. Ariadne moves to light the other and then looks up.

"Oh...!!!!" she breathes. It's clicked.

The last pair of pillars, on the side facing the stairs, are carved to statues! They're looking at...

"Una, these are the -- " Turning in place, Ariadne's voice drops out as she sees the younger redhead so enamored with the bluish flames of this first brazier. "Yeah, it's right here. Don't...don't touch it. Una?"

But you should, the fire crackles and merrily dances invitingly. Touch and see. See what? Only the fire knows and it's comfortably hot to the feel of one familiar with standard fire.

Una's not listening, unfortunately. It's something about the way the flames crackle and burn: something that has found a foothold in her brain, now, and caught most-if-not-all of her attention. Her hands stray closer, and then reach directly in, wreathed in flames. It feels-- all kinds of weird and wrong. Hot, but not burning, not hurting her skin but also not... not comfortable.

The flames call to the fire that's already within her, and for a moment, she's so tempted to join them back, to let the fire take hold and set the world on fire; some small part of her manages to set a warning flare, however, and she blinks back the instinct, though it's not enough to get her to pull her hands out.

"No," she says, though it's uncertain. "You're already burning. You don't need--"

Yoink!

A trim arm wraps around Una's waist and caringly if firmly pulls her away and out of reach of the brazier's blue flames. Ariadne's set down her own torch to do this and immediately steps away from the younger redhead once they're at least a yard back from the brazier, knowing she's probably startled her friend well and good.

"Una! Yo! Here, now, come back," the barista snaps, expression greatly worried. "No more fire!" Like someone saying the cookie jar is off-limits before dinner. "It's already burning, I agree, it doesn't need anything else. Are you okay?"

The noise Una makes as she's pulled away is not even entirely human, somehow: like a keening sound, one that stops as abruptly as it started once she's well and truly out of reach of the fire.

The glance she aims at Ariadne is somewhere between horrified and terrified, and is quickly followed by a glance at her hands, which are surprisingly unharmed: not even any more pink than they were before. (Where did her torch go? Somewhere. It's around here somewhere.)

"Fuck," she says, sounding a little dazed. "I don't know what came over me. It--" She shakes her head. "I didn't like that at all. Thank you. For rescuing me. I'm... fine, I think."

Even as Una claims to be just fine, she thinks, she still gets a once-over from Ariadne. Insofar as the barista can tell, Una is fine, at least physically. Nothing seems burnt, skin and clothing alike, and she tries to look at the Kitchen Cleric's palms. It's not the best look, but again, nothing appears overly red.

"I'm not sure it was a rescue, but I didn't like you sticking your hands in the flames," Ariadne explains with a withering glare at the brazier.

If a brazier can exude innocence, this one does.

"Was it doing something weird like trying to talk to you?" the barista then asks. Her attention is suddenly yanked away towards the continued darkness before them, beyond another and another brazier of blue flames. She frowns. "What...?" comes the breath.

Una dutifully holds her palms out for inspection, turning them over to show the back of her hands as well: look, ma, no burns.

"It was definitely a rescue," she insists, deliberately not looking at the brazier. "Maybe I could have stopped myself, but I'm not sure. I wanted to feed it. It didn't quite talk to me, but it was definitely kind of sentient. It--"

She's still talking, not apparently following Ariadne's sudden distraction. That comes a moment later. "Ari?"

A hard blink. "That's my name, don't wear it out." What better proof for the barista to be present than one of her infamous quips? She looks back at Una, still startled around her edges. "Sentient fire?" Ariadne then asks, giving the brazier another annoyed and dubious glance. "I mean, this is a Dream and an ancient tomb, I don't think I'd be totally shocked to -- "

Another pause and lengthy look down into the darkness.

Ever seen a cat stare for an unnervingly long time at a wall?

"Just wait a fucking minute, okay? You've been patient long enough, you can wait more," she mutters like talking to nothing is totally normal. Her attention returns to Una.

"Ari."

Now is no time for quips, and though it ought to reassure Una, it fails on that front entirely. "Who are you talking to? Do I need to rescue you from some kind of alien sentience as well? Fuck, I hate this place."

She lifts her voice for this, just in case anyone (or anything) missed it: "I hate this place. Do you hear me?"

This is enough for her to pull herself together, to glower for a moment at the brazier, which she approaches again... but only so that she can pick up her torch from where she abandoned it. It's still lit-- though probably that scarcely matters at this point.

Ariadne suddenly looks far more concerned. "You mean you can't -- "

Una's shout echoes down the corridor and into the distant darkness. It makes the barista wince and look in this direction as if expecting some retort.

Nothing happens. The seconds pass. Una's torch is cheerily, stubbornly, non-sentiently lit.

The nearby brazier suddenly flutters as if someone tries to blow it out. Ariadne pulls her limbs in tightly and straightens up like an icy finger dragged from tailbone to nape.

"Uh. It hears you just fine," she reports through clenched teeth. "And it wants us to go do something...that way." Into the darkness and along the line of blue-fire braziers leading into the indeterminable distance. "Because I guess we're the only ones who can...?"

"Tell it to go fuck itself," says Una, probably without thinking.

Okay, fine, no, that's not really what she means. She casts a baleful glance down the line of braziers. "Are they going to induce me to stick my hands into them as well? Because that was really not cool. Actually, it talking to you is also not cool."

Shy, peaceable Una has apparently hit her limit. This place gives her the creeps.

Though: "Are you okay?"

That was totally a shocked (and pleased) laugh. It was.

But Ariadne turns it into a cough even as Una's curt words echo down the corridor and into the darkness beyond the braziers again.

"I, uh...have no idea. About the fire," the barista amends, not wanting to confuse. "I'm okay, yes, I think, though it's being really insistent about us helping it. Like it's been trapped or something. What if..." Her voice fades out for a thoughtful, long second of staring down into the pitch of the corridor. "What if this is the light the riddle was talking about? Not the fires. Or maybe they're light and they're leading towards more light?"

Una rather looks as if she would like to mutter beneath her breath and maybe stamp her foot a few times-- but she does not. Slowly, she takes in a breath; slowly, she lets it out again. "Fine," she says. "Maybe you're right. I mean, this is a Dream, and we're not going to get to go home until we've... done whatever it is. So."

Her chin lifts.

But: "Can you hold my hand while we walk, though? Just so I don't go all fire happy again? Please?"

"Absolutely." Not an ounce of mockery or humoring in Ariadne's tone. She immediately offers out the hand to be taken and anchored. "No more fire happy, not until we understand more and then again not ever unless it's you making that decision."

Once their hands are linked, the barista sighs once and hard. "Okay." She keeps herself between Una and the braziers of blue fire even as she lifts her standard torch up to add more light. This particular corridor is also lined with hieroglyphs, but these gleam metallic whereas the rest of the tomb thus far has been paint alone. The ceiling can be seen, blank, and at the end of the corridor, another room opens up.

Ariadne stops as she realizes there's another set of steps. "Here, I bet the tar will light and we can see. Check out the reservoirs along the sides of the stairs," she murmurs to her friend. Reaching out, she touches the torch to the tar...

...and it doesn't light. She frowns and tries again. "What the fuck. I can tell it's pitch, I can smell it." Resinous, locally from a plant, no doubt.

A look at Una. Now her brows quirk almost sympathetically. "...what if it's the blue fire?" the barista all but whines.

Again, Una wraps her fingers around Ariadne's, and seems to relax minutely in response, though there's still tension aplenty in the sharp line of her shoulders. "Right," she agrees. "I control my fire. Fire doesn't control me."

She's grateful for Ariadne keeping herself as a barrier as they walk, and carefully lifts her own torch, arm outstretched to give her better clearance. What she can see is beautiful; it might be distracting, if she weren't already so intensely focused.

When the tar fails to light, she frowns. When Ariadne's brow quirks, she freezes. "I could try and light it with my fire, without touching the blue flames?" she suggests, rapidly. "Maybe it just needs... supernatural fire. Any kind of supernatural fire." She is not looking at the blue fire. It does not exist.

One can almost feel the blue fire's attention upon them. Their shadows flicker in darker phantoms against colored light both blue and orange, violaceous in some blended areas. Ariadne looks back at the nearest standing brazier of supernatural fire and then back at Una, grimacing.

"Yeah, yours first. Your fire you use yourself. Give it a shot. If it doesn't work, then..." A quick scan of their surroundings. "I'll go back and get an unlit torch and catch some blue fire with it, that way you don't have to handle it." It seems like a plan for all the barista shrugs. She needs must let go of Una's fingers at this point, given they both hold their standard torches still throwing steady, golden light.

"If it doesn't work," says Una, after a moment, wrapping both hands around her torch now that Ariadne's let go of her fingers, as if this might give her some resistance to the stupid blue flames, "I'll extinguish this torch, give it to you, and then you can use it. I can always light it again, if we need to, afterwards. I don't want you to leave me alone here."

Not with the blue flames right there, whispering sweet nothings in her ears.

She takes a deep breath, now, then drops down to her knees by the tar. Carefully, she draws one hand away from her torch, and carefully, she extends it towards-- but not into-- the tar. Her eyes close, and flame forms in her hand, dropped into the tar. She waits-- she holds her breath.

"Oh, good idea!" Ariadne flashes a grin at the quick-thinking redhead. She nods and then takes a step back to allow Una breathing room, though not too much -- the braziers get a flat side-glare as if she might warn the ultraviolet hues of elemental fire to knock it off immediately. Whatever siren call it sings is something she can't hear.

Una's fire is summoned up from her skin alone and the barista's mouth parts in surprise. It never fails to amaze her; she tries to think if she's seen this before, but this line of thought is snuffed almost as quickly as it starts to gain force. ZWHOOSH -- the tar-lined shallow trough framing the stairs on one side catches alight. Flame zips hungrily down and then along a guided pathway to light up one half of the room. It turns out this isn't a huge room, not a massive hall like the one they'd left behind, but...the hieroglyphs continue to gleam in metal. Blue-metal.

...and there's something weird about the door on the exact opposite side of the room from the stairs.

Ariadne's only got eyes for this door, a massively-heavy slab of carved stone.

"...maybe set the other side alight too...?" she says, sounding very distracted.

That she can call fire and set things alight is something Una knows, objectively, and through practice. Still, it's one thing to have a ball of flame in your hand, or to have used it to set something alight... and quite another for that thing you're setting alight to be tar, and to light up like that. She lets out a squeak of surprise that holds with it, just quietly, a note of quiet pleasure, and given the way she glances back over her shoulder at Ariadne, that's uncomfortable too.

"Okay," she says, a little hesitantly, her gaze narrowing slightly at the distractedness her friend is showing. "And then you're going to tell me what's up. With the... door?"

She gets up, bracing herself a little with her torch, and then steps towards the other side, repeating her little trick: this time, she does so from a little further back, all the better to make sure there's no chance of taking her eyebrows with it (she would look odd without them).

ZWOOSH -- there goes the other decorative, shallow trough, and golden fire dances down this half of the room's lining to fully light the entire space. It'd be beautiful if it weren't still somewhat eerie. Ariadne hasn't stopped staring at the door across the way, at least several yards distance from the base of the stairs.

"The door," nods the barista in the same distracted tone as before. She doesn't need her torch at this point, but she keeps it even as she starts to descend the stairs in a manner almost akin to sleepwalking. Step by deliberate step, still composed and containing her usual grace. "It needs to be opened." Foreboding much?

At the very fringes of Una's hearing ('hearing', mentally) comes the sense of an excited whispering. It's not malevolent, but it sure as hell is thrilled and overwhelmingly so.

Her task now finished, Una steps back, satisfied-- or with what would be satisfaction if she weren't immediately turning her attention back to Ariadne. She frowns, hesitating where she is for a moment before hurrying after the other woman to grab for her arm.

"Wait," she says. "Ari. Stop. Why does it need to be opened? What if it's a trap?" She glances over her shoulder, now, at the illuminated room, and the whole... the whole everything of it. Foreboding has definitely won out over beautiful.

"I don't like this. I really don't like this."

Ari. Are you sure?

Ariadne's easy to stop on one of the wide steps. Thank god they're wide; pausing on a narrower ledge of rock might be dicey. She stands there, continuing to give the door a look both awed and concerned, as if there was a problem, but a beautiful problem to solve. Una's spoken words don't seem to make a dent.

Una's unspoken words do manage to make it through whatever temporary reverie has wrapped around Ariadne.

It won't hurt us. It's been in the dark for a long time. It's light. We have to let the light out, the barista explains along the mental plane. All the while, her gaze remains dead ahead. We need to set it free.

But how is this different to me and the fire? Una wants to know. It's compelling you. I don't like this, Ari.

She tugs, gently, as if to try and pull Ariadne away from the door, to redirect her to... something. Anything. Run away. Please.

It's being nice about it? What a half-assed argument from Ariadne on the mental plane. Her frown isn't terribly strong, but now she seems vaguely annoyed. The fire looked mean. The light sounds nice. We need to let it out. It's got balancing to do. Which might make sense in some metaphysical philosophy of things, dark being countered by light and all.

If only it wasn't doing precisely what Una's concerned about.

You did half the work, it says. The fires needed to be lit. See the cups by the door? A pair of chalices in wrought-crystal inset to the troughs of pitch. They burn with accented brightness now. Now that those are lit, there's enough light for me to work. I have to move the door without touching it.

Yeah, because nothing that sounds nice can ever be bad says Una, sharply. Ari, please.

Please. Please.

Not that Una seems to know what else to do. This is a Dream, right? They're here for a reason. But this? It's making her deeply, deeply uncomfortable.

Ariadne makes it one more step down before the gently firm hold on her arm seems to check her again. This momentary pause rocks her attention and conveniently splits it. This time, she manages to glance over at Una with more sense of self within her own eyes.

I mean, nice stuff can be bad, but you can't hear it, can you? It sounds genuinely nice, she tells Una along the mental plane. It's supposed to go balance out stuff. Yes, Ariadne, you said that before. It's really grateful for your help so far, it just needs my help now. I can ask it to speak to you too?

I can't, and I'm not sure I want to. We need one of us to be thinking clearly. Do you know what happens, if you open the door? I don't mean this balance bullshit. I mean... what actually, physically happens.

Una is not going to let go of that arm, oh no, even if it eventually means yanking Ariadne backwards.

Please don't. Let's think rationally about this.

Now Ariadne blinks as if she's confused. A shake of her head and she frowns, inhaling slowly, her eyes remaining on Una.

Still, her words remain on the mental plane. Rationally...right. Rationally. There's light behind the door. Opening the door lets the light out. It's got a job to do. The darkness trapped it in there a long time ago. It hates being trapped. It doesn't belong here, it says, it's from...another world.

Alien.

There's already light here, now, Una points out. Why do we need alien light? Why would we want to let out the thing from another world, Ari?

She raises her brows to stare at Ariadne, bewildered and uncertain and, just as much, utterly determined.

Because...if it's not here, it's somewhere else? Doing other things and not being trapped? It doesn't belong here.

Ariadne doesn't sound very convinced either at this point, giving the door with its blue-metal hieroglyphs a more leery glance. She's able to tear her eyes away and return them to Una, more signs of progress of returning sense of self.

I just have to move things in the door, with my mind, the way I move things back home. I can't use hands. That's why it wanted to talk to us, because I can do this and you can make fire.

It doesn't belong out in the world, either, Ari. Una's not sure of much, but she's sure of that. Why can't it go back to where it came from? Is that possible? We should never have lit the flames, either.

She sounds as if she would like to physically moan (and not in the fun way), but restrains herself, still tugging at Ariadne's arm.

This is a Dream. That means it's probably a Veil creature, Ari. It's manipulating you. Like the fire was for me, earlier.

A Dream.

The Veil.

Una's going to feel the shudder run through the arm she tugs on. Ariadne lets out a quivering sound and looks back at the door with near-total sense of self alongside pure horror.

"Oh my god...!" she squeaks, dropping the torch in order to grip onto Una's sleeve with her other hand. "No! You get out of my head!" It's almost palpable, the wave of a bubble forming around them which can't be seen, washing over skin like a shift in barometric pressure. The light in the room seems to shudder as well. From a far distance comes the sound of a SCREEEEEEEEEEEECH of frustration.

Oh thank god. Una doesn't need to think that thought at Ariadne for it to be obviously shared: it's there in her expression, and in the way she releases her breath. It doesn't mean the tension has left her body, though, not when there's that screech, and not, indeed, when they're still deep in a tomb.

"You're okay," she says, aloud. "You're okay, we're okay. We're going to get out of here now, right? It didn't get you. We're okay."

Okay. They're okay. It's all good, they're okay.

Turns out Ariadne has a spiteful retort for whatever tried to puppet her into opening the door. Pop -- to their own ears, it's a gossamer sound like a blown pink bubblegum puft deflating. Whatever it sounds like to the Thing of Screeching, it's far louder and comes with the sense of an attempted backhand.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEECH?! -- how rude, apparently.

"We're leaving." A firm decision fully aware of self. "And fuck you too!" Also a firm point at the door with its pretty metallic glyphs. What a brave show: Una will notice a decided weakness of knees in Ariadne even as she turns and begins to make her way up the stairs again.

What an ominous, deep rumble a few seconds later.

It's probably for the best that Una can't hear what specifically goes on between Ariadne and the Thing: it's enough that she's aware of the impact, and of Ariadne's physical actions following it. Still clutching her torch, she hastens after the other woman, pausing only when that deep, ominous rumble distracts her once more.

"Shit," she says. "Are we running, now?"

Ariadne lets out a high-pitched huff of disbelief.

"Yes! We're running!" Looks like her knees work after all. Up the steps, bipbipbipbipbip, and the barista pauses on the landing to make sure Una's following before taking off down the corridor. None of the blue-fire braziers go out. They don't flare up. They remain innate as the runners whisk by.

Another deep rumble...and this time, ahead of them, the sound of grinding, stone on stone.

Where did the door at the other end of the corridor come from?! There was no door there before!

"MUST RUN FASTER!!!!" Ariadne shouts.

Somewhere, Jeff Goldblum is proud.

Running. Not Una's favourite thing in the world, but equally, not something she's against doing as and when she needs to. Like... well, now for instance. She hastens up the stairs after Ariadne, not nearly so fast but still making solid progress, bypassing the blue-fire braziers and generally attempting to focus her attention on her legs, her knees, her feet.

She's still got her torch in hand, probably as much because she's forgotten she has it than any other real need for it.

Faster? Faster, then. (Her lungs hurt. Her legs, too. This is going to hurt come morning.)

"I'm coming," she pants.

Why is there a door there? WHO CARES. Running. Running is what matters, now.

It might be the continued grind of the large doors attempting to slide shut like the last elevator up before a board meeting.

It might be the sense of eyes drilling into the width of spine between shoulderblades, predatory and pissed off.

Or it might be adrenaline turning everything to quicksilver and hyper-breathing and hearts beating off of ribs like they wanted to escape the measured bones.

Ariadne can't pinpoint a reason for the wind under her boot soles, but she might as well have Hermes' wings at her heels. Another subsonic rumble as she's nearly upon the doors. "UNA?!"

In order not to go ass-over-tea kettle down the stairs beyond the giant stone doors sliding shut, the barista drops into a skidding side-stop and crouch on the opposite side landing. Her hand is outstretched as she straightens up -- "COME ON!!!"

It looks like there's going to be just enough time for Una to make it through!

Una doesn't waste breath in talking, now: she can't, not if she's got any chance of keeping up with Ariadne, and getting through that door before it closes, probably for good.

Now would be a great time for a really impressive show of hitherto unseen athleticism... but Una does not have that in her. Instead, she has a last minute effort of throwing herself bodily into the gap in the door, landing with a definite thud-and-crunch of soft tissue against hard stone.

But... at least she's through, right?

BOOM.

The sliding stone doors meet and the thunderclap of sound echoes around the vast darkness of the hall behind them. More muted now, the wrathful screeeeeeeeeech from the corridor and the blue-fire braziers they can no longer see. Ariadne immediately kneels beside her friend, her face poetic of concern.

"You made it," she tells Una quickly, hands seeking to get the younger woman at least up onto a hip if not sitting with legs before herself. "You did it, you're amazing, well done!" Ariadne's torch has rolled, still lit, off to one side. At least they have this grace?

Until it goes out with a swift guttering sound, like the very air of the tomb itself snuffed it.

And that same sense of falling which dropped them into the Dream overtakes them both.

"Ow," is all that Una can say, wincing so visibly; so dramatically. It takes her a moment to be able to use the assist Ariadne offers (she's going to feel this in the morning), but she manages: up onto a hip, and then up further again. She manages all this before the torch gutters out, and thank goodness for that: it doesn't mean she doesn't scream.

The falling sensation? That doesn't help either.

Still.

It almost feels like she hits her own bed with a bounce. Inhaling like she's come up to the surface for air, Ariadne sits bolt upright in her bed. The torch! The door!

Una.

She grabs her phone clumsily from the bedside table (nearly dropping it in the process) and rapidly shoots off a text:

> > Una! You safe?

Ow.

That's Una's reply, which is at least pretty immediate. Across town (not so very far away, really), the younger redhead curls up in bed, the warmth of a kitten body tucked in around her, and tries not to breathe too hard.

> Yeah, I'm safe. You're safe?

> I am never going back to Egypt again.

Little typing dots.

>>Yes, I'm safe, and not Egypt like that! You're really okay? Nothing broken? Do I need to come over?

Ariadne, still sitting upright in her bed, rubs at one eye with the heel of her palm and blows a huge and weary sigh. It might be the wee hours of the morning, but Sam will at least continue sleeping rather than cause chaos if she needs to head over to Oak.

It takes Una a few moments-- minutes, really-- to respond. Ariadne won't be able to see it, of course, but she's busy checking herself out (not in the fun way!), cataloguing her injuries as best she can.

Finally:

I did something awful to my left wrist when I landed. Better get Jules fix it, when she gets up. Otherwise, I think I'm okay. Just bruised all to hell.

Ariadne does the same while she frets and waits. Multitasking for the win! Her ankle sure as hell doesn't like any of it and she's got the nauseating beginnings of what promises to be an amazing migraine unless she can head it off before it gets ground. Hiding under a pillow seems more preferable than an ice pick between the eyes and the sensation of wanting to puke.

Finally, her phone pings. She snatches it up, reads the text, sighs.

>> Bruises are better than breaks. I hope Jules can help! My ankle's going to swell up, I think, and I've got a migraine incoming, so hot shower for me and then much painkiller. Please please PLEASE text me again if you need to, okay? I'll do my best to help. I feel bad. That voice just overrode common sense for me.

It's not your fault, comes the almost immediate reply. You couldn't help it. Just like I couldn't help wanting to stick my hands in the fire. Ok? That was some pretty powerful shit.

Una pokes at her wrist for a moment. Puffy. Unpleasant. But no matter-- probably easily fixed.

Can I come over to you later, once Jules has fixed me up, and fix you up? Please don't feel bad.

> Yes, you're welcome to. Text me when you're headed over? My face might look like two burnt holes in a blanket, but I'll be conversational, at least. I think. Sam will happy to see you anyways, since you're auntie now and all.

The text gets sent and Ariadne gingerly lies back to rest her head on her pillows again. Here it comes, the tell-tale thump of her pulse at her temples. Moaning and muttering something in Hungarian, she hides half of her face in her hands. Sam streeeeeeeeetches...and goes back to sleep, oblivious and well-meaning as he tends to be.

I'll be there, Una promises. Once she's functional. I'll let you know.

Even if that requires waking up her housemate (who is thankfully not with a certain foreigner tonight) and making puppy-dog eyes of her own.

Thank fuck for healing powers.