[ The sound of Ian’s voice, dry and a lot more steady than it had been a few minutes ago, it pulls an unexpected grin out of Mace. Hidden in the relative darkness, hidden by his makeshift shield, but it’s entirely audible in his voice as he replies, ]
Well, you made it. Can’t hold your hand, figured this was the next best thing.
[ Technically, Ian had also made the knife he’s holding in his other hand, but Mace is going for vaguely charming-roguish here, not stabby-vagabond. Besides, he’s starting to take a liking for the metal plate; the fact that it’s so thin means it’s not nearly as unwieldy as it could’ve been, and he moves it along without too much trouble, glad to have one more cover between Ian and whatever’s ahead.
The mechanic in Mace is taking notes, discreetly assessing the proportions and the soundness of it with a keen, admiring eye. If they get out of here — if they make it out together, if if if — Mace thinks he might ask Ian if he can take it a bit further, function-wise.
They’ve been in such a blind, terrified rush this entire time that they haven’t had the fucking time to properly plan. Two engineers, and one of ‘em with the superability to create matter, they have the kind of possibilities at their fingertips that most people could only —
Mace comes to an abrupt halt just as they’re about to reach another bend in the upward tunnel, because his ears start to pick up a faint, consistent noise coming from up ahead. For a moment, for one goddamned elating moment he thinks it’s an echo of the wind, rustling through what sounds like a hundred trees.
Then, as realization dawns — ]
I think we found your moving water.
[ He’s only slightly less elated, and they keep going further until the sound becomes loud and obvious, almost exponentially. Flowing water meant an inlet, or an outlet, according to his personal, handsome expert on the matter. Meaning an exit, and he leans the metal plate up against the nearest wall before holding a hand up, indicating Ian to pause while he turns the corner alone. ]
Holy shit. Ian?
[ An odd, muted shock in his voice at the sight that greets him. It’s a river. The tunnel exits out into an cavernous, high-roofed chamber that might be the size of a movie theater from what Mace can estimate, the floor melding seamlessly into a stone bridge that spans the wide rush of dark water below. He can’t see where it leads, not without the torch.
Fuck, it’s an underground river, and for a moment doubt hits Mace square in the chest: why the fuck hadn't they heard it before? But no, they’d known it was there almost immediately, hadn’t they? The damp in the walls. How it had shifted along the stone until it’d been directly over their heads during the climb. The acoustics in the cave system must've fucked with it somehow. ]
no subject
Well, you made it. Can’t hold your hand, figured this was the next best thing.
[ Technically, Ian had also made the knife he’s holding in his other hand, but Mace is going for vaguely charming-roguish here, not stabby-vagabond. Besides, he’s starting to take a liking for the metal plate; the fact that it’s so thin means it’s not nearly as unwieldy as it could’ve been, and he moves it along without too much trouble, glad to have one more cover between Ian and whatever’s ahead.
The mechanic in Mace is taking notes, discreetly assessing the proportions and the soundness of it with a keen, admiring eye. If they get out of here — if they make it out together, if if if — Mace thinks he might ask Ian if he can take it a bit further, function-wise.
They’ve been in such a blind, terrified rush this entire time that they haven’t had the fucking time to properly plan. Two engineers, and one of ‘em with the superability to create matter, they have the kind of possibilities at their fingertips that most people could only —
Mace comes to an abrupt halt just as they’re about to reach another bend in the upward tunnel, because his ears start to pick up a faint, consistent noise coming from up ahead. For a moment, for one goddamned elating moment he thinks it’s an echo of the wind, rustling through what sounds like a hundred trees.
Then, as realization dawns — ]
I think we found your moving water.
[ He’s only slightly less elated, and they keep going further until the sound becomes loud and obvious, almost exponentially. Flowing water meant an inlet, or an outlet, according to his personal, handsome expert on the matter. Meaning an exit, and he leans the metal plate up against the nearest wall before holding a hand up, indicating Ian to pause while he turns the corner alone. ]
Holy shit. Ian?
[ An odd, muted shock in his voice at the sight that greets him. It’s a river. The tunnel exits out into an cavernous, high-roofed chamber that might be the size of a movie theater from what Mace can estimate, the floor melding seamlessly into a stone bridge that spans the wide rush of dark water below. He can’t see where it leads, not without the torch.
Fuck, it’s an underground river, and for a moment doubt hits Mace square in the chest: why the fuck hadn't they heard it before? But no, they’d known it was there almost immediately, hadn’t they? The damp in the walls. How it had shifted along the stone until it’d been directly over their heads during the climb. The acoustics in the cave system must've fucked with it somehow. ]