[ The more Mace thinks about it, the more he finds himself agreeing that the most suspicious (or ominous, to use Ian's word) thing about the door is the convenience of it. This isn't just a straightforward cave system leading from point A to point B; it's really a goddamn labyrinth in the original sense of the word. One road, eventually leading to several dead ends.
The way out couldn't be that simple. He knows it in his gut even if he's still trying to rationalize it away: that this place, or whatever was in it — or whatever had occurred inside it — demanded either blood, or pain.
But with Ian's hand in his, and the blessed lack of any horrendous apparitions (with the exception of their aural, terrifying visitor near the alcove) ... it's been easy to start to forget that, even unconsciously. Ian's presence with him, safe and sound and whole. The one spot of warmth in this blizzard. The one thing that's wholly, unequivocally good. ]
They.
[ And then a quick, reassessing twist of his mouth before he corrects himself: ] Well, to be fair, my dad. But my mom didn't try to stop it, so. Equal credit. You catch it early enough in a kid, you can force it the other way.
[ Positive reinforcement hadn't been an option, so the lesson had to stick differently. On the next sweep around, though, he catches Ian's inquisitive glance, his raised eyebrows — ]
Joke's on them. Ambidextrous now. [ — and waggles his own at him, suggestive and unrepentant. Remember that handjob, Professor Fowler? ]
As for the why of it ...
[ There's a story there and Mace is about to tell it, but another clang has him pausing. Muffled this time, and his attention snaps back to ahead of them, a ripple of relief going through him at the sight up front. Another wall looms above them in the murky dark, curving upward a lot sooner this time, all the way into the ceiling. It spans the width of the river, which itself is flowing through a rounded tunnel in the very middle of the wall.
The outlet. Something glints in the water as they draw nearer, and Mace realizes it's probably the metal sheet, hitting something underneath the surface. ]
no subject
The way out couldn't be that simple. He knows it in his gut even if he's still trying to rationalize it away: that this place, or whatever was in it — or whatever had occurred inside it — demanded either blood, or pain.
But with Ian's hand in his, and the blessed lack of any horrendous apparitions (with the exception of their aural, terrifying visitor near the alcove) ... it's been easy to start to forget that, even unconsciously. Ian's presence with him, safe and sound and whole. The one spot of warmth in this blizzard. The one thing that's wholly, unequivocally good. ]
They.
[ And then a quick, reassessing twist of his mouth before he corrects himself: ] Well, to be fair, my dad. But my mom didn't try to stop it, so. Equal credit. You catch it early enough in a kid, you can force it the other way.
[ Positive reinforcement hadn't been an option, so the lesson had to stick differently. On the next sweep around, though, he catches Ian's inquisitive glance, his raised eyebrows — ]
Joke's on them. Ambidextrous now. [ — and waggles his own at him, suggestive and unrepentant. Remember that handjob, Professor Fowler? ]
As for the why of it ...
[ There's a story there and Mace is about to tell it, but another clang has him pausing. Muffled this time, and his attention snaps back to ahead of them, a ripple of relief going through him at the sight up front. Another wall looms above them in the murky dark, curving upward a lot sooner this time, all the way into the ceiling. It spans the width of the river, which itself is flowing through a rounded tunnel in the very middle of the wall.
The outlet. Something glints in the water as they draw nearer, and Mace realizes it's probably the metal sheet, hitting something underneath the surface. ]