[ Scoffingly, as they get close enough for Mace to eyeball the tunnel and ascertain that it's ... maybe high enough. High enough that if they go into the water, they can keep their heads up. Unless the tunnel lowers further in, makes it impossible to get out without some way to breathe underwater.
He ducks his head down and to the side as they approach the final ten yards, peering into the hollow dark, trying to see if the tunnel height remains consistent. Can't tell from here, though; the flickering torchight only shows rushing water — ]
Like I'm gonna let you go in there without checking it first.
[ And then he catches it again, a glint in the deep.
It's the metal, horizontal now so that it glimmers in the water like a stingray. Being buffeted by the current, striking against something in the water when it goes all the way in, Mace can't see what it is from here, but he sets down their supplies with a sharp little grin at Ian. ]
Not chains. Drink up, Fowler.
[ Well, maybe not the rag-soaked tequila they have on hand. When they get out of here, Ian, which is starting to seem, strangely enough, likelier by the fucking second. ]
no subject
[ Scoffingly, as they get close enough for Mace to eyeball the tunnel and ascertain that it's ... maybe high enough. High enough that if they go into the water, they can keep their heads up. Unless the tunnel lowers further in, makes it impossible to get out without some way to breathe underwater.
He ducks his head down and to the side as they approach the final ten yards, peering into the hollow dark, trying to see if the tunnel height remains consistent. Can't tell from here, though; the flickering torchight only shows rushing water — ]
Like I'm gonna let you go in there without checking it first.
[ And then he catches it again, a glint in the deep.
It's the metal, horizontal now so that it glimmers in the water like a stingray. Being buffeted by the current, striking against something in the water when it goes all the way in, Mace can't see what it is from here, but he sets down their supplies with a sharp little grin at Ian. ]
Not chains. Drink up, Fowler.
[ Well, maybe not the rag-soaked tequila they have on hand. When they get out of here, Ian, which is starting to seem, strangely enough, likelier by the fucking second. ]