(no subject)
WHO: Atia/Una/Harry Lockhart/whoever else...
WHERE: Upper deck.
WHAT: Deciding that the situation is getting intolerable, Atia takes drastic measures.
WARNINGS: Potential animal sacrifice!
"There, there... It'll all be over soon."
Food might last, but there was no telling what the situation with water would end up being and, more to the point, materials capable of burning would only last for so long. Available light could be adjusted to, but a lack of heat could not.
What was a good Roman to do, if not undertake a sacrifice to the gods?
It was a tactic which kept coming to mind, the longer Atia was trapped. Sometimes, the philosophy prevailed of not giving tribute until after a wish had been granted, but it could depend on the event. As of now, survival was starting to become an issue and that meant taking action.
The dog had been caught with the assistance of cloth. It was small enough to carry and, quickly traversing the stairs to get as near to the heavens as possible, Atia held down her makeshift bundle of noisy, squirming fur. She might not have access to a knife, but a broken chair leg would do nicely to club the thing to death with, through the surrounding cloth.
There was a certain irony, perhaps, in preparing to murder a dog while decked out in a fur coat for warmth. Especially considering who she had recently, very briefly, turned into...
The last of the words were spoken in ancient Latin. A plea for Jupiter, Juno and whoever else might listen, to provide either rescue or just good fortune. To accept the life she was about to offer up in tribute.
The wood was raised... And Atia prepared to strike.
WHERE: Upper deck.
WHAT: Deciding that the situation is getting intolerable, Atia takes drastic measures.
WARNINGS: Potential animal sacrifice!
"There, there... It'll all be over soon."
Food might last, but there was no telling what the situation with water would end up being and, more to the point, materials capable of burning would only last for so long. Available light could be adjusted to, but a lack of heat could not.
What was a good Roman to do, if not undertake a sacrifice to the gods?
It was a tactic which kept coming to mind, the longer Atia was trapped. Sometimes, the philosophy prevailed of not giving tribute until after a wish had been granted, but it could depend on the event. As of now, survival was starting to become an issue and that meant taking action.
The dog had been caught with the assistance of cloth. It was small enough to carry and, quickly traversing the stairs to get as near to the heavens as possible, Atia held down her makeshift bundle of noisy, squirming fur. She might not have access to a knife, but a broken chair leg would do nicely to club the thing to death with, through the surrounding cloth.
There was a certain irony, perhaps, in preparing to murder a dog while decked out in a fur coat for warmth. Especially considering who she had recently, very briefly, turned into...
The last of the words were spoken in ancient Latin. A plea for Jupiter, Juno and whoever else might listen, to provide either rescue or just good fortune. To accept the life she was about to offer up in tribute.
The wood was raised... And Atia prepared to strike.