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Another pendulum blade, narrowly missed, and Boris gave her a thumbs up on not getting a good foot of hair sliced off this time. At least she could say pinning it all up and tidy was less of a chore now, having lost what seemed like a few pounds of it. There's excitement over their coms and soon all four scout groups gather at was previously marked at a closet. It was only by a chance missed toss by Squirrel (boys are always having to ******** throw things) that the control panel was revealed. Further inspection revealed an elevator of sorts, but not at all on the runic grid.

They could have, of course, waited for the Lifers to come and assess and rig it up, but this was a secret ******** elevator. America was the one to find the hidden hatch, and so she had dibs on being the first to inspect the shaft.

A lot of dirty jokes followed.

A lot.

Enough to have the girl still snorting with soft laughter, even with the elevator above her, now swinging slightly as she climbed down it's cables into a darkness not at all dispelled by the lantern on her helmet. Excitement welled up and grew still further as the elevator soon disappeared from view, and the shaft continued to go and on. The check-ins from the group above were very nearly irritating, practical or not, in the way they disrupted the moment with their jarring sense of safety. It was the phone in the storm all over again.

Eventually it had to end, and soon enough (too soon despite the aching muscles of her arms and the knowledge that she'd have to climb back up again and wouldn't that be a ******** trial of how not-quite human she was now) America's feet hit the ground.

Opening the door out took some doing, but she managed it before anybody could talk s**t about letting her be the one to travel down. The ceiling was high, a good thirty feet, and there was a trap within the first step out. The pitfall was elegant and narrowly missed. Pulling out a blank sheet of paper and a sharpie, America began the task of mapping out the first brief section of hallways without rooms, its nature soon revealed.

It was a maze.

She carded idle fingers through dark, messy curls, not minding the warm weight of the man sleeping against her thigh. He really was, so very ******** defenseless. And though this thought was not without fondness, it did not stir her to slide down to join him or change the fact that she'd be leaving for her own bed very soon. Adrenaline had given way to satisfied exhaustion, and America could feel its pull dragging on her senses, but nowhere near enough for her to pass out in a strange bed with someone she hadn't even known a month.

Still, she had enough energy to take a few celebratory selfies and send Konstantin commentary on the awesome state of her boobs.

Boris slipped and twisted his ankle when, for once, he actually tried to avoid a trap instead of just power through. Going down into the labyrinth, America found herself partnered with Bernice for the day while he stayed back at the base with Franklin, the other Lifer.

It was Bernice who solved it. She was the one who opened the door.

They explored in pairs, and Bernice, the ******** nerd, wanted to find any water supplies. To see if it came from the lake above or if it had its own wells and was the water still good. Even in her euphoria over secret places and unexpected adventures, America could respect the other woman's priorities.

The results were good, and they all stayed later than their assigned shifts without a word of complaint. They'd found a ******** lost city of legend. And yeah they'd seen the signs and art prints sold to tourists, had even considered the what if they're talking about the base theory over dinner before Franklin firmly told them that it was bullshit and the base was nowhere near eight-hundred years old. But they'd been a bit right along with the wrong, because there was every chance the base had been built here because of the city below.

Eventually they had to go up, and the weariness of the day's excitement had finally begun to make itself known to one and all. They chattered back through the labyrinth, and so caught up in the talk of city, America very nearly didn't see the familiar flash of red eyes, watching them from a shadowed corner of the maze.

She had time enough to open her mouth in a soft, brief croak before the violence set in.

Their comms all come to life and Boris's voice asks them when they're coming back. Dinner's been cold for hours and do not vorry, he only cut the onions. He did not even cry on them. Much.

They pause and there is a switch in gears. Weapons return to totem form and their postures stiffen and straighten. The chatter resumes and they head toward the elevator, the previous moment forgotten.

America looks confused and uneasy until an odd vacancy creeps into her eyes, and she cheerfully joins the conversation.

A brief flash of awareness and she is lifting a fork to her mouth, laughing at a joke that is not funny though she doesn't know what it was or who said it and the awareness stretches until she realizes there was no joke. She simply laughed and only Boris looked at her oddly for it. Bernice suddenly laughed, abrupt and harsh and the others joined in. America followed suit and everything faded back.

A brief flash of awareness and there is a bloody chain held down over a thick, struggling throat and flashing blades descending and she knows this had been slow and will continue to be slow and he will suffer for so very long if she doesn't...

The chain tightens decisively and the others turn on her. Everything slips into the red.

He had no way of knowing, of course, what it was that Konstantin was expecting to find when they stepped through the portal and cautiously made their way down to the base (Taym stubbornly, adamantly in front; and if there was protest, he would just indicate his coat: the trim that said I outrank you and the crescents that said this is my job). He'd met the Death hunter at the portal with one hand closed tightly around the strap of his usual messenger bag, the other thumb flicking Fionnghal's ring uneasily around and around his finger.

For himself he'd expected (dreaded) the now-familiar reek of gore and maybe the buzz of flies or worse, and the fresh, astringent assault of bleach and disinfectant, rather than easing his tensions, merely set him on edge because it was not a thing that he had prepared for. Nor had he been prepared to meet not one but two Hunters.

Bashmet would have an opportunity to witness a strange thing: Taym, his usual jangled nerves and incessant tension and restless fear, donning a sudden second skin. Taym was an adept liar and a capable actor if given the proper set of circumstances--give him long enough and the mask would slip; put him under enough pressure and the innate talent for falsehood would die away. But for a few seconds, at least, Taym, save for his shaking hands (thrust casually into his pockets), was a picture of casual curiosity, his eye roaming over the base's living area with polite interest before settling on the residents with an easy grin.

(And maybe he did relax; maybe it was real: the relief, the sudden banality, the quiet little hope that it had, after all, been misplaced paranoia.)

"Evening," he said. "Bermuda base sent us out for a visit."