( a mission.

that's what this is — at least, that's what natasha wants to see it as. she can do missions. the rhythm is something she understands, and karsa had seemed to understand it as well, asking them to go and check on this 'beacon' (a concept she's only vaguely familiar with). it's better than dwelling on those days she'd lost, the ones where she'd thought she was married, that she'd been here her entire life —

the boat is cramped, but she takes up an oar, doing her best to match the cadence of the other person who is rowing, lest they go in circles. )

What do you think is waiting for us? ( normally comfortable with silence, the awkwardness was getting a bit much even for her. )

( it's unclear which one of them mis-stepped — natasha will, of course, deny it, but it easily could have been her who stepped on the wrong tile. the water starts filling in once the doors slam shut with finality. swearing under her breath, she goes almost supernaturally still, eyes darting from the doors themselves to the carving on the ceiling and the music playing.

her companion probably doesn't take things in stride the same way — even she has to admit there is a bit of an element of a jump scare to it. or maybe they're just as calm. )

There has to be a way out. ( she mutters, eyeing the way the water starts to fill with an appraising glance. they have time. it's not ideal, but it's not immediate. )