[Romulus isn't afraid of many things. To say that he's afraid of small spaces would even be an oversimplification. He isn't afraid of them and he's not afraid now, but he's uncomfortable. He's capable of a great many things, and while he's used to feeling powerful, being stripped of that power doesn't bother him as much as the confinement does. He still has his firearm, strapped against his leg, but he's sure that it would do more harm than good in here.
It would seem that there's nothing for him to do but wait, see if he's rescued. He manages calm for the rest of his time spent underground, though the unease and thought of death wears at the edges of his thoughts. If he isn't saved, then he'll die- from starvation or thirst, if nothing else.
Still, the situation offers a small release from his personal responsibility. Rome is nothing if he's not a brutal realist, and the idea that he can do nothing is a strangely comforting one. He'll be rescued, or he'll die. Those are the only outcomes.
The knock startles him from his hours of stillness, and he tilts his head up, trying to listen for her words, muffled as they are through the wood. In response, he knocks against the wood from his own side, the urge to move overwhelming him.
A rescue, rather than a death. He can't say he's not grateful for that, at least.]
I'm here! I'm alive- please, hurry!
[It's the desperation in his hoarse words that surprises him more than anything. Maybe this captivity had been worse than he thought.]
2
It would seem that there's nothing for him to do but wait, see if he's rescued. He manages calm for the rest of his time spent underground, though the unease and thought of death wears at the edges of his thoughts. If he isn't saved, then he'll die- from starvation or thirst, if nothing else.
Still, the situation offers a small release from his personal responsibility. Rome is nothing if he's not a brutal realist, and the idea that he can do nothing is a strangely comforting one. He'll be rescued, or he'll die. Those are the only outcomes.
The knock startles him from his hours of stillness, and he tilts his head up, trying to listen for her words, muffled as they are through the wood. In response, he knocks against the wood from his own side, the urge to move overwhelming him.
A rescue, rather than a death. He can't say he's not grateful for that, at least.]
I'm here! I'm alive- please, hurry!
[It's the desperation in his hoarse words that surprises him more than anything. Maybe this captivity had been worse than he thought.]