Jorrel might need a hand. Possibly.

You scoot up to Jorrel. "Great," he says, "Shiva and I will take the stairs and check out the dungeon. Emalie, you go take the hallway with those spooky noises. Mute--"

Mute interrupts, "I know. You really don't have to spell it out. Three ways to go, not an idiot." Before Jorrel can reply, Mute has already slipped out the door, closing it behind him. Emalie rolls her eyes and a second later, she's gone too.

Jorrel looks at you. "Was it something I said?" Not even waiting for a reply, you start your descend down the stairs. It's a narrow stairway. A pictogram of a figure running into a rectangular hole hangs on the wall. Not an unusual sight. You figure it means 'Danger below' or something, purely based on the contextual fact that danger always seem to be lurking below.

Each step you take echoes eerily off the walls, so you decide to answer Jorrel's question - even if it's been minutes since he asked.

"You know Mute."

"What?" Jorrel replies.

"When you asked if it was something you said?"

He stops for a moment and stares at you blankly before an expression of surprise unfold on him, "Right! So, was it something I said?"

"No. He doesn't like it when people talk down to him."

Jorrel looks almost disgusted as he says, "Talking down to him? What? I was just relaying the plan."

You both start moving down the stairs again. Down, down, down further into darkness. Jorrels flash-light lighting the way and Mute's glow-sticks providing an ambient glow around the two of you. Exploring old ruins is all about finding that one door that still works, which means; no rubble, no obvious skeletal remains, or weird smells oozing from the other side.

"That's just how he feels. Three doors, three sets of people. No need to point it out."

Jumping off the last step and landing at the bottom of the stairs, Jorrel takes a bow. "We made it. Still alive and, look, a... uh, whatever remains of a door." He's not wrong. The door itself seems to have been melted away, now just a puddle with the corner of said door poking out of it. "And also, I obviously didn't point that out to make him feel stupid. What's wrong with everyone being on the same page?"

You follow Jorrel into a dark corridor. Empty wooden frames hangs on the wall and several empty clay pots lie either overturned or smashed, their content spilled onto the floor. Dirt. Ancient man kept dirt in clay pots. Maybe the apocalypse was for the better. Pictograms are pointing to the stairwell you left behind, so, overall, things are looking pretty good!

"He knows. Listen, it's not about what you said - it's how it made him feel." Your words bounce off the walls and reverberate from were you came and wherever this passages ends.

Jorrel makes a fart noise with his mouth and goes, "I can't control how other people feel. Maybe he should grow up a bit. Just say that it's bothering him. Does it bother you?"

Oh god, a direct question about your position on something. "I-- Hey, uh-- That's..." deflect, you urge yourself. "It doesn't matter what I think - or Emalie for that matter - I think Mute feels that you're talking down to us, too."

Jorrel makes that certain sound universally acknowledge to mean, you gave me something to consider, but this conversation is over now.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to--" you bump into Jorrel and immediately have an existential crisis due to human contact. Instead of berating you for walking into him, Jorrel points to a door in front of you.

"This one looks promising. There's a sign - what does it say?"

Grabbing you by the shoulder, Jorrel manoeuvrers you in front of him, facing the door. You're sure he's further behind you, than you feel he is. His breath is just really hot. That's why you can feel it from here. Yup, time to read the sign and think only about signs and how great signs are, man they're just fantastic, really, so convenient.

The sign is a bit high up, so you lean forward, almost standing on your toes. Damn your height. Sure, it means every doorway feels like a grand entrance, but ancient man must have been at least Jorrel's height - maybe a bit more. And Jorrel is way tall. You could stack your head four or five times on top of each other and you'd be sort of same-y in height.

"Let me help you," Jorrel says, locking his arms around your waist and lifting you up. Probably, immediately, regretting his decision as he gets a face-full of your disgusting hair and you yelp loudly. At least he's nice enough not to complain out loud. With his arms locked around you, you find it hard to concentrate. Frick, since when did human bodies feel hot when pressed against each other? Are you supposed to feel that heat through clothes? Why are clothes even a thing, like, come on, we have hair everywhere, even if it is teeny-tiny on arms and legs.

Grunting, Jorrel blows, trying to keep your hair out of his mouth, his breath on your neck causing you the shiver slightly. Then he does it again and says, "What's it say?" Seemingly unaware of your miniature-seizure.

"Oh! Let me just..."

"Closer?"

"No, just give me a-- woah!" Jorrel takes a step forward, trapping you between him and the wall.

"Should just have done this from the beginning," Jorrel laughs, "Super easy to hold you up like this. Take your time!"

You feel light headed. Are you supposed to feel light headed? Are you dying? Is he literally squeezing you to ****, stopping blood flow to your brain. Blood doesn't just disappear. Where does it go? Your cheeks, based on that burning sensation you're experiencing. What's that saying about men's blood flowing somewhere else? On that note - Is that Jorrel's flash-light in his pocket or is he hap-- Stop! You snap at your dumb brain.

Great. Seems like it actually did quiet down a little. Usually this gives you a couple of minutes before it starts kicking up a fuzz, again.

Not with absolute certainty, you start to read out loud, "It says, Brak room. Employ e's only. Something else underneath... Looks like... _Remember to cle up after yours ves. _And something about a mom? Maybe?"

"Anything else?" he asks, dropping you, before you even have a chance to reply.

_ _Your face feels like it's made of molten lava. Compartmentalizing that experience for later, you find it easier to bite your lip and nod rather than opening your mouth. You're pretty sure you'd be spitting fireballs instead of your usual word nonsense if you spoke. Jorrel looks at you expectantly. Are you supposed to be doing something? Were his lips always this...

Oh! Right. You shake your head and mumble something that hopefully sounds like, "Sorry. No, nothing else. Sorry."

"Well- Let's do this by the book then."