[Nate says distractedly - based on Drake's build he probably has the upper body strength for it. All you really need is a lack of fear when it comes to heights and very little regard for your personal safety; knowing the limits of your body kind of comes with the climbing, part and parcel.
The instant the ring touches his palm, he knows. Nate spent too many years with this thing hanging from a leather cord around his neck, playing with it when distracted, trying to find its owner. For a long moment he stares at it in confusion, his brow furrowed, before he picks it up with his other hand. It feels like a sucker punch to the gut - how long has it been since he saw it last, sinking into the quicksand in Ubar? It and the astrolabe led him through the sun's anvil into the Pillars of Iram and the obsession that drove him through days of hallucinating in the desert, through the needless risks he shouldn't have taken for something as devastating as closure...]
Holy crap.
[A piece of jewelry from the sixteenth century nearly ruined him, once. He remembers giving it up for something better, and even then his recent foibles have indicated a deep-seated lack of satisfaction.
Nate quickly realizes he's standing there like an idiot when Drake asked him a pointed question and he clears his throat, moving closer to show him the inscription.]
It says "Sic Parvis Magna." Greatness from small beginnings. It was Sir Francis Drake's motto. [A beat, with an amendment that accompanies half of a shrug.] This was Sir Francis Drake's ring.
no subject
[Nate says distractedly - based on Drake's build he probably has the upper body strength for it. All you really need is a lack of fear when it comes to heights and very little regard for your personal safety; knowing the limits of your body kind of comes with the climbing, part and parcel.
The instant the ring touches his palm, he knows. Nate spent too many years with this thing hanging from a leather cord around his neck, playing with it when distracted, trying to find its owner. For a long moment he stares at it in confusion, his brow furrowed, before he picks it up with his other hand. It feels like a sucker punch to the gut - how long has it been since he saw it last, sinking into the quicksand in Ubar? It and the astrolabe led him through the sun's anvil into the Pillars of Iram and the obsession that drove him through days of hallucinating in the desert, through the needless risks he shouldn't have taken for something as devastating as closure...]
Holy crap.
[A piece of jewelry from the sixteenth century nearly ruined him, once. He remembers giving it up for something better, and even then his recent foibles have indicated a deep-seated lack of satisfaction.
Nate quickly realizes he's standing there like an idiot when Drake asked him a pointed question and he clears his throat, moving closer to show him the inscription.]
It says "Sic Parvis Magna." Greatness from small beginnings. It was Sir Francis Drake's motto. [A beat, with an amendment that accompanies half of a shrug.] This was Sir Francis Drake's ring.