The Tyrant's Tomb

Arion for our quest today. A magical horse wouldn’t be much use for
sneaking around an underground tomb.
As for Meg, she looked like Meg. Her red high-tops and yellow leggings
clashed epically with her new unicorn T-shirt, which she seemed determined
to wear until it fell to pieces. She had applied adhesive bandages across her
cheekbones, like warriors or footballers might do. Perhaps she thought they
made her look “commando,” despite the fact that the bandages were
decorated with pictures of Dora the Explorer.
“What are those for?” I demanded.
“They keep the light out of my eyes.”
“It’ll be nighttime soon. We’re going underground.”
“They make me look scary.”
“Not even remotely.”
“Shut up,” she ordered, so of course, I had to.
Hazel touched Frank’s elbow. “Can I talk with you for a sec?”
It wasn’t really a question. She led him out of earshot, followed by
Hannibal, who apparently decided their private conversation required an
elephant.
“Oy.” Lavinia turned to Meg and me. “We may be here awhile. When
those two start mother-henning…I swear, if they could encase each other in
Styrofoam peanuts, they would.”
She sounded part judgmental, part wistful, as if she wished she had an
overprotective girlfriend who would encase her in Styrofoam peanuts. I
could very much relate.
Hazel and Frank had an anxious exchange. I couldn’t hear their words,
but I imagined the conversation went something like:
I’m worried about you.
No, I’m worried about you.
But I’m more worried.
No, I’m more worried.
Meanwhile, Hannibal stomped and grunted like he was enjoying himself.
Finally, Hazel rested her fingers on Frank’s arm, as if she were afraid he
might dissolve into smoke. Then she marched back to us.
“All right,” she announced, her expression dour. “Let’s go find this tomb
before I change my mind.”