[038] action, ota
[The lieutenant had told herself, when the news first broke, that there was no way in Hell she would go to Berk.
But their tune had changed. No longer were they looking for unpaid volunteers. Whatever committee was behind this had sweetened the deal.
Money.
The wording had been vague, and she'd had to place a few calls before she'd gotten a concrete sum. A sum to be split amongst all in the party. Helga had done quick math, divided it into twenty. There was no way twenty people would be suicidal enough to do this.
Even a twentieth of the share would be enough to pay for half of an expedition to Egypt, to the Valley of the Kings. If she could put up half, that was half Whitmore couldn't hold over she and Rourke. More of the profits would go to them. And for every person under twenty? The share went up.
The promise of getting away from the Academy, being able to finally do something, and the money...
It was the perfect storm.
Helga sighed. Like it or not, she was going to Berk. Still plenty of time to arrange everything, even if she was already making a list of supplies, which sat on her office desk, just beside her. For the first time in a long time, pre-expedition thoughts bothered her.
Should she say her goodbyes? To who? When? Should she say them or write them?
She’d learned from the best, after all. Plan for everything. Expect that everything would go wrong. Prepare for the worst-case scenario. Then there was no disappointment, no regrets. Not that thinking like that always worked-- they hadn’t been prepared for their last expedition, and she had regrets about how that had gone.
She chuckled low in her throat, but the sound lacked humor. It was a very dry sort of noise. She pinched the bridge of her nose and briefly shut her eyes.]
You’re going soft, Lieutenant.
But their tune had changed. No longer were they looking for unpaid volunteers. Whatever committee was behind this had sweetened the deal.
Money.
The wording had been vague, and she'd had to place a few calls before she'd gotten a concrete sum. A sum to be split amongst all in the party. Helga had done quick math, divided it into twenty. There was no way twenty people would be suicidal enough to do this.
Even a twentieth of the share would be enough to pay for half of an expedition to Egypt, to the Valley of the Kings. If she could put up half, that was half Whitmore couldn't hold over she and Rourke. More of the profits would go to them. And for every person under twenty? The share went up.
The promise of getting away from the Academy, being able to finally do something, and the money...
It was the perfect storm.
Helga sighed. Like it or not, she was going to Berk. Still plenty of time to arrange everything, even if she was already making a list of supplies, which sat on her office desk, just beside her. For the first time in a long time, pre-expedition thoughts bothered her.
Should she say her goodbyes? To who? When? Should she say them or write them?
She’d learned from the best, after all. Plan for everything. Expect that everything would go wrong. Prepare for the worst-case scenario. Then there was no disappointment, no regrets. Not that thinking like that always worked-- they hadn’t been prepared for their last expedition, and she had regrets about how that had gone.
She chuckled low in her throat, but the sound lacked humor. It was a very dry sort of noise. She pinched the bridge of her nose and briefly shut her eyes.]
You’re going soft, Lieutenant.
