“It was nice of your Uncle Caius to find a room for us to stay during the Bacchanalia season.”
“It’s… quaint,” Antonitus responded. “Peasants can’t expect a palace, I suppose.”
“Hush, at least it’s dry and warm. I’m concerned about getting sleep, though.”
Loud music pounded in from the main temple, with some very human squeals and grunts from time to time.
“Sounds like the orgy is in full swing already,” she sniffed. “Do you know why this pit is here, Tony?”
They both paused and leaned over to examine the large, deep pit in the center of the room. It dropped into the shadows of the temple’s sublevels.
“Not sure. Maybe it’s for some sort of sacrificial use?”
Caecilla squealed when he mock-shoved her toward the pit, “rescuing” her at the last moment.
“You bastard,” she kicked him, grinning.
“Is the wine cellar down there?”
A bacchanalia temple guard, dressed in full Legionnaire costume and obviously enjoying the party, weaved into the room from the temple. He grunted something unintelligible and raised his cantharus in salute before turning away from the bewildered couple.
He fumbled briefly with his pteruges and a yellow stream arced outward into the pit.
197 crude words. Inspired by this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt: