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Landing with a soft thud on the smooth, polished surface of the exhibition platform, Jedediah and Octavius stumble to regain their balance. The air, normally still and quiet at this hour, is filled with the frantic patter of miniature footsteps. A wave of terrified Roman citizens, no bigger than Jed’s thumb, streams past them, their tiny togas flapping in the fabricated wind of their panic. Their faces are a mosaic of sheer terror, eyes wide and mouths agape in silent, high-pitched screams.
Jedediah, ever the quick-witted cowboy, grabs Octavius’s arm. “Whoa there, boss, what in blazes is going on? This ain't no normal Tuesday night.”
Octavius, stoic as ever, shakes his head. “I have no idea. All is not as it should be.”
He gestures to a male bust of a Roman emperor, no bigger than a teacup, who is repeatedly screaming, his bronze lips unmoving. A single, strained name echoes through the miniature city. “ Liepwop! ” the bust cries again, his metallic voice a grating whisper on the cold air. “ Liepwop! ”
The general squalor of the miniature city is now just an afterthought as Octavius bends down, his leather-clad knees pressing against the cool marble. He reads the exhibit's placard, his brow furrowed as he tilts his head to decipher the letters from a lopsided angle.
“Liepwop. Hmmm… doesn't ring a bell, Jedediah.”
The bronze bust, with an almost uncanny intelligence, shifts its gaze from the running citizens to the two men. Its tongue, a curled piece of sculpted metal, juts out, pointing with an exaggerated motion towards a dark, ominous mountain at the very edge of the miniature city. Jedediah follows the motion, his eyes widening as a plume of thick, dark ash billows from the mountain’s peak. A deep rumble, more felt than heard, vibrates through the very stone beneath their feet.
“Holy mother of pearl, that there’s a volcano!” Jed yelps, his southern drawl cracking with a fresh wave of panic.
Just then, a river of brilliant, incandescent orange begins to spill over the mountain’s rim. It oozes down the sculpted slopes, its molten surface bubbling and spitting, a terrifying, beautiful liquid fire consuming everything in its path. Octavius’s eyes finally connect the exhibit name with the sight before him.
“Ohhhhh…” he says, his voice a low gasp. “Pompeii.”
A cascade of liquid rock crashes down into the miniature city. The orange glow of the lava illuminates the frantic faces of the Roman citizens as they scramble for their lives. The heat, an alien, overwhelming force from their perspective, begins to singe the very air around them.
“Pompeii! Jedediah, it's Pompeii!” Octavius screams, his usual calm demeanor shattering.
“Well, you’d think the big fellas would put a glass dome on this thing!” Jedediah shouts back, his eyes darting frantically from the approaching lava to the safety of a nearby street.
Octavius takes his hand, their fingers intertwining in a silent pact of survival. “Let's move!” he yells.
They begin to run, their heavy boots making deafening thuds on the tiny, cobblestone streets. They sprint past a replica of a bakery, the scent of phantom bread replaced by the acrid smell of burnt rock and ash. The lava flows like a slow-moving, unstoppable glacier of fire. Jedediah trips over a small, toppled chariot.
“Woah!” he cries, but Octavius’s grip on his hand is firm, yanking him back to his feet.
They race past the Forum and the Temple of Apollo, the ground quaking with each shuddering surge of the molten rock. The air around them grows thicker, harder to breathe, and the heat prickles their skin. Jedediah, never one to give in to fear for long, breaks out into a high-pitched, almost comical scream. Octavius, beside him, lets out a series of frantic, panicked yelps that are very unlike his usual dignified tones. They are both screaming, a sound that is a mix of terror, laughter, and pure, exhilarating adrenaline. Their synchronized chaos is a testament to their bond, a shared moment of pure panic that only they could experience.
As they reach the edge of the exhibit, the lava, now a roaring, spitting inferno, is a mere few feet from their heels. They scramble onto a small hillock, watching as the molten stream engulfs the beautiful, miniature city behind them. The tiny houses and statues disappear under a sea of orange, the air now hazy with the smoke of its destruction. Safe for now, they both collapse, chests heaving, their hands still clasped together. A shared look passes between them, a silent understanding of the absurdity and terror of what just transpired.
Jedediah manages a weak, shaky chuckle. “Well, that was a real barn burner, wasn’t it, Rome?”