Alexa is lost and does not know the way out.

Everything is happening too fast. No conversation lasts more than thirty seconds before the augurs declare it doomed, fruitless, bereft of blessings. She manages to keep track of the first five names, at least, but faces start to blur into one another.

The only constant as she's shuffled from one failed candidate to the next are the cheerful faces of the Augurs, the friendly voice of Caval, and Aphrodite stalking behind the Augurs, ticking boxes and flipping signs. 

[Damaging Sense to Speak Softly: 6.]

How long does it take to tire out two indefatigable beings? How many faces, how many names, how many beings, until it's all Alexa can do to lean on Caval for support?

"Why?" she breathes, head sagging against Caval's shoulder. 

Not even how is this possible, but why? Why is she doing this? Is this revenge? Entertainment? Does she genuinely believe that by appeasing Aphrodite, they may be spared? Is she trying, gods forbid, to [i]help[/i] Alexa?

And the world stops.

No, that's not right. It's just the noise--the ever-present, all-consuming noise--has dropped to murmurs, the crowd focusing in on the Augurs.

Oh gods, what's that number say?