Qebhet had stepped away from the embalming table, busying herself with preparing the things they would need to give Marcie a little privacy. Her pitcher already sat waiting on a wheeled equipment table, alongside a pile of clean white wash cloths, a couple of large empty bowls and a collection of smaller bottles, the seven sacred oils of anointing. She filled one bowl with warm water, adding to it a mild soap, scented with myrrh. It was a subtle smell, earthy, faintly smoky.
She looked up when Marcie addressed her. "An obol for Charon, perhaps? I have some here." Qebhet had laid to rest people from all manner of cultural traditions in her time. It was rare that an adherent of the Greek gods came into her charge, but she tried to be prepared. "The Greeks use olive oil for anointing; I have that, too. Is that the sort of thing you were thinking...?" She didn't want to push anything onto Marcie or overwhelm her with options.