[ The sharpness, the irritation is somewhat mitigated by the fact he has his face buried in Viktor's curls, only so careful of the lilies crowning him, inhaling. Grounding himself. Reassuring himself that Viktor might not be entirely hale, not entirely whole, but he is here.
Perhaps most frustrating is that when the veil settles again, Emet-Selch misses the sensation of it being lifted. Not enough to be foolish and lift it once more, but for a brief, raw moment, it had been nice to know and not wonder. To have certainty of purpose, of feeling, even if it were jumbled up with trains of thought, with wherever one or both of them tugged the thread binding them.
When Emet-Selch finally manages the effort of lifting his head, Viktor reaches up and presses slowly warming hands against his face; he'd like to think he's strong enough not to lean into them, to not need the reassurance that it brings. He isn't. Hands flex against Viktor where he holds, jaw clenching momentarily as he steadies himself. ]
Yes, well. I can marvel at a future that might come when you are not attempting to wield magic unsupervised.
[ Would that he could make his aether warmer, but it has, as far as he's aware, always been cold. He'd always chalked the feeling up to the affinity he has with the Underworld, never had cause to worry or wonder about why save for very rare situations. Neither had he worried that a peek behind the veil would make Viktor think less of him, or change how he looked at him. It should. Emet-Selch wouldn't feel better necessarily, but if Viktor looked at him and found nothing but horror at least Emet-Selch would understand that instead of being given grace he does not deserve. ]
You wretched- I do not care about the veil. I do not care about your horrifically oversized grapes. [ He stops short of following up with the obvious thing - person he does care about, making a disgruntled noise instead, chin settling atop Viktor's crown once more to stare out into the distance. After a beat, a searching hand finds Viktor's and envelops them, attempting to share at least a little more warmth. ]
Growing, creating - botany, specifically, is difficult in a way that animals, creatures are not. There is an end point for a creature. Arms, legs, head, torso. There is a finality with beings that does not exist with plant life. If given enough aether and free reign - [ He stops, sighing so heavily Viktor rises and falls with the motion. ] Well. I suppose we see what happens, don't we.
no subject
[ The sharpness, the irritation is somewhat mitigated by the fact he has his face buried in Viktor's curls, only so careful of the lilies crowning him, inhaling. Grounding himself. Reassuring himself that Viktor might not be entirely hale, not entirely whole, but he is here.
Perhaps most frustrating is that when the veil settles again, Emet-Selch misses the sensation of it being lifted. Not enough to be foolish and lift it once more, but for a brief, raw moment, it had been nice to know and not wonder. To have certainty of purpose, of feeling, even if it were jumbled up with trains of thought, with wherever one or both of them tugged the thread binding them.
When Emet-Selch finally manages the effort of lifting his head, Viktor reaches up and presses slowly warming hands against his face; he'd like to think he's strong enough not to lean into them, to not need the reassurance that it brings. He isn't. Hands flex against Viktor where he holds, jaw clenching momentarily as he steadies himself. ]
Yes, well. I can marvel at a future that might come when you are not attempting to wield magic unsupervised.
[ Would that he could make his aether warmer, but it has, as far as he's aware, always been cold. He'd always chalked the feeling up to the affinity he has with the Underworld, never had cause to worry or wonder about why save for very rare situations. Neither had he worried that a peek behind the veil would make Viktor think less of him, or change how he looked at him. It should. Emet-Selch wouldn't feel better necessarily, but if Viktor looked at him and found nothing but horror at least Emet-Selch would understand that instead of being given grace he does not deserve. ]
You wretched- I do not care about the veil. I do not care about your horrifically oversized grapes. [ He stops short of following up with the obvious thing - person he does care about, making a disgruntled noise instead, chin settling atop Viktor's crown once more to stare out into the distance. After a beat, a searching hand finds Viktor's and envelops them, attempting to share at least a little more warmth. ]
Growing, creating - botany, specifically, is difficult in a way that animals, creatures are not. There is an end point for a creature. Arms, legs, head, torso. There is a finality with beings that does not exist with plant life. If given enough aether and free reign - [ He stops, sighing so heavily Viktor rises and falls with the motion. ] Well. I suppose we see what happens, don't we.