Heavens forfend. [ A little shaky, Viktor rises first to his elbows and then up to sitting properly - still leaning against Emet-Selch as much as he can, greedy - before finally taking the offered morsel between his fingers. ] That the Warrior might - ugh - get a little messy. The s-scandal.
[ An overwrought gasp, fingers of his free hand splayed across his chest, over the heart that now beats again. Already, he looks less like a soul wound back from the Underworld, more like one roused from a nap, eyes tired and hair wild, but the color returned to his face.
He spares a second examining the assembled snack, appreciating the layers of color, the way it seems like the sort of thing that'd be served at a fancy dinner party in Ishgard or Ul'Dah or, he supposes, Garlemald. Viktor has eaten his own weight in hard cheeses and tack many times over. It's a little fun to see travel food reprised into a luxurious single bite. His gaze lifts to Emet-Selch, wondering at how he indulges him, how readily he shares all his comfortable little delights.
On impulse, Viktor dips his pinky into the drizzle of honey, dots the sticky sweet gold onto his tongue as though to sample just that, and then leans in, strains upward, to press his parted lips to Emet-Selch's mouth, sharing sugar, sharing sunlight, sharing breath. ]
Th-thank you. [ He whispers as he draws away, popping the assembled cracker into his mouth. He chews twice, and, as ever, heedless of manners, adds, ] D'you mind- may I ask about what I s-saw, what you thought of, when you let me in?
no subject
[ An overwrought gasp, fingers of his free hand splayed across his chest, over the heart that now beats again. Already, he looks less like a soul wound back from the Underworld, more like one roused from a nap, eyes tired and hair wild, but the color returned to his face.
He spares a second examining the assembled snack, appreciating the layers of color, the way it seems like the sort of thing that'd be served at a fancy dinner party in Ishgard or Ul'Dah or, he supposes, Garlemald. Viktor has eaten his own weight in hard cheeses and tack many times over. It's a little fun to see travel food reprised into a luxurious single bite. His gaze lifts to Emet-Selch, wondering at how he indulges him, how readily he shares all his comfortable little delights.
On impulse, Viktor dips his pinky into the drizzle of honey, dots the sticky sweet gold onto his tongue as though to sample just that, and then leans in, strains upward, to press his parted lips to Emet-Selch's mouth, sharing sugar, sharing sunlight, sharing breath. ]
Th-thank you. [ He whispers as he draws away, popping the assembled cracker into his mouth. He chews twice, and, as ever, heedless of manners, adds, ] D'you mind- may I ask about what I s-saw, what you thought of, when you let me in?