[ Almost hypnotising, watching him craft so many little snacks without thought. There is delight to be found in the way his fingers move, deft and certain, over so repetitious and mundane a task. Not complicated magic or alchemy, not Creation, just pleasant little snacks and sandwiches, set out for them both to sample. The sort of thing meant purely for enjoyment. The sort of thing Viktor imagines ordinary people in extraordinary love get up to, because they've got the time to spend on each other.
He pops the second half of the little crostini in his mouth and selects a different, pretty little snack to begin inspecting. When Emet-Selch's hands still, Viktor's brows raise. And he listens, for what else would he do? Even the little condiments snapped into being go ignored, so focused is Viktor on Emet-Selch's words.
Inextricably, he says. And isn't that the truth? Even before their ritual. Before the world ended. Before Viktor was Viktor, and mayhap even before Hades was Hades and Aepymetes, Aepymetes. Bound up, they are, two pieces of a three part set. And Viktor had very nearly removed himself from the chessboard once more.
He sets the cracker between his fingers back down and reaches out, closes slender fingers around Emet-Selch's wrist. ]
Everything ends. I know. Life needs death.
[ Every slaughtered scion at the Waking Sands, Haurchefant, Papalymo, Tesleen, the Exarch, his own flesh and blood mother, others beyond counting - lives cut short, lost in no small part due to his own failings, and yet, he would not call a one of them back, not at the risk of harm deeper than flesh and bone. ]
I have seen too many die in my name not to give death the gravity it is due. 'Tis not my desire to ch-cheapen what others have s-sacrificed, to risk them by upsetting the cycle. I will have a care, Hades. I promise.
[ What he does not say feels obvious to him - that there are times where the laws of both men and nature needs must be challenged, that men like him, men like Hades, do not exist without some measure of rebellion, chaos, for better or worse. He certainly does not say that he would give his life readily and without regret a thousand times over if it'd meant peace, happiness, safety for their star.
He doesn't say it, because it isn't entirely true. Not anymore. There would be regret in cutting his own life short.
Viktor lifts his hand to brush his fingers along the line of Emet-Selch's cheek, up and over his ear, lingering in his hair. ]
I will not readily allow myself to be wrested from this star. From you. I will ever return when you call.
no subject
He pops the second half of the little crostini in his mouth and selects a different, pretty little snack to begin inspecting. When Emet-Selch's hands still, Viktor's brows raise. And he listens, for what else would he do? Even the little condiments snapped into being go ignored, so focused is Viktor on Emet-Selch's words.
Inextricably, he says. And isn't that the truth? Even before their ritual. Before the world ended. Before Viktor was Viktor, and mayhap even before Hades was Hades and Aepymetes, Aepymetes. Bound up, they are, two pieces of a three part set. And Viktor had very nearly removed himself from the chessboard once more.
He sets the cracker between his fingers back down and reaches out, closes slender fingers around Emet-Selch's wrist. ]
Everything ends. I know. Life needs death.
[ Every slaughtered scion at the Waking Sands, Haurchefant, Papalymo, Tesleen, the Exarch, his own flesh and blood mother, others beyond counting - lives cut short, lost in no small part due to his own failings, and yet, he would not call a one of them back, not at the risk of harm deeper than flesh and bone. ]
I have seen too many die in my name not to give death the gravity it is due. 'Tis not my desire to ch-cheapen what others have s-sacrificed, to risk them by upsetting the cycle. I will have a care, Hades. I promise.
[ What he does not say feels obvious to him - that there are times where the laws of both men and nature needs must be challenged, that men like him, men like Hades, do not exist without some measure of rebellion, chaos, for better or worse. He certainly does not say that he would give his life readily and without regret a thousand times over if it'd meant peace, happiness, safety for their star.
He doesn't say it, because it isn't entirely true. Not anymore. There would be regret in cutting his own life short.
Viktor lifts his hand to brush his fingers along the line of Emet-Selch's cheek, up and over his ear, lingering in his hair. ]
I will not readily allow myself to be wrested from this star. From you. I will ever return when you call.