[ From illusory countryside to glimmering star shower, Viktor watches with unmasked delight as heatless flickers of candlelight burst and fade on his curls and shoulders. Bright as the sparks filling the air, he laughs, taking in the sight of one landscape melting into another, and then, of Emet-Selch, untouched by falling starlight of his own make.
Such a far cry from his phantom Amaurot, from the burning purgatory of his illusory Final Days. Not lingering long in despair, not revolted by the comparable calm of Venat's sundered world - finding hope, and bringing it forth. This is far from the first time Viktor has noticed the subtle shift in Emet-Selch, but looking upon him now, surrounded as he is by blinking fireflies of magic, Viktor feels a little like he's swallowed the sun. An impossibly incandescent feeling clinging warmth to his ribs and all beneath them.
Soft, too baldly adoring, he says, ] You are a marvel.
[ Viktor turns his head, scrubs the back of his wrist across his cheeks, like it might rub away some of the shine he feels on them. Emet-Selch plucks the grape from his hand in the meantime, and when he looks up again, it's with a heatless scowl - appalled that he's doing exactly what he told Viktor not to right away. ]
Spicy? [ Heedless of the warning, Viktor selects another grape and stuffs it in his mouth before he can be scolded - shamelessly fast as a dog that's managed to get in the rubbish bin. For his efforts, he's greeted with the faint taste of his lilies - immediately stomach-turning - and he grimaces and spits it out immediately with a loud, blech.
One eye squinted shut, he tries to ignore the lingering tingle of Light. ]
How did you come to- [ He pauses, looks at the cluster of grapes in his hand, considering. ] Hold on. Watch this.
[ Viktor selects another grape, tosses it in his palm to test the weight, and then lobs it, hard and far as he can, toward the ruins below. It's not quite as impressive a throw as it could be, his strength still returning, but it's far enough. The silver-purple sphere arcs high, glittering in the afternoon sun, and Viktor extends his arm, holding his hand like a pistol.
As the too-large grape plummets, Viktor pantomimes firing, coaxing aether as he does, finding thread and unraveling it. The grape unfurls, all silver and sepia aether, a flower turned firework in the air. Viktor cackles, thrilled that his little trick had worked.
He turns his attention back to Emet-Selch, looking satisfied. ] -How did you come to know of that farm. I did not even recognize the l-landscape?
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Such a far cry from his phantom Amaurot, from the burning purgatory of his illusory Final Days. Not lingering long in despair, not revolted by the comparable calm of Venat's sundered world - finding hope, and bringing it forth. This is far from the first time Viktor has noticed the subtle shift in Emet-Selch, but looking upon him now, surrounded as he is by blinking fireflies of magic, Viktor feels a little like he's swallowed the sun. An impossibly incandescent feeling clinging warmth to his ribs and all beneath them.
Soft, too baldly adoring, he says, ] You are a marvel.
[ Viktor turns his head, scrubs the back of his wrist across his cheeks, like it might rub away some of the shine he feels on them. Emet-Selch plucks the grape from his hand in the meantime, and when he looks up again, it's with a heatless scowl - appalled that he's doing exactly what he told Viktor not to right away. ]
Spicy? [ Heedless of the warning, Viktor selects another grape and stuffs it in his mouth before he can be scolded - shamelessly fast as a dog that's managed to get in the rubbish bin. For his efforts, he's greeted with the faint taste of his lilies - immediately stomach-turning - and he grimaces and spits it out immediately with a loud, blech.
One eye squinted shut, he tries to ignore the lingering tingle of Light. ]
How did you come to- [ He pauses, looks at the cluster of grapes in his hand, considering. ] Hold on. Watch this.
[ Viktor selects another grape, tosses it in his palm to test the weight, and then lobs it, hard and far as he can, toward the ruins below. It's not quite as impressive a throw as it could be, his strength still returning, but it's far enough. The silver-purple sphere arcs high, glittering in the afternoon sun, and Viktor extends his arm, holding his hand like a pistol.
As the too-large grape plummets, Viktor pantomimes firing, coaxing aether as he does, finding thread and unraveling it. The grape unfurls, all silver and sepia aether, a flower turned firework in the air. Viktor cackles, thrilled that his little trick had worked.
He turns his attention back to Emet-Selch, looking satisfied. ] -How did you come to know of that farm. I did not even recognize the l-landscape?