[ Worse, he thinks, is the fact that Viktor doesn't rise to the easy bait of Emet-Selch's annoyance dangled in front of him, carrot on a string. Everything would be easier if Viktor sunk to the levels Emet-Selch were willing to, but instead, he drags Emet-Selch from the muck every time. ]

There is only so much to find, I fear, though I trust your grasp will remain tight.

[ The silence lingers for a bit, Emet-Selch bracing a hand at his side to better accommodate the weight of Viktor leaned against him, resisting the urge to lean in, press his face into soft curls and breathe him in. Reassure himself that Viktor still smells like a garden, not a graveyard. ]

I - a pickle farm? You've a mistaken idea of the margins on pickle making, I think. You'd be far more profitable traded somewhere else.