[ Viktor pauses to take a bite, chewing over the possibility of getting more embroiled here. It itches, ignoring the imbalance, the suffering, but getting tangled up in rebellion now would be foolish when annihilation sits just beyond every conflict on their star. The cat's cradle beneath his ribs twists and tightens, but his duty is now larger than the conflicts that used to take all his time. His limits seem to lie below him now, not above; Viktor cannot help but think of Venat, of Hydaelyn, tangled up in fate in much the same way.
His heart aches. But the people will be stronger for solving this themselves. Better not to grow reliant upon singular champions to settle disputes of rule. ]
Rendering aid to them where I can while you handle our other matters m-must be enough. [ And it almost soothes him, except- ] If the little shite continues to choose violence, though... [ Viktor arches a brow, shoulders bouncing. He does not finish the thought.
Instead, he watches Emet-Selch pick through his own meal and wonders at the weight upon his shoulders. Each of them has found a uniquely painful problem on this reflection. Darkly amusing, to think that they might have an easier time if they could trade tasks - it is not to be, though. They would not have these problems, were they not each exactly who they are. Little to do but try to offer comfort, to ease the weight, where he can.
Beneath the table, Viktor nudges his foot forward until the two of them are ankle to ankle. ]
Push myself further. Stabilize her soul and our other reflections. [ Hotly, he adds, ] Take what is m-mine. [ A moment later, though, Viktor's mouth flattens into a thin line, ears drooping as stares down at potatoes and carrots. His fire flags, gutters. ] 'Tis my h-hope, at least.
[ He must consider what exactly that means, but does not dwell quite long enough to let silence settle in between them. It feels ridiculous, talking magical suppositions to a man who likely had a hand in revealing much of what the people of his time know of magic. Viktor is no stranger to feeling like a fool, out of his element, but it is not nearly as easy to willingly embarrass himself when it offers no real benefit to anyone else. Explaining takes effort, scraping up the sort of courage he still uses so rarely. Unshuffling the scrapbook pieces of his mind, then laying them out for judgment is excruciating. But he does it. ]
Aepymetes talked of t-trading aether, like tying ribbons to trees. Markers. 'Twas a map of the star, of the people and places he loved. He used it to move, aye? To carry himself and his friends across Eitherys. I- I believe that spellwork can be built upon. If I c-connect with what has sprouted from my soul, if I make a strong weave of us, I think... I could use that magic to f-find. Find Meteion.
no subject
[ Viktor pauses to take a bite, chewing over the possibility of getting more embroiled here. It itches, ignoring the imbalance, the suffering, but getting tangled up in rebellion now would be foolish when annihilation sits just beyond every conflict on their star. The cat's cradle beneath his ribs twists and tightens, but his duty is now larger than the conflicts that used to take all his time. His limits seem to lie below him now, not above; Viktor cannot help but think of Venat, of Hydaelyn, tangled up in fate in much the same way.
His heart aches. But the people will be stronger for solving this themselves. Better not to grow reliant upon singular champions to settle disputes of rule. ]
Rendering aid to them where I can while you handle our other matters m-must be enough. [ And it almost soothes him, except- ] If the little shite continues to choose violence, though... [ Viktor arches a brow, shoulders bouncing. He does not finish the thought.
Instead, he watches Emet-Selch pick through his own meal and wonders at the weight upon his shoulders. Each of them has found a uniquely painful problem on this reflection. Darkly amusing, to think that they might have an easier time if they could trade tasks - it is not to be, though. They would not have these problems, were they not each exactly who they are. Little to do but try to offer comfort, to ease the weight, where he can.
Beneath the table, Viktor nudges his foot forward until the two of them are ankle to ankle. ]
Push myself further. Stabilize her soul and our other reflections. [ Hotly, he adds, ] Take what is m-mine. [ A moment later, though, Viktor's mouth flattens into a thin line, ears drooping as stares down at potatoes and carrots. His fire flags, gutters. ] 'Tis my h-hope, at least.
[ He must consider what exactly that means, but does not dwell quite long enough to let silence settle in between them. It feels ridiculous, talking magical suppositions to a man who likely had a hand in revealing much of what the people of his time know of magic. Viktor is no stranger to feeling like a fool, out of his element, but it is not nearly as easy to willingly embarrass himself when it offers no real benefit to anyone else. Explaining takes effort, scraping up the sort of courage he still uses so rarely. Unshuffling the scrapbook pieces of his mind, then laying them out for judgment is excruciating. But he does it. ]
Aepymetes talked of t-trading aether, like tying ribbons to trees. Markers. 'Twas a map of the star, of the people and places he loved. He used it to move, aye? To carry himself and his friends across Eitherys. I- I believe that spellwork can be built upon. If I c-connect with what has sprouted from my soul, if I make a strong weave of us, I think... I could use that magic to f-find. Find Meteion.