[ When he is cruel, it is intentional. The cruelty is merited.
Given the chance, the one exception he can think of is the shade of Hythlodaeus. He had not intended cruelty in its creation, had not intended anything other than set dressing, and yet, he had been cruel, undeniably. He continues to be cruel by not grasping both hands into the illusion of Amaurot, rending it in twain.
If he were willing to be truthful, he'd know he couldn't. Being somewhat responsible for her fall weighed heavily enough; he doesn't have the wherewithal in him to destroy Amaurot again and absolutely could not muster up the ability to knowingly destroy Hythlodaeus, even if the real one sits in the aetherial sea. Neither would he ask Viktor to get his hands dirty with work Emet-Selch is too weak to manage. Too weak to kill Hythlodaeus, just cruel enough to make him linger in a half-existence because of his cowardice. ]
Useful enough, aye.
[ A distracted answer, idly thinking about all the times he'd used that spell as Solus especially, eager to escape prying eyes and have time alone to himself. Viktor, as ever, drags him from the past into the present, intentionally or not. A second, then he processes Viktor's other statement and manages a wan smile that Viktor cannot see, but may hear. ]
Why do you think I haven't taught you either? You're already a menace.
[ It does, he supposes, feel like starlight. He'd activated the spell thoughtlessly, not bothering to think or feel anything about it but forgotten that with all of this new to Viktor, to have the spell cast would not be a normal, rote part of one's day. He lingers. Lets Viktor grasp at him and makes sure he misses the first attempt, then gently corrects him, sliding his fingers along Viktor's forearm, down until their fingers twine loosely. ]
Of course. Wouldn't want to lose track of you.
[ He does, of course, toss a silence charm about the two of them just to be safe. It won't do anything if one of them does stub their toe, but it muffles the whisper of robes or the grind of boots on stone, and allows them to slip silently through the fortress. Better still, following Viktor lets Emet-Selch indulge in simply looking at him, admiring the silhouette of him from behind greedily, knowing he won't be caught doing anything as embarrassing as gazing.
Emet-Selch ducks to enter after Viktor, nose wrinkling. He hates cellars. Dark, dank little places they've no business being in when there's a perfectly warm, servicable bed awaiting them. With a particularly put-out little sigh he studies the shelf enough to memorize its rough make and then Emet-Selch obliterates the shelf with a snap and reassembles it out of the way, revealing Viktor was correct. A second passageway sits, cobwebbed, darker, danker, colder. Emet-Selch thinks again, longingly, of bed, and nudges Viktor's back. ]
no subject
Given the chance, the one exception he can think of is the shade of Hythlodaeus. He had not intended cruelty in its creation, had not intended anything other than set dressing, and yet, he had been cruel, undeniably. He continues to be cruel by not grasping both hands into the illusion of Amaurot, rending it in twain.
If he were willing to be truthful, he'd know he couldn't. Being somewhat responsible for her fall weighed heavily enough; he doesn't have the wherewithal in him to destroy Amaurot again and absolutely could not muster up the ability to knowingly destroy Hythlodaeus, even if the real one sits in the aetherial sea. Neither would he ask Viktor to get his hands dirty with work Emet-Selch is too weak to manage. Too weak to kill Hythlodaeus, just cruel enough to make him linger in a half-existence because of his cowardice. ]
Useful enough, aye.
[ A distracted answer, idly thinking about all the times he'd used that spell as Solus especially, eager to escape prying eyes and have time alone to himself. Viktor, as ever, drags him from the past into the present, intentionally or not. A second, then he processes Viktor's other statement and manages a wan smile that Viktor cannot see, but may hear. ]
Why do you think I haven't taught you either? You're already a menace.
[ It does, he supposes, feel like starlight. He'd activated the spell thoughtlessly, not bothering to think or feel anything about it but forgotten that with all of this new to Viktor, to have the spell cast would not be a normal, rote part of one's day. He lingers. Lets Viktor grasp at him and makes sure he misses the first attempt, then gently corrects him, sliding his fingers along Viktor's forearm, down until their fingers twine loosely. ]
Of course. Wouldn't want to lose track of you.
[ He does, of course, toss a silence charm about the two of them just to be safe. It won't do anything if one of them does stub their toe, but it muffles the whisper of robes or the grind of boots on stone, and allows them to slip silently through the fortress. Better still, following Viktor lets Emet-Selch indulge in simply looking at him, admiring the silhouette of him from behind greedily, knowing he won't be caught doing anything as embarrassing as gazing.
Emet-Selch ducks to enter after Viktor, nose wrinkling. He hates cellars. Dark, dank little places they've no business being in when there's a perfectly warm, servicable bed awaiting them. With a particularly put-out little sigh he studies the shelf enough to memorize its rough make and then Emet-Selch obliterates the shelf with a snap and reassembles it out of the way, revealing Viktor was correct. A second passageway sits, cobwebbed, darker, danker, colder. Emet-Selch thinks again, longingly, of bed, and nudges Viktor's back. ]
Onward, then, brave adventurer.