[ There he goes, finding busywork to put his attention on instead of bearing the weight of Viktor's gaze. He watches the swish of fabric as Hades moves, his deft hands and their exacting measurements, doling out tea leaves and pouring water. It aches, knowing he is the root of no small amount of Emet-Selch's discomfort, and that Hades would almost certainly reject efforts to soothe for being too close to coddling. Emet-Selch speaks of grace, like what he does is something noble - does he not realize it is penance? Necessary tithe for a soul that had once abandoned its station, for a Warrior who demands so much blood to fuel his power.
Of course he would serve whatever world was left. He must, no matter the shape it takes. He hums into his arms, a noncommittal sound.
It's not that he expects to be told no, only that he doesn't expect a yes to come as easily as it does. Not after the last bell. Viktor rises quietly, brings the tray of cakes over to the table beside the absurd stone tub, and bends over to start the water. He dangles his fingers beneath the faucet, waiting until the temperature is to his liking - almost uncomfortably hot - to stopper the bath.
Fingers dance over the toggles binding his robe shut and then still. One ear angles toward Hades as he speaks, his words drawing a faint smirk to Viktor's lips. He leaves the robe done up - work better left for when Hades is standing before him - and sets to browsing salts and oils to add to the water. ]
Worry not. We are not in such dire straits that I would risk c-crumbs in our bed. [ While he waits, Viktor lifts his hands to undo the strip of leather tying his hair back out of his eyes. Curls fall loose around flowers, drooping into his eyes. Mildly, teasing, he goes on. ] Now, were the world ending, that would be a d-different story. All bets would be off, then - fried dough with fruit syrup and p-plenty of powdered sugar, right on top of the duvet.
no subject
Of course he would serve whatever world was left. He must, no matter the shape it takes. He hums into his arms, a noncommittal sound.
It's not that he expects to be told no, only that he doesn't expect a yes to come as easily as it does. Not after the last bell. Viktor rises quietly, brings the tray of cakes over to the table beside the absurd stone tub, and bends over to start the water. He dangles his fingers beneath the faucet, waiting until the temperature is to his liking - almost uncomfortably hot - to stopper the bath.
Fingers dance over the toggles binding his robe shut and then still. One ear angles toward Hades as he speaks, his words drawing a faint smirk to Viktor's lips. He leaves the robe done up - work better left for when Hades is standing before him - and sets to browsing salts and oils to add to the water. ]
Worry not. We are not in such dire straits that I would risk c-crumbs in our bed. [ While he waits, Viktor lifts his hands to undo the strip of leather tying his hair back out of his eyes. Curls fall loose around flowers, drooping into his eyes. Mildly, teasing, he goes on. ] Now, were the world ending, that would be a d-different story. All bets would be off, then - fried dough with fruit syrup and p-plenty of powdered sugar, right on top of the duvet.