[ The little noise of acknowledgment is as good as agreement. Viktor's right. The quarters are no longer just Viktor and Emet-Selch's, but theirs, like the links to the aetherial sea, like everything else. Like it used to be, almost. The thought is, oddly, a comfort. Almost as much of one as Viktor reaching out, pressing his hand against Emet-Selch's cheek. He allows himself the indulgence of tilting his head into it, a favored pet receiving affection from its master, inhaling and exhaling a little sigh.
Perhaps more irritating is the fact he keeps expecting for the other shoe to drop. For Viktor to realize he's still incensed with Emet-Selch's choice of words, to realize that Emet-Selch had given no small amount of consideration to the simple act of manipulation rather than asking for what he wants. Maybe, because disagreements with the Unsundered often lasted decades, centuries. When one had forever, it was nothing to have an argument that resulted in one or both parties not seeing each other for a long period of time. They are not allowed that here and now. Viktor's mortality is, in a way, a blessing, forcing Emet-Selch's hand. ]
I've done...a disservice to you, I think. [ As he speaks, his fingers keep working on the fastenings to Viktor's robe, undoing them one at a time, lingering, stroking fingers against the skin bared, tracing constellations of freckles that put the stars to shame. ] To have any part of the management of the aetherial sea, one must needs attend countless seminars, study for what you would consider lifetimes. Time we do not have.
[ It feels a little like unwrapping a present, doing this. Intentional, slow, baring each new ilm of skin, the cloth gathering and then sagging lower and lower with gravity's help. Emet-Selch finally gives into the impulse nagging at him, and presses a lingering kiss against the swell of Viktor's shoulder, nosing into the warm skin there greedily before he masters himself and continues working.
Another subject to add to their studies, then. He'll have to figure out how to best condense so much learning into so little time, but he can make a passable attempt at the effort and like with so much else, they will simply make do with what they have to work with. ]
To add a method of...transition between the aetherial seas would irrevocably change the souls within. There is a chance - infinitesimal, but a chance - it would not be an issue. There is equally a chance that to do so would cause souls to bloat and gorge themselves on each other, and we would turn the Underworld into a copy of the ruined Thirteenth. Souls would only exist to be consumed while fragmented, while those larger and more powerful gained too much to exist unchanged, transforming into...well. 'Twould put the horrors of the last few months to shame.
[ This is, perhaps, not the conversation best served whilst he undoes Viktor's clothing, but he can multitask, and blessedly, Viktor is wearing smalls beneath his robes. When the buttons are finished, he sweeps it off Viktor with all the showmanship of a magician, flicking it into the air where it reappears hung up for later wearing moments later. Any remaining clothing is divested, one at a time until there's nothing but socks and smalls left. One finger hooks in Viktor's underwear, the other arm braced for Viktor to hold onto as he starts to drag them down to fall around Viktor's ankles, keeping himself braced for Viktor to step out of them. ]
We had a goal when venturing down there. Were you able to learn what you wished? To identify a way to locate Meteion?
no subject
[ The little noise of acknowledgment is as good as agreement. Viktor's right. The quarters are no longer just Viktor and Emet-Selch's, but theirs, like the links to the aetherial sea, like everything else. Like it used to be, almost. The thought is, oddly, a comfort. Almost as much of one as Viktor reaching out, pressing his hand against Emet-Selch's cheek. He allows himself the indulgence of tilting his head into it, a favored pet receiving affection from its master, inhaling and exhaling a little sigh.
Perhaps more irritating is the fact he keeps expecting for the other shoe to drop. For Viktor to realize he's still incensed with Emet-Selch's choice of words, to realize that Emet-Selch had given no small amount of consideration to the simple act of manipulation rather than asking for what he wants. Maybe, because disagreements with the Unsundered often lasted decades, centuries. When one had forever, it was nothing to have an argument that resulted in one or both parties not seeing each other for a long period of time. They are not allowed that here and now. Viktor's mortality is, in a way, a blessing, forcing Emet-Selch's hand. ]
I've done...a disservice to you, I think. [ As he speaks, his fingers keep working on the fastenings to Viktor's robe, undoing them one at a time, lingering, stroking fingers against the skin bared, tracing constellations of freckles that put the stars to shame. ] To have any part of the management of the aetherial sea, one must needs attend countless seminars, study for what you would consider lifetimes. Time we do not have.
[ It feels a little like unwrapping a present, doing this. Intentional, slow, baring each new ilm of skin, the cloth gathering and then sagging lower and lower with gravity's help. Emet-Selch finally gives into the impulse nagging at him, and presses a lingering kiss against the swell of Viktor's shoulder, nosing into the warm skin there greedily before he masters himself and continues working.
Another subject to add to their studies, then. He'll have to figure out how to best condense so much learning into so little time, but he can make a passable attempt at the effort and like with so much else, they will simply make do with what they have to work with. ]
To add a method of...transition between the aetherial seas would irrevocably change the souls within. There is a chance - infinitesimal, but a chance - it would not be an issue. There is equally a chance that to do so would cause souls to bloat and gorge themselves on each other, and we would turn the Underworld into a copy of the ruined Thirteenth. Souls would only exist to be consumed while fragmented, while those larger and more powerful gained too much to exist unchanged, transforming into...well. 'Twould put the horrors of the last few months to shame.
[ This is, perhaps, not the conversation best served whilst he undoes Viktor's clothing, but he can multitask, and blessedly, Viktor is wearing smalls beneath his robes. When the buttons are finished, he sweeps it off Viktor with all the showmanship of a magician, flicking it into the air where it reappears hung up for later wearing moments later. Any remaining clothing is divested, one at a time until there's nothing but socks and smalls left. One finger hooks in Viktor's underwear, the other arm braced for Viktor to hold onto as he starts to drag them down to fall around Viktor's ankles, keeping himself braced for Viktor to step out of them. ]
We had a goal when venturing down there. Were you able to learn what you wished? To identify a way to locate Meteion?