Do not attempt to be cute. You know perfectly well what I mean.
[ Normal can mean anything depending on the day, but Viktor is being willfully obtuse. Unimpressed (but not unappreciative, at least), both with the avoidance and with Viktor's syrupy-slow attempt at washing, Emet-Selch allows him a few more moments of lingering and distraction and then before he allows Viktor to go so far as a proper massage, stands. The water sloshes at his hips, as he raises to his full height, tipping Viktor's chin up with a finger hooked beneath it.]
Then let us be asleep, sooner rather than later. [ A snap, a thoughtless little expenditure of aether. The bath, cleared. Viktor, sat in the dry stone with a pair of his linen trousers for him to keep or remove if needed. Emet-Selch, absolutely not in linen trousers but silk, forgoing a shirt despite the familiar magic tugging at him in offering. Compromise. Their bodies, cleaned, dried. A useful spell for the road, when one doesn't have access to somewhere proper to bathe and would rather avoid the river, but it never compares to an actual bath. ]
You may divest yourself of them when we are in bed where 'tis warm. [ But he'd thought at least getting to the bed or managing their wind-down routine, well, he might like to have some trousers on. ] Are you quite set on linen?
[ A mental image, suddenly, of Viktor in silk trousers, throwing himself across the bed, sliding across it heedless of the fact he might break his neck. Emet-Selch swallows a sigh, and steps out from the bath, teacup in one hand, the other tugging a silk dressing gown from nowhere to pull on for the time being. ]
Come along. Chop chop. There's a perfectly serviceable bed, and I would like to see it utilized for its intended purpose for at least a few bells tonight.
I am not being c-cute. [ A protest, delicately lodged. Emet-Selch fits a finger beneath Viktor's jaw, and his gaze goes where it's directed without resistance. Too readily, perhaps, does he heed Emet-Selch's command -- too readily does he find himself enjoying allowing Hades to direct him. ] You are very precise with your words. It- it makes me s-stop to more thoroughly consider my own. Before we came back to the First, I rarely stayed in the same p-place twice in a-
[ Hades changes their situation with a thoughtless snap, and though Viktor does not flinch at the change, it does leave him feeling a bit silly. Sat on stone wearing pants he wasn't a moment before, staring up at Emet-Selch, half-clothed. Noticing that he is half-clothed, not draped in pajamas that hew so close to Amaurotine robes. Funny, how a bit of extra fabric can be so much more appealing than simple nakedness. Viktor catches himself staring at the jutting points of Emet-Selch's hips, quietly amused and doing exactly what Hades had implied he might do.
He shakes his head, takes a second to account for the sensation of being suddenly clean, suddenly dry. A hand lifts, lighting on his crown. His hair is... not right. Not wrong, either. But he can tell by sense that the wild, windblown mess coils up higher than it should - corkscrews where waves should be, springing in odd directions, swallowing up the flowers that usually press his hair down. The silly shampoos, he tells himself, had nothing to do with it. ]
I've not slept much in anything but linen. 'Tis simply what I am used to.
[ He fetches his tea cup and rises, takes a sip, and then returns to his original thought, ]
Before we settled, there was no normal. And so, I h-had to think about what my preference was. [ Viktor steps out of the tub, mislikes how cold the floor is on his feet, and hurries over to the bed on tip toe. Somehow, he doesn't spill a drop of tea as he scurries, nor as he tosses himself into bed. The faintest tug on ambient aether perhaps explains away his remarkable ability to hold his cup steady as he seats himself on the bed. He takes one more sip before setting it on the bedside table. ] I've preferences now, though.
[ A doubtful, disagreeable noise, but he does not actually argue the fact despite the certainty he would win if he did. Viktor admitting he wants to be more thoughtful in his speech smooths down any disagreement, however minor. Viktor picks his way across the chilled stone and Emet-Selch sweeps his way through the room to tidy up what little he's moved about.
The water he'd pulled from the bath he reforms into yet another blanket, flicking it across the bed with a casual flip of his wrist from across the room. It settles itself across the bed, corners matched, soft to the touch and smelling vaguely of the same mint from the bath. If he hadn't expressed an interest in sleeping without as much clothing Emet-Selch would have created a couple sets of sleep pants to try on; as it is, he adds it to the back of his mind to consider later. ]
And? You've preferences now when you did not previously. Tell me some of them. [ a pause, a sideways look from where he's hanging up tomorrow's clothes for easy access. ] A non-insignificant number of them seem to be around not wearing clothing.
Hm. [ Viktor echoes the sound, sighs right after. Heatless, he complains, ] Must you 'hm' me when I am being en-t-tirely sincere?
[ More pressing than their brewing debate is fleeing this reflection's relentless, biting cold. Viktor burrows beneath sheets, into blankets, pulling them up over his nose, and then decides that even that is not warm enough. He sits up, finds one of the lingering fire crystals tucked into the bed's corners, only glancingly warm now, and attempts to coax it back to life.
His body interferes halfway through pulling threads. Light insists upon stillness, and the dim red glow goes pearly white. Heat turns to nothing, radiant numbness. Viktor plucks the crystal from where it's tucked with a frown, oozing disappointment, and sets it beside his half-empty teacup, an incandescent beacon in the candlelit room. He glares at the thing until Emet-Selch's next line of questions grabs his attention anew. ]
You say it as though it is a b-bad thing. The unfortunate truth is, I am quite f-fond of you, Emet-Selch, and my preference for less clothing is tied up in th-that.
[ A pause, a pout, he allows himself to consider the question in earnest with a rush of air through his nose. ]
I like our- [ All the hairs of the back of Viktor's neck stand on end, jolted by mortification. ] -your bed in the Crystarium. 'Tis quite big. And soft. Ample room to s-sprawl, but I can still r-reach you. And... it s-smells like you. 'Tis always warm, familiar.
[ Finally Viktor reclines, head settling into a ludicrously soft pillow, attention fixed on Emet-Selch as he tidies his quarters. Easier to watch him dodder about than to think about his own desires, still. It is, he finds, almost painful to consider want too directly. Even something as simple as how he'd prefer to sleep makes his brain, his nerves, his whole body rebel. As though he is aught but scar tissue, stiff and aching when pushed too far. ]
I don't know. [ He pulls the covers up over his head 'til only the tips of his ears stick out. Silence settles for a few heavy seconds before he goes on. From beneath the blankets, surrounded by warmth, Viktor allows: ] I do not l-like when it is too dark. Candles, or ceruleum lanterns, or hearth fire. The light, the sound, the smell - they are a comfort. [ Another pause. Then, soft, quiet: ] These blankets smell n-nice.
[ The downside to keeping his room in a near-exacting state, even when borrowed, is that there is precious little he needs to clean up to make it presentable for the day coming. This leaves him with precious little to distract from the fact Viktor lies between his bed's covers, and he very, very much wants to go join him.
Did he take the trousers off Emet-Selch had magicked into place for him? Is it better or worse if he doesn't? The faint pang of disappointment at the thought feels a little like a betrayal of himself; hasn't he had enough at this point? But no. He doesn't think he has. Doesn't think he will ever hit a point of enough, doesn't think that point exists. ]
Our bed, is it.
[ At least he finds the overall process easier when Viktor is the one on the off foot. He takes the unintentional bait dangled before him and uses it, shameless, prowling over to the bed. The robe is slid off of his shoulders, tossed upon one of the chairs near the bed and Emet-Selch pauses at his side of the bed, considering the knowledge as well as the altered crystal. Another snap, less theatrical, like the effort is more out of habit than attempting to put on any sort of show. Across the room, candelabras melt into existence, pre-lit, casting the whole of the room into dim lighting. Not so much it would be difficult to sleep, but enough that they won't walk into a piece of furniture getting up in the middle of the night to relieve themselves.
He keeps his sleep pants on, after a beat of hesitation, parting the covers, gingerly sliding between them, settling on his back and then just as soon as he's settled, rolling onto his side to regard Viktor quietly, scooting into the no man's land between them that once used to be an unthinkable distance to cross. Gently, he hooks finger into the blankets tugged above Viktor's head, nudging them down to his chin and then just...doesn't remove his arm from where it's settled atop his chest, despite the chill his shoulders and arm are exposed to. He can feel Viktor's warmth, just ilms away if he chooses to close the distance and bask in it. ]
Do you require additional candles or are these sufficient?
[ Regardless of Viktor's answer, he draws fingers across the covers and the crystals flare with renewed warmth once again, the bed slowly warming around them. ]
[ Our bed. Like a boy again, caught sneaking out when he should be in bed, Viktor tenses and stills, shoulders bunching. A mercy that he's hidden beneath blankets, the only sign he's been startled an innocuous shift of the lump on the bed as he forces himself to relax. It takes him a few seconds longer to work up the nerve to respond, listening to the sound of shifting cloth, another snap of fingers. ]
Would you find it tolerable? [ Viktor murmurs into the blankets settled over his face. It was Emet-Selch's bed first, after all. His quarters. His space, even if Viktor has become a persistent presence. Whatever they are, he is not so sure they have quite progressed to joint ownership of furniture -- something so wildly domestic as to be wholly alien, completely absurd. Thinking about it sends a wave of frission jolting up Viktor's back.
And then, a second later, the bed creaks from added weight. In seconds that tick by like stretched minutes, Emet-Selch settles, moves closer, and ilms the blankets down until Viktor's face is exposed to the cold. He opens his eyes, blinking at the new, low flickering light. Exactly what he'd asked for, not too bright, just enough to chase the dark away. Something like terror but not bubble up from low in Viktor's stomach. The feeling wraps around his lungs, squeezes, sets his heart to a galloping pace that surely, mortifyingly, Emet-Selch can feel beneath his palm.
Viktor swallows, shoring up the will to respond. ]
'Tis p-perfect.
[ He angles his head, trying to catch a glimpse at Emet-Selch lying behind him without moving too much, not wanting him to slip away. After a second, he slips a hand down to slide beneath the waistband of the linen trousers Emet-Selch had created for him. Viktor holds his breath, lifts his hips, and shoves the soft spun cloth down. Off his hips, past his thighs, until they're far enough down that he can wriggle the rest of the way out of them with a few kicks of his legs, leaving them hanging off the side of the bed.
Naked again, Viktor scoots back, closing the minute distance between them and pressing himself into the bend of Hades's body, hungry for his warmth, eager to be surrounded. He curls an arm around his pillow and shuts his eyes. ]
[ He strains to think about other evenings in his quarters. He was perfectly happy with blackout curtains, drawn tight about the windows to try and maintain as much darkness as possible through the evening. More often than not he'd leave a fire lit, either in the fireplace or through candles just to be able to see enough to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night if needed, but no more.
No sense worrying about it now, but something to consider for later, maybe. For all the other evenings they'll share in the same space, a thought that doesn't cause nearly as much consternation as it once did.
The blankets rustle, Viktor squirming, wiggling about and Emet-Selch lifts his arm, scooting away a bit to give him space as he tries to parse out the movements beneath the blankets, and, ah. He'll wait for Viktor to ask again, once or twice on his end, regarding his own trousers. There's the sound of cloth hitting the floor on the opposite end of the bed; Emet-Selch bites back most of a sigh. ]
I just had my head tucked betwixt your thighs the better part of the evening, to say nothing of the rest of the night's activities.
[ They have, he thinks, passed far past the point of 'too close' several times over. Viktor squirms closer and Emet-Selch doesn't, for once, tense. He's too tired to, simply raising the sheet and blankets up a little so Viktor can curve his body back into Emet-Selch's own, and Emet-Selch gingerly fits himself close, presses his face into Viktor's curls and inhales a breath that shudders a little.
The warmth of Viktor's bare back presses against his chest, the scent of him already laid into the sheets. He wants - he wants. He's had Viktor, has him now and yet he wants further, greedy to the end. An arm drapes itself over Viktor's waist, tucking the covers in tighter around both of them until Viktor is, in fact, surrounded. Our bed, he thinks, and is pleasantly surprised when the consideration doesn't ache with old memories.
Sleepily, Emet-Selch asks the somewhat pedantic question rolling around in his brain, no longer precisely annunciated, but sleep-thick edges, the start of a yawn at the end. ] Is it just the bed?
[ He cannot help but sass back, though when Emet-Selch closes an arm around his waist to draw him in, it rather dampens the desire to give him any trouble at all. A hum, low and pleased, rolls out of him as he feels his shoulder blades press to skin. Embraced wholly, every ilm of him cradled by warmth, his skin prickles where they've slotted together, matched pieces.
And in the next breath, in the heartbeat of silence that follows, doubt bubbles up in the hollow of his chest; his lot is to serve, not receive such decadence. He is undeserving, has been spoiled, and the star will take its due for this excess.
Viktor shuts his eyes more tightly, lights his fingers on the back of the palm draped over his stomach, and pushes back on that feeling. This is worth it, and it will not be taken from him so easily.
Hades asks a question, and Viktor remembers to breathe. The tension set into his muscles unwinds, and he echoes the yawn, unable to help himself. ]
Our... kitchen, maybe. [ He offers, low and thoughtful, welcoming the distraction from darker thoughts. ] Our cups and plates. Our hearth. Our window garden. Our bath. [ Each item he lists draws a bit more tension out of him, and he echoes Emet-Selch's yawn, unable to help himself. ] Your shoebill. But, our... [ He starts to drift toward dreaming, voice going quiet as he slips into unconsciousness. ] ...little sprouts.
[ Emet-Selch doesn't answer given Viktor doesn't seem actually upset. More than that - he's grateful for the bit of distance between them all the same. He hadn't elected to bother chasing orgasm when they were together, far more satisfied lavishing attention upon Viktor. Uncomfortable but manageable. Were they both nude, half-awake in the morning, Emet-Selch is not certain the word no would be known to him were he propositioned in the morning.
Our is a dangerous word, he thinks, curving himself tighter around Viktor the sleeper his voice gets, daring to hook his fingers in Viktor's after a little patting about, index finger and middle curved loosely with Viktor's. ]
Hm. [ A hum, a murmur of acknowledgment, waiting until Viktor finally dozes off, his breathing evening out before Emet-Selch dares to tighten his grip around Viktor, tugging the blankets in around them even tighter. To lose this will be unbearable. Losing everything once had fundamentally cracked and broken something within him as a person; he'd known that then, but hadn't realized to what extent until lifetimes later. He wants, insanely, to start searching for Meteion. To take her out now, rather than waiting for her to subsume the world and hope they've salvaged enough to eke out a victory. Impossible, of course - he doesn't know where to begin searching, but the thought itches.
For now, he contents himself with memorizing this: the weight of the blankets tucked around them. Viktor's breathing as it settles into sleep. The scent of his curls, and beneath that, him, the warmth of his body and the malms of bare skin. It is enough. It has to be, for now. ]
[ There are no birds on this reflection save those relegated to the private menageries of wealthy lords. Or, if there are others, they do not choose to sleep here in these cold climes. Emet-Selch's candles, objects of Creation, do not burn down to stubs as the night rolls on, still flickering softly hours later. Viktor wakes to silence, to the faint warm cast of gold firelight, and cannot tell what time it is. Hades still clutches him close, tight, as though he fears he might lose him if he is not vigilant, and for a moment Viktor thinks he has only stirred from dozing, that only minutes have passed. Or that time itself fell victim to this frigid shard and froze in place.
He would be quite okay with that.
Except, they've got work to do. He tips his head back and catches sight of sunlight creeping in at the edges of heavy curtains. Still morning.
It is not often that he is awake before Emet-Selch. Hades has always been the last to doze, the first to stir, and Viktor himself cannot ever seem to fight off sleep long in his presence. In fact, he briefly considers shutting his eyes and scraping another bell's worth of sleep, but a rare opportunity has been set before him.
After untangling their twined fingers, he turns in Hades's grasp. Unsurprisingly, the palms gliding over his body as he moves might as well be steel on flint, sparking fire beneath bare skin. Incredible, ridiculous, how quickly an aching hunger comes to life in his stomach. He ignores it for now, content to simply study Hades as he sleeps, the dense fan of white lashes, the serene stillness of his expression while his mind is too busy untangling dreams to be burdened by his usual busy thoughts. The desire to press fingers to his features the way pilgrims lay hands on stone saints is near overwhelming. Viktor holds back, but doesn't refrain from indulging entirely.
At risk of waking him, Viktor bobs in to plant light kisses on his mouth, his cheek, his chin. Then, soft, barely even a whisper, ] It is easier to bloom with you in my life.
[ Hades is, Viktor thinks, rarely impressed with his romantic nonsense. But perhaps if he says it enough, if he whispers truths to Hades while he sleeps, it will untangle some of those wretched knots that seem to plague his mind every day. Easy to hope for, at least. Viktor leans in to steal another kiss, but a rap at the door interrupts him.
Just one.
Startled, annoyed, Viktor lifts a hand, grasps a thrumming thread of aether and stills it with a twist of his fingers, muting the door. He gives himself a moment to be shocked at what he's done, muscle memory far older than he is stirring to life suddenly. Viktor stares up at his lifted hand, fingers bent as though curling yarn between them, and lowers it slowly to smooth down their blankets. ]
Sleep. [ he murmurs, tucking a few fallen strands of platinum out of Hades's face. Out of bed is the absolute last place in the world Viktor wants to be, but he slips away from Hades's grasp, deposits his feet on the floor, and shivers immediately. Before he shoves himself out of bed entirely, Viktor reaches for another thread - a familiar one, a room away. His patchwork robe. A tug is all it takes, as though the thing wishes to be on his body. One second, he is naked, and the next, he isn't.
Viktor tries not to look to pleased with himself as, finally, he rises, tying off his robe as he crosses the room to answer the door.
The maid waiting at the door greets him with widened eyes, her attention falling immediately to the bruises dotting his neck.
Oh. Right.
Thankfully, the maid soldiers on with her duties. They settle on breakfast, smoked fish, eggs, and bread, the strongest tea they have, to be brought up and left by the door. Viktor is all too glad to send her on her way, shuts the still silenced door behind him, and hurries back to bed, ghosting fingers over the marks Hades had left on his skin.
He could get their day started, draw back curtains, fetch a change of clothes, stoke the fireplace. Instead, he shrugs off his robe and climbs back into bed, seeking to leech warmth from the beloved body still wound up beneath the sheets. Quiet, knowing the answer he will get, already, he asks, ] What if we just s-stayed in bed all day, instead?
[ He sleeps, he dreams. Insubstantial, whisps of things he'll never remember in full clarity come morning. They attend the theatre - Hythlodaeus is there, impossibly, within the Crystarium, making little comments in an attempt to get Emet-Selch and Viktor to break and laugh. They walk through Amaurot - it must be Amaurot, but as she was - with Viktor leading him by the hand, ducking them into anywhere that looks interesting. Their bedroom, one body already within the bed, another soon to come, the one within pressing kisses against his face nearly enough to rouse him and a knock heralding the other's arrival except-
The body within the bed shifts, starts to extricate itself and Emet-Selch makes a vaguely disgruntled sound into the pillow. The cold strikes him first, a sharp awareness borne from the lack of thick pajamas from throat to ankles. He tugs at the blankets and nestles closer within them, letting Viktor handle letting in - ah.
The dream crumbles away to nothing but insubstantial impressions, and Emet-Selch slowly wrests his eyes open, taking in the sight of Viktor in his patchwork robe at the door and the person outside, decidedly not Hythlodaeus. The disappointment he expects does not manifest; there's only a lingering grogginess from sleep debt needing repayment. He has, he thinks, slept through the chronometer's alarum. Or, more likely, he simply forgot to schedule it, far too distracted with watching Viktor do absolutely nothing. Mortifying.
Quiet conversation is faintly audible; Emet-Selch trusts Viktor to handle putting a meal together, given how many they've taken together. He ought to get up. Ought to wrest himself from the bed and take care of any number of tasks necessary and yet the weight of his body, or perhaps the weight of the warm blankets, feels insurmountable at this moment.
Viktor swishes his way back from the door, Emet-Selch catching a hint of bruises left along the column of his throat, starker, brighter now both in the dim light of morning and now that the bruises have had time to settle and bloom. If he focuses, he can feel the little disruptions of aether - the tug from fetching his robes, and the silencing charm upon the door, neither of which he recalls teaching. Fondness, or something remarkably close to it, overwrites any irritation he feels at his lack of memory for a simple task, and what dredges remain are easily overwritten as Viktor lifts the blankets to clamber back into bed with him. ]
Absolutely not. [ But neither does he make an effort to rise right away; one hand goes seeking beneath the blankets, finding a thigh, sliding up to trace the line of his hip, up over his belly until he reaches Viktor's chest, pressing firmly to get him to settle near instantly instead of squirming. Until their food arrives, Emet-Selch thinks, and wills away the lethargic fog clouding his mind, weighing his limbs down. One eye cracks open again, surveying what skin he can see after nudging the blankets up and then he tugs them right back down again before the warmth can escape. ] You look like you were mauled. I hope you enjoy being the subject of at least a week of gossip.
They can say whatever they l-like so long as it does not dissuade you from doing it to me again later.
[ If he had his way, if Light did not insist upon restoring his body over and over, he would relish a more permanent bruise. A mark for a mark. A reminder he'll never lose.
Greedily, Emet-Selch grasps him, reels him in and clutches him close, like a treasure meant to be guarded, and Viktor, who for so long held his heart as something untradeable, finds he is just as hungry to be possessed. Still novel, the feeling of being mapped by his sorcerer's hands. He almost forgets that the palm settling on his chest is meant to still him once he's nestled in flush against Emet-Selch - a futile endeavor, for he is all movement once he wakes. Clutched close, Viktor can feel drowsiness threaten anew, eyelids growing heavy, his heart coaxed slow by the gentle rise and fall of Hades's chest, everything the perfect sort of warm to catch up on sleep.
He slips one foot back and tangles it between Hades's ankles, lifts a hand to clasp the palm settled over his chest, pressing fingers between fingers, not quite weaving their hands together, but nearly. ]
Mayhap once our work is done, Ryne and Gaia will allow us to borrow Eden. Bring it here. Fix their f-frost. Then, they will let us do anything without too much fuss, I imagine. [ A pause, he blinks a bit too slow, fighting sleep. ] And a-after, Coerthas.
[ He can still remember when those hills were green, lush with wildflowers. Fertile soil for farming, for wildlife. Food enough for everyone in Ishgard. Someday, they will have little to do but tangle together in bed between stints of making the reflections a bit better.
For now, though, he will settle for this. Work and stolen time stretched as far as it will go. Viktor taps a meandering rhythm against the back of Hades's hand. ]
Last night- I did not know- 'twas everything I wanted, being with you.
[ He swallows, shuts his eyes, falls silent, embarrassed by how clumsily he speaks. Words, ever failing him. After a second spent recentering, he closes his fingers around Hades's hand and brings it up to his lips to press a kiss to his palm, then one to each fingertip. ]
If you are still of a mind to- to indulge my specific requests, I w-would like to do something for you.
[ With a bit of frustration, he thinks there's very little that could convince him not to do that again if asked, save for Viktor deciding that he was done with Emet-Selch. He'd like to pretend he's a stronger man than he is, but he is sentimental to the last, and relentlessly greedy, even if Viktor would never actually call it that.
He thinks they're going to doze a few moments, until the next knock upon the door comes, but Viktor snuggles in close, winds them together near-inextricably, and Emet-Selch frowns down at him, attempting to figure out the likelihood of Viktor dozing off and forgetting to remove the silence charm upon the door. Not so drowsy he can't plot about this future they are working toward, though, so Emet-Selch allows them to linger beneath the sheets and blankets and doesn't wrench himself clear yet. ]
'Tis not so large we could not move it. [ They'd intended such a thing, in one of many potentialities. A way to deal with the damage wrought, that which they did not have as readily accessible the first time the world ended. That Eden would be used for the same purpose, just...in a different capacity, does not sting how he anticipates.
He knows he has been more exhausted countless times before, but each and every time before for the last several thousand years, his bed was not so warm, his hands were not so full. He is, frustratingly, as weak as every other man who has been foolish enough to love someone. ]
If you've a mind for reciprocation, I've no interest. [ Oh, he can almost feel Hythlodaeus cringing. Emet-Selch sighs into Viktor's curls, allowing the lazy kisses against his fingers. He cannot pretend Viktor nude and warm and affectionate doesn't have some physical impact on him, but much as he would very much enjoy allowing himself to be distracted once again, to do so is an impossibility. Not when he knows what awaits in the next bell or two. Not until he knows who. ] As distracting as you would be, my mind would be elsewhere and not on a subject half as appealing. When we've finished here, mayhap.
[ Gingerly, he does shift his hips back to at least make his interest a little less obvious. ]
[ Surprise, stone sharp, pangs high in his chest. Viktor cannot help that it smarts, hearing those words, no interest. But now, at least, he thinks he can stop himself and see the briar patch for what it is before he stumbles in and hurts them both. It helps, a little, that Emet-Selch makes an earnest attempt at hiding the proof of his interest. Viktor's voice goes soft, fond, ever so slightly patronizing. ]
Ah, Hades.
[ Viktor squeezes Emet-Selch's hand. ] Reciprocity is part of it, aye. [ Without warning, he contorts himself, twisting his spine to crane his head back and press a clumsy, smiling kiss to Emet-Selch's cheek. He tries for deadpan, but a laugh spills out of him. ] But m-maybe I just want to suck your cock.
[ Having sufficiently amused himself, he settles back in and shuts his eyes, perfectly happy to doze for a few more minutes. But, of course, it's only a few seconds before his echo makes a stuck sneeze of itself, buzzing in anticipation of an arrival that hasn't quite happened yet, but will shortly. ]
Hmm. Breakfast's n-nearly here. [ He murmurs, stretching his spine as he presses into Emet-Selch's chest, a little like a cat reluctantly stirring from its place in a sunbeam. He juts one foot out from beneath the blankets, acclimating to the chill air again. ] I'll fetch it.
Edited (words have meanings you know) 2024-12-10 08:28 (UTC)
[ He is not easily given to embarrassment, but a feeling decidedly close curls in his stomach and chest, low and hot, made worse when Viktor says his name like that. Well, at least he's not angry, or hurt, because grogginess makes him cranky and hones his already sharp edges. ]
It is a perfectly serviceable, non-exciting cock. If you've seen one, you've seen nearly any.
[ Now it's his turn to pull the covers up over their heads, wishing for the black out curtains but considering Viktor's aversion to the darkness. The blankets are an acceptable compromise. Now, all he smells is Viktor, the sheets, his flowers, the soap from last night. Dangerously, he thinks he could almost forget the outside world like this, stuck in this syrupy slow place where there's nothing outside the room.
Then, of course, Viktor stirs and Emet-Selch takes that as his cue, slowly tugging the blankets back, his robe shrugged on, shuffling sleepily toward the washbasin to heat water and wash his face in hopes that will rouse him from the fog. Why is he sore? Surely he's used some of these muscles in the past, and yet. ]
There is something we ought to discuss before I leave. [ He waits, at least, until the food is delivered, and then layers his own silence charm upon Viktor's, to be cautious. ] I've reason to believe the Ascians here do not operate in the same capacity as others or what I recall. The hero slew them, and they have since reborn.
[ He lets Viktor do the math on how old - how young they would be at this point, and starts washing his face once he's tied his hair back out of his face. ]
[ A soft snicker breathed into the pillow he's not quite ready to leave. Viktor reaches for Emet-Selch as he rolls out of bed, not to stop him, only to maintain contact for a few moments longer. He thinks to steal a few extra seconds beneath rumpled blankets, but with the body beside him gone, the warmth loses its appeal. ]
I am afraid you must now consider exactly why I find yours- [ Finally, Viktor climbs out of bed, draws his robe back up on his shoulders and ties it closed as he crosses the room. ] -so exciting.
[ Breakfast is waiting just outside the room, a kettle and covered platter sat on a gaudy rolling cart. Viktor catches a glimpse of the maid from earlier and two of her compatriots standing inconspicuously as theyu can down the far end of the hall, watching for him. Of course he smiles, waves, a wiggle of his fingers, which earns a round of bright giggles from the young women.
He chuckles to himself as he rolls the cart in, stopping to watch Hades wash his face. Remarkably slow moving, this morning. Too much wine the night before, perhaps. Before he sets to pouring tea and assembling plates, Viktor meanders over to the wash basin to flatted a palm against Hades's back and rub his shoulders. With the contact, he offers up a glancing brush of cool aether, healing magic to alleviate some of the aches and pains of too much indulgence the night before.
He settles in at the room's single round table, setting plates and cups and kettle out, and stares up at Emet-Selch. ]
I thought you were g-going to w-wait t-
[ Viktor does not bother to finish the thought. Predictably, he receives the news with a stilled, neutral expression, while his rebellious ears ease back, lopping down against the wild spiral mess of his slept on curls, evidence of his hurting heart. ]
Like Gaia. [ he murmurs. Young, like Gaia. Lost, like Gaia. Worth saving, like Gaia. ] What do you intend to d-do?
[ He does, in fact, try to consider why Viktor would find his perfectly average cock appealing and settles on the simple fact that it's the rest of him he's attracted to. Not a particularly overwhelming realization, but neither is it one he wants to examine in full detail to pour over the particulars on.
Emet-Selch thinks to point out he'd considered revising it - it would be nothing to tailor his cock to Viktor's specifications but is similarly disinclined to when there's the magic that can serve just as well. ]
I have not contacted them, yet.
[ He does not do anything so ridiculous as jump - he's perfectly aware of where Viktor is in the room and he was not snuck up on, thank you - but does stiffen when Vitkor plants a hand on his back. The stiffness bleeds out a moment later, sore muscles easing from irritating to barely notable, and before Emet-Selch can do or say anything, Viktor glides off to the table. ]
Like Gaia, though hopefully half as vexing. As to the tack to take, I think it best to be Solus, the form and person they would be most used to. If there are any of them who survived being culled, they would remember him, and if not, whatever...learnings they have used, would likely mention him. Then, situate myself as Emet-Selch and wrest control from whomever has determined themselves leader... [ Emet-Selch eyes the assortment of food and then snaps into place cream cheese, capers, and onions, already thinly sliced, and begins assembling a half-sandwich. ] These are all suppositions, I will not know more until I have spoken to them.
[ It is the best course, but that does not mean Viktor particularly likes it. Solus. His own feelings aside, he cannot help but worry about the weight that form, that mindset, that role sets upon Emet-Selch's shoulders. Solus is Hades. Hades is Solus. Yet Solus is a creature forged from duty and despair, a vessel of violence, and Hades, this Hades is still only just discovering himself. The last thing any of them need, reborn souls or Hades, himself, is too much of Zodiark's blood-drenched burden. ]
Aye, 'tis the right start.
[ Viktor's gaze falls to their breakfast, then flicks back up to settle on Emet-Selch. He will not let him slip back into old habits. He will not lose him to the millennia of cruel instinct only just conquered. He will not allow the chance to try saving newborn souls slip by.
He reaches across the table, bypassing food to rest his hand over Emet-Selch's, fingertips tracing the lines of knuckles. ]
They will, I i-m-magine, respond best to what is already expected. A new plan to address the demise of Zodiark - which I assume they can all f-feel, whether they know what it is or not. The closer to business-as-usual, the better, aye. But. [ A breath. ] To make change, real change, there must be kindness, too. Hope. For all of you.
[ Another test of magic, another familiar thread, grasped, pulled from much, much farther away away this time. But it responds. Of course, it does, and right away. It is a fragment of his own soul, after all, that solidifies between his fingers. ]
Mayhap, once you have better assessed, once you have established yourself, a sh-shepherd could help turn them into a flock. [ Viktor sets the glossy oil slick mask of Azem down on the table between them. ] Consider it. I will fill the role, sh-should you need.
[ Emet-Selch's hand withdraws, staring at Viktor intently. Neither of them are particularly eager to see him slide Solus back on, an ill-fitting suit especially now, but as always, any mention of Solus as anything other than what was necessary rankles him. He was not kind.
Maybe to the Unsundered he could be if the situation called for it, but he'd had little to no respect for the partial-Ascians, those they raised up who only knew whatever they told them, who listened to what could have been lies and they never would have known if they were telling the truth or not. It hadn't mattered; they simply wanted to belong, wanted a glorious purpose offered to them, with powers to match. ]
I know what must be done, I know what you would prefer I do.
[ A pause, gentling incrementally as he pours himself a glass of tea just as the fizzle of magic tickles, and then Azem's mask sits upon the desk. He doesn't know what to do with the flood of genuine irritation, of anger that spikes. Logically he can assign most of it to being groggy, cranky, on edge; no small amount of it assigned to dreading what a worst-case scenario would look like when they need all the allies they can get. The blatant (or at least seeming) attempt at manipulation when he was already bringing this to Viktor stings. ]
That is, perhaps, the ideal. I would prefer to discuss the realism of what may come. [ A pause, a lingering look over the rim of his teacup. ] I would not ask for you to remove them if needs be. I am perfectly capable.
Edited (i swear im fucking done editing) 2024-12-11 07:01 (UTC)
[ Where he'd intended to lighten a burden, it seems he has only caused a graver wound. Breath caught in his throat, Viktor holds Emet-Selch's gaze a second longer before letting his attention fall to his hands, instead. ]
Of course. I have overstepped. 'Twas- 'twas not my intent. I apologize. [ Viktor flattens his palm over the mask, sending it away. Had Aepymetes been as clumsy as he is, now? Would Azem have said the right thing, right away? Perhaps, but Viktor cannot let his present inadequacy silence him. He dithers, lips parted as he attempts to string sturdier words together. ]
What I should have s-said...
[ Viktor scoops a spoonful of sugar into his glass before pouring from the kettle, fingertips settling on the lid so as not to cause any spills. ]
What I should have said is that I- I trust you implicitly. 'Twill be no easy thing, but you will do all you can.
[ Viktor sets the kettle down and dares look up at Hades again, and Viktor does not bother to hide his exhaustion. It leaves him hollow, thinking about it. But hollow does not mean incapable of getting a necessary job done. ]
P-primals did not spare children their tempering, as you know. And until my Alisaie developed her cure for it, we- I had an equal hand in the culling of tempered souls, as a member of the Flames. 'Tis...
[ His gaze falls again. There are no words. ]
I only mean to say that I hope, whatever you decide, you also know that you need never f-face those horrors alone. I will s-stand beside you, Hades, come what may.
[ He wishes, sometimes, they could go back to the simplicity of arguing. He did not particularly relish or enjoy the moments where they butted heads aggressively, but they were easier. There were clear lines drawn in the sand. Where he had the security of being right because he did not think past his own certainty. There was significantly less guilt then.
But, he thinks, that doesn't mean he was right. Nor that he was happy. ]
We both know that those examples are not the same.
[ There's no heat to his words this time, though, just exhaustion. They might be tempered. It is very likely they are, but the time difference between the shards is chaotic enough there's a small chance they're not. He doesn't know if that would make this better, or worse.
Were they tempered, though, they could resolve it. Had they ever tried, when they understood what the primals they summoned had done? Emet-Selch finds he cannot recall. Surely he, or at the very least, Lahabrea, would have recognized the signs given the summoning they orchestrated after the fact. Had they forgotten? Had Zodiark, or Elidibus simply smoothed away the memory the way one smooths away wrinkles upon bedsheets? Thoughtless, effortless? Or has it simply been so many thousands of years, the memory was inconsequential when faced with his certainty of purpose? He's not sure which option is preferable. ]
I am no stranger to handling what must needs be done. [ But even as he says it, there's no righteous tone, nothing but resignation at the potential weight of duty. ] Nor do I doubt your capacity as shepherd.
You may have been bedfellows with tragedy and suffering, but that does not m-mean you must bear their weight alone any longer. Whatever you faced in the past, here and now, you've the power to acquaint yourself with other c-courses, if you wish. I do not mean to sway you. I only offer my shoulders to share your burdens.
[ And as for everything else, well- he does not see how the slaying of innocents in the name of clemency, of the star's safety, needs its hairs split. It is what it is, tragedy they should do all in their power to avoid. He does not think himself a shepherd, either. It is a role he could pantomime, certainly, briefly, just like any mask he's chosen to wear. But he is not Aymeric or the Exarch. He is not Merylwyb or Matoya. Where has he guided anyone, save onto a battlefield? He cannot go six bells without drawing Emet-Selch into argument. The scions knew him best for nodding and killing. It is his combat prowess, his willingness to fight and die that stirs the masses, not his words, not his ideas.
At a loss, but unwilling to allow himself the luxury of moping, Viktor busies his hands with food he no longer has the appetite for, but nevertheless knows he should eat, cream cheese, fish, egg, and onion, settled neatly on a slice of bread. Emet-Selch seems halfway to surrendering to the worst possible outcome, already, and Viktor knows that he cannot allow the both of them to succumb to numbness. For a blessing, his infernal ears remain pert, alert, despite their itching desire to droop. Viktor forces himself to take a bite of his assembled toasty - and it is surprisingly good. The fish, smoky and salty, the eggs, fluffy, the onion, sharp. He makes a note to bring the combination up back at the Wandering Stairs.
And once he's chewed and swallowed, he sets the bread back down and begins to speak again. ]
Grim potentials lay before us, aye, but mustn't you first learn more before we can make plans? Once you have, tell me what you need of me and it will be done.
[ To stop himself from fidgeting, Viktor wraps both hands around his still too hot teacup. It does little good. His fingers right away set to tapping a nervous nonsense rhythm, but as he glances up to meet Emet-Selch's eye once more, his voice is steady, soft, warm. ]
If tragedy is unavoidable and all you desire in its wake is quiet... it will be yours, my love.
[ He makes a noise of acknowledgment but otherwise focuses on the same task as Viktor with grim efficiency. Pulling Solus on is not an overly taxing endeavor, but proving his claim with sufficient might and force might be and it wouldn't do to come unprepared to whatever may happen. So he eats mechanically and half-listens to what Viktor says.
The tea, at the very least, is passable. Not the best he's had, but for all of this shard's faults, tea is one of the least pressing. ]
The likelihood of their existence in any way being in any way a boon for us is ridiculously small, so much so as to be insignificant. At best, they are so unaware I need not play the part of Solus more than a day, at worst, they are dedicated to the cause with a religious fervor youth will only exacerbate.
[ My love. Like it's the easiest thing in the world, every single time. Emet-Selch imagines saying them with the same easy and comfort as Viktor does, and finds the taste sours on his tongue. He takes another bite, barely tasting the food. Too much cream cheese spread upon it, he thinks, and then takes another with careful precision to keep the onion from dragging across the cream cheese and making a mess. My love, like his life is not horrifically fleeting in direct contrast. A miserable thing, to have so short a time and spend it on someone unfit, unable to make the most of that time adequately. ]
I do not know them. They are not my friends, my colleagues. [ A pause, Emet-Selch forcibly seeming to take a moment, gentling his tone, the hard stare to something far less anticipatory of antagonism. ] They are, at best, a delay. A distraction from what we must needs accomplish. Gaia, at least, has some sense. But youths left with unchecked powers, no suitable teacher, and stars know what sort of interpretation of their former marching orders is - not ideal.
[ Dangerous, for Viktor. It is not just the necessity of eliminating them. Their families, their friends - all it takes is someone to look into that necessary work a little too hard for a rumor mill to start, for Viktor to find himself in need of explaining himself when he has no involvement in the situation. It is, he supposes, a rather ridiculous turn of events for Azem to be in that position. ]
Tread carefully while I am gone, but do be seen by as many as you are able, ideally as often as you are able. More than one at a time, if you can help it.
[ At what point does an oyster become aware of the pearl weighing upon its softest parts? Viktor watches Hades - is it still Hades or is he already donning the mask of Solus? - take no pleasure in eating, listens to his harsh suppositions, and the smoothing of his voice, his brow, as he wrests calm from beneath an impossible amount of tension. This does not feel so different from where they'd left off yesterday, before a bath had distracted them. He watches, without reaction, as Emet-Selch sets out instructions for him and feels a bit like a little dog. Something fragile; treasured, appreciated, certainly, for how pretty it is, for the warmth it affords. And tolerated when it is annoying.
Doubt, cold and heavy, makes a rock of itself in the pit of Viktor's stomach. He can no longer force himself to eat, and so he sips his tea, instead. Tucks those thoughts away for sometime later, when he does not find himself discussing the hypothetical deaths of an unknown number of children. ]
Aye, I will. And you- try not to plan so far ahead that you close doors to better ends, alright?
[ Viktor sets the cup down, but keeps his hands wrapped around it. In a soft, steady voice, he navigates to his point with care. ]
At best, they are children. Neither boons nor banes. At best, they are bright, hopeful, capable as Ryne and Gaia, as Alphinaud and Alisaie. They are, in all likelihood, f-frightened, displaced by these s-strange powers they possess. [ His hands loose from their place as he speaks, eyes searching the room while his fingers flutter, all animation. It is his own experience he draws from, painting a new landscape from his own childhood memories. ] Their home is held at the brink of something t-terrible. Their friends, their families struggle. They are ruled over by a- an... impotent little tyrant. And they want to fix it - aye, perhaps this is what they believe their lost Paradise is, for want of the truth.
And mayhap that has brought them to terrible, dangerous ends. [ Viktor shrugs, gaze settling on Emet-Selch once more. Whatever his reservations for his own role in Hades's life, whatever mask the man wears now, Viktor knows that there is kindness, brilliance, patience enough in him to find a peaceful path here. ] Or. Perhaps, those children are about to find themselves in the presence of a suitable teacher, one who might help them to feel truly understood, in spite of how much it might delay him.
[ He knows Viktor speaks from experience. To be so young and saddled with the duty and obligation Hydaelyn had thrust upon her most favored was a curse, not a blessing of light. Zodiark had not similarly blessed or cursed these children - they were simply gifted the abilities that were their due, but there was a reason why they spent countless years educating on the scale and scope of those powers.
In an ideal world, sundered as they are without any rejoinings, they will be minimally powerful. The equivalent of an ant beneath a boot. Near as soon as he has the thought, guilt swells within him, like Viktor can somehow hear how easily he slides back into old habits of thinking. They are children. It would be easier - better, in many ways, for them to simply listen to him. Emet-Selch would never consider himself to be someone particularly good with children, but he supposes that is a skillset he must hone rather quickly if he wants this not to end in violence and bloodshed.
He finishes eating, tidying with a snap before Viktor has finished, eager to get this over and done with, to find out which of the options he will encounter upon finally making contact rather than lingering in this liminal space of potential nightmare. To shrug Solus on once again takes the faintest bit of magic, but no small amount of effort. Viktor's crafted clothes melt into long robes, a quick stroke of his hand through bed-mussed hair shortens it and a second carding of his fingers through his hair forces it to lay at least somewhat neatly, how it used to.
That he mislikes wearing this form, he supposes, is a type of progress. ] I will bear your- [ he stalls, finishing off his tea while he thinks of a word that won't sound condescending when he is attempting to be genuine ] - wisdom in mind.
[ For now, he circles around to Viktor's side and after a beat of hesitation, curves fingers against Viktor's jaw enough to tilt his chin up. He balks at the idea of kissing Viktor like this - not himself, exactly, but does press a lingering kiss against Viktor's brow. How jarring, he thinks, to have someone who he would dearly miss were anything to happen to them. Thousands of years ago, when one of them would leave, there might be a joke about not getting maimed or injured while out, but there was a lightness to it; they had never expected real, world-ending danger. Now, they contended with it every day. ]
You will keep yourself safe while I am gone. Ideally, also out of trouble. Aye?
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[ Normal can mean anything depending on the day, but Viktor is being willfully obtuse. Unimpressed (but not unappreciative, at least), both with the avoidance and with Viktor's syrupy-slow attempt at washing, Emet-Selch allows him a few more moments of lingering and distraction and then before he allows Viktor to go so far as a proper massage, stands. The water sloshes at his hips, as he raises to his full height, tipping Viktor's chin up with a finger hooked beneath it.]
Then let us be asleep, sooner rather than later. [ A snap, a thoughtless little expenditure of aether. The bath, cleared. Viktor, sat in the dry stone with a pair of his linen trousers for him to keep or remove if needed. Emet-Selch, absolutely not in linen trousers but silk, forgoing a shirt despite the familiar magic tugging at him in offering. Compromise. Their bodies, cleaned, dried. A useful spell for the road, when one doesn't have access to somewhere proper to bathe and would rather avoid the river, but it never compares to an actual bath. ]
You may divest yourself of them when we are in bed where 'tis warm. [ But he'd thought at least getting to the bed or managing their wind-down routine, well, he might like to have some trousers on. ] Are you quite set on linen?
[ A mental image, suddenly, of Viktor in silk trousers, throwing himself across the bed, sliding across it heedless of the fact he might break his neck. Emet-Selch swallows a sigh, and steps out from the bath, teacup in one hand, the other tugging a silk dressing gown from nowhere to pull on for the time being. ]
Come along. Chop chop. There's a perfectly serviceable bed, and I would like to see it utilized for its intended purpose for at least a few bells tonight.
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[ Hades changes their situation with a thoughtless snap, and though Viktor does not flinch at the change, it does leave him feeling a bit silly. Sat on stone wearing pants he wasn't a moment before, staring up at Emet-Selch, half-clothed. Noticing that he is half-clothed, not draped in pajamas that hew so close to Amaurotine robes. Funny, how a bit of extra fabric can be so much more appealing than simple nakedness. Viktor catches himself staring at the jutting points of Emet-Selch's hips, quietly amused and doing exactly what Hades had implied he might do.
He shakes his head, takes a second to account for the sensation of being suddenly clean, suddenly dry. A hand lifts, lighting on his crown. His hair is... not right. Not wrong, either. But he can tell by sense that the wild, windblown mess coils up higher than it should - corkscrews where waves should be, springing in odd directions, swallowing up the flowers that usually press his hair down. The silly shampoos, he tells himself, had nothing to do with it. ]
I've not slept much in anything but linen. 'Tis simply what I am used to.
[ He fetches his tea cup and rises, takes a sip, and then returns to his original thought, ]
Before we settled, there was no normal. And so, I h-had to think about what my preference was. [ Viktor steps out of the tub, mislikes how cold the floor is on his feet, and hurries over to the bed on tip toe. Somehow, he doesn't spill a drop of tea as he scurries, nor as he tosses himself into bed. The faintest tug on ambient aether perhaps explains away his remarkable ability to hold his cup steady as he seats himself on the bed. He takes one more sip before setting it on the bedside table. ] I've preferences now, though.
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[ A doubtful, disagreeable noise, but he does not actually argue the fact despite the certainty he would win if he did. Viktor admitting he wants to be more thoughtful in his speech smooths down any disagreement, however minor. Viktor picks his way across the chilled stone and Emet-Selch sweeps his way through the room to tidy up what little he's moved about.
The water he'd pulled from the bath he reforms into yet another blanket, flicking it across the bed with a casual flip of his wrist from across the room. It settles itself across the bed, corners matched, soft to the touch and smelling vaguely of the same mint from the bath. If he hadn't expressed an interest in sleeping without as much clothing Emet-Selch would have created a couple sets of sleep pants to try on; as it is, he adds it to the back of his mind to consider later. ]
And? You've preferences now when you did not previously. Tell me some of them. [ a pause, a sideways look from where he's hanging up tomorrow's clothes for easy access. ] A non-insignificant number of them seem to be around not wearing clothing.
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[ More pressing than their brewing debate is fleeing this reflection's relentless, biting cold. Viktor burrows beneath sheets, into blankets, pulling them up over his nose, and then decides that even that is not warm enough. He sits up, finds one of the lingering fire crystals tucked into the bed's corners, only glancingly warm now, and attempts to coax it back to life.
His body interferes halfway through pulling threads. Light insists upon stillness, and the dim red glow goes pearly white. Heat turns to nothing, radiant numbness. Viktor plucks the crystal from where it's tucked with a frown, oozing disappointment, and sets it beside his half-empty teacup, an incandescent beacon in the candlelit room. He glares at the thing until Emet-Selch's next line of questions grabs his attention anew. ]
You say it as though it is a b-bad thing. The unfortunate truth is, I am quite f-fond of you, Emet-Selch, and my preference for less clothing is tied up in th-that.
[ A pause, a pout, he allows himself to consider the question in earnest with a rush of air through his nose. ]
I like our- [ All the hairs of the back of Viktor's neck stand on end, jolted by mortification. ] -your bed in the Crystarium. 'Tis quite big. And soft. Ample room to s-sprawl, but I can still r-reach you. And... it s-smells like you. 'Tis always warm, familiar.
[ Finally Viktor reclines, head settling into a ludicrously soft pillow, attention fixed on Emet-Selch as he tidies his quarters. Easier to watch him dodder about than to think about his own desires, still. It is, he finds, almost painful to consider want too directly. Even something as simple as how he'd prefer to sleep makes his brain, his nerves, his whole body rebel. As though he is aught but scar tissue, stiff and aching when pushed too far. ]
I don't know. [ He pulls the covers up over his head 'til only the tips of his ears stick out. Silence settles for a few heavy seconds before he goes on. From beneath the blankets, surrounded by warmth, Viktor allows: ] I do not l-like when it is too dark. Candles, or ceruleum lanterns, or hearth fire. The light, the sound, the smell - they are a comfort. [ Another pause. Then, soft, quiet: ] These blankets smell n-nice.
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Did he take the trousers off Emet-Selch had magicked into place for him? Is it better or worse if he doesn't? The faint pang of disappointment at the thought feels a little like a betrayal of himself; hasn't he had enough at this point? But no. He doesn't think he has. Doesn't think he will ever hit a point of enough, doesn't think that point exists. ]
Our bed, is it.
[ At least he finds the overall process easier when Viktor is the one on the off foot. He takes the unintentional bait dangled before him and uses it, shameless, prowling over to the bed. The robe is slid off of his shoulders, tossed upon one of the chairs near the bed and Emet-Selch pauses at his side of the bed, considering the knowledge as well as the altered crystal. Another snap, less theatrical, like the effort is more out of habit than attempting to put on any sort of show. Across the room, candelabras melt into existence, pre-lit, casting the whole of the room into dim lighting. Not so much it would be difficult to sleep, but enough that they won't walk into a piece of furniture getting up in the middle of the night to relieve themselves.
He keeps his sleep pants on, after a beat of hesitation, parting the covers, gingerly sliding between them, settling on his back and then just as soon as he's settled, rolling onto his side to regard Viktor quietly, scooting into the no man's land between them that once used to be an unthinkable distance to cross. Gently, he hooks finger into the blankets tugged above Viktor's head, nudging them down to his chin and then just...doesn't remove his arm from where it's settled atop his chest, despite the chill his shoulders and arm are exposed to. He can feel Viktor's warmth, just ilms away if he chooses to close the distance and bask in it. ]
Do you require additional candles or are these sufficient?
[ Regardless of Viktor's answer, he draws fingers across the covers and the crystals flare with renewed warmth once again, the bed slowly warming around them. ]
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Would you find it tolerable? [ Viktor murmurs into the blankets settled over his face. It was Emet-Selch's bed first, after all. His quarters. His space, even if Viktor has become a persistent presence. Whatever they are, he is not so sure they have quite progressed to joint ownership of furniture -- something so wildly domestic as to be wholly alien, completely absurd. Thinking about it sends a wave of frission jolting up Viktor's back.
And then, a second later, the bed creaks from added weight. In seconds that tick by like stretched minutes, Emet-Selch settles, moves closer, and ilms the blankets down until Viktor's face is exposed to the cold. He opens his eyes, blinking at the new, low flickering light. Exactly what he'd asked for, not too bright, just enough to chase the dark away. Something like terror but not bubble up from low in Viktor's stomach. The feeling wraps around his lungs, squeezes, sets his heart to a galloping pace that surely, mortifyingly, Emet-Selch can feel beneath his palm.
Viktor swallows, shoring up the will to respond. ]
'Tis p-perfect.
[ He angles his head, trying to catch a glimpse at Emet-Selch lying behind him without moving too much, not wanting him to slip away. After a second, he slips a hand down to slide beneath the waistband of the linen trousers Emet-Selch had created for him. Viktor holds his breath, lifts his hips, and shoves the soft spun cloth down. Off his hips, past his thighs, until they're far enough down that he can wriggle the rest of the way out of them with a few kicks of his legs, leaving them hanging off the side of the bed.
Naked again, Viktor scoots back, closing the minute distance between them and pressing himself into the bend of Hades's body, hungry for his warmth, eager to be surrounded. He curls an arm around his pillow and shuts his eyes. ]
It is not too close, is it?
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No sense worrying about it now, but something to consider for later, maybe. For all the other evenings they'll share in the same space, a thought that doesn't cause nearly as much consternation as it once did.
The blankets rustle, Viktor squirming, wiggling about and Emet-Selch lifts his arm, scooting away a bit to give him space as he tries to parse out the movements beneath the blankets, and, ah. He'll wait for Viktor to ask again, once or twice on his end, regarding his own trousers. There's the sound of cloth hitting the floor on the opposite end of the bed; Emet-Selch bites back most of a sigh. ]
I just had my head tucked betwixt your thighs the better part of the evening, to say nothing of the rest of the night's activities.
[ They have, he thinks, passed far past the point of 'too close' several times over. Viktor squirms closer and Emet-Selch doesn't, for once, tense. He's too tired to, simply raising the sheet and blankets up a little so Viktor can curve his body back into Emet-Selch's own, and Emet-Selch gingerly fits himself close, presses his face into Viktor's curls and inhales a breath that shudders a little.
The warmth of Viktor's bare back presses against his chest, the scent of him already laid into the sheets. He wants - he wants. He's had Viktor, has him now and yet he wants further, greedy to the end. An arm drapes itself over Viktor's waist, tucking the covers in tighter around both of them until Viktor is, in fact, surrounded. Our bed, he thinks, and is pleasantly surprised when the consideration doesn't ache with old memories.
Sleepily, Emet-Selch asks the somewhat pedantic question rolling around in his brain, no longer precisely annunciated, but sleep-thick edges, the start of a yawn at the end. ] Is it just the bed?
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[ He cannot help but sass back, though when Emet-Selch closes an arm around his waist to draw him in, it rather dampens the desire to give him any trouble at all. A hum, low and pleased, rolls out of him as he feels his shoulder blades press to skin. Embraced wholly, every ilm of him cradled by warmth, his skin prickles where they've slotted together, matched pieces.
And in the next breath, in the heartbeat of silence that follows, doubt bubbles up in the hollow of his chest; his lot is to serve, not receive such decadence. He is undeserving, has been spoiled, and the star will take its due for this excess.
Viktor shuts his eyes more tightly, lights his fingers on the back of the palm draped over his stomach, and pushes back on that feeling. This is worth it, and it will not be taken from him so easily.
Hades asks a question, and Viktor remembers to breathe. The tension set into his muscles unwinds, and he echoes the yawn, unable to help himself. ]
Our... kitchen, maybe. [ He offers, low and thoughtful, welcoming the distraction from darker thoughts. ] Our cups and plates. Our hearth. Our window garden. Our bath. [ Each item he lists draws a bit more tension out of him, and he echoes Emet-Selch's yawn, unable to help himself. ] Your shoebill. But, our... [ He starts to drift toward dreaming, voice going quiet as he slips into unconsciousness. ] ...little sprouts.
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Our is a dangerous word, he thinks, curving himself tighter around Viktor the sleeper his voice gets, daring to hook his fingers in Viktor's after a little patting about, index finger and middle curved loosely with Viktor's. ]
Hm. [ A hum, a murmur of acknowledgment, waiting until Viktor finally dozes off, his breathing evening out before Emet-Selch dares to tighten his grip around Viktor, tugging the blankets in around them even tighter. To lose this will be unbearable. Losing everything once had fundamentally cracked and broken something within him as a person; he'd known that then, but hadn't realized to what extent until lifetimes later. He wants, insanely, to start searching for Meteion. To take her out now, rather than waiting for her to subsume the world and hope they've salvaged enough to eke out a victory. Impossible, of course - he doesn't know where to begin searching, but the thought itches.
For now, he contents himself with memorizing this: the weight of the blankets tucked around them. Viktor's breathing as it settles into sleep. The scent of his curls, and beneath that, him, the warmth of his body and the malms of bare skin. It is enough. It has to be, for now. ]
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He would be quite okay with that.
Except, they've got work to do. He tips his head back and catches sight of sunlight creeping in at the edges of heavy curtains. Still morning.
It is not often that he is awake before Emet-Selch. Hades has always been the last to doze, the first to stir, and Viktor himself cannot ever seem to fight off sleep long in his presence. In fact, he briefly considers shutting his eyes and scraping another bell's worth of sleep, but a rare opportunity has been set before him.
After untangling their twined fingers, he turns in Hades's grasp. Unsurprisingly, the palms gliding over his body as he moves might as well be steel on flint, sparking fire beneath bare skin. Incredible, ridiculous, how quickly an aching hunger comes to life in his stomach. He ignores it for now, content to simply study Hades as he sleeps, the dense fan of white lashes, the serene stillness of his expression while his mind is too busy untangling dreams to be burdened by his usual busy thoughts. The desire to press fingers to his features the way pilgrims lay hands on stone saints is near overwhelming. Viktor holds back, but doesn't refrain from indulging entirely.
At risk of waking him, Viktor bobs in to plant light kisses on his mouth, his cheek, his chin. Then, soft, barely even a whisper, ] It is easier to bloom with you in my life.
[ Hades is, Viktor thinks, rarely impressed with his romantic nonsense. But perhaps if he says it enough, if he whispers truths to Hades while he sleeps, it will untangle some of those wretched knots that seem to plague his mind every day. Easy to hope for, at least. Viktor leans in to steal another kiss, but a rap at the door interrupts him.
Just one.
Startled, annoyed, Viktor lifts a hand, grasps a thrumming thread of aether and stills it with a twist of his fingers, muting the door. He gives himself a moment to be shocked at what he's done, muscle memory far older than he is stirring to life suddenly. Viktor stares up at his lifted hand, fingers bent as though curling yarn between them, and lowers it slowly to smooth down their blankets. ]
Sleep. [ he murmurs, tucking a few fallen strands of platinum out of Hades's face. Out of bed is the absolute last place in the world Viktor wants to be, but he slips away from Hades's grasp, deposits his feet on the floor, and shivers immediately. Before he shoves himself out of bed entirely, Viktor reaches for another thread - a familiar one, a room away. His patchwork robe. A tug is all it takes, as though the thing wishes to be on his body. One second, he is naked, and the next, he isn't.
Viktor tries not to look to pleased with himself as, finally, he rises, tying off his robe as he crosses the room to answer the door.
The maid waiting at the door greets him with widened eyes, her attention falling immediately to the bruises dotting his neck.
Oh. Right.
Thankfully, the maid soldiers on with her duties. They settle on breakfast, smoked fish, eggs, and bread, the strongest tea they have, to be brought up and left by the door. Viktor is all too glad to send her on her way, shuts the still silenced door behind him, and hurries back to bed, ghosting fingers over the marks Hades had left on his skin.
He could get their day started, draw back curtains, fetch a change of clothes, stoke the fireplace. Instead, he shrugs off his robe and climbs back into bed, seeking to leech warmth from the beloved body still wound up beneath the sheets. Quiet, knowing the answer he will get, already, he asks, ] What if we just s-stayed in bed all day, instead?
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The body within the bed shifts, starts to extricate itself and Emet-Selch makes a vaguely disgruntled sound into the pillow. The cold strikes him first, a sharp awareness borne from the lack of thick pajamas from throat to ankles. He tugs at the blankets and nestles closer within them, letting Viktor handle letting in - ah.
The dream crumbles away to nothing but insubstantial impressions, and Emet-Selch slowly wrests his eyes open, taking in the sight of Viktor in his patchwork robe at the door and the person outside, decidedly not Hythlodaeus. The disappointment he expects does not manifest; there's only a lingering grogginess from sleep debt needing repayment. He has, he thinks, slept through the chronometer's alarum. Or, more likely, he simply forgot to schedule it, far too distracted with watching Viktor do absolutely nothing. Mortifying.
Quiet conversation is faintly audible; Emet-Selch trusts Viktor to handle putting a meal together, given how many they've taken together. He ought to get up. Ought to wrest himself from the bed and take care of any number of tasks necessary and yet the weight of his body, or perhaps the weight of the warm blankets, feels insurmountable at this moment.
Viktor swishes his way back from the door, Emet-Selch catching a hint of bruises left along the column of his throat, starker, brighter now both in the dim light of morning and now that the bruises have had time to settle and bloom. If he focuses, he can feel the little disruptions of aether - the tug from fetching his robes, and the silencing charm upon the door, neither of which he recalls teaching. Fondness, or something remarkably close to it, overwrites any irritation he feels at his lack of memory for a simple task, and what dredges remain are easily overwritten as Viktor lifts the blankets to clamber back into bed with him. ]
Absolutely not. [ But neither does he make an effort to rise right away; one hand goes seeking beneath the blankets, finding a thigh, sliding up to trace the line of his hip, up over his belly until he reaches Viktor's chest, pressing firmly to get him to settle near instantly instead of squirming. Until their food arrives, Emet-Selch thinks, and wills away the lethargic fog clouding his mind, weighing his limbs down. One eye cracks open again, surveying what skin he can see after nudging the blankets up and then he tugs them right back down again before the warmth can escape. ] You look like you were mauled. I hope you enjoy being the subject of at least a week of gossip.
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[ If he had his way, if Light did not insist upon restoring his body over and over, he would relish a more permanent bruise. A mark for a mark. A reminder he'll never lose.
Greedily, Emet-Selch grasps him, reels him in and clutches him close, like a treasure meant to be guarded, and Viktor, who for so long held his heart as something untradeable, finds he is just as hungry to be possessed. Still novel, the feeling of being mapped by his sorcerer's hands. He almost forgets that the palm settling on his chest is meant to still him once he's nestled in flush against Emet-Selch - a futile endeavor, for he is all movement once he wakes. Clutched close, Viktor can feel drowsiness threaten anew, eyelids growing heavy, his heart coaxed slow by the gentle rise and fall of Hades's chest, everything the perfect sort of warm to catch up on sleep.
He slips one foot back and tangles it between Hades's ankles, lifts a hand to clasp the palm settled over his chest, pressing fingers between fingers, not quite weaving their hands together, but nearly. ]
Mayhap once our work is done, Ryne and Gaia will allow us to borrow Eden. Bring it here. Fix their f-frost. Then, they will let us do anything without too much fuss, I imagine. [ A pause, he blinks a bit too slow, fighting sleep. ] And a-after, Coerthas.
[ He can still remember when those hills were green, lush with wildflowers. Fertile soil for farming, for wildlife. Food enough for everyone in Ishgard. Someday, they will have little to do but tangle together in bed between stints of making the reflections a bit better.
For now, though, he will settle for this. Work and stolen time stretched as far as it will go. Viktor taps a meandering rhythm against the back of Hades's hand. ]
Last night- I did not know- 'twas everything I wanted, being with you.
[ He swallows, shuts his eyes, falls silent, embarrassed by how clumsily he speaks. Words, ever failing him. After a second spent recentering, he closes his fingers around Hades's hand and brings it up to his lips to press a kiss to his palm, then one to each fingertip. ]
If you are still of a mind to- to indulge my specific requests, I w-would like to do something for you.
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He thinks they're going to doze a few moments, until the next knock upon the door comes, but Viktor snuggles in close, winds them together near-inextricably, and Emet-Selch frowns down at him, attempting to figure out the likelihood of Viktor dozing off and forgetting to remove the silence charm upon the door. Not so drowsy he can't plot about this future they are working toward, though, so Emet-Selch allows them to linger beneath the sheets and blankets and doesn't wrench himself clear yet. ]
'Tis not so large we could not move it. [ They'd intended such a thing, in one of many potentialities. A way to deal with the damage wrought, that which they did not have as readily accessible the first time the world ended. That Eden would be used for the same purpose, just...in a different capacity, does not sting how he anticipates.
He knows he has been more exhausted countless times before, but each and every time before for the last several thousand years, his bed was not so warm, his hands were not so full. He is, frustratingly, as weak as every other man who has been foolish enough to love someone. ]
If you've a mind for reciprocation, I've no interest. [ Oh, he can almost feel Hythlodaeus cringing. Emet-Selch sighs into Viktor's curls, allowing the lazy kisses against his fingers. He cannot pretend Viktor nude and warm and affectionate doesn't have some physical impact on him, but much as he would very much enjoy allowing himself to be distracted once again, to do so is an impossibility. Not when he knows what awaits in the next bell or two. Not until he knows who. ] As distracting as you would be, my mind would be elsewhere and not on a subject half as appealing. When we've finished here, mayhap.
[ Gingerly, he does shift his hips back to at least make his interest a little less obvious. ]
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Ah, Hades.
[ Viktor squeezes Emet-Selch's hand. ] Reciprocity is part of it, aye. [ Without warning, he contorts himself, twisting his spine to crane his head back and press a clumsy, smiling kiss to Emet-Selch's cheek. He tries for deadpan, but a laugh spills out of him. ] But m-maybe I just want to suck your cock.
[ Having sufficiently amused himself, he settles back in and shuts his eyes, perfectly happy to doze for a few more minutes. But, of course, it's only a few seconds before his echo makes a stuck sneeze of itself, buzzing in anticipation of an arrival that hasn't quite happened yet, but will shortly. ]
Hmm. Breakfast's n-nearly here. [ He murmurs, stretching his spine as he presses into Emet-Selch's chest, a little like a cat reluctantly stirring from its place in a sunbeam. He juts one foot out from beneath the blankets, acclimating to the chill air again. ] I'll fetch it.
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It is a perfectly serviceable, non-exciting cock. If you've seen one, you've seen nearly any.
[ Now it's his turn to pull the covers up over their heads, wishing for the black out curtains but considering Viktor's aversion to the darkness. The blankets are an acceptable compromise. Now, all he smells is Viktor, the sheets, his flowers, the soap from last night. Dangerously, he thinks he could almost forget the outside world like this, stuck in this syrupy slow place where there's nothing outside the room.
Then, of course, Viktor stirs and Emet-Selch takes that as his cue, slowly tugging the blankets back, his robe shrugged on, shuffling sleepily toward the washbasin to heat water and wash his face in hopes that will rouse him from the fog. Why is he sore? Surely he's used some of these muscles in the past, and yet. ]
There is something we ought to discuss before I leave. [ He waits, at least, until the food is delivered, and then layers his own silence charm upon Viktor's, to be cautious. ] I've reason to believe the Ascians here do not operate in the same capacity as others or what I recall. The hero slew them, and they have since reborn.
[ He lets Viktor do the math on how old - how young they would be at this point, and starts washing his face once he's tied his hair back out of his face. ]
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[ A soft snicker breathed into the pillow he's not quite ready to leave. Viktor reaches for Emet-Selch as he rolls out of bed, not to stop him, only to maintain contact for a few moments longer. He thinks to steal a few extra seconds beneath rumpled blankets, but with the body beside him gone, the warmth loses its appeal. ]
I am afraid you must now consider exactly why I find yours- [ Finally, Viktor climbs out of bed, draws his robe back up on his shoulders and ties it closed as he crosses the room. ] -so exciting.
[ Breakfast is waiting just outside the room, a kettle and covered platter sat on a gaudy rolling cart. Viktor catches a glimpse of the maid from earlier and two of her compatriots standing inconspicuously as theyu can down the far end of the hall, watching for him. Of course he smiles, waves, a wiggle of his fingers, which earns a round of bright giggles from the young women.
He chuckles to himself as he rolls the cart in, stopping to watch Hades wash his face. Remarkably slow moving, this morning. Too much wine the night before, perhaps. Before he sets to pouring tea and assembling plates, Viktor meanders over to the wash basin to flatted a palm against Hades's back and rub his shoulders. With the contact, he offers up a glancing brush of cool aether, healing magic to alleviate some of the aches and pains of too much indulgence the night before.
He settles in at the room's single round table, setting plates and cups and kettle out, and stares up at Emet-Selch. ]
I thought you were g-going to w-wait t-
[ Viktor does not bother to finish the thought. Predictably, he receives the news with a stilled, neutral expression, while his rebellious ears ease back, lopping down against the wild spiral mess of his slept on curls, evidence of his hurting heart. ]
Like Gaia. [ he murmurs. Young, like Gaia. Lost, like Gaia. Worth saving, like Gaia. ] What do you intend to d-do?
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Emet-Selch thinks to point out he'd considered revising it - it would be nothing to tailor his cock to Viktor's specifications but is similarly disinclined to when there's the magic that can serve just as well. ]
I have not contacted them, yet.
[ He does not do anything so ridiculous as jump - he's perfectly aware of where Viktor is in the room and he was not snuck up on, thank you - but does stiffen when Vitkor plants a hand on his back. The stiffness bleeds out a moment later, sore muscles easing from irritating to barely notable, and before Emet-Selch can do or say anything, Viktor glides off to the table. ]
Like Gaia, though hopefully half as vexing. As to the tack to take, I think it best to be Solus, the form and person they would be most used to. If there are any of them who survived being culled, they would remember him, and if not, whatever...learnings they have used, would likely mention him. Then, situate myself as Emet-Selch and wrest control from whomever has determined themselves leader... [ Emet-Selch eyes the assortment of food and then snaps into place cream cheese, capers, and onions, already thinly sliced, and begins assembling a half-sandwich. ] These are all suppositions, I will not know more until I have spoken to them.
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Aye, 'tis the right start.
[ Viktor's gaze falls to their breakfast, then flicks back up to settle on Emet-Selch. He will not let him slip back into old habits. He will not lose him to the millennia of cruel instinct only just conquered. He will not allow the chance to try saving newborn souls slip by.
He reaches across the table, bypassing food to rest his hand over Emet-Selch's, fingertips tracing the lines of knuckles. ]
They will, I i-m-magine, respond best to what is already expected. A new plan to address the demise of Zodiark - which I assume they can all f-feel, whether they know what it is or not. The closer to business-as-usual, the better, aye. But. [ A breath. ] To make change, real change, there must be kindness, too. Hope. For all of you.
[ Another test of magic, another familiar thread, grasped, pulled from much, much farther away away this time. But it responds. Of course, it does, and right away. It is a fragment of his own soul, after all, that solidifies between his fingers. ]
Mayhap, once you have better assessed, once you have established yourself, a sh-shepherd could help turn them into a flock. [ Viktor sets the glossy oil slick mask of Azem down on the table between them. ] Consider it. I will fill the role, sh-should you need.
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[ Emet-Selch's hand withdraws, staring at Viktor intently. Neither of them are particularly eager to see him slide Solus back on, an ill-fitting suit especially now, but as always, any mention of Solus as anything other than what was necessary rankles him. He was not kind.
Maybe to the Unsundered he could be if the situation called for it, but he'd had little to no respect for the partial-Ascians, those they raised up who only knew whatever they told them, who listened to what could have been lies and they never would have known if they were telling the truth or not. It hadn't mattered; they simply wanted to belong, wanted a glorious purpose offered to them, with powers to match. ]
I know what must be done, I know what you would prefer I do.
[ A pause, gentling incrementally as he pours himself a glass of tea just as the fizzle of magic tickles, and then Azem's mask sits upon the desk. He doesn't know what to do with the flood of genuine irritation, of anger that spikes. Logically he can assign most of it to being groggy, cranky, on edge; no small amount of it assigned to dreading what a worst-case scenario would look like when they need all the allies they can get. The blatant (or at least seeming) attempt at manipulation when he was already bringing this to Viktor stings. ]
That is, perhaps, the ideal. I would prefer to discuss the realism of what may come. [ A pause, a lingering look over the rim of his teacup. ] I would not ask for you to remove them if needs be. I am perfectly capable.
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Of course. I have overstepped. 'Twas- 'twas not my intent. I apologize. [ Viktor flattens his palm over the mask, sending it away. Had Aepymetes been as clumsy as he is, now? Would Azem have said the right thing, right away? Perhaps, but Viktor cannot let his present inadequacy silence him. He dithers, lips parted as he attempts to string sturdier words together. ]
What I should have s-said...
[ Viktor scoops a spoonful of sugar into his glass before pouring from the kettle, fingertips settling on the lid so as not to cause any spills. ]
What I should have said is that I- I trust you implicitly. 'Twill be no easy thing, but you will do all you can.
[ Viktor sets the kettle down and dares look up at Hades again, and Viktor does not bother to hide his exhaustion. It leaves him hollow, thinking about it. But hollow does not mean incapable of getting a necessary job done. ]
P-primals did not spare children their tempering, as you know. And until my Alisaie developed her cure for it, we- I had an equal hand in the culling of tempered souls, as a member of the Flames. 'Tis...
[ His gaze falls again. There are no words. ]
I only mean to say that I hope, whatever you decide, you also know that you need never f-face those horrors alone. I will s-stand beside you, Hades, come what may.
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But, he thinks, that doesn't mean he was right. Nor that he was happy. ]
We both know that those examples are not the same.
[ There's no heat to his words this time, though, just exhaustion. They might be tempered. It is very likely they are, but the time difference between the shards is chaotic enough there's a small chance they're not. He doesn't know if that would make this better, or worse.
Were they tempered, though, they could resolve it. Had they ever tried, when they understood what the primals they summoned had done? Emet-Selch finds he cannot recall. Surely he, or at the very least, Lahabrea, would have recognized the signs given the summoning they orchestrated after the fact. Had they forgotten? Had Zodiark, or Elidibus simply smoothed away the memory the way one smooths away wrinkles upon bedsheets? Thoughtless, effortless? Or has it simply been so many thousands of years, the memory was inconsequential when faced with his certainty of purpose? He's not sure which option is preferable. ]
I am no stranger to handling what must needs be done. [ But even as he says it, there's no righteous tone, nothing but resignation at the potential weight of duty. ] Nor do I doubt your capacity as shepherd.
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[ And as for everything else, well- he does not see how the slaying of innocents in the name of clemency, of the star's safety, needs its hairs split. It is what it is, tragedy they should do all in their power to avoid. He does not think himself a shepherd, either. It is a role he could pantomime, certainly, briefly, just like any mask he's chosen to wear. But he is not Aymeric or the Exarch. He is not Merylwyb or Matoya. Where has he guided anyone, save onto a battlefield? He cannot go six bells without drawing Emet-Selch into argument. The scions knew him best for nodding and killing. It is his combat prowess, his willingness to fight and die that stirs the masses, not his words, not his ideas.
At a loss, but unwilling to allow himself the luxury of moping, Viktor busies his hands with food he no longer has the appetite for, but nevertheless knows he should eat, cream cheese, fish, egg, and onion, settled neatly on a slice of bread. Emet-Selch seems halfway to surrendering to the worst possible outcome, already, and Viktor knows that he cannot allow the both of them to succumb to numbness. For a blessing, his infernal ears remain pert, alert, despite their itching desire to droop. Viktor forces himself to take a bite of his assembled toasty - and it is surprisingly good. The fish, smoky and salty, the eggs, fluffy, the onion, sharp. He makes a note to bring the combination up back at the Wandering Stairs.
And once he's chewed and swallowed, he sets the bread back down and begins to speak again. ]
Grim potentials lay before us, aye, but mustn't you first learn more before we can make plans? Once you have, tell me what you need of me and it will be done.
[ To stop himself from fidgeting, Viktor wraps both hands around his still too hot teacup. It does little good. His fingers right away set to tapping a nervous nonsense rhythm, but as he glances up to meet Emet-Selch's eye once more, his voice is steady, soft, warm. ]
If tragedy is unavoidable and all you desire in its wake is quiet... it will be yours, my love.
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The tea, at the very least, is passable. Not the best he's had, but for all of this shard's faults, tea is one of the least pressing. ]
The likelihood of their existence in any way being in any way a boon for us is ridiculously small, so much so as to be insignificant. At best, they are so unaware I need not play the part of Solus more than a day, at worst, they are dedicated to the cause with a religious fervor youth will only exacerbate.
[ My love. Like it's the easiest thing in the world, every single time. Emet-Selch imagines saying them with the same easy and comfort as Viktor does, and finds the taste sours on his tongue. He takes another bite, barely tasting the food. Too much cream cheese spread upon it, he thinks, and then takes another with careful precision to keep the onion from dragging across the cream cheese and making a mess. My love, like his life is not horrifically fleeting in direct contrast. A miserable thing, to have so short a time and spend it on someone unfit, unable to make the most of that time adequately. ]
I do not know them. They are not my friends, my colleagues. [ A pause, Emet-Selch forcibly seeming to take a moment, gentling his tone, the hard stare to something far less anticipatory of antagonism. ] They are, at best, a delay. A distraction from what we must needs accomplish. Gaia, at least, has some sense. But youths left with unchecked powers, no suitable teacher, and stars know what sort of interpretation of their former marching orders is - not ideal.
[ Dangerous, for Viktor. It is not just the necessity of eliminating them. Their families, their friends - all it takes is someone to look into that necessary work a little too hard for a rumor mill to start, for Viktor to find himself in need of explaining himself when he has no involvement in the situation. It is, he supposes, a rather ridiculous turn of events for Azem to be in that position. ]
Tread carefully while I am gone, but do be seen by as many as you are able, ideally as often as you are able. More than one at a time, if you can help it.
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Doubt, cold and heavy, makes a rock of itself in the pit of Viktor's stomach. He can no longer force himself to eat, and so he sips his tea, instead. Tucks those thoughts away for sometime later, when he does not find himself discussing the hypothetical deaths of an unknown number of children. ]
Aye, I will. And you- try not to plan so far ahead that you close doors to better ends, alright?
[ Viktor sets the cup down, but keeps his hands wrapped around it. In a soft, steady voice, he navigates to his point with care. ]
At best, they are children. Neither boons nor banes. At best, they are bright, hopeful, capable as Ryne and Gaia, as Alphinaud and Alisaie. They are, in all likelihood, f-frightened, displaced by these s-strange powers they possess. [ His hands loose from their place as he speaks, eyes searching the room while his fingers flutter, all animation. It is his own experience he draws from, painting a new landscape from his own childhood memories. ] Their home is held at the brink of something t-terrible. Their friends, their families struggle. They are ruled over by a- an... impotent little tyrant. And they want to fix it - aye, perhaps this is what they believe their lost Paradise is, for want of the truth.
And mayhap that has brought them to terrible, dangerous ends. [ Viktor shrugs, gaze settling on Emet-Selch once more. Whatever his reservations for his own role in Hades's life, whatever mask the man wears now, Viktor knows that there is kindness, brilliance, patience enough in him to find a peaceful path here. ] Or. Perhaps, those children are about to find themselves in the presence of a suitable teacher, one who might help them to feel truly understood, in spite of how much it might delay him.
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In an ideal world, sundered as they are without any rejoinings, they will be minimally powerful. The equivalent of an ant beneath a boot. Near as soon as he has the thought, guilt swells within him, like Viktor can somehow hear how easily he slides back into old habits of thinking. They are children. It would be easier - better, in many ways, for them to simply listen to him. Emet-Selch would never consider himself to be someone particularly good with children, but he supposes that is a skillset he must hone rather quickly if he wants this not to end in violence and bloodshed.
He finishes eating, tidying with a snap before Viktor has finished, eager to get this over and done with, to find out which of the options he will encounter upon finally making contact rather than lingering in this liminal space of potential nightmare. To shrug Solus on once again takes the faintest bit of magic, but no small amount of effort. Viktor's crafted clothes melt into long robes, a quick stroke of his hand through bed-mussed hair shortens it and a second carding of his fingers through his hair forces it to lay at least somewhat neatly, how it used to.
That he mislikes wearing this form, he supposes, is a type of progress. ] I will bear your- [ he stalls, finishing off his tea while he thinks of a word that won't sound condescending when he is attempting to be genuine ] - wisdom in mind.
[ For now, he circles around to Viktor's side and after a beat of hesitation, curves fingers against Viktor's jaw enough to tilt his chin up. He balks at the idea of kissing Viktor like this - not himself, exactly, but does press a lingering kiss against Viktor's brow. How jarring, he thinks, to have someone who he would dearly miss were anything to happen to them. Thousands of years ago, when one of them would leave, there might be a joke about not getting maimed or injured while out, but there was a lightness to it; they had never expected real, world-ending danger. Now, they contended with it every day. ]
You will keep yourself safe while I am gone. Ideally, also out of trouble. Aye?
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oh my god
EATS IT
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your bf just wants to turn himself into a quantum computer emet-selch nbd
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lmao for some reason it replied as a whole new top level??
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forgot the rest of the caps UGHHH
this is so long sobdhshhsh
FOOD FOR ME THO also sorry viktor you're dating a dick
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