[it's a good first kiss, layered with some odd logic and absolutely understanding of how to kiss the man before him. as easy as breathing, really, though admittedly breathing wasn't always particularly easy. maybe as easy as turning his back to the party entirely, more than happy to follow this man into more interesting places.
somewhere the string band swells, and viktor's lips quirk a little too fondly to be a proper smirk.]
I would hope not just footnotes. There's an entire paper for you to ruthlessly dissect. [and more scandalous matters. he takes pal's hand again to lead them to the door, a little stutter of uncertainty at what viscerally feels off, though the warm evening light of the evening washes over it.
he opens the door and with it an odd understanding of the situation, as though struck suddenly with all he forgot in his act. there is no walking through, they are simply someplace else, still hand in hand.]
I'll keep you up all night with my criticisms, don't worry. I've brought a red pen.
[The party will rage on, or pettily gossip on, and they don't have to pay one whit of attention to any of that. It's looking like it's going to be an excellent evening after all, Palamedes thinks, giving Viktor a sideways little grin before the door, hm—
Well, something about the door. It's like the world tilts and straightens back up again in the split second it takes Viktor to open the door, and here they are, standing back in the room Palamedes swears he'd just left. The party, that was - what was the party? He twists to look over his shoulder, frowning at the innocently closed door now behind them, then looks back to Viktor. Now the Piltover experience feels fuzzy and strange, a proper dream, but Viktor is still here, so - it's Trench Bullshit Again, isn't it.
Hastily he looks down at his hand, just to see if his ring has reappeared, which it has, which means yeah: it's Trench Bullshit Again.]
Well— hmm. I don't know how this is happening again. [The last eerie shared dream was so long ago, what gives.] Ideas?
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somewhere the string band swells, and viktor's lips quirk a little too fondly to be a proper smirk.]
I would hope not just footnotes. There's an entire paper for you to ruthlessly dissect. [and more scandalous matters. he takes pal's hand again to lead them to the door, a little stutter of uncertainty at what viscerally feels off, though the warm evening light of the evening washes over it.
he opens the door and with it an odd understanding of the situation, as though struck suddenly with all he forgot in his act. there is no walking through, they are simply someplace else, still hand in hand.]
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[The party will rage on, or pettily gossip on, and they don't have to pay one whit of attention to any of that. It's looking like it's going to be an excellent evening after all, Palamedes thinks, giving Viktor a sideways little grin before the door, hm—
Well, something about the door. It's like the world tilts and straightens back up again in the split second it takes Viktor to open the door, and here they are, standing back in the room Palamedes swears he'd just left. The party, that was - what was the party? He twists to look over his shoulder, frowning at the innocently closed door now behind them, then looks back to Viktor. Now the Piltover experience feels fuzzy and strange, a proper dream, but Viktor is still here, so - it's Trench Bullshit Again, isn't it.
Hastily he looks down at his hand, just to see if his ring has reappeared, which it has, which means yeah: it's Trench Bullshit Again.]
Well— hmm. I don't know how this is happening again. [The last eerie shared dream was so long ago, what gives.] Ideas?