april catch - all

[mehanizovati]

Who: viktor and others, open to all with some closed prompts
What: some late march/early april logs, including some tdm stuff. i'm happy to attach something else on if anyone's interest in doing something specific
When: late march through april
Where: various

content warning; terminal illness, arcane season 1 spoilers, likely game typical beast gore/body horror, potentially ableism mentioned, claustrophobic imagery



open prompts.

fishers of dreams - the lighthouse, early april (tdm)

a. while awake

[if you've been roped into this lighthouse business too you may enter to find a man already there. he seems vaguely disgruntled by the business, offers vague greetings but otherwise sticks to scribbling in his notebook. it looks like schematics and formulae, but anyone with an eye for either might notice they tend to trail off and start in odd bursts.

viktor will offer to cook when evening falls (or whatever seems to be the right mealtime in this place) so maybe that is a better time to strike up conversation. the smell coming from the kitchen is heavy on whatever spices the place stocks, promising pain to anyone who doesn't have the stomach for that sort of thing. worse if he finds the rotgut liquor tucked away, which he will pull out and offer despite smelling more like turpentine than anything edible.

these tricks of the eye though, flashes of people vaguely recognizable, he chalks it up more hallucinations. last month was mushrooms, so this? irritating, far more distracting, but it followed the pattern.

it isn't until later in all this he'll track whoever is with him down.] Did you see someone else come through? There, just up the stairs.



b. nightmare

[trying to reach the odd lighthouses is fruitless, the shadows converge and when the dark clears the area seems more closed in than before. it shouldn't be, he was just outside on the shore, yet now the dark sky seems to hang too low, lower still, suffocating.]

What now? This is another illusion of sorts, is it not? One this place is so fond of. [viktor sounds more irritated than anything, maybe defensive since the grip his has on his crutch is white-knuckle tight. in the distance seems to be a lighthouse, though the light is far and the area is so stifling, promising a tunnel that will close and snuff out the light entirely.

it's ridiculous of course, the walls are not that close, certainly not enough for this suffocating grip on the lungs and throat. there's no real explanation, less so when a few steps forward and the ground begins to dot with great metal cables, the distinct, sickly sweet smell of chemicals in the air. there are pools between them where the ocean should have been, this time shallow spills of what could be gasoline or something similar, slick rainbow puddles, oily and difficult to walk through without slipping or sinking.]

(ooc; for this one please, feel free to add your own character's nightmare in any flavor at any point!)


odds and ends - willful machine, early april

[viktor can be found around the vendors often enough, especially those specializing in scrap metal, tools or small machinery. for the most part he doesn't stick out, except for the fact often his massive omen often accompanies him, some sort of huge pink salamander/axolotl that he'll lean against or ask rather politely to help carry larger purchases.

he doesn't seem to notice or care about any attention, though the creature will blink curiously around. feel free to approach or find him haggling rather intently for such a stick of a man, accent thickening when it gets heated enough. maybe you want the same scrap? or are looking for something and he's standing nearby enough to notice a lost look and offers assistance?]



[one might also find him about by the sound of a nasty coughing fit. he stands with his back curled, a rag to his mouth as a makeshift handkerchief. it's a wet cough that shakes his entire frame, and when it's over his sniffs and clears his throat, straightening.

the cloth is stained in a pale color that catches the perpetual moonlight of april. paleblood, that he regards for a moment before folding the cloth in on itself with a small frown.]




closed prompts.


jinx - willful machine, late march

[viktor doesn't stay by the lamp exactly. he would usually but he hardly sees the point when this person he's meeting knows him by sight as far as he can tell. it leaves him feeling comfortable to wander within eyeshot mostly of the lantern, strolling down the canal docks to find a place to stand and watch the boats cut slowly through the water.

he likes it here, he thinks, in this district. the noise and foot traffic, the winding canals and dirty water, the boats bobbing to and fro - it wouldn't be a bad place to set up. a lab that will double as his home because he doesn't see the point in separating the two any longer, even if he can practically hear heimendinger's tutting about his work-life balance in his ear. it will be closer to the vendors, less of a hike to acquire what he'll need to start fresh. first a new brace for his leg and back, then some basic experiments into lunar energy to get a feel for it.

his lungs flare and burn, minor enough he manages to swallow it down without reaching for the rag in his pocket. he makes a note of the severity and timing, adds it to his growing mental list that seems to indicate his illness does indeed remain but is diminished. promising, if he's being optimistic, but at the moment he feels only a sense of irritation that now he doesn't know the timeline of his own life. one he might be shortening drastically with this ridiculous stunt.

a sigh and viktor goes back to watching the boats, trying to clear his head. he considers trying to message vi and ask her opinion of this but... no, he doubts he'll get anything. he's not sure if he disgusts her as a class traitor or amuses her in truth. better to just see for himself what he's gotten himself into like a fool.]



allen - willful machine, early april

[the 'grand tour' doesn't amount to much yet, the lab area just a large, empty space dotted with a few tables and a couple of desks, not even a chalkboard he's been keeping an eye out for or something that could do the same. one of the desks at least is littered with junk, at the moment tools and the starts of a knee brace, a table nearby with all the scrap he's managed to grab that could be useful in the future. one corner has a cot, maybe he'll clear out whatever other small rooms the place has later for a bedroom proper. maybe not.

viktor seems satisfied with it as he gestures around, and rio has commandeered one of the tables for her own to lie across.] A solid start, I think. I like this area, this eh... Willful Machine, that is.

[he'll never admit part of it is the boats. everyone's allowed a sort of childish interest, right? they're soothing, even if they lack the motors that fascinated him.] Have a seat, if you'd like. How have you been since the tombs?



wildcard.

[as i said, feel free to ask for anything else, including other tdm prompts, i am more interested in seeing the worlds built by others for the archway prompts so i didn't include any here. my plurk is dichotomy or you can dm me here!]

Comments

[megatheorem]

You don't even think it's going to work, [he points out, a murmur. Viktor doesn't break but he bends, in the look on his face and the timbre of his voice, and that solidifies something for Palamedes. He feels the full brunt of that one in his chest, a sudden sputtering ache, and ah; it was inevitable, wasn't it.

He continues,] You don't think it's going to work and you still want to lecture me about my options.

[The shut up is implied there, of course. Palamedes slides his hand up into Viktor's hair, holding them together like this, maybe ready to make Viktor look at him if he suddenly needs to, or anything, ahem.

He reviews the facts: Camilla is nonnegotiable. He will never give up on reversing the work to get her back. He cares about Viktor, somehow, maddeningly, impossibly after plunging himself into a world where he never imagined he'd care about anything but rage and regret ever again.

Hmm. Well, it is a fact. Further: he's a miserable wretch at the best of times, and Viktor's banter and his company somehow makes that sort of okay. To beg Viktor not to shove pins into his brain or whatever he'd like to do is pointedly not the same as throwing away Camilla.]

Don't hurt yourself for my sake. You can call me daft a hundred more times, maybe I'll deserve it. But don't turn away from me and tell me it's for the sake of my goals.

[Which, again, Viktor doesn't even think will work, so how is this an impasse? Why keep trying to remove himself from the equation, while Palamedes loudly insists that's impossible? It's as frustrating as it is, hm, dismal. Perhaps if he simply holds Viktor long enough, he'll get through to him.

It was much easier to 'have an understanding' when he barely knew the man. So, oops, more or less.]

Camilla can't be reduced to a desired outcome, and I've never thought you were just a useful tool. I'll get her back, but I won't hurt you to do it.

[It's not A vs B, please. It's C, both of the above.]

Are you— [boy, this is going to be a question, but considering the lobotomy plans he has to ask,] Does it frighten you that I care about you?

[megatheorem]

Not trite, [imagine if Palamedes "has to call Viktor amazing twice a day or he explodes" Sextus thought that was trite. Silly.] And I do know.

[And it makes him very soft every time, like right now, while he smiles sidelong at Viktor before looking back at squid drawings. If he gets any softer he'll start drawing hearts on this squid and it will be critically embarrassing, please, he can't handle any more.]

If you were worried about trite, you wouldn't like me so much. What if I decided to write "World's Greatest Scientist" on the other side of your mug?

[this was a joke until he said it, Oh No]

[mehanizovati]

Because it is true. Any other way you find could be less suited, and you will return to this. [viktor answers like he's sure of it. a fact of life, goals aren't discarded so easily, obsessions even less so. at least pal's goals are as noble as they are unhinged. that's more than he can say for most, himself included.

pal's hand is in his hair though, and ah right, that's always been a bit of a weakness. he assumed merely the heated tugging or grabbing but no, as it turns out just this is somehow more than any of that. he needs to swallow again against it, fighting tooth and nail now for composure against what feels like a continued attack. stubborn, relentless bastard, of course a man who speaks so intently about killing god would be.

he can still vividly remember the first time pal told him as much, the odd elation that bubbled in viktor's chest he couldn't stomp down quickly enough. thinking damnable things like if anyone could pull it off it would be this clever man.

still, he can handle it all well enough with just passing cracks- don't turn away from me gets an added tightness to his jaw, i won't hurt you to do it has him going stock still. it's manageable until pal asks him that, and he can't just... lie. he hasn't with pal, he's never wanted to. he's never needed to. pal's never forced his hand in that regard one way or another.

he's pretty sure pal's never really lied to him either. it's something he pretends is a benefit of their partnership and not profound.]

Of course it does! [viktor finally hisses, and ah there it goes, it's all coming up an ugly mess that's making his eyes leak damningly at the corners, that kind where he's refusing to blink because otherwise the tears will start falling in earnest and he can't-] You- how could it not? How does it not frighten you? Look at what caring has done, you're ready to rip yourself into pieces at the basest level!

[mehanizovati]

No, not trite. [viktor does have to admit that, smiling back in a less reserved way than when this all started. as it turns out he's deeply into the trite things anyway, who would have thought.

he forces himself to look back to his work, trying to regain a sense of the gear and snorting at that.] I'm fairly sure I'm not even the greatest scientist in the Trench. [just points that out, logical conclusion, some people come for such advanced technology it'd be difficult to catch up. maybe greatest engineer, but he thinks fiddleford could give him a run for his money.

pal gets a glance.] You're going to do it anyway, aren't you?

[megatheorem]

"Our House's Greatest Scientist," then. [Hah. He's already trying to write it in big blocky letters on his notebook page, like, just to test out how his scratchy handwriting will translate to the side of a mug, permanently, so - yes, of course he's going to do it anyway.

He glances up, like, hm? Him, do this silly thing? How odd. Allow him to really squeeze the blood from this trite stone:]

"Greatest Scientist, Also Very Handsome and an Excellent Cook by My Standards"— no?

[mehanizovati]

I can accept 'Bunker's Greatest Scientist.' [viktor allows like a grave concession, complete with the necessary eye roll at notebook.

of course pal one ups the bit and he has to bit back a laugh, evident in the way his lips twitch.]

You remember I am using this to drink my tequila at the party, yes? Also your cooking standards are too low for that to be a compliment.

[megatheorem]

Not if you're right, and it isn't going to work. I can only gamble with so many things, and I won't let Camilla be one of them. Or you. [Now, himself... well, they don't have to unpack that right now, but the point is: he meant it earlier when he insisted he wouldn't act in haste; if Viktor can verify beyond the shadow of a doubt that this drug will not ever do the thing he wants it to, then why would he pulverize his brain with it! Logic.

He's not entirely sure that's the point; it's something else on top of that, some conviction Viktor has about People and Goals, and perhaps that isn't a problem Palamedes can solve. But he can curl his fingers into Viktor's hair in silent reminder that he's still here, he hasn't left for other ambitions or anything else.

The tears undo him. Viktor can be sulky, and furious, and indignant, but Palamedes has never seen him cry— has never known him to let himself shed a tear. Maybe that's the point Viktor is trying to make— it's not going to stick, though.]

And? [okay, not just And, hold on--] You're threatening to do the same thing if my work hurts you too much.

[Just saying. He tugs his other hand out of Viktor's grip and- ah, puts the vial down on the table, after a beat, right- and cups his cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb. What kind of monster would go ahead with his unhinged plan now, after making Viktor cry over it? He'll keep insisting that plan is over as many times as it takes...]

Letting you get hurt scares me— of course it does. I care about you all the same; enough to risk it.

[megatheorem]

[Oh well in that case allow him to start a new row of block letters, for BUNKER. Here goes...]

It'll give you gravitas. No one else will have a tequila mug. And— that may be true, but if your horrible plans come to fruition, I'll have to learn to make something that can raise my standards.

[The absolute torture of being taught to cook. Cannot he not just purchase his food or wait for Viktor to tsk at him at meal times. That's faster.]

[mehanizovati]

[god, he cannot just do this. this is mortifying, how he finally blinks and tears spill in earnest and this is exactly the sort of thing that gets people like him killed. moments of weakness, opportunities to dig the knife in, hints you can be exploited for a soft heart.

but it's started now and he doesn't know how to turn this off, not after a good decade or two of careful compartmentalizing that's now ripped at so many seams he doesn't know where to start. what's worse is he knows some of it is just for pal, because viktor cares too much and pal's entire existence now is such a pointlessly cruel series of events it's nauseating. that god damn palamedes can still care so much after everything instead of shutting it off like viktor thinks anyone sensible would.

he sucks in a breath, shaky and unable to let go of pal's wrist to hastily try to wipe at his damn face.] It-it is different. [he insists, forcing himself to meet pal's eyes. ones that maybe don't quite fit his face.] I am getting rid of- of excess. Pointless things. You are destroying yourself and I cannot simply accept that.

[and pal is cupping his cheek, his grip on pal's wrist tightening for a brief moment before it goes lax in defeat. he closes his eyes and swallows down what he's sure would be a pathetic sound, this is all so pathetic he could scream. and yet he's leaning into pal's palm like he's starving for the warmth of it, hands lowering to pal's elbows, grip tight on the fabric there.]

I am not worth the risk. [he manages finally in an exhale, pained but easier because it's the truth. pal fought and fights the powers that drag him down, he's steadfast for this girl most likely lost, he's steadfast for viktor and what has viktor done? helped singed shut rio's brain off, worked for the chembarons, scraped by until his own death illuminated how little he's done to prove his life was even worth living.]

[mehanizovati]

Yes, nefarious. Imagine if you learn to make something more than sandwiches and also sandwiches. [viktor says with a little too much fondness.

back to tinkering, despite distractions. especially peeks over at pal's notebook and the occasional head shaking.] No one else will have a squid themed tequila mug. I plan to be quite smug about that.

[megatheorem]

[Well, that's semantics, first of all - and Palamedes is sure it isn't true. In this instance, watching Viktor cry like this and call it excess, he thinks, no: they are exactly the same. Neither of them have any idea how to value themselves anymore, do they? The things he would do to himself to ensure the lives of the people he cares about— well, they'd make Viktor cry even longer, most likely.

So.]

It's the same. It is.

[So alright, he can admit his sharp turn into self-destruction if that means Viktor can see it too, in himself. They both have to admit this thing, he thinks - if only to see it clearly.

And so his voice is soft, gentle even, while he wipes away another damnable tear and presses a kiss against Viktor's hair, lingering there a moment just - just to stay centered. To hold Viktor against him like he'll run off and destroy himself if Palamedes lets go, to stop his own tears from falling. If he lets go of Viktor, he thinks, he will lose him; if he lets go of Viktor his hands will shake too hard to reach for him again, and he will have tried to save one precious person and care for another and royally fucked up both his chances, and he cannot go through another immutable loss.

(He knows Camilla is gone, is the thing. Deep down, in a quiet place, he does. The shape of grieving her is his own face staring back at him. He won't lose anyone else to the same spectre, if he can help it.)

Now that he knows Viktor's self worth sits at a stunning zero, however-]

You are to me. You're so much more.

[mehanizovati]

[viktor can't argue with him, as much as he wants to. part of it is seeing the shape of their shared spiraling for what it is, another is simply no longer having the strength to do so. he's falling apart but the world isn't ending, just tilting a little.

he swallows, fails to bite back a sound he loathes, finally reaches up to cup pal's face himself and kiss him like the answer back to all of that, to the confession lining this entire conversation. kissing gently like he's never done before, shakily, gripped with the nearly overwhelming urge to run before he's lost to this-

and viktor wakes up.

it's with a slow blink, to the sound of rio's quiet trilling she only does when she's concerned. he's struck dumb with conflicting memories, of rio back in the vat but she looks to him from the side of the bed, pink and whole. his hand goes to her head, not metal but flesh. why is she upset?

another blink and he realizes there are tears still rolling down his face. oh. that would be why.

he can't remember the last time he cried. maybe a particularly painful day? not when he got his diagnosis, not seeing rio in the vat right before he ended up here. his attention goes to pal quickly though, voice thick but quiet as he asks,] Palamedes?

[he wants to believe that was just a normal dream, but it was so real. even his hand doesn't feel quite right still, like a phantom limb until he curls his fingers tightly. gods, pal's eyes. what the hell was a lyctor actually?]

[megatheorem]

[Ah, and there he is, leaning into Palamedes with all the things neither of them have managed to say. Palamedes' grip in his hair is probably a fraction too tight but it's only to keep him steady, and he half expects kissing him like this to feel like drowning but it doesn't, it's—

It's a jolt back to his senses, back to - to reality, as he blinks himself awake in turn and squints at the vague shapes of Viktor and Rio, dimly lit by the moon orb on the other side of the room. A dream, then, and he wonders why he's woken up so abruptly, shifts to lean up on one elbow on his side, to squint some more.

Were he wearing his glasses to sleep like a complete madman, it would take him less time to notice the tears still running down Viktor's face. Instead he has to squint, and the realization makes the whole room lurch for a second. Automatically his hand goes to Viktor's cheek to brush off the freshest tears there, and, ah-?]

You're awake? Did you dream, too?

[Let's start there, at the beginning: did that happen, insofar as they both were 'there'? He already feels like his heart's been wrung out and left on the floor, and now Viktor is (still) crying— that's not... great.]

[mehanizovati]

[viktor lets out a shuddering breath he didn't realize he was holding- pal's eyes, even in the dim light it's easy to see they're not the same as the dream. it's an odd mirror to feel pal's hand on his cheek, and at least for the moment he doesn't feel any embarrassment for the unfortunate state of him.

that'll kick in soon, but right now he's still reeling, one hand still stroking rio's head.] I... did. We were in the lab and had lived different lives. You were a lyctor.

[it's odd to use that word, when he barely understands what it means. finally shame catches up with him and he moves to scrub at his face, irritated his eyes are persistently leaking still.] Bah, apologies, I suppose it's... emotional transference. Something.

[megatheorem]

Mm. That's the one. [A stilted little agreement, as he's not entirely awake enough to unpack being a Lyctor in a dream that felt as real as that one did. He's not particularly interested in unpacking it while Viktor is still visibly crying, either, lying back down from his elbow-lean to move in close, to kiss him on the cheek like he's definitely not weeping.]

Shh, don't apologize. [He didn't do anything, etc. Sometimes an earth-shaking shared vision just happens around here - although that's the first time Palamedes has participated, rather than just watch. Ah.

...And. Emotional transference? He smooths his thumb over Viktor's cheek once more before shifting to wrap that arm around his shoulders, hand lingering at the back of his neck. Emotional transference, Viktor??—]

In there, you— said some things about yourself.

[he's not asking, but he is asking.]

[mehanizovati]

[with rio eased it's safe to ease again, still rubbing at his eyes in annoyance as he sighs.] So, some Trench effect then. A glimpse into what could have been? How invasively enlightening on matters we both could have lived without learning.

[irritation is easy, less so when pal is being sweet, just as he apparently would be in much more severe circumstances. he lets himself have this, just rest an arm over pal's waist and even his own breathing.

that not question gets a helpless, amused exhale, more on the side of humorless really.] I do not think I am unworthy of your affection, if that is what you are concerned about. [that's true at least, but it feels a little like a lie to leave it at that, and after a long moment he haltingly offers,] I can sympathize with his feeling of failure in his life thus far. Our work in the Trench will counter that, I have no doubt.

[megatheorem]

Right; I think I could have done without the enlightenment, [he mutters, already feeling tired again just thinking about this dream. The knowledge that his feelings for Viktor cross the lines of possibility into other versions of themselves is— well, he likes that on principle. Mostly, it was the other things.

Why did he cut off his hand, for example... Well, baby steps. He kisses him again, purely for the feeling of it being- not so desperate, the way it was at the end of the dream. Mm.]

Alright. [Hm, all of those do make him feel better, actually. He doesn't need to press.] It's not every day I wake up to you crying. If you're sure you're okay, then— good.

[He does not ask, hey, about the lobotomy? because why would his Viktor, who has emotions all the time without a problem, do that thing. Ridiculous. Wouldn't ever happen.]

[mehanizovati]

[viktor's considering the same, a little floored with the realization. it's frightening in its scope, though he's come a long way already in being terrified of intimacy and vulnerability. in fact he can even turn his face to kiss pal's palm, pressing his feelings there as much as such a simple action can carry.

a few more long breaths and he feels steady enough to risk opening his eyes again, this time without tears in their wake. red eyed and puffy, maybe, but unlike that viktor he's had more experience with the overwhelming feeling of being cared for.

he also hopes he's far more stable besides. emotional lobotomies? unfathomable. never going to happen.]

Well, now we're even. [a weak joke but there you are. he reaches over to cup pal's face, gratefully taking in his eyes again before he asks,] Do you wish to discuss it? I won't pretend I don't have questions. [he'd rather stuff everything he just saw about himself in a neat little box but- yes, maybe that urge isn't one he should gladly follow.]

[megatheorem]

[Palamedes is content to let him just breathe, tracing little loops on the back of his neck in thoughtful silence. Viktor is alright, he reminds himself again, Viktor is here in his arms and in their bed the same way he always is, not about to shake himself apart. Even the pink blob that is Rio past the edge of the bed is a quiet relief; they're fine.

And he, himself, well— his immediate response is to not want to talk about it, but they've seen how that strategy plays out in the long term. He hums, and thinks about it more earnestly, if nothing else than to be fair to the other version of himself. He knows how he felt in the dream, and to think of it again now is faintly dizzying - but he is just Palamedes the Sixth, not the Lyctor half-delirious with grief.

He does still make a face, though. Enh.]

You're sweet not to demand it of me. Go ahead, the floor is yours.

[mehanizovati]

[the face he makes has viktor's lips quirking, leaning in to kiss him for it. he still feels stuffed and like his arm isn't quite right but pal is solid and if he needs a reminder they're fine he just needs to look into his face.]

I never would. I would strongly suggest we discuss it eventually for a variety of reasons, but you are welcome to say if you would rather we stop. [an easy answer. the thing he's learned about pal is he's honest, if he says he'll talk about it eventually he doesn't think it would be a deflection tactic.

so he settles in, aware the first question likely is a hard one.] What is a lyctor? I know you were functionally immortal, and I know- whatever it is cost Camilla's life.

[megatheorem]

[Better to do this tucked away in bed, in the semidarkness the moon orb provides, than to do it in the daytime. Not that Palamedes trusts different in the dark, or that the bunker would be suddenly more populous by lunchtime, but wrapped up close, it's - simpler. Being herded into bed after his bathroom breakdown has really stuck.

Fortunately, the first question is actually textbook, not that there is a textbook, because someone might have objected before now.]

A Lyctor is an immortal necromancer unfettered by the regular limitations. Necromancy is finite, [he says this part like he really is reciting a textbook for the nth time, since he Always Says This,] but not for them. They consume their cavalier's soul to build a necromantic furnace with it that never runs out.

[It is as grim as it sounds, and he's glad Camilla is someplace else, so not even an unfortunate accident can beset them.]

It's what we were supposed to become on the First. It's why we went, although you can be certain we weren't told the details in advance.

[mehanizovati]

[as much as viktor was expecting that he can't help but grimace. the idea of using someone as an infinite furnace is horrific on levels he doesn't want to begin comprehending.

that it was camilla? he doesn't know her but pal's care for her was clear from the moment they first spoke of her. yeah, unsettlingly easy to see why pal might think 'let's use a magic drug to sever my soul and try to save her from a fate that sounds worse than death.'

his fingertips idly run over pal's jaw, offering a nod.] This... 'god,' the one you wanted to kill? He sent you there without informing you the cost? But in your real world you weren't drawn into it, this... lyctorhood.

[megatheorem]

[He laughs suddenly at how casually Viktor says 'the one you wanted to kill,' a short and startled kind of noise. Phrases that can never be repeated outside of the sanctity of this bunker, please... After a moment he composes himself, then,]

No; things didn't go so terribly on the First that I had to resort to that. [Just some other insane and extreme measures, never mind those now.] Do you know what he told me about what happened there? He was sorry he wasn't paying attention.

[Oh, and there's the same strand of disdain, although lacking the explicit desire for violence. It vaguely occurs to him that he's been generously using 'Emperor' out of pettiness instead of 'god,' but uh, surprise: God is in town.

He's not done, either:] Then he tried to simper at me about 'the lot of a Lyctor'. Can you even fathom the nerve? Like his half-baked apologies are interesting.

[mehanizovati]

[to be fair he doesn't yet realize the emperor and 'god' are the same person, so that's fun. it's definitely less stressful imagining this is talk of a being far away and not literally in the same neighborhood.

he can't help a snort at that. not paying attention.] Ah, an absent god rather than a cruel one. That's certainly a way to spin it in a less damning light.

What exactly happened on the First? I suppose this explains why you've always seemed to shy away from speaking of it much. I thought it was just a wasteland.

[megatheorem]

It is. Mostly. It is now, at least. [A beat.] The water was pretty.

[That's the nicest thing he can say about the First, so congratulations to that horrible shit planet. He sighs and slumps closer to Viktor for a moment, eyes shut, willing himself not to shy away from the rest yet again.]

We were sent there— one adept pair per House— to replenish the Lord's stock of Lyctors. One of them snuck into our ranks and started killing us. [And there were a lot of sometimes cool but mostly horrifying theorems in there to pick at, but what happened is this part. With the murders.] When I figured her out, I killed her back. Mostly. I know she went down eventually, but I— I was in my room.

[That room. Viktor knows which room. The whole of the First should be dropped into the sun, in his opinion.]