Viktor's attention lingers a few seconds longer on G'raha and that smile, but he still manages to deliver a crisp nod, as though Elmort had always had his undivided attention. As though he'd kept track of the itinerary at all. But that all sounds right. So, he drops his ax to his side, a soldier standing at attention, and adds an authoritative, "Aye."
(In Viktor's experience, gray-haired politicians rarely like to hear the words, "I don't know, sir, I just work here." No matter how adept you are at your job.)
Usually, at this point, Alphinaud would be leaping in to bridge the gap left by the Warrior of Light's predictable bout of sudden onset silence. With the twins engaged elsewhere, though, Viktor is left to try and conjure up something the boy would say on his own.
"Glad to meet you, Elmort." The name sits somewhat sour on his tongue; not wholly unpleasant, just sharp. He stammers through the next bit, dreadfully aware that he'd just been flirting when he should've been preparing for a serious, potentially dangerous diplomatic excursion. "And for the opportunity to...show your prince our home. If there's anything I can do to make our journey and easier one, say the word."
He glances skyward, makes a few quick calculations and adds, "Should make the city before sunset. It's not a long trek. Safe enough, so long as you keep to the roads. I'll stay at the head." Viktor looks to G'raha. There's a smile in his eyes, despite his attempt at looking serious. "You'll join me there, highness?"
"Absolutely." G'raha agrees before Elmort has a chance to object.
He feels a little sorry for Viktor in that moment, in truth, being thrust into the diplomatic role that doesn't entirely suit him. He had hoped to see Alphinaud or any of the other scions, but he's also not surprised to see them absent - no doubt they have more important business to attend to than playing escort to an Allagan prince.
(Viktor no doubt has more important business to attend to, but though G'raha feels a little guilty to have pulled him away from whatever crisis would otherwise be demanding his attention, he's also glad enough to be spending time with him that he can't bring himself to be too regretful)
He does want to ask about the others, but again that would be a poor way of confessing the truth to Viktor. He'll have to wait for another chance for them to talk more privately, this time he'll come clean, he really will.
"The others are assembled at the gate," Elmort reports, his jaw set "shall we?"
"As you say, sir." There is little to do now but extend an arm, giving both prince and advisor the right of way. Viktor slings his ax back across his back and follows close behind G'raha and his retainer.
With everyone's attention momentarily elsewhere, he does his due diligence, measuring the size of the Allagan delegation, judging whether they have the space on their persons or in their wagons to store weapons -- not that such a guess matters all that much when you're observing a civilization that once ruled the skies, made clones, and defied death.
He decides, thanks mostly to the complete silence of his Echo, that this whole business is politician-level dangerous. Not my circus, not my monkeys trouble. The sort of thing that the Syndicate breaks their fast on.
So, it's just as the prince said: his safety is the only thing Viktor need concern himself with. He prays he can keep his own head on straight long enough to see this mission through. But, by the Twelve is the prince distracting.
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(In Viktor's experience, gray-haired politicians rarely like to hear the words, "I don't know, sir, I just work here." No matter how adept you are at your job.)
Usually, at this point, Alphinaud would be leaping in to bridge the gap left by the Warrior of Light's predictable bout of sudden onset silence. With the twins engaged elsewhere, though, Viktor is left to try and conjure up something the boy would say on his own.
"Glad to meet you, Elmort." The name sits somewhat sour on his tongue; not wholly unpleasant, just sharp. He stammers through the next bit, dreadfully aware that he'd just been flirting when he should've been preparing for a serious, potentially dangerous diplomatic excursion. "And for the opportunity to...show your prince our home. If there's anything I can do to make our journey and easier one, say the word."
He glances skyward, makes a few quick calculations and adds, "Should make the city before sunset. It's not a long trek. Safe enough, so long as you keep to the roads. I'll stay at the head." Viktor looks to G'raha. There's a smile in his eyes, despite his attempt at looking serious. "You'll join me there, highness?"
no subject
"Absolutely." G'raha agrees before Elmort has a chance to object.
He feels a little sorry for Viktor in that moment, in truth, being thrust into the diplomatic role that doesn't entirely suit him. He had hoped to see Alphinaud or any of the other scions, but he's also not surprised to see them absent - no doubt they have more important business to attend to than playing escort to an Allagan prince.
(Viktor no doubt has more important business to attend to, but though G'raha feels a little guilty to have pulled him away from whatever crisis would otherwise be demanding his attention, he's also glad enough to be spending time with him that he can't bring himself to be too regretful)
He does want to ask about the others, but again that would be a poor way of confessing the truth to Viktor. He'll have to wait for another chance for them to talk more privately, this time he'll come clean, he really will.
"The others are assembled at the gate," Elmort reports, his jaw set "shall we?"
no subject
With everyone's attention momentarily elsewhere, he does his due diligence, measuring the size of the Allagan delegation, judging whether they have the space on their persons or in their wagons to store weapons -- not that such a guess matters all that much when you're observing a civilization that once ruled the skies, made clones, and defied death.
He decides, thanks mostly to the complete silence of his Echo, that this whole business is politician-level dangerous. Not my circus, not my monkeys trouble. The sort of thing that the Syndicate breaks their fast on.
So, it's just as the prince said: his safety is the only thing Viktor need concern himself with. He prays he can keep his own head on straight long enough to see this mission through. But, by the Twelve is the prince distracting.