[Indeed, Emet-Selch's voice is drowned by the single voice that utters the exact same name, at the exact same moment. So the figure in question- Hythlodaeus- as correctly identified, does not turn as he stands to approach the desk. Instead, he moves through the indicated door.
His stride is long, and measured. Seemingly relaxed. His body belies absolutely no indication of the utter defeat coursing through his soul even now- yet when he moves through the door unto a hallway of sleek design, and elegant lines- and is seemingly alone, his stance changes almost immediately. His hands move to clasp at one another, and his hooded head swivels slowly in order to ascertain that he truly is alone.
...Needless to say, his calm was very clearly an act for the benefit of those still waiting within the reception area- those that would come after him. An effort, even wordless, to reassure. And now that he is alone, there is very little need for it. His gaze lingers, just for a moment, by where Emet-Selch indeed does stand, and his hand rises to his chin in a small measure of contemplation.]
...A confluence?
[This is only a memory. But to say that Emet-Selch's presence within it, even from a different star, lifetimes upon lifetimes after, has not been perceived by his almost infallible sight would be a falsehood. Like all things, it is noted. Yet Emet-Selch's presence does not have the power to change what is to pass. Nor should it- for Hythlodaeus, even with the considerable degree of his vision, cannot fully perceive him.
It is more a bending of the air. Faint refraction of light. Nothing tangible. Most would overlook it. Yet he is not most.]
That one should have formed here, of all places and of all times... how very curious.
[Enough lingering. He turns his head back before him, taking a few more steps. Silent ones. For, after all, it would not do to speak to an errant burst of aether from somewhere far away, perceivable (in his mind's rational manner) only because their own star was so very drained of its own. Even if he was alone. It was madness.
He turns again, allowing it a side glance, despite his most concerted effort to not. And he presses on, coming to a large door. It is closed. Yet he knows, as Emet-Selch would know, this is the room.]
no subject
His stride is long, and measured. Seemingly relaxed. His body belies absolutely no indication of the utter defeat coursing through his soul even now- yet when he moves through the door unto a hallway of sleek design, and elegant lines- and is seemingly alone, his stance changes almost immediately. His hands move to clasp at one another, and his hooded head swivels slowly in order to ascertain that he truly is alone.
...Needless to say, his calm was very clearly an act for the benefit of those still waiting within the reception area- those that would come after him. An effort, even wordless, to reassure. And now that he is alone, there is very little need for it. His gaze lingers, just for a moment, by where Emet-Selch indeed does stand, and his hand rises to his chin in a small measure of contemplation.]
...A confluence?
[This is only a memory. But to say that Emet-Selch's presence within it, even from a different star, lifetimes upon lifetimes after, has not been perceived by his almost infallible sight would be a falsehood. Like all things, it is noted. Yet Emet-Selch's presence does not have the power to change what is to pass. Nor should it- for Hythlodaeus, even with the considerable degree of his vision, cannot fully perceive him.
It is more a bending of the air. Faint refraction of light. Nothing tangible. Most would overlook it. Yet he is not most.]
That one should have formed here, of all places and of all times... how very curious.
[Enough lingering. He turns his head back before him, taking a few more steps. Silent ones. For, after all, it would not do to speak to an errant burst of aether from somewhere far away, perceivable (in his mind's rational manner) only because their own star was so very drained of its own. Even if he was alone. It was madness.
He turns again, allowing it a side glance, despite his most concerted effort to not. And he presses on, coming to a large door. It is closed. Yet he knows, as Emet-Selch would know, this is the room.]