He's a sweet kid and she should maybe ask if he's okay. But he looks fine.
"Good luck," she says, and disappears in a puff of smoke.
Snuggle. "I love you. I'm - so so happy you found us."
"Me too! When are we expecting evac to be all handled -"
"Two more days. Should've started sooner, sorry. We're running a sort of skeleton operation and I didn't want it running like that for too long if the spell took a while."
"It makes sense, it could have taken longer if I didn't have the dripping blood idea and went with something more conventional."
"Hopefully he'll just be gone with no chance to retaliate. But if he does - we can at least limit the casualties." Squeeze.
Nod. Snuggle. "Well. I hope it works, that means I get to keep all my toes. And stuff."
"If you die I will find a world that can fetch you back and make them do it."
"I know you will." Kiss.
A few days later they're evacuated.
Cor paints. Cor chants.
Cor keeps his toes.
And it's over.
He is distracted managing lines of communication for twenty minutes and then he hugs Cor and cries.
Cor delightedly snuggles him. He is too happy to cry.
Four hundred years - felt like the best we could hope for was to drag it out more, drag it out forever...
And now you don't have to.
I love you.
I love you too.
The composers will struggle to come up with sufficiently exciting titles.
He enjoys his delightful boyfriend. He brings some orcs who he expects to be cooperative once deoathed.
Deoath deoath deoath.
How useful. He takes notes on the translation as he gets it, questions small details in shades of meaning in the words.
His translator seems to delight in this line of questioning.