[ Hythlodaeus makes a small, noncommittal noise as he leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest in a deceptively casual pose. He lets Emet-Selch continue scribbling his notes - or whatever he's working on - for another few minutes before huffing out a quiet sigh and pushing off the wall to approach. Reaching out, plucking the writing instrument from his fingers with a nimble dexterity, he holds it far out of his companion's reach. ]

Emet-Selch. You have prepared as much as possible. Preparations are as prepared as they're like to get. You'll only needlessly tire yourself at this rate. Come home and rest.