Forced through clenched jaw and tight lips, Viktor's noise of alarm comes out sounding very like he's on the verge of throwing up—two heaves-ho, both alike in dignity—

He doesn't, actually. Does, in fact, shimmy like he's shimmied before. Very possibly cuffs Lazar a good one with some edge of his leg brace as he kicks his way up, too, bony fingers clenched in a groove hardly deep enough for purchase. But deep enough is deep enough, and up he goes, scrabbling and scraping, finding some final leverage on a shoulder. A not-insignificant quantity of fine grit showers down after him.