driftfleet | (no subject)

Ah, but it does save on time.

Time is one thing I do not lack.

Are you sure?

[ When others talk about time, it only serves to depress him. ]

[Amused:] Oh dear, so I'll be dying soon, shall I?

[ He rolls his eyes, faintly annoyed. ]

For a God, you have a very provincial view of time.

[A perfect mimic of Leto's tones.]

For a God, you seem to be in an awful rush.

Not really. But I don't perceive time the same way most of you do. There's no difference in a minute or a year.

[A slight narrowing of the eyes.]

And I do not perceive time as humans do. [Watch it. He won't be put in a box with the little cockroaches.]

[ He is suddenly vividly reminded of Feyd'Rautha, distant cousin. The flare of the nostrils, the narrowing of the eyes. He wonders why the Asgardians never learned the art of muscles, to tend to the face as much as the body. Loki has some of the art but not quite as close as the other Loki or a Bene Gesserit. ]

Of course not. I said most, not human.

[By Asgardian standards, he's terrifyingly opaque even at the best of times. But in this case, it could be that he's decided to be a bit more open toward Leto in some ways, because he rather likes Leto.

Or it could be that little streak of madness in him. He's never been the same since the black hole, the mind stone, Frigga's death.

So many possibilities from which to pick.]

Most of my species of monster is graciously dead. [A simple observation. Too bad he hadn't gotten to finish the job.

He shrugs and leans his head back again, eyes closed.]

I do not subscribe to arbitrary titles like monsters.

[A small hand gesture, another sort of, as you will. He's not arguing Jotun semantics with Leto.]

The world I see is not the one most others do, and certainly not them. It was something Frigga knew. [Because Frigga had seen the world in a very similar way, through the lens of magic.]

[ Softly. ]

You had a good mother.

Better than I knew.

[Because this is something one never knows, until it is too late. His last words to her still haunt him. And he knows that no amount of blood let in vengeance will ever change that.]

But you knew her, at least.

[ Leto has never "known" his mother in the traditional sense. Her self lingers in him, but it is not as a mother. ]

That I did.

[He considers for a moment, eyes still closed.] She would have liked you, I think.

Though thought you a bit silly.

[She'd accused Loki of being silly at times.]

[ He hums lightly, mulling it over. Witch-blood is in his veins, their teachings in his mind. He will never be one of them, but they were the closest thing he would have to kin in the later centuries. ]

Her use of magic is akin to the Bene Gesserit. She has their ilk, though she would be a lot kinder.

Really, is that the sort of magic you practice?

[Delivered so mildly. Not from what he's observed. He's never seen Leto take such a direct control over physical reality, but perhaps the man just hasn't wished to do so.]

She was very kind, always. The goddess of hearth and home.

[He smiles.]

And oh, but she was fierce to those who crossed her hospitality.

Akin. Not quite the same.

[ There is a different art to the kind of illusions and subterfuge that the Bene Gesserit practice. All human abilities, honed to their peak. To many, they would seem supernatural. ]

I see the world outside of myself differently, rather than the world within my skin. [It isn't something that can be described, only experienced.]

[ He touches the worm-skin briefly, a reminder. ]

My skin is not my own.

[ With a brief chuckle, his grim demeanor washes away. ]

So I think little of it. Worlds and skins, magic and science. What do they mean to me?

The world you define seems enough to die for. [A little, throw-away hand gesture.

He finds it so odd, Leto's remarks about skin, when he hates his own skin so very keenly at times.]

Magics are the greatest part of me. [Before the tricks, before the lies, there was always magic.]

[ He tilts his head slightly, a brief acknowledgement. His smile is real and full, in that terrible way where you cannot rend or tear or destroy. Bereft of bittersweetness and regret. ]

I would prefer to die in the traditional sense . . . but such things cannot be helped.

Magic lives in you. Breathes in you. It is why Loki is still crucial to the fabric.

Mmm. We could have that argument again, but I find myself disinclined today. I'd hate to wear it out so quickly.

[Crucial? Now that is an odd thought indeed. He's always in his own mind been the pewling runt, fighting tooth and nail to keep from being eradicated by a universe that hates his very existence. The opposite of being crucial, really.]

Ah.

I'd have to see the weave of such fabric and see if it suits first.

If it does not, you'll do what you have done best. Change the rules.

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