driftfleet | (no subject)

Dryly: "A man who does not love battle may yet still love his skin in its unmarred state."

Oh, he does not like this at all, though that doesn't show on his face. What variety of reasons might he have been told, and how many of them true?

He laughs softly. "And anyone might still enjoy a good dance now and again."

"I prefer my dancing to be of a less violent nature, my Lord." The smile that curls Monty's lips is almost impish. He's quite aware that he's being opaque about what he knows about the other man to a large extent. "Although, as I said, I did take up a blade when the moment called for it. I wonder what you might have made of it." It's said casually. He'd never actually shown Aletheia's sword to the other Loki. "It was granted to me by the Avatar of Absolute Truth when she made me her knight. I think she thought it very droll, indeed."

Feeling a little more at his ease now, Monty reaches for his wine and takes a sip. Overconfidence can, on occasion, be one of his faults.

"It pays for a man of nobility to know all dances. One never knows what the occasion will require."

Now that's interesting. "It would depend upon what of her powers she might have imbued in the sword. Or in her champion." Hm, is that why this man is so curious about the God of Lies?

"I suppose it would." He'll leave it hanging there for a moment as he swirls the wine in his glass, looking down at it.

"It's so very nice to have real things once more." It's a non-sequitur, but he raises the glass to Loki and inclines his head. "To your good health, my Lord." Toast given, he takes another sip. He probably shouldn't bait the god too much. That's inviting mischief upon himself, but with so much having spun out of his control once more, this moment of having some power over another person is almost a relief.

Information is power, and he plans to force Loki to ask a question if he wants to know something. Monty's through volunteering much more on his own.

"Reality is what one makes of it, I've found." Loki tilts his cup cordially enough. He can feel that bait. He's very good at playing the patience game; everyone talks in the end. "There are many Lokis, you know."

Monty's brows rise. "Are there? I'm aware of my own world's mythology, and you yet exist. I've seen a man with three different faces who claimed to be all one person. I don't suppose it would surprise me." It does... to an extent. At least the implication of what the other man is saying.

"I am legion. As legion as the multiverse, and more." It's a very subtle warning; he's very likely not nearly the same as the one Monty knew. "You are a multitude as well, if perhaps a smaller one."

"I believe the multiverse is infinite, sir, in every direction. At least as far as I've been made aware. We would both, then, have equal multitudes." Monty's grasp of the multiverse isn't exceptional, but he's gathered a good bit from his various conversations and the theorizing, particularly from people like the Doctor.

Monty doesn't particularly like to think of other Monty Navarros running about, in any case. "I quite understand you're different from the man I knew, my Lord, if that's your meaning." He'll just make that subtle warning something plain. "But you share a face and you share a name, perhaps even a history in some measure. And I am sorry, if that is so. It seems a tragic one."

Just going to leave that hanging there as further bait.

Amused: "A belief which indicates your understanding of maths is imperfect. There are many different sizes of infinity, and some are greater than others."

Eyebrows arch up. He is a perfect liar, after all. "That sounds distressing," he comments. "Did he play for your sympathy with tales of a blighted childhood? Oh dear."

"Perhaps there's more to learn. I shall have to make use of the local library, my Lord." That makes absolutely no sense to Monty. But he's a stockbroker, not a mathematician, and his learning on that subject has come from self-study and what little Mother could offer of her own tutelage. His eyes narrow for a moment before he goes back to sipping his drink with apparent nonchalance. Monty is a very good liar, but he's far from perfect.

"They weren't tales, though, no. Not as such from your counterpart. They were crows. Such dreadful things, creatures who speak a man's truths against his will. They were remarkable in their accuracy."

"Start with what humans call set theory," he says, still amused, as he watches Monty. "That ought to provide the answer."

Loki wrinkles is nose. "Crows are exceptionally rude birds at times. I might almost have sympathy for him, were I the sort that were capable of feeling such emotion."

Fine. Maybe he will! Monty does make a mental note to look into it, even if it makes him feel rather foolish right at this moment. "You don't feel sympathy, my Lord? Surely even a god must be capable of such a thing, even if he does not show it." Monty's rather dubious of anyone claiming they're incapable of a particular emotion. Then again, he's a rather passionate man. It simply does not follow that anyone else might not be graced with the full complement of emotional range.

"Or those who fancy themselves gods, in any case." It's the most delicate of jibes as Monty smiles and shrugs lightly.

Well, it is a lie, of course. Loki's an exceptionally passionate person himself. But he has use for both the image the Avengers like to paint of him, and the contradictions he weaves from it.

Because really, he is a bundle of contradictions.

"Ask anyone you like," he says, amused. That isn't nearly the same as actually confirming the point. "I know I seem rather unlikely when it comes to the current favored style of human gods, in that I provably exist and am capable of bleeding. That's hardly my fault."

"The impressions we give to others may be masks, my Lord. It does do to draw one's own conclusions, does it not?" Monty's familiar enough with being lauded as respectable, sweet, and wholly innocent, while plotting the murder of those who hurt his mother... and who stand in his way to a position of power. Mostly the first part, though. That's, of course, the most important part.

"I fear I believe only in one true God. I've met more than my share of people with god-like abilities, though, I've no doubt you may have your worshippers. Are any of them here?" It's asked sweetly, innocently.

"I am shocked and insulted that you imply my outer face is anything but true," Loki says, amused.

He snorts at the talk of the Christian god. "Your ability to believe in that which you have never seen nor spoken to nor has no provable affect in your physical world is quite laudable, I'm certain. I think if your god can't be bothered to attend any of our gatherings, I can't be bothered to keep sending invitations." He bares his teeth. "I'm afraid I'm far too real for any modern mortal to like worshipping, and I shan't do you all a favor and disappear to make the point."

Monty only shrugs, continued polite innocence at Loki's 'offense.' He's clearly not bothered enough to start too big a fuss. It's more an insult to Monty's intelligence if Loki thinks he's actually going to believe that, anyway.

"Oh, I shouldn't like you to disappear, my Lord," Monty returns. "I am a man of faith, though, I shall grant you that." In the blink of an eye, there's a glass of wine identical to the one that Loki's currently drinking sitting on the bar between them. There's no illusion here, if Loki can sense such things. Monty doesn't actually know what variety of win Loki was drinking, but he believes that it will be the same as what's in that glass. "One might say that belief in things that aren't wholly real is one of my particular talents."

Edited 2016-11-03 22:15 (UTC)