tragic_mask | (no subject)

"Of course," he says. "Most people don't believe in balance, or just can't bring themselves to try it. But it's at the heart of everything, it keeps life going. Master it, and you can do anything, at least in my world."

"That explains a lot about you," she says, pensively.

"Knowing the way a person's world works tends to explain a lot about them," he says. "It's like a code, and that is the key."

"Yes. Knowing that I come from a world that enjoys being dizzy, all the time, and whose gods are worse sinners than its humans, might explain something about me. For instance."

"I think you've survived it very well," he says, glancing over at her. "Are there any gods--besides the cold, false god of Abraham--who aren't worse than their humans, at least in some ways?"

She returns his gaze, amused.

"I suppose not. They can't be having deities with a superiority complex."

"We make them, not the other way around," he says. "So I believe, anyway. And that's all that matters."

"True," she says, and then settles back into her seat.

"And yet... we still need them."

He lights a cigarette, and settles into driving.

"I guess we do, at that. After all, who would I inspire otherwise?"

"And who would I make things for?" he agrees. "Besides gods, but with no mortals around, whom would they need tools to oppress?"

"Hey, you might be surprised... we do a pretty good job of pointlessly beating each other up."

"The other supernatural races also help," he says. "The two families of gods went to war with each other, in my world, and there were the giants and everyone else also."

"Yes, we had the Titans. They got overthrown. Everyone's always trying to kill everyone else, which is rather pointless. I mean... we can't die, you know? So... we all have to pretend to be civil, even when we're plotting to kill each other."

She smiles. "Of course, but we, I mean they."

"At least there was some point to our fighting, the Aesir and the rest," he says. "We could die. In fact, we almost all knew whether when we would."

"You knew your destinies?" she asks, curious.

"There were prophecies of the end of the world," he nods. "Most of the gods were mentioned, and it was described exactly how they would die."

"That's..."

She searches for the right word.

"... terrifying. And appealing, somehow, at the same time. To have your life so carefully defined, to be unable to move from that path."

He chuckles quietly.

"I was never mentioned in the prophecies. But that sword I made... it was. Imagine the pressure of that."

"Certainly good for publicity," she deadpans.

But she's thinking. "So, what do the prophecies say?"

"In general, or with regard to the sword?" he asks.

"Well. To the sword, mostly. Though I don't mind hearing about the others."

He is silent for a while, using a complicated bit of navigation back onto the highway as a cover.

"The sword belonged to a man who had once been one of my dearest friends. But we'd had a falling-out, before my exile, and the sword was not made for him. It came into his possession, and then he gave it away for the sake of love, which meant that at the final battle he would have no sword. It would instead be carried by the giant who was to lead the armies against the gods."

She thinks about it.

"So," she says, finally. "There's no way to change these things, then?"

It's more of a rhetorical question than anything. Melpomene knows all about prophecies.

"We cannot escape our fate, once it has been predicted," he says. "Of course, it says nothing about my fate. I'm not sure if that should be a comfort."