tragic_mask | (no subject)

"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."

"Oh, but it should," she says with a wide smile. "There's nothing to hold you back."

"But if I knew my fate," he says, "I would be able to be prepared for it. I would know where I stood, in the course of my life. I would know where it would end."

"You and preparation." She sighs, but fondly.

"I guess none of my spontaneity has rubbed off on you. I'll have to work on that."

"...well, you have rubbed off on me in some ways," he says softly, giving her a brief glance. "I may not be quite spontaneous, but I am looking forward to the future, in more ways than just what my next strategy for finding my wife might be."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," she says, to the dashboard.

"That hasn't happened in a very long time, if ever," he says. "I may have been distracted for a little while, but there has always been the need to keep looking, and after so much time has gone by, the need to go back. But I'm only going through the motions of it now."

"Well, she took your heart," she says softly, remembering what he told her. "I don't blame you for that persistence."

"It would be nice to have it back," he says, "to give away again as I see fit. Or at least, just to be done with all of that."