dear_mun | (no subject)

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I suppose you'd have me thank you, or marvel at your cleverness — a desperate land of would-be gods seeking survival, revival, and restoration, laying claim to the name of Asgard.

Your plans are deserving of nothing.

—Oh, but I do look forward to meeting her, to seeing just what it is that he so favours above all else. It's only a shame that neither she nor his merry band of misfits will see Asgard as it should be, led by a worthy king and in its true glory.

All you need to do is remember your place.

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And what do you think your mundane's place is?

It's not a matter of what I think it to be, it's what I know it to be.

And what do you know it to be?

Bowing. She is neither ruler nor leader.

If you expect that, you will be waiting for a long time. They don't do as asked or ordered- and no magic I know of can affect them.

I would only use reason.

That does not seem to work on my own. I told her why her plans to have Mogget unbound and a horde of Dead set loose upon Cittagazze were madness, but she didn't listen.

Or it may simply be that you and she have very different ideas of madness.

There's no reason to set monsters loose on worlds that have no way to fight them. Or to turn me into a horse for several days.

None, perhaps, that you agree with. Let it not be forgotten that try as the universe might, there are very few constants within beliefs.

Let me guess. This "place" you talk about is bowing and scraping at your feet? [She's not even bothering to look up from her newspaper to talk.]

Only a fool would speak of equality where there is so clearly none to be had.

Yeah. Because clearly, the power lies with the muse who can be poofed out of existence by the mun. [Nope. Still not looking up.] -That was sarcasm, by the way, so please don't go flying off the handle.

You'll find it's not as simple as that.

[She folds her newspaper shut and gives Loki a blank look.] Enlighten me.

And for what? A little curiosity sated? It seemed to me that you were quite happy with your assumptions.

There's a saying about assumptions on Earth. Long story short: they can be wrong. And the last one of you- well, you guys- that I talked to seemed like a decent guy. So prove me wrong.

Does the burden of proof not lie with you?

Huh. Guess so. All right then, stand back. [Ahem.] Hey! Mun! Get me a doughnut! You'd better do it or else- hey, wait, what? Woah!

I didn't think that would work. I guess you really can order muns around.

Regardless, I truly hadn't thought it necessary to point out that the woman — or man — that would play at being your puppet master is not the same as the one that plays at puppet master for me.

...Okay, not that I'm on the same page as Scrawny Deluded Jackass over there or anything...

But this is something my own mun'n I tried hashin' out a few times. Folks like me an' Mister Horny here, we're public identities. A lot more people know about us, say, Jan & Martha Hedgwick, the Sewing Sisters of South Nowheresville in Nebraska. In that way, we're more real than most actual people...

An' if one'a those mundanes die, they stop. Us? We keep going past the death of the person writin' us, cause all we need is another writer to keep going... so even though we might be immortal, we're still dependent on them that way. It's interestin' stuff, when you think about it.

[Of course, this monologue would probably be more effective if it was coming from a character more widely known than this guy.

(If it helps, he was big in the Nineties!)]

Well, aren't you surly!

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