[Something shifts, although not so much as to dislodge William's easy smile.]
I've found, at any rate. You're far cleverer than I. [A soft laugh, largely at himself.] Half the useful skills I have come from losing limbs or being under constant fire.
[ loki looks like he wants to protest but it dies on his lips. his melancholia, it seems, cannot be banished so quickly, though he tries. tries and dies. what he's best at. ]
[It's an interesting thought. It's something to mull over later when he isn't half-distracted by trying not to miss out on the bits and bobs he's pulling together.]
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I've found, at any rate. You're far cleverer than I. [A soft laugh, largely at himself.] Half the useful skills I have come from losing limbs or being under constant fire.
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They are yours. So they have . . . meaning.
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Most of my skills were passed on to me by my mother. Because she feared I would get eclipsed by Thor. I made them my own but . . .
[ he puts it aside. no time for that. ]
My point is that it hardly matters what the skill is. It is a mark of individuality. Of existence.
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Of survival, hm?
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No. Existence. It's not the same thing.
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Oh, that requires a proper pause, work abandoned for a moment to turn and contemplate his husband.]
How in the world have I been so lucky as to meet you, love?
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It is — only my experience in the matter.
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I'll get the rest of your things.