summerdude | You Say Overkill, I Say Due Diligence [open post]

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You Say Overkill, I Say Due Diligence [open post]

Magnus copies the sign onto seven different pieces of paper. It reads:

WANT TO LEARN NEW SKILLS? ME FREAKING TOO. I (Magnus Chase) Will Trade Lessons In Any Of The Following For Something You Know:
ASL (Alf/American Sign Language)

Camping (pitching tents, campfire safety, celestial navigation)

What To Do If You Find Yourself Lost In The World Tree Yggdrasil

Pickpocketing (But only if you promise to use it for good (stealing ONLY from dickhead rich people) and ONLY if you have to!)

Swordfighting for Beginners (I am intermediate but Jack is advanced and he can help!)

What It REALLY Feels Like To Die (NOT ADVICE!!!)

(Trans)Gender Identity and Fluidity (from the perspective of a cis guy) (Alex-approved content only)

What To Do If The God You're Talking To Is Super ~~Obnoxious~~ Particular

Why Falafel is the Best Food in the World

All skills welcome! But if you know any of the following I am especially interested: Cooking, Geometry, How To Declare Your Love To Your Partner, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Balancing a Budget, Writing Poetry, Social Studies, Codebreaking.

(Sorry but I will not learn pottery from anyone but ♥Alex Fierro♥. I hope you understand.)

PS if there's enough interest we can maybe do full classes where everybody gets to take turns teaching and learning?

He adds a note about the areas where he can most frequently be found and then posts one sign in each of the two kitchens he's encountered, one by the welcome table, one on the door to the greenhouses, one in the library, one on his bedroom door, and one by what he believes to be the most-populated lounge. Then, with a great deal of eager anticipation, he goes about his day.

[A note from Magnus's typist: Open indefinitely!]

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Claudius laughs and holds up a hand. "Forgive me -- if you've just used a fanciful turn of phrase for a woman who's your battle companion, this question will seem rather naive. But I'm from a Christian kingdom obsessed with its pagan Viking past, and I've already met one angel and one demon here, so I'm rather curious. Is Samirah really a valkyrie?"

Magnus laughs, too. "I'm from a pagan Viking afterlife," he says, and waves. "Hi. Are you from the same place as Laertes? He knew what valkyrie were, too. And einherji?" This last is said with a little gesture toward himself.

"Laertes and I are both of Denmark, yes. You'll test my history sorely, before we've even begun our other lessons," Claudius says wryly. "It's connected to valkyries, yes? Valkyries are supposed deliver the noble dead to Valhalla -- those who died in battle. No matter how Christian the Danes become, I think they still believe it's the noblest thing to die on a battlefield, and pity anyone who dies in their sheets in a time of peace ..." Oh. Wait. He looks Magnus over again. "My apologies. That was a misstep, diplomatically." Did you die in a war? is not a question it's easy to ask delicately.

"It's not just the battlefield," Magnus says, easily. He brings his legs up onto the couch, curling up -- not defensively, just for coziness. "And technically, half go to Folkvanger^*. You just have to be engaged in some kind of... well. I guess battle." He laughs at himself. "Mallory, my friend? She was disarming a car bomb, though, and this one guy who came in the same day as me was trying to attack the water on a sinking ship with a fire extinguisher. Turns out the big thing is that it has to be an act of selfless heroism, so if you're trying to get in on purpose you probably won't. And you have to have something that is arguably a weapon in hand. Alex was extremely well-received in Valhalla. Protecting an old homeless guy who could see through the Glamour from evil wolves with just a clay-cutting wire." He smiles the way he always does when he's thinking about Alex. "But Alex also gave the guy something he could use to defend himself, too. So his could be a valiant death. The einherjar and thanes loved that."

He shakes his head, refocusing on Claudius. "Or -- wait. I bet you were wondering about me, huh? There was a fire giant situation. Surt, actually, if you've heard of him. We were trying to get the same sword that had been lost in the Charles River for centuries, and I was also trying to keep him from killing everyone else on the bridge." Technically, Magnus being there was his uncle's fault. Randolph did a lot of effed up things for reasons he thought were good. Magnus doesn't forgive him, but he does feel bad about the way he died.

*Twice in one week!

This is, to be fair, a lot for Claudius to take in. Words like car bomb and fire extinguisher he more or less takes in context, but the context itself is the trouble. None of Claudus's brushes with other cosmologies have outright contradicted his own -- and to be fair, this one doesn't, either. But it feels as though it ought. The tense contradiction between a pagan past and a Catholic present is why, he thinks, the pulpits bristle with so much brimstone fire: the priests believe they're fighting a war for Danish souls, and have come armed. (And that's not to mention the Lutherans.) And then here's Magnus, with his litany of heroic souls -- truly heroic, not simply celebrated war heroes -- who have somehow slipped between the battle of Heaven and Hell to go somewhere else entirely. Settling back in an armchair, Claudius twists the signet ring around his finger in thought. "I'm beginning to think I should have asked you for lessons on what it's like to truly die," he says after a moment. "You died rather young, didn't you?" It's probably not rude to ask when someone else has broached the subject. "I thought you looked young when I saw you."

"My sixteenth birthday," Magnus nods. "Officially of age, by Viking standards." He had been targeted, as the first son of Frey in Boston in an age; he was the only one who could summon Sumarbrander, and Loki's forces wanted the sword to kickstart Ragnarok. "But that was, like... years ago." He really has to work out exactly how many. He's narrowing it down, though. "Somewhere between six and ten at this point, I think?"

"It's a long time to be sixteen," Claudius notes. He remembers himself at sixteen, a lanky, half-formed thing of nerves and desire. "But I suppose it's time you wouldn't have otherwise. Are the years difficult to count, in the afterlife you come from, or have you simply ceased to count them?"

"They just tend to blur together after a certain point," Magnus says with a chuckle. "I have fewer milestones to pin them on. I know it hasn't been that long, because I have mortal friends and they haven't gotten that much older than me." He wrinkles his nose. This is one of his least favorite parts about being dead.

"You've many friends." Claudius shakes his head, trying to shake off gloomy thoughts of time and eternity. "It speaks well of you ... and of your skills as a future diplomat. You also did an excellent job sounding out my intentions with Galahad. I was impressed."

"What?" Magnus shakes his head. "Nah, dude, I was just being a friend."

"I suppose so," Claudius says, with a small, wavy hand gesture. "I suppose a great deal of diplomacy depends on what you want to use it for. For me, it's always involved sorting allies from enemies. Learning how to say the right words to the right people, who can fall into either category. Finding common ground and compromise, when possible, and making sure a disagreement doesn't erupt into further violence, when necessary. But in political affairs, friendships are hard to find. I rather respect someone like you who identifies and defends their friends easily. It's an asset." It's a very roundabout way of saying he's glad Galahad has a friend like Magnus.

Magnus squints at Claudius for a long moment. What Claudius is describing sounds a lot like life at Valhalla: like learning to manipulate evil dwarfs, and self-interested Jotunn, and distractable gods. Like when he managed to get Jack from Ran's net... at least, up until she put that price on his head.

But he is a smart guy, underneath it all, and he can sort of get what Claudius is hinting at. At least, he can tell that Claudius really likes Galahad; that they have Galahad's interests in common, if from slightly different angles. He holds up his right hand, ring and middle fingers snug against his palm; thumb, pointer, and pinky splayed. "This means I love you," he says. "It's one way to say it, and the one that most people who don't know ASL are familiar with. The other one is --" He points to himself, then forms his hands into loose fists, wrists crossed over his heart, and then points to Claudius.

As a choice of first sign, it shows such a perfect understanding of Claudius's angle and intentions that Claudius can't help but smile at it. He feels a kindling hope for this project -- he knows how to wield spoken words too well and to one purpose, like an archer who has to forget all his old distancing habits in order to fight with a broadsword. If he can put down words as weapons altogether, and learn another way of speaking, he may be able to say something new. He and Galahad might find new ways to speak to and understand each other. "We'll have to go through them one at a time, I think," he says. He has, at least, precise control over his fingers, stretching them out before attempting to recreate the first sign Magnus showed him.

Magnus nods seriously, sitting up a little straighter. "That one is based off of the alphabet," he says. "The pinky extended -- I. The thumb and index finger? L. The thumb and pinky is Y. Sometimes, when people are coy," like the time in the Chase Space when they were pulling together a tiny birthday celebration for one of the kids, and Magnus ducked into the kitchen for the cake Hearth and Blitzen were putting the finishing touches on, and found them flirting instead, "They'll introduce the little finger first." He shows this, like a slow unfurling of his hand.

Predictably, Claudius quite likes the coy version. He likes the way it feels in his fingers, a small, deliberate hint before it unfolds into the full gesture. He copies it both ways, keeping an eye on Magnus as he does so -- both to judge whether he's copying it correctly, and because it feels like part of the communication.

"Yeah, man, exactly," Magnus says. "That's the one that's used more often, as far as I know. The other one is just another way to say it but using the signs for the actual words." He crosses his fists over his heart again. "This means love."

The gesture feels intimate, like clutching something precious and private to one's chest -- enough like love that Claudius thinks he'll remember it. After copying it, he goes through the other signs again, to fix them in his mind and his hands. It feels good to make them. Claudius so often needs something to do with hands, so often twiddles his fingers pointlessly, hiding them behind his back so no one will guess at his agitation. When Galahad was Damien, and they held hands in the garden, it was perhaps the first time he'd willingly shared that side of himself. He thinks of sharing these signs of love with Galahad, and it shows, in how his eyes and smile soften. "You're an excellent teacher," he says, after a moment's practice. "I'd like to learn the signs for other emotions. And how to inquire how someone might be feeling."

"Thanks, dude," Magnus says. He likes teaching, as it turns out. Especially because he's pretty sure his best buddy Galahad is going to benefit from this particular lesson. "Okay, so this is how you ask how someone is feeling," he says, and goes slowly through the signs for it.

"And then, um," he says. "Wait, I'll wait for you to practice first before we get to specific emotions."

Claudius accepts most of the titles people give him for the sake of politeness, but he thinks there's a comfortable and familiar register to the way Magnus says 'dude.' He decides not to return it until he’s quite convinced of its meaning, but the possibility makes him fond.

“See?” he says, in regards to Magnus’s teaching style. “Thou art patient and adaptive.” And Claudius does take the opportunity of Magnus’s patience to work through those signs, one by one, until he can do them quickly and see how they flow and feel together.

Magnus squints at Claudius, midway through compiling a mental list of emotions to focus on. "Are you a flatterer in general?" he asks, curiously. "Or am I just special?"

Claudius laughs at the question, appreciating it. “Most of diplomacy is flattery. But I do try to be specific and sincere in what I flatter — insincere flattery is easily caught, and if you go too far with it, you may cause more offense.” For example, you might offend an emperor, and the emperor might then activate the blood parasites he fed to you. It happens from time to time. “Even sincere flattery can be difficult to accept for certain people. That’s why it helps to be specific. Someone might, for example, reject being called good if they have prior associations with the word, but if I say thou hast been patient in allowing me to practice signs, and adapted thy lessons to what I wish to learn, and who I wish to learn them for, with admirable grace … thou couldst demur, but thou couldst not deny thou hast done those two things.” He smirks. “So yes, I’m a constant flatterer, but thou art special. I remain grateful Galahad has a friend in thee.”

Anyone on Galahad's side is on Magnus's side, he figures, so he might as well explain his perspective to Claudius in full^*. "I'm okay with compliments," he says, which is occasionally true. "And I know I'm good at a bunch of stuff." Including friendship, the most important skill in the world; he is warming to Claudius's flattery on that note. "Loki started out with flattery, too, but he quickly turned to insults when it became clear I wasn't going to help him end the world. And then I had to flyte him about it in the end. So I'm glad yours isn't insincere, that's all."

*By some value of 'in full.'

"That makes you one of two people I know who've refused to bring about the end of the world," Claudius says, with a laugh of surprise and gratitude. It remains one of the most remarkable things Crowley ever told him. Perhaps it's only fitting -- here's two people able to confirm the existence of the afterlife and an overarching eschatolology, and Claudius is still grasping how they both can be true. But at least the end of all things is something malleable. "From the stories alone, Laertes would be quite amused if I were compared to Loki ... but I am sorry for your own experience with the god of lies. I admit I haven't always been the most honest of men. Laertes is one of the friends who keeps me honest -- I find my friendships here have made me more inclined to it than I ever was in Denmark." Because he has to ask, "How did the flyting work out?"

"Oh, I wasn't calling you a liar!" Magnus hastens to clarify. "Or anything like Loki, beyond the very initial flattery." He guesses that Claudius and Loki are also two good-looking guys, but that's hardly the grounds for comparison. A lot of people are good-looking guys. "And trust me, I get having friendships that incline you toward particular ways of being."

He pauses to fix his hair -- it's falling out of the scrunchie, so he pulls the scrunchie out, runs his fingers through it to comb it out, and tries for a teeny ponytail, or something. "The flyting went... fine," he says, modestly. "I won and we trapped Loki in a walnut shell and gave him back to the gods. I'm pretty sure they let Sigyn go back to wherever they put him this time, like I asked. She's good people." And an unexpected ally, despite her weird devotion to Loki.

Then he smiles. "I've decided what emotion words are best to start with," he says.

That sounds about right. Claudius returns the smile. "I'm ready to hear -- and see -- them."

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