“Your friend, the portly blond with the cheerful disposition?
Don’t look so scandalized, I may have spied on you a bit.
I can’t imagine you didn’t notice, with those senses of yours.
The fellow’s named after a weather condition, yes? Foggy
or something of that nature.”
Loki knew exactly who Foggy Nelson was. Exactly what
his name was. Exactly where he worked and what he looked
like. But he wasn’t certain Matt would be receptive to that
particular, delightful personality trait of Loki’s which compelled
Mischief to aggressively dissect whatever subject currently
fascinated him, with morbid accuracy to detail.
“Ehm, Mr. Murdock, I do hate to, as you say, ‘break it to
you,’ but you just spoke the fellow’s name. Von Doom.
Great Norns, you’ve a self-assured adversary on your
hands.”
He paused, eyebrows thrusting high on his domed
forehead, and indulged in a dry chuckle. Oh dear, I’m
clever. Surely he’s noticed.
“The magic subtly varies from my own, which is derived
from various ancestral and natural spiritual reservoirs
in Asgard and realms generally other than Midgard. Ehm,
Earth, as you call it. My spell is simply a matter of analyzing
the spatio-temporal ‘finger prints’ on the automaton’s
computing circuitry, and scanning through the souls that
have come into contact with it. Doom himself provided
me with plenty of the data. He seems to enjoy his
evil monologues. When all this is said and done, I shall
have to see if I can’t use him as an amusing puppet in
one of my own schemes. That is a terribly manipulable
ego he has. ”
He grinned, unbridled, at Matt.
“Off the record, of course, darling.”
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