Quoted By:
"If the person who stole my one-of-a-kind family heirloom has any <span class="mu-i">physical</span>— oh, hold on, did I mention? I was talking to Eloise, and she told me about some skientific gobbledygook where reality's been sort of stretching, and now any 'major event'— she said that, 'major event'— any of those could snap it in half? E.g., somebody <span class="mu-i">using</span> my family heirloom could qualify? Isn't that funny, Monty?"
"I couldn't say," he says, apparently seriously. "Eloise said this? Did she say what 'reality being snapped in half' entails for the layman?"
"Uh," you say. "Everything ceases to exist! All at once! Poof!"
"Is that all?"
"Is that—" God-damnit! "Is that not <span class="mu-i">enough?</span>"
"I could think of far worse things. Some I've mentioned. The way you have it, you'd downright reduce suffering." Again, he's apparently serious. "I take your general point, I suppose, but—"
"I didn't even say my general point!" You fold your arms. "You <span class="mu-i">owe</span> me everything you know about quote-end quote 'physical changes.' The world might literally end if you don't. Or maybe it won't, because I'll stop it, and I guess in your opinion that'd be worse, which— maybe just forget the world. You <span class="mu-i">stole</span> my crown."
"Yes." Monty inhales. "That's fair."
"So are you going to—"
"Please wait." There's a soft noise you can't place, until you realize his foot must be scratching on the ground. "This isn't something I've really..."
You wait.
"...Really, all of this is... I've only ever told Constance. Years ago. ...Please be patient."
How much more patient can you be? You join Monty in the ground-scratching.
"...What kind of face would you expect me to have?" he says.
"Um, what?"
"I've told you enough. You know I was engaged in violent activities for many years. I played the Game. I boxed. I provoked people. What kind of a face would you expect from that?"
What on earth is he talking about? Is he expecting a physiognomic examination? You wouldn't expect him to be that tough, you guess, if you didn't know him— his features are all long and softened and sort of blandly handsome overall. No dashing square chin, no darkened brow, no wicked scar. But is that what he means? If it isn't, you suspect it'd be awfully rude to say, not to mention far too forward. You opt for the safe route of saying nothing at all.
Monty sighs. "I'll be more specific. Would you take a look at my teeth?"
He bares them for you. (Maybe he's sick of you being here, and this is his attempt to drive you away?) You take as polite of a glance as you can get. "They're very... white?"
They are very white, not to mention perfectly straight. He must've had enough sponsorship money (ha-ha) to have a surgeon look at them. "Yes," he says. "They're <span class="mu-i">very</span> white. Thank you. Did you see any missing?"
He could just be making fun of you. That's a possibility with anybody, really. "You have <span class="mu-i">all</span> your teeth, Monty."
(3/5?)
