[It's interesting that he's willing to, Alfie thinks. He certainly wouldn't have, in his position - unless, of course, he was preparing an attack of his own. A hidden knife, maybe, like the pistol that Alfie himself usually keeps in his coat pocket? For that reason, Alfie heads for the couch instead of immediately trying something rougher - which is unfortunate, because getting rough was literally the only reason why he'd come. But that's okay, he thinks; he can work with this. He'll improvise. Try to get him off his guard first, and make him think he's only here to talk.]
Tell me, mate--
[He says, taking a seat.]
Have you always been a fuck-up, or is this a new development?
[The swearing grates on Monty's nerves, but he doesn't respond immediately. He takes his sack to the table near the stove and sets that down before moving to seat himself in a chair across from Alfie. Only once he's settled does he reply.]
I accomplished my goal of temporarily transforming you into a fox. I would not call that a failure, Mr. Solomons. You really should mind your locks more closely.
It inconvenienced you without harming you in any extended way, save perhaps your pride. I had hoped you might learn something of what it was to have a fox's instincts, as well. That is all.
Yeah - yeah, I did. It taught me that a fox's instincts are far more difficult to overcome than I'd assumed, and that I had even more reason than I thought I did to be wary of people who've got them.
[He raises his eyebrows.]
You're not as stupid as you look, Navarro; surely you could have predicted that. Why didn't you?
No, I want you to work through the logic here. This isn't a question of empathy. Renart tells me she's dangerous, which causes me to worry about what danger she may pose to Emily, and in response you give me all the more reason to believe she might be dangerous. And you truly expected that to make me see her as less dangerous?
I am asking what you would do after that, sir. What would be your recourse? Had I, miraculously, been able to turn you into a fox forever, would you separate yourself from Ms. Emily permanently for such a transgression?
That is not what I asked, Mr. Solomons. You seem to be allergic to responding to the questions asked of you. Has redirection always been your favored defensive tactic?
Yeah. I, at least, answered the question behind your question, and it's a shame you--
[And then he lunges, very suddenly. His hands immediately go for Monty's wrist, trying to pin them and keep him from getting at that knife that he still thinks might be in one of his pockets.]
[Alfie pins them easily, although, he's going to have to either let go pretty quickly, use his weight to steady things, or go down with Monty. The gentleman's surprised enough that he jolts back into his chair, eyes wide with alarm, and it tips backward.]
[Oh fuck, he hadn't been expecting the chair to tip. But he's in this and he's going to stay in this. He makes a good attempt to balance things out weight-wise, but he only has a second or two and he doesn't have good leverage for it, so down they go. He's going to do his best to keep a tight grip on his wrists, though.]
[Monty grunts as the chair slams into the ground. He doesn't struggle with Alfie to get the man off on the way down, just to try to brace himself as best he can. The older man will find himself halfway on top of the younger. Rather than being fearful, Monty's expression is confusion mixed with indignation.]
What in god's name was that meant to accomplish, sir?
[Monty has started squirming to get the man off, but stills at the words and Alfie's expression. There's a cold curl of dread around his stomach as his mind casts back to other encounters. Sol Badguy, Accelerator, Xion, Malcolm, the Nogitsune, Bucky... Dio. He swallows and marshals his courage to put on a front of indifference.]
You are not a man of your word, Mr. Solomons. That is good to know.
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Tell me, mate--
[He says, taking a seat.]
Have you always been a fuck-up, or is this a new development?
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I accomplished my goal of temporarily transforming you into a fox. I would not call that a failure, Mr. Solomons. You really should mind your locks more closely.
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[He raises his eyebrows.]
You're not as stupid as you look, Navarro; surely you could have predicted that. Why didn't you?
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I don't know what you're asking, mate. I'd take responsibility. Accept that I had done it.
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[He crosses his legs and reclines in his chair, exuding the air of a bored, well-to-do young fop.]
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[And then he lunges, very suddenly. His hands immediately go for Monty's wrist, trying to pin them and keep him from getting at that knife that he still thinks might be in one of his pockets.]
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What are you doing!?
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What in god's name was that meant to accomplish, sir?
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[He says softly, leaning in with a dangerous glint in his eye. He doesn't actually plan on hurting him, sure, but he doesn't want Monty to know that.]
I can be far more dangerous than a fox - and it's all choice, not instinct.
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You are not a man of your word, Mr. Solomons. That is good to know.
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[He tightens his grip around Monty's wrists.]
Be careful who you wrong, mate.
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