Moonspear are you up right now?

He, with a silver tongue? The thought of such a thing coaxed amusement out of him though indeed he believed it true. History had made him capable of knowing his way around words; he found it easy to play to another's strengths, to gently grease the cogs in the machine that made up the world. It was one of the tentaments of survival and it had served him well, if not saved his hide a couple of times.

A thoughtful pause trailed in the wake of Hydra's query; he did not have an immediate, good answer, if such a thing existed. The options seemed limitless, ranging from placidity to the absurd and back again towards dastardly altogether. And there was of course, the thought at the back of his mind that she did not ask him entirely out of humor, that perhaps she inquired simply to see what sort he was beneath it all. As always and ever, he thought he displayed himself genuinely.

"I suppose it would depend upon yours," he said at first, "and the sort of pair we'd make." His gaze stole away to hers, wondering as he went on. "And I wonder whether it would be best to ask whether we fulfill the needs of our own, or of many. It's hard to say, really, almost too lofty of a goal to have don't you think?" His smile was thin but ever amused—in all honesty, being world leaders was not quite something he would have aimed for.