Generally, any number of Loki’s quick assessments could have been, probably were, true. Whether they were true for the reasons he thought, though… that was a different matter entirely. Plenty of people sought privacy, treasured what secrecy they could afford. Dante was no different, though he also wasn’t out surfing for another bed to warm for the night - not even a quickie in the undoubtedly tetanus-riddled bathroom.
No, his privacy, his secrecy, was instinctive rather than being put to a certain purpose. Years spent lying bred it into a person not to tell the truth on first glance, and Dante was rather picky about who he took the time to figure out was worth the trouble of sooth. Was Luke? Maybe later, but for the moment, the technopath had determined not yet.
He seemed pleasant enough company for a night shared over drinks, though, and his handshake was certain. That could tell a lot about a person, even if it was a bit cliche…
"Nnh," The mutant grinned, his brows lifting in idle curiosity, the pink tip of his tongue sliding over sharp-white teeth. "Maybe’t is, maybe’t ain’t. Turns out t’be, I’ll letcha know," He ‘promised,’ about as much of one as anything else he’d said during their short exchange.
"You got such a big, bad, l o n g story,” He drawled, his lower lip smudging the rim of his glass as he brought it up, his eyes slanted sidelong to regard the other still: “Let’s hear it.”
Neither of them knew it yet, but their personal policies on disclosing the truth were uncannily similar. Years spent lying taught a person to not freely give the truth, of course, but they also taught one how to turn the skill into an art.
And Loki had been lying for many, many years. Lying was instinct. Lying was difficult not to do.
So it would be easy for him to weave a story together, one that would satisfy whatever curiosities Chris might have.
"Oh, will you be so kind? The worst thing for any man to be is tedious, after all."
He let out a low chuckle, drawing his own glass of scotch to his lips, meeting the other man's sidelong glance with one of his own.
"Besides, when you say it like that, how am I to resist?
...I am something of a refugee, you know. Not on the books. You know where Latveria is, don't you? That is what I meant when I said I wasn't from around here."
He wasn't on the books, here, and that much was true- but the honesty ended there.
