2452/Meet the Neighbors

Meet the Neighbors
Date of Scene:	14 September 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Sub-Mariner, Polaris

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Sub-Mariner has posed:
Place: The Shores of Genosha
Time: A Little After Lunch

"Are you sure it's wise to attend personally, Your Majesty? These are not normal men of the surface, and it is said that their leader is both cunning and cruel. Perhaps it would be best to send an Ambassador of your own, I'm sure that Namora would be very well-received by the malforms."

Councilor Vashti strokes his long, snow-white beard as he speaks, a sure sign that he's looking at a situation from many angles. His advice is almost always worth listening to, and Namor would have probably saved himself from many mistakes if he paid better heed to his top aide.

However, he does not.

"I'm aware of how it might look, Vashti, but you know that I prefer to do all of my dealings directly. And, incidentally, the term that they prefer is 'mutants.' 'Malform' has a very negative connotation, don't you think?"

Soon, the Atlantean Delegation has suited up, and prepared to launch Namor's personal aero-sub. A nostalgic holdover from his days fighting with the Invaders, the Aero-Sub is able to operate equally well in both air and water, and can even be filled with both. It rarely gets use these days, but Namor has never had the heart to have it scrapped. Turns out, it will make an ideal vessel for the first official meetings he's had with the men of the surface in several years.

Sitting at the controls, Namor pilots his own craft while his royal retinue waits in the back. They check their pressure suits to ensure they won't have any embarrassing glitches once they get to shore. After all, nothing kills a state meeting like the royal retinue having to run back into the ocean before they take in too much oxygen and die.

Only Namor remains suit-less, though he has done his version of 'dressing up.' The green scaley briefs have been traded for the black scaley one-piece suit, with a bit of ornamentation to show his status as the King of Atlantis. If you're well-versed in Atlantean heraldry, that is.

The Aero-Sub emerges from the ocean, salt water being pumped from its tanks as it flies low across the ocean. Inside, the Atlanteans look slightly panicked as all the water is pumped out of their ship, but they remain steadfast and stoic inside their environmental suits.

The craft travels slowly, heading straight toward the designated coordinates. This would be a terrible time to divert from their flight plan and potentially cause an international incident. Not when Genosha is full of high-powered mutants and the First Atlantean Fleet is parked less than a mile from their coasts. Could get messy.

Polaris has posed:
Standing on the beach, Polaris is in her finest. The Green haired mutant has her hands clasped before her as she waits with retinue flanking her to add to her consequence. Near by a table sits with chairs lining it and a cloth stretched overhead to provide some shade. Plates of ceviche sit covered and other combinations of seafoods.
     The sun shines down on the green silk clad Polaris, bands of metal holding the toga like dress in place and bands of metal lining her arms . She lets out a long breath. The bands expand so they are off her skin, still suspended exactly where the were placed. She leans over to murmur softly to the aid on her left. "Remember, our best foot forward, compose your faces. The last thing we want is to offend our neighbors." With her warnings given she turns her eyes to the water.

Sub-Mariner has posed:
The Aero-Sub is in good repair, but it certainly isn't the grandest ship in Namor's fleet. He is keenly aware of how shabby it looks as it touches down on the beach, it's engines barely louder than a whisper. Atlantis perfected zero-emission vehicles by necessity many hundreds of years ago, which has had the unexpected benefit of making their ships incredibly hard to detect by conventional surface means.

Still, Namor belatedly wishes he'd rolled up in his enormous flagship, but consoles himself by thinking that it's better to not try to intimidate when entering into peaceful talks with ones neighbor.

The Aero-Sub finishes its landing procedure, and then the hatch opens and the gangplank is extended. A few moments are all that pass between the time that the plank hits the sand, and the time that Namor himself appears at the top of the ramp.

Flanked by (environmentally-sealed) armored guards, carrying the harpoon-like spears that are the Atlantean weapon of choice, Namor isn't lacking for pomp and circumstance of his own. In addition, he has translators, councilors, and what appear to be handmaidens. It's hard to tell what anyone's actual job is though, since they're all wearing environmental suits and therefore pretty much all look alike.

Though his guards are armed, Namor himself is not, save for a relatively small jewel-encrusted dagger that he carries on his belt. The blade actually looks a bit out of place with the rest of his ensemble, and might have been intended for a smaller hand than Namor's. If anything, it looks slightly feminine.

Fancy though.

One of the translators hurries to keep up with Namor's quick pace as he walks toward the Genoshan Delegation. When Namor halts several paces away from the table, the translator speaks up.

"His Imperial Majesty, Namor the First, the Avenging Son, King of Atlantis, Ruler of the Seven Seas, Protector of Lemuria, Direct Descendant of the First Men, and Supreme Admiral of the Atlantean Fleets bids you..."

Namor steps forward, holding up his hand to silence the translater. The salty ocean water is still dripping from him, as he extends his right hand, a custom that does not exist anywhere in Atlantis...

"Namor bids you 'Good afternoon.'"

Polaris has posed:
Watching the Atlantean delegation Lorna studies the environmental suits and Namor himself. She glances to the dagger and the tridents with a passing interest. Her people are not armed, arguably, like her, they are weapons in and of themselves.
    Stepping forward, Lorna follows Namor's lead. "Welcome to Genosha, your Majesty. I am Lorna Dane, called Polaris, daughter of Magnus, Imperator of Genosha, and X-Man. I have been appointed the ambassador to your country. We have small plates prepared." She gestures and glances to the environment suits. "If it is more accommodating, we could move the table to the water?" She offers despite the exchange of nervous looks behind her as she takes Namor's offered hand and meets his eyes.

Sub-Mariner has posed:
The translators look slightly disappointed that their services will not be required for this meeting. After all, Namor speaks better English than they do. Sure, he's a bit stiff, and tends to enunciate everything as if he's delivering a royal proclamation, but that's because he's usually delivering a royal proclamation.

Taking the hand in his own, Namor raises it to his lips. This is another custom that doesn't quite exist in Atlantis, and is considered antiquated (possibly even mildly offensive) here on the surface. His courtiers look stunned, even aghast. After all, he's the head of state here, it's definitely a break in protocol. Perhaps this is why even his own people sometimes refer to him as the 'Savage' Sub-Mariner.

But as gestures go, it's a pretty telling one. What exactly it tells is perhaps better analyzed at a later date.

"On behalf of my people, I thank you for your hospitality." Namor stands back up to his full height, releasing the pale hand and folding his arms across his chest. It's his preferred way of standing, as anyone who has ever seen the news reels from the 40s will verify.

"We would be pleased to sit with you here on the shore. My men will be cross if they put on their environmental suits without getting at least a few hours use out of them." It's not exactly a 'joke', but it's certainly an attempt at keeping the conversation light. Maybe he isn't quite as savage as everyone claims he is?

Polaris has posed:
Lorna's lips quirk but she manages to maintain a professional expression. "If you would please join me then?" Lorna asks, gesturing to the table. The older manors are a surprising quirk. "We certainly should let your men feel they're getting use of their suits then. My people dressed up to-though I imagine they might be pole-axed if I asked them to sit in the water." She smoothes her green locks over a shoulder and draws out a chair for Namor. "Your majesty." She offers smoothly.

Sub-Mariner has posed:
As Namor moves toward the table, the Atlantean guards move out to unobtrusively secure the area. With their harpoons, and the ornate decoration on their armor, they look like they're here more for decoration than actual security. Still, that doesn't prevent them from doing their actual job, and watching their king and his hostess like sharks.

The royal retinue, however, takes places at the table, across from the Genoshan Delegation. It'll be interesting to see how they manage to eat the food the Genoshans have generously provided for them with their heads trapped inside large transparent bubbles of protective material.

Good-naturedly, Namor accepts the seat that his hostess designates for him, and scoots up to the table after she's let go of the chair. He doesn't look like he's in any hurry to eat, but he peruses the selection of fare nonetheless. Apparently it meets with his approval, because he doesn't flip the table over and take his landing party back to the ocean.

Only a few of the Atlanteans present have any idea what's being said, as English isn't exactly taught in their school system. For their benefit, the translators still quietly whisper to the others when anything interesting is said. When they speak, it almost sounds like some sort of weird proto-Latin, perhaps an indication of where their culture originally evolved from. Or perhaps a linguistic coincidence.

"I'm sure your people would enjoy themselves if they joined us for a swim. Unfortunately, you surface folk have an expression: 'Pleasure after business is finished.' It's not an expression that exists in Atlantis, but we will try to behave ourselves." Namor smiles a bit roguishly, as if attempting to live up to his piratical reputation. The light-hearted conversation feels as if it's slightly force though, as if he's trying to put on a polite front despite his heart being elsewhere.

Polaris has posed:
"Yes, well. It takes an extraordinary mind to have fun and do business. Let's spare my advisors." Lorna suggests and sits across from Namor, looking at the King. She folds her hands on the table lightly. "I hope your trip was unremarkable?" She asks and looks to the aero-sub. "That's an interesting vessel." She offers, broaching some small talk to ease into things between the two countries.

Sub-Mariner has posed:
"Unremarkable to one who has lived beneath the waves his entire life, I suppose. I imagine that you might have found it a bit less... mundane." It's not a dig, really, more a statement of fact. A trip on Namor's flagship would be one of the highlights of any normal person's life. Assuming they weren't there because they were kidnapped. But for the Atlanteans, life under the sea is just... life.

Even when sitting, Namor has a tendency to fold his arms across his chest. It's a move that's both defensive, and a show of dominance. Of course, this is perfectly natural for someone who has been a monarch since Polaris' father (who is no spring chicken) was a teenager.

"Perhaps I will take you for a short voyage someday soon. It's only natural that Atlantis plays host the next time we have occasion to meet, and I would be honored to escort you personally. That ship was specially designed to carry human passengers. A holdover from a time when it seemed that Human-Atlantean cohabitation might be possible."

Polaris has posed:
"Have you since found that not to be so?" Lorna wonders, the scientist in her clearly intrigued before she reigns herself in with a look from one of her advisors, or rather, her father's. "Right. Well, we would be honored to accept such an invitation. It is Genosha's hope that we can establish good relationships with Atlantis as our country grows. Many human nations watch our actions wearily and we would like to put our best foot forward-so to speak." She explains and offers Namor a smile. "I'm sure you are no stranger to the trigger finger tendencies of the surface nations. We hope to do better in Genosha."

Sub-Mariner has posed:
"The human nations are right to be wary of what's happening here on Genosha. Surely they sense their creeping obsolescence gradually quickening. But Atlantis does not fear progress, we embrace it."

It's not clear at first exactly what he means by 'progress', and he doesn't seem like he's in a hurry to explain himself. Instead, he looks over his shoulder at the beleagured island nation in the process of rebuilding after a violent coup.

"After the Genoshan Revolution, we expected to see decades of poverty and civil war from this corner of the ocean. Imagine our delight to find the nation quickly rebuilding, and simultaneously producing such a huge percentage of its power through completely harmless methods. From what we can tell, it seems that King Magnus himself is the source of most of Genosha's energy. Whatever the reason though, we applaud the progress."

It's clear that Namor isn't just being polite here. Something about his tone sounds almost optimistic, which isn't usually a term people would use to describe his feelings toward anyone on the surface.

"It's the reason that we're having this conversation, actually."

Polaris has posed:
"My father has done a lot of work to strengthen the infrastructure here with a mind to our neighbors and ensuring we do not do more to harm the earth or her waters." Lorna nods to Namor. "Indeed, much of our reconstruction is thanks to his skill in robotics and in putting those with mutations well suited to industry in the right places." Lorna smiles fondly. "Every time I think I have a mastery of the gifts inherited from my father I learn there is still more to master." She pours herself some water, simple with lemon and mint floating in the pitcher. "Would your Majesty care for something to drink?" Lorna asks, gesturing to the pitchers at hand, juice and iced tea among them, none of it alcoholic.
    While she waits on an answer, Lorna carries on the political discussion. "Being a young nation, the potential to work with such a strong, and historic nation like Atlantis is an opportunity we'd like to embrace. There are mutants with abilities that make their lives best suited to the water-and we want to create a better standard of living-not only a place of safe harbor, but a country where mutants can forge ahead to the very cutting edge as world leaders and voices. That starts with building strong allies like Atlantis." She smiles to Namor, and nods to his translators with a look at all his people, as interested in what they think as what their king thinks.

Sub-Mariner has posed:
Realizing belatedly that he isn't being a polite guest, Namor nods at the server, who pours him a glass of tea. He begins to reminisce about a young woman in New York who used to make iced tea in the summer. One of the very first human beings that he ever met when he first travelled to the surface. She's probably been dead at least twenty years.

Drawn back out of his reverie, Namor finds himself staring a bit too long at the woman's lips as she speaks, and looks away quickly. Wouldn't want the ambassador to get the wrong idea.

"It's true that our nation is the older than the recorded history of the surface men. This has not stopped the United Nations from labeling us a 'rogue state', as they have done to Genosha. If we're being perfectly honest, I believe that has as much to do with your willingness to work with Atlantis as any desire to create a better future for the rest of the world."

Drinking from his glass, Namor briefly nods his thanks at the server before setting the glass back down again. It's weird to actually 'drink' water after so long away from the surface. It's a more pleasing sensation than simply passing water through his gills, but strange.

"In other words, we're both from nations that are short on friends. We must look in odd places for allies."

Polaris has posed:
Sipping her water to refresh herself, Lorna nods. "Yes. I believe the United Nations has a nervous eye on both our countries. And likely for the wrong reasons. Your ship there, it's before it's time-leagues before by surface world standards. What we've managed to do for Genosha is good-fast, but it could be better. With mutant ingenuity and the wisdom and knowledge your people have accrued over the years there is a potential for our countries to better the planet. Surely that is something to invest in?" Lorna fields, studying Namor. There's a little hopefulness in her expression. Genosha arguably has more to gain than Atlantis in an alliance.

Sub-Mariner has posed:
She's right to think that Atlantis doesn't 'need' anything from the Surface World. The Atlanteans can't survive on land, and have no interest in ever doing so. The sea provides them with everything that they need, which causes them to treat the surface the way mankind treats the Moon: A curiosity to be occasionally studied, but one with little practical benefit.

It's the way that Atlantis has always viewed the surface. Until the water around them started to grow warmer and more acidic each year...

"You express my beliefs almost exactly. Atlantis has left the people of the surface to their own devices for too long. Had we taken a more proactive role in shepherding the human population the planet would without a doubt be a better place for it." Those aren't 'exactly' Namor's beliefs, but they're close enough.

Finishing his tea, Namor shakes his head when the server offers to pour more. Meanwhile, his poor royal retinue are unable to eat or drink anything. Damned helmets... But it's the thought that counts.

"Tell your father that Namor will meet with him personally to negotiate the free exchange of knowledge between our peoples. In the meantime though..." Namor gestures toward one of his handmaidens, or at least we're all to assume they are handmaidens. It's hard to tell in the suits.

The woman approaches, bearing a small wooden box in her hands. The box looks a bit worse for wear, which is probably appropriate since wood doesn't hold up that great when submerged in sea water. She places the box on the table before Lorna, and with a quick bow steps back and returns to her fellow servants.

"As a token of friendship, I wish to return something that by all rights belongs to the Princess from Hammer Bay. As I'm sure you know, Hammer Bay was once a notorious haven for pirates. Many ships laden with treaure never... er... quite made it into the harbor."

Namor can't help but smile, remembering the stories his grandfather used to tell of the easy pickings to be found in some of the ports the surface men docked their primitive wooden boats in.

"This necklace once belonged to a Queen among pirates. Legend has it that it was made from the molten jewelry of some of her captives, though this is impossible to verify." Inside the box is a necklace made of heavy links of gold chain, suggesting that it's a very old bit of jewelry indeed. In the center, an emerald larger than a child's fist is wrapped in an elaborately-woven golden basket that exposes the entire front face of the jewel. It's... probably not something somebody would wear when they're hanging out in New York.

Polaris has posed:
Opening the box, Lorna picks up the necklace with her fingers. The bands hovering around her arms apparently is enough display of power for her tastes. She looks at the emerald, her lips flashing a smile. "Green. I thank you for your gift, your Majesty. I will treasure it." The green haired woman inclines her head. "I will relay the message to my father that you would like to meet with him personally. In the mean time, should you want to discus Genosha or visit I am at your disposal." She offers and looks to his retinue briefly before studying the face of the monarch.

Sub-Mariner has posed:
The ships the Atlanteans used to sink had way cooler loot. These days it's all shipments of fidget spinners or iPhone parts. Namor smiles as the gift is given, though he seems to regard it as more of a museum curiosity than an actual accessory. She's got that department pretty much handled on her own.

One of Namor's aides leans toward the monarch and says something in the strange prot-Latin Atlanean language. Namor's smile remains, but his eyes reflexively dart out toward the sea as if looking for a sudden disturbance.

"I would very much like to continue our discussion, and will do so at our earliest convenience. My aide informs me that the environmental suits will run out of clean water in less than an hour, so we must return to the sea. There, I will await word from you when it is time to meet with you and your father."

As Namor stands, the entire Atlantean Delegation stands with him, though a bit clumsily. Many of them have had very little practice standing and walking on the surface, though the guards seem to have trained more extensively for operations on the ground. They quickly fall into formation behind him, as he walks off toward his waiting vessel without so much as a goodbye. It's far from the only breach of protocol he's committed during his all too brief meeting with the Genoshan Ambassador, but it's perhaps the most surprising.

As he walks up the gangplank onto his vessel, Namor pauses briefly at the top of the ramp to look back over his shoulder at the table where he was sitting mere moments ago. With a slightly sad smile, he raises one of his hands in an attempt at a wave, before disappearing inside the ship.

Polaris has posed:
Blinking at the abrupt departure, Lorna will follow to the edge of the shaded canopy. Watching the Atlanteans board their ship, she catches Namor's wave and waves back to him briefly. It occures to her belatedly that she should curtsy or something but his back is turned by the time she dips politely to the vanishing monarch. Assuming she's out of sight she rakes her hair back from her face and sighs. "Well, you're in over your head Lorn." Her hands clasp together she turns and collects the box. "Well, lets get this place cleaned up, there's work to do still." She commands and turns to trudge up the beach towards the fortress and her father.