8627/In the Deep Blue

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In the Deep Blue
Date of Scene: 02 August 2019
Location: Nexus Island (Nexus of the Light), Atlantic Ocean
Synopsis: Another moment, another day - excitement to be had!
Cast of Characters: Sersi, Namorita




Sersi has posed:
    The Atlantic churns with its own mysteries, a moody elemental presence ripping apart the Old World from the New. South of the equator, the season inevitably slips from waning winter towards spring. Not that it makes a great deal of difference at this torrid latitude, where jungle trees hold on and thrive.
    A rather impressive, seaworthy craft harbours in the protected bay, not the main port, but one probably visited by the rich with their boats for privacy. As if thousands of square miles of inhabited, but scarcely populated, ocean weren't private enough. It's an island that appears on few maps, a destination about as appealing to the average visitor as the South Georgia archipelago. So far, only a cap of clouds on the mountain peak blots out a very nice day indeed. There could be a reason for that, when all other locations are sweltering under great storms or flat banks.
    A pretty woman, too pale to escape the rigors of the sun without a stellar sunscreen featuring three digit SPf ratings, is certainly not mucking about. She sits on the pointed prow of the boat, a crab trap of sorts next to her. Inside, a few broken shells and scraps of dead coral jettisoned by bleaching or pounding storms lie before her. She thumbs through them, ignoring the crew going about coastal duties. One person is in the water, a diver armed with not much more than a snorkel and mask. Which is interesting given they're free-diving awfully deep.
    "Not a /conus gloriana/, " she says, holding out an oblong shell. Many meters below, the diver waits. Taking a few pieces, she sends the little basket right back down with a careless plop. "I blame the sea urchins. A plague, they are."

Namorita has posed:
    Namorita spends so much of her time among the Humans that she has only been keeping herself hydrated in swimming pools. As the weekend approaches, however, she takes the opportunity to go offshore. Way offshore. Once away from the Eastern Seaboard, Nita turns sound and just... swims. It's been a long time, and she revels in it.
    Following intuition more than anything, Nita finds herself in much warmer waters. After crossing so much ocean, the approach of an island is a curiosity to her so she closes the distance. Some sort of underwater activity is going on. Very curious indeed!
    And so it is that the next time the snorkeling diver goes down, he is met by a blonde in a green two-piece. She is just watching, not too far off the sea floor and seemingly not in a hurry to get to the surface for a breath.

Sersi has posed:
    New York waters aren't famed for their clarity or purity. Technically on the South American plate, a small island bathed by a major current provides needed upwellings to support an abundance of life and tourism dollars for those able and willing to reach the little outpost. It's not as though many people dwell here, tucked away in the protective bubble of tropically-enforced weather. But clearly Sersi enjoys her surroundings, rather dreamily turning over a fragment of shell crushed in the beak of a parrot fish. She runs her thumb along the edge, not quite cutting herself on it. It's carefully placed aside among the other bric-a-brac brought up from the reef, and she shakes out her hair as it streams in a light breeze. Up there, she ought to be baking and inviting malignant skin cancer.
    The snorkler, fins and mask to complete his ensemble, is headed down with that modified crab trap to the reef. He certainly might not be stunned by others. The two resorts around the other side of the headland have their fair share of swimmers, kayakers, and all the rest. But seeing someone who wasn't down there a few minutes prior brings a bubble of surprise from his lips. Obviously he cannot talk down there, though he peers at Namorita and tugs on the line supporting the trap to keep it from entangling. The anchored yacht is a long shadow up there, stationary.
    Pays to be nice: he waves at the blonde. Below, the reef forms stepped tiers all the way to the drop-off of the perilously high island slopes.

Namorita has posed:
    Nita returns the diver's wave, just floating there with her long hair trailing behind. She tilts her head, noting the line as well as the trap. Blue eyes narrow a touch. Her feet give a kick and then she is gone, leaving nothing but turbulence in her wake. Naturally suspicious, Humans dropping traps into the ocean are seldom a good thing.
    The blonde spots the yacht as breaches the surface, but she doesn't stop there. Soaring upward within arm's reach of the ship's prow, Namorita hovers a few meters above the gently rolling waves to see what's happening on deck.
    "You are collecting." she declares to the woman on deck, without preamble or introduction. "Are you a scientist or something else?"

Sersi has posed:
    The poor diver blinks twice. He clearly doesn't have any kind of crab or living animal in the trap, and once the blonde is off swimming, he returns to the task at hand. He puts the shells back relatively where he found them on the sandy stretches. The bleached reef formation he can do little about, but he manages to poke and prod a few pieces back into place where the swarming fish might find a bit of shelter or a meal. Here goes that pebble, there goes that piece.
    The line angles up to the bow, a far way up for that. Sersi is already swinging a long leg over the protective rail, careless about the plunge. So it is she stands there, her gauzy green caftan shed to reveal a black swimsuit likely plucked from Cannes or the Cote d'Azur. A pendant winks at her throat, ancient seaglass entrapped in a filigree of swirled silver. Green eyes widen when she spots someone hovering off the deck, but noticeably no one shouts, howls, or starts shooting flares. Not yet. Namorita earns a brief survey from head to winged ankles to face again. She halts in preparation to dive off, hand casually on the metal. "What a lovely surprise." The faintest accent wreaths her words. Italianesque, to most. Her smile brightens to a warm, carefree magnitude. "Good afternoon. Si, if it's quite reached that yet. So easy to lose track. Do you need a towel, or are you comfortable as you are?"
    The sunglasses pushed back against her dark hair wink with sunlight as she casually lounges. "A scientist would be a rather generous description. Sadly, the coral down there lost all its colour and that begs for a look to see what's going on. Ashe," she adds. "Lovely to meet you."

Namorita has posed:
    Nita's ankle wings flutter only lightly as she hovers, surveying the pale woman in the black, designer suit. "I am not uncomfortable with being wet." the woman declares. She descends in a smooth arc to alight on the deck, glistening and dripping. Gesturing generally towards the waves, she offers. "He was putting things back. That is unusual for Humans, in my experience."
    Stepping closer, Namorita's pointed ears are more apparent as well as those high-arching brows. No, she isn't Human herself. At least not fully. "I am Namorita Prentiss, of Atlantis. And the pleasure is mine."

Sersi has posed:
    Vivid green for one, midnight black for the other. The slightly feline, uptilted cast to Sersi's eyes holds interest and a dash of mirth. She is, after all, apparently on vacation. The poor snorkler is still down there, and here she is with a few flecks and pieces of seamade creations. Nothing that a jeweler would find useful, nothing for a collector back in some rich enclave to put on his mantle or her aquarium. If she's a robber, she is apparently one of the worst such examples in the general thousand kilometer vicinity. With a casual roll of her shoulders, she swings over the rail to land properly deckside. A thin silver chain wraps around one ankle, glittering far less brightly than her iridescent polished toes. "Yes, it's only proper to do. Going to a park, you keep to the trail and leave the plants alone. Though the reef is struggling in places even if the weather is beautiful topside, which is most perplexing. Maybe someone's been dumping fuel or it's the oceans being too warm."
    For a not-scientist, she might have easy theories. Still, she has a guest and her hand lightly gestures to one of the chairs set out on the deck. "Would you like to sit, Donna Namorita?" It's an Italian use of title, but given a lilt of respect. "I'll have this little display whisked away. Would you care for anything to drink? Wine, a lemon ice?" That snorkler has been down there a while, but the smartly dressed fellow in bright white stepping out to make sure "Ashe" is untroubled by needs like lifting a finger bows to Namorita in kind. "I haven't managed to upset Atlantis, have I? Is this an island under your protections? I would have thought the captain checked out that, but if so, my apologies."

Namorita has posed:
    All of this causes Nita's head to tilt curiously, although her full lips pull into a smile as well. "It is refreshing to me that you are concerned for the health of the reef." she offers. Stepping over towards the chairs, she adds. "Lemon ice sounds wonderful, thank you." The blonde perches lightly upon the edge, crossing one bare leg over the other.
    "Yes, the seas are under my protection; mine and my cousin's. For the most part, however, I work to try and correct or combat mankind's stupidity and lack of foresight. Namor uses more... direct... methods. But you are acting out of concern, not ignorance. And I commend you for it." She pauses, then glances over towards the water. "Your diver has been underwater for quite some time. *I* can breathe underwater, but he was not wearing a tank."

Sersi has posed:
    "Nothing to enjoy if I mistreat it," Sersi says with an easy wave of her hand, indicating the sweep of shoreline dramatically engulfed by the jungle. Beyond the shallows of the fringing reef, surf plies a wild foaming barrier. All very pretty and very dangerous for the unsuspecting, which makes anchoring the yacht in the cove all the more impressive. "A lemon ice, darling," she calls to the awaiting man in white. "Sparkling water too, since it's so bright out." Off goes the crewman to see to the fixing of their drinks, and it won't take him overly long to return with them, serving Namorita before Sersi.
    That leaves the dark-haired woman all the time in the world to engage the Atlantean in conversation. Nita receives a quick nod. "Oh, how thrilling! You get to be the diplomat and Namor gets to be... Namor." She flashes a brilliant smile. "The press does have a rather long view of his direct behaviour. Of course, being responsible for so much space isn't bound to be easy. Direct methods, that's a good way to describe it. I shall have to remember that, it sounds so tactful." Her fingertip dances on the bend of her knee, and she smiles. "Ottavio will be all right. He's adaptable, and he learned from pearl divers off the Philippines. He'll give the line a tug if he needs me, but he should be fine for another few minutes." She hasn't a care in the world by that tone, blithe and confident in the diver's talents. "Mankind's stupidity. Ooh, sometimes mistakes are made that make no sense. Demolishing forests, working against our own interests. You're not alone in wondering how people can act against their own interests so completely, and come up with brilliant things that allow us to peer into space or walk on the moon or preserve a lost Viking ship."

Namorita has posed:
    Nita brightens, settling a little and beginning to relax. "Exactly." she agrees. "The oceans are not separate from the land, as much as mankind would like to conveniently believe. Poisoning the sea eventually poisons everyone." Stretching her long legs out, she gives a brief nod as lemon ice and sparkling water are served.
    "Actually, between the two of us Namor is much more diplomatic." she replies. "I'm more of a busineswoman, which is why he asked me to manage Oracle, Incorporated. Generally speaking, however, you are correct. His diplomacy also tends to be somewhat... one-sided."
    She starts in on the lemon ice, almost delicately. "So is that what brings you out here, then? Preservation?"

Sersi has posed:
    "Oracle? That's the environmental group, isn't it?" Sersi taps her finger again as she pulls the memory from a great many of them, sifting around after a pause. The crewman offers her the green caftan she shed, and she takes it from him. The drinks are presented on a tray that fits nicely on a stand with a sturdy pair of legs, putting up with the yacht bobbing around. Sweeping the silk chiffon around her shoulders, she manages to presumably protect herself from turning red as an irate octopus. "It's absolutely _dreary_ how many people think they live in a separate bubble. Things that happen in New York touch no one in Rio. China is somehow not connected to Milano." Her voice blanches a little with frustration more than anything, though it's a very subtle note. "Even better, he has given you several tasks to work with. Do you enjoy how it splits out?"
    The conversational tone remains as she crosses her legs, toes a bright grape glittery shade. Bouncing her heel, she nods. "Exactly that. Someone told me in town about these golden shells they bought. They have no business being out here, they're from much warmer waters. I had already planned on a good dive." She gestures lightly to the water, settling the pitcher in the middle of the tray and selecting the cup of lemon ice. Little silver spoons accompany it. Luxury and an in-joke? "Of course, seeing the state of the coral told me it wasn't so simple. Our waters in the Mediterranean are utterly devastated in places. As you said, poisoning the sea. Overfishing. Years and years of mismanagement, and so many dysfunctional bureaucracies more concerned about fattening their pockets. It's turned around in some places, but this should be pristine. Maybe I can help a bit. Maybe not. I'm not sure entirely."

Namorita has posed:
    Nita shrugs a little at the question, picking lightly at the ice with a spoon. "I am impressed that you know the shells are not local." the Atlantean offers. "Most who are not scientists wouldn't notice. But mankind has done so much harm to the ecosystem by trying to 'help', importing destructive species out of convenience or because the animals or plants are pretty. The examples are too numerous to name."
    "So you've heard of Oracle, then. Good. I try to work within legal and economic channels. It's a good compliment to my cousin's activities, and since I am open about my heritage it also adds credibility to our cause." She looks around. Yacht. Designer clothes. Personal staff. Silver spoons. "You are a woman of means, and yet you seek to correct these matters directly."

Sersi has posed:
    The luscious citrus burst is tangy, a zingy balance against the chipped ice. "Shells don't normally sell for a few hundred euro," Sersi replies. "Ottavio recognized them as Filipino. He was trained by divers there, and it's a prized little shell there. Or a sizeable one." Her spoon dips into the mound of chipped ice, raising it to her lips and taking a sweet impression while Namorita speaks. "Oh, helping. Rabbits are the /bane/ of my existence. Now we have no more ibex or chamois; no jaguars; cheetahs on the decline, and so it goes. Alas, it's not entirely too late, but whether we intervene by this point is a hard choice. Is it right to mend the damage or do we let nature take its course?"
    A soft sound of dismay passes her lips. "I have heard a little, si. Not as much as I perhaps should have." Her green eyes crinkle. "I am from an old family, you have me. I try not to share it too freely, because it comes with expectations. At least in places. D'Este," she says of that ancient Italian family, famed for its heights, fallen in the nadir of empires that crashed out of Europe. "I suppose I was raised with a longer view and a sense of preservation. How important it /is/ to preserve the great works. Not only build, but understand there's a legacy."

Namorita has posed:
    Nita looks thoughtful. "Shells from the Philipines being sold here?" She tsks, shaking her head slowly at the mere idea of it. "I do understand your not wanting to share your family name and influence too broadly, however. For a long time I mostly hid my Atlantean heritage, mostly for my own safety. But now I not only embrace it, but share it boldly."
    Brows knit, then. "If there are vendors selling foreign shells here, they must be getting them somehow. Perhaps there is an ongoing supply? Though why would someone want to smuggle shells...?"

Sersi has posed:
    "Sold here. Found here. I imagine they're brought here on the reef or they invaded? It doesn't make sense." Sersi shakes her head, casual as can be. Her manner is languid, graceful as they come. "Boldness is a good thing, though not /all/ the d'Estes are beloved in Europe. Some old rivalries. Problems with a leader of the faith." She smiles. "Those grudges can be so unnecessarily long and old! But you might have a better understanding why. Aren't your people quite long-lived?"
    Her spoon clinks the glass; she sets it down. "Expensive golden shells. Maybe that's to waylay unsuspecting tourists, but I don't know why they would do it. They are very pretty. But they are hardly carnivorous. Only useful as art or for a few other reasons, rare and eclectic. They.. maybe are special?"

Namorita has posed:
    "Found here as well." Nita echoes. "May I see one? It will save me a trip to the marketplace." She picks at the lemon ice, very clearly enjoying the citrous treat. Some things you just can't find in the ocean, after all. "And yes, my people age very well. When I was younger, I protested the Vietnam War." Which puts her somewhere in her sixties, instead of her apparent twenties. "One thing is certain, however. The shells did not migrate here on their own."

Sersi has posed:
    "Of course. You'll need to excuse me for a moment, and I can fetch it." With a shiver of pale silk around her, she rises from her seat without any effort at all. The slipped steps carry her across the deck, into the second door to a cabin. No more than five minutes pass before she returns, holding a small hatbox of all things. The few shells are nested on a tray probably meant for shoes or other palm-sized things. The biggest of them is the length of a woman's hand, though thinner. Others are narrower and shorter, counting four total. "I found these," she explains simply. "Or Ottavio did, and we've dived all morning. This was covering a fair bit of territory. Now, I could imagine someone trying to seed a reef with precious shells, but goodness, it seems like there are better ways to make money. Art. Digital things. They are dazzling, though." And they are, looking as though someone rolled a unicorn horn through gold dust, countless little segments of it.