The X-Project

Jay meets Namor while fishing and isn't entirely convinced he isn't a ghost. Namor has not been fishing in 5,000 years.


It is a beautiful day and Jay was a horrible bird. At least, if you were a fish. The spring weather made him feel more alive than he'd felt in some time, which brought about it's own kind of sadness and there was nothing for melancholy like the serenity of fishing.

Jay had managed to find some fishing supplies and had set himself up on the dock by the boathouse, not expecting to actually catch anything and unaware that the house was occupied by anyone.

Let alone the lake.

There was a dark shape under the water, lurking.

Jay, unsuspecting, cast his rod and let his feet dangle off the dock, ready to wait for bites that may never come as he just listened to the sounds around him. It was peaceful, like this. Solemn almost.

It wasn't peaceful long.

"You dare intrude upon the sanctity of our domain, lungbreather," came a gravely, ominous voice from the depths. Only the dark shape and impression of long ears were visible now, but there was the hint of a pair of unnaturally blue eyes and sharp, sharp teeth.

"Jesus!" Jay yelped, wings puffing out behind him as he nearly fell off the dock and with a few great flaps was in the air above the creature, looking down from above at whatever had spoken to him under the water like some sort of unholy spirit. It was vaguely... Man shaped?

The vaguely man-shaped creature snarled. Well, it was most likely a snarl. There were definitely pointed teeth, but the water was dark. "Your idol has no place beneath these waves, surface dweller," it pronounced. "It will not protect you from our wrath."

Were there more of that thing? Message taken, no fishing in these waters, lest Jay drag up whatever this thing was. He shook himself slightly, landing back on the dock. Jay was no fool. He avoided angering spooks and monsters when he could. He mumbled something about fish demons and ghosts under his breath as he started to collect his fishing things.

Behind Jay, the thing rose from the water. A creature of sharp lines and angles, a thing of the depths . . .

It began to laugh. Not the dark, menacing chuckle that accompanied the promise of a drowned end, but a somewhat more pleasant, if mean and self-satisfied, laugh of a prank accomplished well.

"The bass are out of season," the creature warned in the same, gravely voice as he pulled himself up onto the dock to grab a water bottle that had been stowed nearby.

Jay turned slightly to look at the wet figure behind him- no monster, but Jay wasn't going to rule out the man being some sort of spectre. He was surprised to notice the small, hummingbird like wings on the man's ankles. Ever since he'd gotten his wings he hadn't been one much for submerging himself. Then again, there was waterfowl.

Maybe this man was more like a duck.

Jay glared at him slightly as his heart slowed down. "You got me pretty damn good," he said to the figure. "And that's a shame about the bass."

Namor stopped, turned, and squinted. "Never doubt that I do everything 'pretty damn good.'" He took a swig of water. "There is more pleasant fishing on the other side of the lake — a healthy stock of perch." He stretched his arms wide, seemingly unbothered by being wet in the chilly March air.

Jay's politeness got the better of him, now that he was willing to rule the figure out as a ghost after watching him drink. "Well, I'll be taking that advice if'n you'd like to join," he figured it would be a no and kicked off. Why walk all the way around the lake when he could fly there in a shorter path?

This got a stare. "You," and the incredulity in the Atlantean's tone was so plain as he squared his shoulders that he might as well have been pointy, "Clearly understand nothing of Namor." His eyes blazed with pride for just a moment, but then, "I have not been fishing in 5,000 years."

Maybe Jay had judged this Namor as not being a spectre too soon. He didn't sound like he was exaggerating when he said 5,000 years. "You want to be joining in then?" He asked, not letting himself be put off by this self important man's attitude, especially when he sensed just a hint of sadness in his last statement.

The full weight of inhuman ice blue's eyes fell upon Jay Guthrie as the young man received his full appraisal. Whatever they found, Namor answered, "We accept your invitation. It should be diverting, at the least." He nodded. "What is your weapon of choice? Simple hook and line?"

"Well, I don't got a net for trawling and I never liked folks who shoot at the fish," Jay said as he began to fly to the other side of the lake, following Namor's knowledge of it. It also gave him an excuse to turn away from the man. That stare gave him the heebie-jeebies something fierce.

The other, muscled man took a minute to retrieve his water bottle from the dock, although he didn't follow immediately after. He had retreated back up to the boathouse itself, grabbing an item. Still, his voice echoed across the water to Jay in questioning disbelief.

"They do what to the fish?"

"Shoot at 'em," Jay called back, gesturing as if he held a shot gun in his arms. "Bam! Just overkill I think."

The Atlantean was there, then, crossing the lake on his own flight — movements quick and jerky compared to Jay's own soaring. A man stepping on air between hovers. His wings blurred in motion. "Typical," Namor judged, "Mankind loves to show power when it is least needed." He had fetched, it seemed, both a practice spear and an old, unloved fishing pole.

Namor darted forward, if only to be just a breath in the lead. "The joy is in the hunt, not the kill. Foolish."

Jay watched the other man fly, hummingbird-like and urgent, like he had to get wherever he was going yesterday. He observed Namor's fishing gear- he hadn't even thought of spear fishing. Jay wasn't sure he had ever met anyone who spear-fished. Then again, if this man was some sort of ghostie like he had expected, why wouldn't he? Wasn't that something they'd done before fishing poles?

Just how old was this guy?

Jay landed into a walk, setting his own fishing gear about. "My joy's always been in the atmosphere and the wait, but to each his own. I agree with you about the power thing though. No need for it."

This actually got a laugh. True, it was a slight chuckle with the tiniest hint of derision, but it was aimed elsewhere. "There are many kinds of hunts," the taller man allowed. He had settled on the ground, and was pacing with a confident swagger on the shoreline as if he was inspecting the spot. "Fishing is one of patience." He said that last word like it was a challenge. Something foreign.

Jay hummed a few short notes in agreement before sending out a graceful cast to the deep waters of the lake. It was a little too late to expect many bites, the sun peeking well over the horizon that's that was alright.

Jay was plenty patient.

Still, he watched Namor carefully in his interest to actually see some spear fish.

The Atlantean continued to pace the shoreline like a predator, eyes fixed the water. He idly spun his spear in practiced circles with one hand. Comfortable. Easy. A sudden flick of his wrist snapped the spear into a ready position, only to be abandoned as the opportunity passed. The tension in his shoulders was forgotten as soon as it had appeared.

"So," he said confidently, "you do not know how I am." A statement, not a question.

"Never seen you before in my life," Jay confirmed. He hadn't even been aware that he should have known this other man, though maybe he'd been failing as a neighbor. It'd be right embarassing if this guy lived in the mansion too and he hadn't come across him. He'd hardly been the most sociable these past few months.

He found himself watching Namor more than the water. He seemed natural at what he was doing- all the more proof he was older'n Jay knew what to do with. But he seemed to leave footsteps in the sand, so maybe he wasn't a ghostie.

There was a moment indicated by the puff of his chest or how his chin tilted up where Namor was set to announce himself, but, instead, "How novel. I am Namor," but there were some things, however, that couldn't be left unsaid, "The first."

He turned back to the lake to mask any restraint that had to be deployed from announcing his full title.

Jay had thought previously that Namor might be some sort of local name for the lake, but he had to reevaluate when the other man introduced himself. Then again... Whose to say this man who called him a lung breather wasn't some sort of spirit of the water?

Not that Jay believed in that sorta thing, of course.

"It's real nice to be meetin' you," Jay responded to the prideful man. "My name's Jay."

Now this got a look. Namor's blue on black eyes narrowed skeptically, equal parts disbelief and dark amusement. "A ren and a jay," add in some part disbelief there, "The world truly has a twisted and base sense of humor." The maybe spirit moved quickly on from his judgement to sounding almost wistful. "Yet my people would claim that holds more salt than sugar."

Jay let out a puff of a laugh. "Yer folks and mine got that in common then. More troubles than ya know what to do with." He wondered what sort of trouble water spirits had.

Pollution maybe.

At that moment a fish decided to bite and Jay turned his attention from Namor to reel it in and see if it was something worth keeping.

For however prideful he was, Namor was patient — at least here, now, by this corner of the lake. He sat with hands politely folded as Jay wrestled with his line. There were no words offered as he professionally studied the young man's progress with the tackle and line. Even when the act was finished, all Jay received was an inquisitive raise of two pointed eyebrows.

"What?" Jay asked, noticing Namor's expression as he checked the size of the fish. Decent enough to keep. "You want it?"

"Merely observing," he said like he was judging some sort of competition. His eyes went back to the fish. "What will you do with it?"

"Probably a fry-up," Jay said. "Maybe bake it. Haven't decided yet. Weren't sure I would catch anything."

"Hmp." That wasn't strictly an answer, but the tone of the guttural sound and Namor's expression did a lot of carrying for the reply. The answer passed some sort of test.

Namor returned to stalking the shore like a predator.

"My father," he said with a casualness tinged with just a touch of hesitancy, "always boasted his recipes were 'only better' when the food was hand-caught."

"My daddy was like that too, but I reckon part of it was on account of us not having much of anything fresh less we caught it ourselves." Jay wondered idly who was bringing home that extra meat from hunting and fishing now. Lizzy, probably. She'd always been a better shot than him.

"What type of stuff did your daddy make?"

"Clams were his favorite," came as a quick answer, but there was now a heaviness in Namor's tone. A new somberness. "He was," and there was that same weight on the past tense, "a merchant. A sailor. Our time together was most often deemed an unnecessary diversion."

That ruled Namor out for being a water spirit- again, not that Jay believed in that kind of thing. But if he was a ghost like Jay still suspected, that made enough sense.

"You come sit up by me," Jay said with the same softness he showed his siblings when they remembered or tried to remember their daddy. "You can tell me about him if ya like or we can just sit. Fishin's good for that. Reflectin', like."

Namor’s eyes didn’t leave the water, and his grip carved dents into the handle of the spear he still hadn’t used. “How nice it must be,” and he’d pulled steel back into his tone, “to allow one’s self to be so open.” He finally turned back to Jay. “We are not friends, you and I,” he said, “but I will share if you will listen.”

Jay ducked his head. He didn't think of himself as open- he was always the one lending a shoulder or an ear, not doing any of the talking- at least not a out anything that mattered. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it," Jay said, not put off by Namor's steely tone or the instance they weren't friends. Even if Namor turned out not to be a ghost and not to be 5,000 years old he was clearly older than Jay, but how many times had Jay heard that sort of talk from people younger than him? His own siblings, or the kids at the mine who'd had the same lack of options Jay'd had when he started.

An instance at a lack of friendship was just a door being locked up so ain't nobody could hurt you.

"I think you do," Namor said with a cock of the head and a hint of a wry grin. His grip loosened on the spear, slowly, as he abandoned the shore to approach where Jay had offered. While his swagger was every bit as confident as he carefully laid the weapon down, there was now a lightness in his movements. The predatory posturing and pretense had gone. "Let me tell you a story about my family," the once-king began with a hunger in his words — not for anything but someone who would listen. "A story from long ago."