Gaia & Namor | Truths
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Namor tests the waters of conversation with a recovering Gaia as she nears the end of her quarantine.
There was no escaping the room. The girl inside had tried every way conceivable, but the power she had shown upon entry had yet to manifest again. Perhaps it was the coma, or the inhibitor, or something else entirely. Either way, the pink haired mutant was thoroughly contained.
She picked up things fast, to her credit. It was better to wait. Wait and plot.
So the girl sat on the bed, looking displeased with the arrangement, and at having to bear the presence of the man in front of her. After the indignity of her…. outburst upon awakening, she didn’t want to look at him. Weakness shown was not often forgiven.
The man, if he was a man and more than just a collection of sharp lines and severe edges, did not even afford the girl the dignity of noticing her resilience. He merely paced from one side to the other of the small room that was barely a prison cell. His blue on black eyes kept returning to her, however, and they cycled through sharp and severe emotions before he settled into a familiar self-righteousness. Just like straightening a well-worn blazer.
"You will be welcomed here, child," he warned with a brief flare of his nostrils. "Yet these people are not exactly renown for their genius when it comes to weapons." The man drew lines between them, her, himself – all boundaries, all territories one might trespass. "I must first be sure of your intentions." It wasn't a request, but a command.
The slightest shift in expression, like the movement of a glacier, turned her molten eyes onto him fully. They flickered in amusement at his posturing. Had her intentions not already been made clear? It was not of her will that she remained here.
The girl made no move to heed the man’s command. She appeared a lamb, but perhaps she was the wolf wearing one’s skin that Namor suspected. That answer remained locked behind her silence.
Still, something like a self satisfied smirk, if predatory, crossed Namor's lips at her exchanged look. "I only have truths instead of sentimental foolishness. The first: we will not hold you once the scientists are assured you are safe. This world is a polluted place of dirt and glass monuments to humanity's mountainous ego, but it is wide enough. Second: we have no way of delivering you . . ." Namor trailed off with a bite of his lip, reconsidering. "We cannot yet chart where we travel," this was accompanied with a gesture toward what was presumably the direction of the wormhole, "elsewhere. Third: You may be in bonds now, but you are not bound."
Again, she considered his words with stony silence and a long stare.
The longer one stayed in close quarters with her, the harder it became to ignore that she did not blink often, if at all. Always watching, not missing a thing. Every twitch and movement of the man in front of her noticed. A weapon calculating how best to strike, or running through how he could move against her. Her face did not betray which of these was true, merely blank derision that refused to falter.
The silence hung between them like a gulf.
Namor raised one eyebrow, unflinching, but he did not continue. All of his movements – the initial pacing, the gestures – stilled. He was a mirror to her own unresponsiveness. A wall. A big cat, crouched in wait.
Another flash of amusement, however brief. Unaware or uncaring of the increasing roughness of the waters between them, the girl continued to make unflinching eye contact. If not for the lift of her chest in breath, she could have been a statue.
His head cocked five degrees to one side. When the man next opened his mouth, what came out was a melodic language that was decidedly not English. "Komtib so nen neshing mok en tem."
The words were mulled over for a moment, and finally elicited a verbal response. It flowed off her tongue rustily, not known or spoken for a long time. “En tok, makit ag duwer?” Still, the cadence was recognizable.
Namor’s smile twisted in equal delight in being proven right and the sour joy of such a biting jab in his native tongue. "We may not reign over much now, traveler," he offered, "but how delightful to find you are so easily prodded."
What could have been a scowl broke through her mask of stony indifference, the girl crossing her arms in front of her chest. It was easy to forget how dangerous she could be as she sat there glowering, looking every part the pretentious child, annoyed at herself for being goaded into speech.
"Enough truths. Tell me of your brief transcendence," he said. It wasn't a subtle shift in topic, nor was it meant to be.
Personal vow of silence already disrupted, it seemed the girl no longer was opposed to talking, but not in any way that was helpful. “It is not something you could understand.”
She held him in contempt, that much was clear.
"Do forgive me," Namor said without a flinch, "if you were given the impression I care to understand. One thing I have learned in my time in this volatile age is that its people are overly sensitive to sudden and dramatic displays of power. You burned like a sun." His eyes narrowed. "That seems to be gone. For now."
“For now.”
If the sun was still within her, the glimmer in her eyes could only be a hint at its existence. The long stare that accompanied her echo was a challenge. Was he curious enough to see if she was still capable once the device they chained her with was removed?
"So your work always fades in time? Or was it because you lost consciousness." He said that he was making a checklist.
The girl didn’t dignify him with a response. If there was any surprise attached to her gaze, it was walled behind the flat expression she resumed.
"Hmp," Namor said as he seemingly drew a lot from that stony stare. Like the gulf between them had hidden depths. "Tell me," and he leaned into the imperative, "Does your home have an ocean?"
“No.”
"I see. How unfortunate for you."
The girl frowned slightly, but said nothing. She finally turned away from Namor to look at the door, seemingly done with the conversation. Talk of ‘home’ was not to her liking.
Namor's face remained impassive – either in thought or reflection. He continued to study her, but had noticeably shifted to place his back to the camera in the room. "This is the first and last warning I will give you," and there was a softness in his tone, now, but it wasn't comforting, "you are not yet bound here by shackles or hospitality. These fascinating neanderthals will attempt to give you friendship, but their world is short. Static. Soft. Use it, if you will. Leverage them. I have found little to chase out in their overrun world of dirt and pollution, but that will be your own choice."
Eyes glanced in his direction once more, accompanied by the slightest nod of the head. She combed over him, perhaps wondering what reasons were given to him that he stayed. King of something, maybe. Guarding a hole, though not glamorous, was at least noble.
"Very well," the man stated. His hard eyes hadn't left the creature. Intruder. Girl. But, he turned toward the door. "I will not attempt to stop you no matter what your choice." It was a promise. Or, more so, an unnecessary last word -- he hadn't been able to stop her fleeing before, but even the brightest suns burned out. The sea dried.
Whatever it was, Gaia was left alone.
There was no escaping the room. The girl inside had tried every way conceivable, but the power she had shown upon entry had yet to manifest again. Perhaps it was the coma, or the inhibitor, or something else entirely. Either way, the pink haired mutant was thoroughly contained.
She picked up things fast, to her credit. It was better to wait. Wait and plot.
So the girl sat on the bed, looking displeased with the arrangement, and at having to bear the presence of the man in front of her. After the indignity of her…. outburst upon awakening, she didn’t want to look at him. Weakness shown was not often forgiven.
The man, if he was a man and more than just a collection of sharp lines and severe edges, did not even afford the girl the dignity of noticing her resilience. He merely paced from one side to the other of the small room that was barely a prison cell. His blue on black eyes kept returning to her, however, and they cycled through sharp and severe emotions before he settled into a familiar self-righteousness. Just like straightening a well-worn blazer.
"You will be welcomed here, child," he warned with a brief flare of his nostrils. "Yet these people are not exactly renown for their genius when it comes to weapons." The man drew lines between them, her, himself – all boundaries, all territories one might trespass. "I must first be sure of your intentions." It wasn't a request, but a command.
The slightest shift in expression, like the movement of a glacier, turned her molten eyes onto him fully. They flickered in amusement at his posturing. Had her intentions not already been made clear? It was not of her will that she remained here.
The girl made no move to heed the man’s command. She appeared a lamb, but perhaps she was the wolf wearing one’s skin that Namor suspected. That answer remained locked behind her silence.
Still, something like a self satisfied smirk, if predatory, crossed Namor's lips at her exchanged look. "I only have truths instead of sentimental foolishness. The first: we will not hold you once the scientists are assured you are safe. This world is a polluted place of dirt and glass monuments to humanity's mountainous ego, but it is wide enough. Second: we have no way of delivering you . . ." Namor trailed off with a bite of his lip, reconsidering. "We cannot yet chart where we travel," this was accompanied with a gesture toward what was presumably the direction of the wormhole, "elsewhere. Third: You may be in bonds now, but you are not bound."
Again, she considered his words with stony silence and a long stare.
The longer one stayed in close quarters with her, the harder it became to ignore that she did not blink often, if at all. Always watching, not missing a thing. Every twitch and movement of the man in front of her noticed. A weapon calculating how best to strike, or running through how he could move against her. Her face did not betray which of these was true, merely blank derision that refused to falter.
The silence hung between them like a gulf.
Namor raised one eyebrow, unflinching, but he did not continue. All of his movements – the initial pacing, the gestures – stilled. He was a mirror to her own unresponsiveness. A wall. A big cat, crouched in wait.
Another flash of amusement, however brief. Unaware or uncaring of the increasing roughness of the waters between them, the girl continued to make unflinching eye contact. If not for the lift of her chest in breath, she could have been a statue.
His head cocked five degrees to one side. When the man next opened his mouth, what came out was a melodic language that was decidedly not English. "Komtib so nen neshing mok en tem."
The words were mulled over for a moment, and finally elicited a verbal response. It flowed off her tongue rustily, not known or spoken for a long time. “En tok, makit ag duwer?” Still, the cadence was recognizable.
Namor’s smile twisted in equal delight in being proven right and the sour joy of such a biting jab in his native tongue. "We may not reign over much now, traveler," he offered, "but how delightful to find you are so easily prodded."
What could have been a scowl broke through her mask of stony indifference, the girl crossing her arms in front of her chest. It was easy to forget how dangerous she could be as she sat there glowering, looking every part the pretentious child, annoyed at herself for being goaded into speech.
"Enough truths. Tell me of your brief transcendence," he said. It wasn't a subtle shift in topic, nor was it meant to be.
Personal vow of silence already disrupted, it seemed the girl no longer was opposed to talking, but not in any way that was helpful. “It is not something you could understand.”
She held him in contempt, that much was clear.
"Do forgive me," Namor said without a flinch, "if you were given the impression I care to understand. One thing I have learned in my time in this volatile age is that its people are overly sensitive to sudden and dramatic displays of power. You burned like a sun." His eyes narrowed. "That seems to be gone. For now."
“For now.”
If the sun was still within her, the glimmer in her eyes could only be a hint at its existence. The long stare that accompanied her echo was a challenge. Was he curious enough to see if she was still capable once the device they chained her with was removed?
"So your work always fades in time? Or was it because you lost consciousness." He said that he was making a checklist.
The girl didn’t dignify him with a response. If there was any surprise attached to her gaze, it was walled behind the flat expression she resumed.
"Hmp," Namor said as he seemingly drew a lot from that stony stare. Like the gulf between them had hidden depths. "Tell me," and he leaned into the imperative, "Does your home have an ocean?"
“No.”
"I see. How unfortunate for you."
The girl frowned slightly, but said nothing. She finally turned away from Namor to look at the door, seemingly done with the conversation. Talk of ‘home’ was not to her liking.
Namor's face remained impassive – either in thought or reflection. He continued to study her, but had noticeably shifted to place his back to the camera in the room. "This is the first and last warning I will give you," and there was a softness in his tone, now, but it wasn't comforting, "you are not yet bound here by shackles or hospitality. These fascinating neanderthals will attempt to give you friendship, but their world is short. Static. Soft. Use it, if you will. Leverage them. I have found little to chase out in their overrun world of dirt and pollution, but that will be your own choice."
Eyes glanced in his direction once more, accompanied by the slightest nod of the head. She combed over him, perhaps wondering what reasons were given to him that he stayed. King of something, maybe. Guarding a hole, though not glamorous, was at least noble.
"Very well," the man stated. His hard eyes hadn't left the creature. Intruder. Girl. But, he turned toward the door. "I will not attempt to stop you no matter what your choice." It was a promise. Or, more so, an unnecessary last word -- he hadn't been able to stop her fleeing before, but even the brightest suns burned out. The sea dried.
Whatever it was, Gaia was left alone.