log: Matt and Namor

[x-daredevil.livejournal.com]

Backdated to late Wednesday night. Matt and Namor end up in the kitchen together thanks to late-night homework. They do not punch each other, therefore, success.



It was late in the kitchen. As usual, the space was organized and well lit enough to facilitate the mansion's late night snackers. A charming spread of fruit and granola bars was set out upon the center island with instant coffee for those in a hurry nearby. The room was festively decorated with red and white flowers in celebration of the upcoming holiday. Some paper hearts on the fridge proclaimed that everyone here was loved. One student, grumpily staring at the coffee maker as if he could will it to brew faster, stood posed silhouetted against the dark.

The facts were these:
- Namor had a paper due in the morning about the social influence upon political theory that he was halfway through.
- He could not readily figure out why Clint thought he liked olives so much.
- Previous journal shenanigans had left Namor without a coffee mug.

Most importantly, Namor Mazur -- one Marques de McKenzie, Heir Apparent to the Dukedom of Thakkar, of the Royal Line of Agon -- did not understand the perils of the late night kitchen within Xavier's School for Gifted Youngster. He would later submit an email to the administration suggesting that it should be put into the tour, but for now all he had was a brewing pot of coffee, some fruit to snack on, and an unexpected visitor.

Shuffling into the kitchen holding a plastic bowl of cereal, Matt paused when he realized it was Namor whose heartbeat was there. Oh. He hadn't really paid attention to whose it was as he had approached, more interested in getting milk for his cereal since he apparently didn't have any in his suite. Damn it. He couldn't really go away and come back, could he? Namor had probably seen him. Anyways, it was milk. They could handle him getting milk like civilized people.

He was only wearing a pair of navy blue long john underwear and a white sleeveless shirt with socks not really expecting to run in to anyone. He had gone to the suite kitchen to get a late night snack and discovered the lack of milk in the fridge. That had prompted the late night field trip to the big kitchen for milk. "Namor," he said cordially, going straight to the fridge and running his fingers over the braille stickers on the different milk options.

The figure in front of the coffee maker had seen him, but held secret hopes that he would just be able to brew his coffee in peace and quiet. Or, perhaps, that he would blend in so thoroughly with the hardwood that the other person wouldn't notice. Namor was only dressed in only a pair of running shorts and slippers, afterall. The Attlani Royal didn't turn to face Matt, but did respond with a gruff, "Murdock."

"Late night paper?" he asked, selecting the milk he wanted and carefully pouring it in the bowl, a finger hooked over the lip to measure how much he needed. Once that was done and the milk put away he leaned against the counter, crunching happily. Snacks were great things. Wonderful things and whomever came up with the idea should be applauded. Matt had no idea why Namor would be brewing coffee unless he was working late on homework.

There was a very noncommittal grunt to this, followed by a "Still won't write itself."

That was a frustration Matt was very familiar with. "They never do," Matt agreed easily. "I've got a chem lab I'm writing up for tomorrow. Pretty sure forensic chemistry was created to give me a headache," the class itself wasn't terrible, it was just that the professor had absolutely no clue how to handle a blind student. The TA was doing better with helping involve him at least now that they'd sat down and tried to work things out.

It was a moment before Namor realized that Matt couldn't see the dumb stare of bewilderment that he had turned to deliver. "Science was never my strong suit," Namor offered instead.

"Mine either," Matt agreed. But he needed the class if he was going to declare his major and it took care of his science general ed anyways. "What's the paper on?" he asked, trying to be polite. In person, talking like this, Namor wasn't nearly as pompous as he usually came across. That was a pleasant change. Maybe he was making the effort that Clint claimed. Maybe.

The stare slowly morphed from disbelief into annoyance. Namor gripped the the handle of the coffee cup he had just retrieved more tightly, his expression tight. "Mr. Murdock, what is this?" His tone was honest, "Did we suddenly become small talk buddies and no one informed me?"

Nope, Namor hadn't changed. Matt shrugged, "Supposedly, you're making an effort not to be a giant douche. I was trying to give you a chance. Again. But that's fine. I don't have to." He wasn't going to fight the man either. He had too much homework to deal with that.

"I was not aware that 'not [being] a total douche' involved me suddenly forgetting what you said about me." Namor paused, trying to imagine Clint throwing a granola bar at him. "Listen. I respect you, but I'm not obligated to like you."

That Namor respected him was a surprise. And more than what Matt could say. "What did I say this time?" Matt asked, there were a few things, he wanted to make sure he and Namor were on the same page. He came from such a different place than Namor, it was hard to tell sometimes what would piss him off and what wouldn't.

"You chose to insult me in a public forum, slandering my reputation with hyperbole." Namor set the mug down, glaring hard. "You don't have to like me either, but I should be allowed to ruin whatever good standing I have here without your help."

That was actually a fair point. "I did," Matt agreed equitably, "but I didn't do it behind your back. See, where I come from, it's fine to say whatever you want so long as it's to someone's face or where they can clearly hear or see it and defend themselves. You don't talk shit behind people's backs or you'll get your face punched in."

"And where I come from, politeness and decorum are considered far more valuable. Honesty is good, but insult me to my face instead of bringing my friends into it."

That made Matt chuckle a little, "You do realize that I'm about as far down the food chain as you are on top, right?" he asked. "We might as well be from different planets." And yet they were both here at the same place at the same time trying to figure it all out.

He got a shrug in reply. "I don't see how that matters. This isn't the 16th Century. My title and rank are important to me, but that doesn't mean I'm looking to lord them over anyone here."

"My point is that our experiences and expectations and everything are so far apart we're working off different sets of rules about what's polite and what isn't," Matt explained. He could care less about titles or giving them any sort of respect. "It's why we probably don't get along."

"We don't get along because you do not know when to keep your mouth shut." Namor sighed at this, tapping his fingers against the granite countertop. "You can widen the chasm between as much as you want, but I'm not going to adjust my definition of 'right' because of it."

And now he was talking to a wall. So much for trying. Sighing, Matt finished his cereal and went to the sink to rinse the bowl out, "So, at that party? I was trying to help. But you kept pushing me. I tried to be discreet, but you wouldn't let me. That's what I mean with different expectations. When someone hands you protection it's their way of saying 'go you, have fun.' But you made a scene instead of taking it. Hell, if you didn't want it, you could have taken it and not used it. Whatever. Instead, you took it as an offense. You don't use protection in Attilan?"

"Wait. You think the condom was what offended me?" Namor shook his head. "I had condoms. I'm not an idiot." He pointed at Matt, which was unthinkably rude, "What set me off was you implying my date had an STD. Even more so when you shouted it for the party to hear. She has classes with those people. Even you should know that's not how you treat a woman."

Matt shook his head, "You should assume everyone does," he replied, "and I was trying to avoid saying it but you kept pushing and pushing and pushing until I finally didn't have a choice! I could smell it, Namor. That means not only did she have one, it was untreated. And see, where I'm from, you don't let your friends knowingly put themselves at risk like that. And yeah, I thought we could be friends," not anymore, but then he had. "It doesn't matter if she was a man or woman, virus's don't care. I don't care if she's humiliated. I care that you don't get sick!"

Namor could feel the rage building in his chest. "You're right about one thing. I'm not where you're from. I don't care if you can warp reality to heal, there is such a thing as discretion. You're as subtle as a brick."

He picked up his coffee carefully. His anger had already cost him one cup this evening. "In the future, let my mistakes be my own."

Subtlety wasn't something he was known for, that was true. He also wasn't quite operating with the same deck as everyone else since he missed a lot of nonverbal cues. "That's the blind thing," Matt motioned vaguely to his eyes, "I don't get nonverbal cues as much. Powers don't give me that much nuance," he explained, "But yeah, agreed. Your choice."

"We all have our excuses," Namor scoffed in response. "But if you leave me be, I will be more than happy ignore you exist."

That wasn't an excuse. It was still a weakness, one he needed to correct and improve on. "Not an excuse, an explanation," Matt replied, "but yeah, sure. That'll work until the next demon invasion anyways."

"I wager that then we'll have very little room to argue," Namor said dryly. "I don't need to be your friend to punch things."

Matt wasn't sure if it was a testament of Namor or what that the other guy didn't blink at the idea of demon invasions. "Fair," he agreed. "Alright. Homework. Later."

"Let's agree that there not be a later, Mr. Murdock." With that, Namor made an exit.