Cecilia & Namor | Friday Evening Plots (Backdated)

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2/14/14:Cecilia and Namor glitter their way toward the sparkly closure of revenge. Cecilia suffers from an inconvenient sense of responsibility.

Three comb-throughs later, Cecilia had barely made a dent in the glitter now coating her hair, and she was peeved. Her Afro-Latina hair was already complicated enough. Getting it braided in the city already took way too long, and now she'd have to explain to her cousin Soledad why a drag queen supply store had dropped onto her head.

So Namor's suggestions of petty revenge hadn't entirely rankled her the way such things normally did. After changing one set of glitter-laden clothes for another, she made her way to the kitchen to find Namor.

The kitchen's crowd had died down significantly since the last snow break, and the counters were littered with the remains of hot cocoa and cookies save for the tiny area near Namor. He had been fairly industrious, building up an arsenal of potential weapons: plastic wrap, foil, post-it notes. When Cecilia entered, however, he could care less about his collection. The boy, clothed extremely casually(for him) in a muscle tee and shorts, was intently exchanging messages on his phone.

Cecilia's eyes widened at the paraphernalia collected on the table. "Dios mio," she muttered, "what have I gotten myself into?" She scanned the kitchen for chair and finding one, she grabbed it and then plopped down next to Namor. "Okay," she finally said, pulling up the sleeves on her hoodie and crossing her arms. "What is all this?"

Namor glanced up from his phone and sighed, but bowed slightly in greeting. "Dr. Reyes. A pleasure." He nodded toward the items on the table while setting the phone down. The screen showed a series of texts with a blonde labelled 'Tia C.' "This is when the adrenaline of revenge starts to wear off and you realize that there are too many possibilities."

"My liege," Cecilia responded, a smirk on her lips. "Your mind works fast, I guess." She looked at the items on the table, trying to work out where Post-its and packing peanuts fit into a plausible comeuppance scheme. Namor's phone caught the corner of her eye, and her smirk was fully realized. "Who's Tia C?" She nabbed a nearby cookie and took a bite. Vegan. Gross.

Namor had the automatic reaction of any teen -- he pawed his phone quickly and protectively, although he moved in a way that minimized the gesture into quick, precise movements. "Her Highness, the Princess Crystal Amaquelin," Namor rattled off as if the title was as familiar as "Tia." His eyes drifted over to the foil as if he was still trying to piece together a plan. "Crystal's been very interested in my first weeks here. I thought she might know who was responsible for our earlier surprise."

"Oh her," Cecilia nodded, humoring him. "Of course." She gingerly placed the cookie down in front of her, having no intention to finish it. "Sooraya said she might have some ideas, but I think she's outside doing whatever winter wonderland activity is going on today." She leaned back in her chair. "Which, incidentally, reminds me. Thanks for defending my honor yesterday."

"It was my honor," Namor stated with a sudden burst of intensity. He caught himself, softening the edges of that intensity into a something warmer, "What I mean is that fairness is important. Plus, Clint's power makes any snowball fight unbalanced in his favor." The Attilani smiled, correcting his posture, and the movement made the glitter still adhered to his skin sparkle.

"Crystal says 'Your most likely suspect is purple and not a cat.' I think that narrows it down considerably," Namor added soberly.

"Same old Clarice," Cecilia murmured. She drummed her fingers on the table considering. "Well, she meant well. Probably more of a welcoming present than a hazing ritual." She ran her fingers through her hair idly, then looked at her hand. "Joder," she muttered, then looked up at him. "Sorry. Shouldn't use such language in front of the students."

"Chuta para canto," Namor said with a devilish grin and a flick of the wrist. "I didn't hear a thing." He tapped this other hand on the countertop, considering. "My cousin states that she finds Clarice to be exhausting. That fits with what you just suggested. Hell, Clarice said as much on my journal. Neither means she doesn't deserve some just desserts."

"Not exhausting, per se." Cecilia tried to flick the glitter off her hand and onto the kitchen floor. "Just... exuberant. I think she's calmed down some since we first met, if you can believe it." She stood and made her way to the sink, the light glinting off some of the flecks of glitter still in her hair. "Still," she turned the faucet on and tried washing her hands, "I think some payback is in order."

"That is something we agree on," Namor replied while reassessing his pile of tools. "I googled 'pranks' to find something suitable, but all of this 'wrap things in others things' nonsense doesn't seem to fit the scope of the crime." He turned to appraise Cecilia. "You work with her. Any ideas on like for like?"

Oh, so suddenly she'd have to be the expert on pranks. Yep, that was Cecilia. A bucket of impish fun. "Work is a relative term," she pointed out as she turned off the faucet. She stripped off her hoodie and turned to face him (a little more glitter fell to the floor). "If we're going for one-to-one, it sounds like you want to 'Carrie' her. Which I'm not having any part of." She hopped up on the counter. "You telling me they don't have pranks over in Attilan?"

"Carrie?" Namor didn't get the reference, but that was often the case with pop culture. He shook it off. "The best pranks are tailored for their audience. For example, my cousin once put baby-powder in my Tia's blow-dryer. Medusa is... very careful with her hair."

"Right," Cecilia considered what would most irk Clarice. "She teleports, so I'm not sure... wrapping a door probably isn't so effective anyway." She tossed her hoodie onto the counter next to her. Truth was, Cecilia wasn't good at being this consciously malicious. "And she's already, you know, purple, so I'm not sure..." Her feet swung as they dangled over the edge of what she assumed was Formica. "Once, in med school, my roommate's boyfriend replaced her deodorant with cream cheese," she offered weakly.

"I bet she wasn't his boyfriend for long," the Attilani commented with a grimace of sympathy. He put a hand behind his head as if this would help him think. "We could hide her Bedazzler. We could play the 'We know it was you, and a prank is incoming' game, but that seems overly cruel."

Namor sighed. "I'm much better suited for facing things head-on. Sneaky isn't my strong-suit."

"What if you just flourbomb her?" Cecilia shrugged. "I mean, it's not as awful as having glitter all over your... you know, everywhere. But it gets the message across that you feel affronted, and it's nowhere near as aggressive as, say, punching someone in the face. For example. I don't know," she gestured to herself then toward the sky, "I'm a first-do-no-harm type."

"This is a 'me' thing now? Dr. Reyes, you wound me." Namor held his chest as if it pained him. "It sounds like you could be a 'do-harm-back' type if you really set your mind to it."

"Starting to think I've done enough harm," Cecilia smirked. "Physical harm, anyway. Just yesterday, I body-slam—" she caught herself. "I mean," she looked up at the ceiling, "I watched as Clint Barton tripped and fell into a Mustang. And didn't try to stop it." She'd have to remember to stick to that story if one of the unwavering do-gooders like Jean brought that incident up.

"Point is," Cecilia continued, watching Namor, "I think psychological warfare's a lot more effective with someone like Clarice. Little things. Move stuff in her room by an inch or three. Disrupt her daily routine." She folded her arms, both liking how devious she sounded and worrying about how bad of a role model she'd been proving. "And don't leave any traces that it was you." She cut him off before he could object. "Fine, us. I just don't want to be teleported to Madripoor."

"Clint's fine," Namor added offhandedly. "I was there." He did his own finger tapping on top of the granite. "Well, I can certainly offer a distraction if need be. Subtle may take some time. I'm still leaning toward filling her room with foam or nailing everything down sideways."

He caught Cecilia's look at this statement and rolled over her before she could reply. "I promise to fly you home from Madripoor if anything goes wrong."

"Do you now?" Cecilia asked wryly. "I'm not sure you could handle the intermittent whimpers associated with trusting your life to a teenager. And I don't think my force field protects me from falling out of the sky." She studied him briefly, concluding he couldn't have bench pressed enough to carry her anyway.

"I doubt foam'll work, by the by." She hopped off the counter. "I can imagine Clarice finding that pretty fun. Sideways furniture's not a bad idea though." She'd have to remember never to make Namor mad.

He nodded, considering. "She does seem easily distracting by shiny things. Or... glitter in awkward places," his expression lifted a little considering their conversation on the journals, "We'd need a lot of glue and nails to turn her world askew."

"Right, and a lot of time." Cecilia noticed the slight change in Namor's expression, but she couldn't pinpoint it. "Probably too much time, although," she glanced out a nearby window, "it's not like I have anywhere else to go today. Or tonight," she added wistfully. Another Valentine's Day spent with bootlegged Downton Abbey episodes and, if she could convince a delivery guy, some sushi.

"Although." She raised a finger. "I'm wary of adding glue to this mess." She gestured to the glitter still adhered to her dark skin. And her hair.

She got a knowing nod for that fact, and Namor idly rubbed a beglittered forearm. "Her roommate is out for tonight. That's another concern, though, although she has her own suite." He mentally cataloged options besides glue -- Velcro? Double sided tape? Namor knew that Tandy had these things.

"I had no set plans for tonight, but Clarice invited me to her room. I may be able to buy us the time we need," he added thoughtfully. There was no harm with business and pleasure.

Cecilia opened her mouth to say something, but realized she had nothing to say and instead just grimaced. "How do you - you can't glue her bed to the wall if you're in it," she finally managed. "No way you're that good."

Namor gave her the flattest of stares. "I'm sure you've heard how exhausting I can be," was delivered in complete deadpan. "It should be easy enough to lure out of her room."

"I have heard that," Cecilia admitted, "from several people here. Mostly the guys." Well, just the blind one he'd slugged in the face, but still. Cecilia had better retorts, but nothing that seemed appropriate from a woman twice Namor's age. Which brought her back to the root of the problem. "I still feel like I'm supposed to be wisely cautioning you not to do any of this," she told him, "even as I stand in full support of sexual deception." Yep, see, there it was again. She was definitely going to be fired.

"I will swear for the record that you were an infallible role model in all ways," Namor responded quickly. Her retort didn't phase him in the slightest. "Now, we have a means. Let's lay down the end."