Adrienne & Namor | Pink Tie Gala (Backdated)

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Adrienne and Namor meet at a charity fundraiser. The evening includes shenanigans, ditching dates, car "theft," questionable use of psychometry, and abuse of manual transmission.

Bored. Bored, bored, bored. Adrienne couldn't remember the last time she'd been so bored at a party. She blamed Garrison. If he hadn't caught a new case he'd be here with her and they could be putting canapes on peoples' chairs and playing some not-dignitary version of Dignitary Bingo. Then she could have some fun at this Avon breast cancer fundraiser shindig.

"Can I get you anything?" A smiling waiter asked as he approached, empty drinks tray in hand.

"Cure for boredom?" she asked. "What do you figure that is? Whiskey? Oh! Wait." She spotted someone in the crowd and grinned widely. "Never mind. I think I found it." Although she and Namor Mazur had been living in the same building for several months now, had said hello to each other in the halls and the pool, they'd never had an actual conversation. Maybe it was time to remedy that. Adrienne hoped so. From what she'd seen on the journals, a conversation with Namor would be anything but boring.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said brightly as she sashayed up to the Attilani royal.

The young man turned, and, man, he was pink. Well, more accurately, his suit jacket was Barbie pink matched with a dark shirt and a complementary pink tie. It was loud. It was perfectly in theme. The blonde girl attached on one arm who wore a matchy match dress. Adrienne interrupted the two of them as the arm piece was in the middle of a high-pitched, shrill laugh.

"Ah, Miss Frost," Namor interjected loudly to cut off his date's giggle, "It is important to be seen in the right places for important causes." His eyes may have been twitching, or he might be trying to send Adrienne a message in a very poor fashion.

Adrienne didn't know Namor very well, but reading people had always been a talent of hers, so the eye twitch wasn't lost on her. "I couldn't agree more," she agreed sweetly, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waitress and taking a sip. "It's good to see you, Mr. Mazur. And your lovely lady friend. Cordelia Frost," she smiled, realizing she couldn't go with an alias since Namor had already declared her surname aloud, but not entirely sure she wanted to use her real name in case what she was about to do next backfired in some extremely self-destructive way. "It's a pleasure to-" she went to shake the woman's hand and stumbled on her high heel, pitching forward and spilling the recently acquired champagne all over Namor's date. "Oh my God! I'm so,so sorry," she simpered, pretending to search her clutch for a napkin or tissue. "'Recently over a broken leg, still a little shaky on my pins, you see. I'm sure the ladies room has lovely towels where you can get yourself cleaned up in a jiffy, dear. It's right over there."

His date turned pinker than the fundraiser. "This is a Giambattista Valli. You've... you've..."

Namor placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Camila, I will handle Miss Frost. On my honor."

He smiled softly, and this lessened the girl's reddening. She grabbed her purse while sharing a hesitant look between the two of them. "Just... well, she had a broken leg." A smile. She cut into the crowd and out of sight.

The Attilani royal turned to Adrienne incredulously. "You move quite well for someone in recovery."

"I know, right?" Adrienne answered, hiding a smirk. "It's cute how she thought that Valli dress was anything special. I mean, really," she scoffed, "the collection he brought to Milan in the spring was far superior to the line he sent to New York, where she obviously got that little number." She snagged a canape from a passing waiter and chewed thoughtfully. "So, what does 'handling' me mean? Are we going to duel or something?"

He shifted on his feet, watching the spot in the crowd that had swallowed his date in consideration. "That is the beauty of English. So many beautiful meanings in one word. Besides, Camila is nice enough. Communications student. Her father is an investment banker."

"So," Namor mentioned idly as he turned to face Adrienne, "I will let you define what 'handle' means. It is the least I can do."

"I think it means you play Free Drink Bingo or Steal Cars From The Valet or Fight Enticement with me," Adrienne suggested. "But, since you seem to like your date so much, maybe I'll just leave you to listen to Little Miss My Laugh Is A Mixture Of A Squirrel, A Monkey, And A Really Annoying Bird," Adrienne muttered. "Or was that signal you were sending me the signal for 'oh hey, I'm having a really great time listening to this awful laughter, you should stick around for a threesome with us later'?" she inquired with a raised eyebrow.

He raised an eyebrow challengingly. "Any of those four options could work. I hate debts, but I will let you make the proposal to my date about the threesome. She is easily swayed by abs."

"Unfortunately," Adrienne smirked, "Kane and I have an agreement that any threesomes we participate in, we're both involved. But, wait. You really wanna play Steal Cars From The Valet with me?"

It was hard to tell if he was disappointed, but he was smiling thinly. "Whatever we are doing, I vote we move quickly before my date gets back. I owe you something for distracting her."

"Okay, let's do it," Adrienne exclaimed excitedly, offering her arm to Namor so they could head over towards the exit and the valet stand outside. "What kind of car do you wanna test drive?" she inquired as they navigated through the crowds.

Namor was not a man used to being lead, and he puffed his chest out a little more proudly to compensate. Every few seconds he took a look back over his shoulder conspiratorially. The coast was, however, clear. "One that flies."

"That may be an impossible order to fill, unfortunately," she chuckled. "My sister has a Tesla, but I think that's as close as we can get. Never mind the fact that she's not here. But maybe someone here has a Tesla. Failing that, however," she inquired with a smirk, "did you wanna go Japanese, German, or Italian?"

"Viva l'Italia, certomente." They were getting far enough away from the throng to where Namor's lingering concern could move on to the task at hand. He was also now able to now better appraise Adrienne, and he didn't work to hide it.

"The problem I have found with this sort of behavior largely comes down to what one plans to do with the car after."

"Eccellente, bello," Adrienne grinned. She smoothed out her dress and poked at her hair in preparation of meeting the valet. "Well, we can't keep it. And we can't destroy it. And we can't rob houses or banks or anything and use it as a getaway car. Basically, I can't get arrested anymore." She gave him a faux pout. "The downside of dating an FBI agent-slash-Mountie. And being a teacher, I suppose. Though that didn't really stop me before. So we just drive around in it for a while and bring it back. But the thrill's in the getting, not the having, don't you think?" she prompted. "Do you want a Bugatti or a Maserati?" She'd done a little recon on her way into the party, thanks to her powers.

"Maserati," Namor replied without much thought as they moved within sight of the valet station. The agent on duty slumped at his station toying with his phone. "I have been to lots of parties where a little excitement is needed, but do tell me about when that turns into robbing banks or acts of terrorism."

"We can talk about that later, dear," Adrienne cooed, squeezing Namor's arm and draping herself against him affectionately. "Hi," she cooed to the two-person valet team, giggling a little. "My husband lost his valet ticket. This isn't my husband," she added, giggling some more, stroking Namor's chest as she swooned a little. "This is my knight in shining armour. I'm not feeling good and he's going to take me home and stay with me to make sure I'm okay." She waggled her eyebrows at the valets a little. "But he doesn't have a car. And I just can't take a cab. I hate cabs. And town cars. Anything that has a driver. Could you please get my husband's car for me?"

One of the valets looked apologetic but shook his head. "I'm sorry, but if you don't have the ticket-"

"Please," Adrienne interrupted, trying to sound as sweet as possible, letting go of Namor and touching the valet's arm. "I'm not trying to steal the car or anything. I promise. It's my car." Her purse dropped from her shoulder to her elbow and she swiped at it with her other hand, managing to brush her fingertips against the Maserati's keys. "Pleeeease," she repeated. "I can prove it's my car. It's a 2012 Granturismo Convertible Sport with 20 inch Neptune rims and a Beluga softtop. My husband dropped it off. Early forties? Six-one? Bubblegum pink tie and pocket square? Wire-frame glasses?"

One of the men raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so Adrienne continued. "The plate number is M-O-S-E-X-Y. There's a pair of red lace panties in the glove compartment. Could you please go check the glove compartment? If the panties aren't there, you can arrest us for trying to steal a car," she assured him.

The valets shared a look and the one she'd touched shrugged and took the keys, heading off to the lot to check the car. "Thank you!" Adrienne called out behind him, smiling broadly at the remaining valet and trying really hard not to look at Namor, worried she'd give give away the ruse if she met his gaze.

She did her best to look drunk and ill while they waited for the valet to return, and to not let out a happy cheer when he came back in the car. Instead she just thanked the valet profusely and hopped in the passenger seat, letting Namor take the wheel.

Namor, for his part, supplemented Adrienne's charade by demonstrating exactly how many shades of a protective frown a tall, fit twenty-something could give. His looming presence stood in stark contrast to her more tittering affectations, and his level gaze did not leave the either of the valet's until the keys were in the ignition.

He then turned, completely deadpan, and moved his eyes from stick shift to his accomplice. "Well. Let us thank Maserati for forgoing full manual, because that would make pulling out of the parking lot extremely embarrassing."

"Wait... you can't drive a stick?" Adrienne asked, surprised. "Remember how I said before that we should not crash the car? I should probably extend that to 'we should not destroy the car's engine', too." She flopped back against the seat, still staring at him. "Dude," she said incredulously, shaking her head. "You're Mr. Suave. How can you not drive a stick?!"

He revved the engine for show, side-eyeing the valets out of the mirror. They were still staring. "I grew up on an island nation and can fly. Transportation has never really been a matter of pleasure."

Adrienne pulled the red panties out of the glove compartment and tossed them in Namor's lap to see what he'd do. "While I'm a huge fan of only doing things that are a matter of pleasure," she began, "I think you know as well as I do that some things- especially in this city, and especially when you're in the public eye- must be done to project a certain image to the masses. Somehow I can't see the 'quaint little islander' thing being your schtick," she told him good-naturedly. "And I dunno if it's just me feeling some ramping up of anti-mutant feeling lately, but it seems like flying's not exactly popular these days. I can teach you how to drive stick if you want," she offered. "It's not hard."

Namor sighed, and shifted the car into drive. The panties did not receive a fleeting glance. "I may be forced to take you up on that. I am clearly not an idiot -- Miss Storm and Bowen are usually kind enough to get me where I need to go. Speaking of which: where are we going?"

"Well," Adrienne mused, "I was gonna say let's go into a parking lot so I can show you how to drive stick, but now I can't decide whether you having girls drive you around everywhere is a power move or a call for your man-card to be revoked. So I think we should just cruise around for a bit until I decide which one it is. But when we get out of sight of the valets, we're doing a Chinese Fire Drill. Wait... can I still say that? Or is that racist?"

"Ah, diplomacy. Never mind that we are driving a stolen car. The car is European, so I imagine you are safe."

He shifted to second, and it wasn't the prettiest sound in the world. "I see you have never driven with Miss Storm, then. It is a tough call between power and personal injury."

The cringe Adrienne had done at the wrench of the gears shifting was cut short by a snort of laughter at the comment about Sue's driving. "You can't say that about Tandy, though. And I'm the one who taught Tandy to drive." Well, mostly. "So clearly I churn out good drivers. Not that Sue's a 'bad' driver, persay," she added, "she just... tends to lose focus on the road at times. But that's common with intellectuals, right? I mean, isn't that why they made Einstein ride a bike? And that guy from that tv show? Maybe Sue will be the next Einstein. Except I kind of hope not," she said with another cringe. "She's interested in robotics." Her face withered with disdain. "Robots are creepy and evil. Okay I think we lost them," she teased, "wanna pull over before this car turns sentient and tries to murder us for fucking up its engine?"

"Einstein never needed to learn to drive in Amsterdam. Europe is much more sensible in terms of transportation," Namor grumbled as they turned into a warehouse parking lot. There was unbuckling.

"Susan and Clint are both absent minded at times, but a robot army seems outside their wheelhouse. My bet would be on Miss Topaz accidentally animating the coffee machine in the kitchen as our eventual death by machine."

Adrienne had gone from cringing to full-on shudders as she unbuckled her own seatbelt and climbed out of the car. She planned to get Namor back behind the wheel for a lesson in shifting before they brought the car back, but first she wanted to drive it around to determine where the engagement point for the clutch was. And to joyride a bit, since that was the point of taking it in the first place. "Don't even joke about that shit," she warned him. "The technopath, Sarah Vale, scares me enough when it comes to that damned coffee maker. Never mind bringing magic into the equation. I hate magic."

He snickered sourly. "I have had enough magic for one lifetime. Give me something large, practical, and preferably punchable in the New Year as a challenge and I will be more than happy."

"Right there with you," Adrienne nodded. "I think we should make everyone make a New Year Resolution to only do punchable things in future. You're a prince, right? Can you make that happen?" she asked him hopefully.

"Marquis," but this matter of pride was dismissed almost immediately as the two moved to switch seats. "Nonetheless I hereby decree this as law: all future threats shall be required to be corporal, punchable, and not even mildly existential."