Gabriel & Namor | Late Sunday Afternoon

[xp-submariner.livejournal.com]

Gabe meets Namor, and Namor makes demands.

All things considered, Gabriel's reflection in the lake looked strange.

Something about the ripples on the water made his three-day beard look more scraggly than rugged, and the way the light was hitting the water just made his reflection seem younger. Fresher. Lighter.

Then again, maybe he was just projecting. Gabriel rolled over, his back now on the blanket he'd spread out on the grass before smoking a bowl. The wind had carried the smoke and the smell toward the mansion, but he hardly minded. Something about the weather and the wind and the weed made him feel relaxed. That was a nice change.

He turned his head toward the house and squinted as the sun's glare hit his eyes. "Sunglasses," he muttered, then started feeling around for them.

There was a gust of wind and the sound of a throat being cleared, but as Gabriel looked up back toward the house there was no one there. A beat. The voice, rough and commanding, clarified: "Vagabond, I require your aid."

"You wanna try that one again?" It didn't take much to hear the incredulity in Gabriel's words. With an eyebrow raised, he donned his sunglasses and glanced around him.

The man floating over the water's edge was dark, tall, impossibly fit, and dressed in an outfit that was patently ridiculous. He had a vest that looked like a cast off from back when puffy vests were a thing matched with a pair of Xavier's standard sweatpants. Except the word "matched" was entirely too generous. Even for the outfit, the man radiated a casual sort of violent intensity that was matched with an expression of unadulterated loathing.

Despite that, or because of it, he continued on in a tone that would rank just past the bare minimum for "civil," but was also an echo of someone Gabriel used to know: "I require transportation."

"Then call a cab." Gabriel shifted and sat up, glancing above him at the imperious jackass hovering nearby. Behind his shades, his eyes narrowed. "Or an Uber. Betting they'd be happy to take you to the mall."

This neither elicited a sigh or an eyeroll. Namor's gaze was sharp as razor wire in its appraisal. "I do not desire to make anyone happy, Gabriel Cohuelo. I expect for you to do your job."

"Which I'd be happy to do, if you put three bottles in front of me six hours from now." Gabriel removed his sunglasses so the other man could see his eyes narrow. He raised his gaze to meet the man's own, and it was only in doing so that he realized the man currently harassing him was levitating.

"Namor." It was a statement of fact, but inside he was bewildered. Had he known Namor was back? Should he have known? Maybe it was something he discovered in a post-booze haze and had forgotten. Regardless, the man (not the same man, but definitely the man) was standing in front of him, and he was seeing things with alarming clarity now. Who else but Namor - any Namor, as he'd discovered months ago - would talk to him like this? "I'm not your servant." He crossed his arms, still not breaking their staring match.

They were much the same eyes that Gabriel remembered, except a hair greener and tinged at the edges with the sort of weariness that old Namor had never known. Yet his stare was still unrelenting, and still unimpressed.

A beat.

"Do not presume I would hire you for anything." Namor's tone had shifted slightly, and even though he was not much taller than the mansionite his gaze gave the impression that he might as well be looking down from a mountain peak in the way he regarded Gabriel. "I was informed by the quartermaster that you are the stable boy. I require transportation."

"Stable boy?" Gabriel felt his body tense at Namor's tone. "You were informed wrong," he said, his voice hard.

"I see," Namor replied coldly. His gaze drifted with accusatory calculation back toward the mansion, and his responding tone had morphed into something casually cruel. "I see we have been played." He stated this imperiously with the same sort of weight as "off with their heads." In fact, the implied "and now they must pay" was almost palpable.

"Apparently." Gabriel's voice was flat. He followed Namor's eyes back to the mansion. "Hardly the best set-up for a possible introduction. Not that it matters." Once more, he looked back at the man, now surveying him with curiosity. Seeing the combination of ferocity with such ludicrous fashion almost made Gabriel smile.

Almost. "Where were you trying to go, anyway?" The question was asked with a touch of incredulity that would have been detectable if someone knew to listen for it.

"I have been accused of being ill-equipped to deal with this modernity." This was a statement that he drew out slowly, as if unsure how to best articulate the concept. Well, colored with a hint of not believing it at all. "I understand that the world is far changed in ways past what this military organization tells me."

He leaned in a little, as if this was a secret. "I not deign to be held prisoner any longer."

"Yeah," Gabriel nodded after a long pause, his facial features relaxing, "I think I kinda get that." Well, not all of it. But his world had changed too, not too long ago.

"And you're from..." Gabriel tilted his head, searching for clues in Namor's (obnoxiously fit) physiology. "From where, exactly?"

"Bensaylum, Jewel of Atlantis."

"Atlantis." That this fact barely fazed Gabriel was a sure sign of how absurd the world had become. If Molly had been to Asgard, why couldn't the lost underwater city exist? "Well." He scratched the back of his neck. "That is a big change."

Namor, being Namor, assumed that statement was all about him. "It saddens me that my beautiful kingdom has been reduced to a children's tale of pride and hubris." He shook his head, "I have been combing your people's records, but so far my search has yielded poor results."

"Yeah? Can't say I know much about it." Gabriel shrugged. Even so, pride and hubris sounded an awful lot like Namor. "But then again," he gave Namor a wry smile, "I'm just a stable boy. Knowledge like that might be a little beneath me."

"Hmmm, yes," and the once King was eyeing the mansion dangerously again, "Reprisals are in due for that humiliation. Of course," and Namor turned back to Gabriel, "You may wish to draw first blood. They are your friends."

"I appreciate that, but... eh." Gabriel threw his hands up. "Indifference is its own revenge, in a way." He looked skeptical, as if he wasn't totally sure he believed that. "Or maybe we should just talk in hushed voices when they're around, and shoot them suspicious glances. Make them paranoid before we strike."

"How horribly political of you." This was said with something that was either loathing or respect. Perhaps both. "Also dull, although the amount your friends here assure tragedy will happen is like they want to invite it."

Gabriel snorted. "It's not as crazy as they say." He looked back to the mansion, which showed no sign of the apocalypse. "Not most days, anyway."

The sun was back behind the clouds, and Gabriel fidgeted with his sunglasses again before taking them off. "If you've got better ideas that aren't super murder-y, I'd love to hear them. Although dressed like that, it's kind of hard to take you as much as a threat — imposing as you are."

Namor actually sighed, and his voice rang in a poor mimicry of a New York accent. "Pants are the least you need to wear." A beat, and he rolled his eyes,"No shirt no service. Such ridiculous trends."

"Couldn't agree with you more," Gabriel said, and he only meant it because, well, consider the view. They stood in silence for a second. A gust of wind blew the corners of the blanket up, and then it was Gabriel's turn to sigh. "Okay. Come on." He crouched down and picked up his things.

"Pardon?" The once-king, still hovering, raised a single eyebrow.

"You want to be free. And I don't have anything to do, so I'm freeing you." Gabriel rose again, blanket bunched in his arms and a messenger bag over his shoulder. He appraised Namor's appearance once more, because he could. "Let's leave campus. We're definitely going to buy you some new clothes."

Namor stared like he wasn't sue what to make of this, but then shrugged. It was awkward, like he couldn't figure out how to properly rolled his shoulders or he was merely out of practice. "Very well, Gabriel Cohuelo. This gesture will be remembered."

"I'm sure it will be, but..." Gabriel shrugged back, his voice hinting at a knowledge the other man wouldn't expect him to have. "Whatever. It looks like you need some..." he stumbled over a word before landing on one. "Some allies. And you caught me on a good day."