Hope & Namor | Sunday Afternoon

[xp-submariner.livejournal.com]

Namor asks Hope to clarify some problematic politics from his History Lessons, but the conversation quickly turns to argument over morality.

The walls of the classroom were scattered with images.

The Atlantean at their center, posed thoughtfully with newsreels painting his features, had seemingly little trouble navigating current-day technology. Someone had seen fit to set him up with a tablet and computer, and all of the moving text on the wall spoke to one goal: understanding.

Hope had entered, sunken in thought, but froze as she just entered the door. The walls were covered with what appeared to be Wikipedia pages and perusing them was an unfamiliar face. "Hello?" She inquired. "I hope I am not disturbing you?"

The face that turned to survey her was sharp-featured. The cloudy expression he had worn while surveying the net unaware sharpened immediately into a predatory glare; accusatory and reprimanding.

"You are," he stated flatly, "But it is not unwelcome. Explain this." The man, clothed only in a pair of sweatpants and an ornate gold collar that seemed more in place at a history museum, gestured to a frozen image on the wall. It depicted a large black spire of twisted concrete and metal in what looked to be Madison Garden.

Hope moved a little closer, scanning one or two of the pages. Day Zero... that was not the easiest subject to explain, even though she had heard stories at the mansion and studied the subject while in Ksavia. "I think that was Apocalypse's citadel, his headquarters. What would you like to know about these events though?" Who was this man? The collar didn't make a whole lot of sense either.

She tilted her head a little and held out her hand: "I am Hope Abbott."

The dark-haired man eyed her hand skeptically, but took the offered shake after a moment of hesitation. He had set down the tablet computer to spread out his other hand in an indication that he held no weapon. His grey-green eyes never left Hope's. "Namor. King of Atlantis and its Empire."

He didn't dwell on the title. "Hope Abbott," and Namor said her name like he was tasting it, "I want to know why you continue to let yourselves be strong-armed against."

So this was a new version of Namor. He didn't resemble his predecessor, but that aura of conformable... arrogance, that she would now recognize anywhere. "Strong armed against Apocalypse?" Hope leaned slightly against the wall. "I suppose it was a kind of sudden sneak attack. I do not know that much about the details, since I was not there for it. But no one had expected this or was even really prepared for it."

"You misunderstand," the man huffed with what was now practiced exasperation, "But your -- 'mutantkind's,' the nation of Xavier's -- recent history seems to be an endless story of attacks in which you let yourself be bullied and then co-tow to remain neutral and unnoticed." His eyes were filled with honest curiosity. "I do not see why you cannot simply claim a place of dominance and demand what you wish."

"Ahhh, I do understand." Hope folded her arms. "Mutants are a minority in this world. Even more so since we lost many of them only a few months ago during M-Day. But even before that, the mutant community, if you can even call it that, was a deeply divided one." Moving away from the wall, she gestured at the picture of Apocalypse on the wall. "He was the leader of an very extreme group. And that comes to the second point... namely that claiming a position of dominance might not be the right thing to do."

"The right thing to do," he echoed critically. "You let morality stand in the way of a unified front against those that would bring you down?"

"I think I would say both morality and self-preservation, especially at this time. Mutants, even united, are but a small group nowadays. We would be like an ant squished under a boot. Passing beneath their notice is the best self-defense we have. And hurting innocents to claim a position of dominance does not seem the right thing to do to me."

Namor stared at her for a good moment before responding. "That, Hope Abbott, is political philosophy invented by cowards. You merely hope to submit and hope not to be picked when your master returns? You act like dogs, but forget you have teeth."

"Most dogs nowadays who use their teeth don't have nice things happen to them." Hope easily shot back. This was feeling... familiar. "Especially if you are one of the big one. Now, if you are a small cute dog, who give a nibble..."

All she got for that was a drawn out sigh. In fact, Namor had broken eye contact completely halfway through her statement.

With a sigh she leaned back and folded her arms. "You were a King once, were you not?"

"Once?" Namor's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as his attention landed sharply back upon Hope. His posture stiffened to his full height, and he loomed down upon the girl. "Explain what business you have here or leave."

"As a King, would you have ordered an attack on innocents?" Hope stood her ground, refusing to let herself be intimidated by the large man in front of her.

The sigh upgraded into a full-on growl. "Testing my patience is a poor move," and then, as if he couldn't help himself, "There are hard decisions one must make when at war, child. "

She was oh so tempted to snap something back along the sense of 'what were you go do?', but she restrained herself and only raised an eyebrow. "I think you have a lot reading to do to see why we make the choices we make. A hard decision of a different kind, so to speak. You might have born a crown once, but the times are very different now. Keep that in mind before you judge."

"There is no time," and he was looming now, "Where you should ever expect me to take advice from someone who talks about hard decisions but also wants to play nice. Hope Abbott, you are dismissed. I tire of this conversation."

"Seriously?" She was starting to feel a little hemmed in, but it didn't allow one bit to show on her face. Grateful for her heels which just gave her an extra two inches of heights, she pushed off the wall and just stepped a little closer, almost getting into his face. "Keep this in your mind. Learn before you judge. You know nothing."

Namor wasn't wavered. In fact, his nostrils flared dangerously. "Perception is power, little girl. I care little for your morality games, but I care less for this wise courtier act. I have leveled nations. I have received tribute from Queen Zarta of Lemuria herself. Tell me, little flower, what you have accomplished?"

"Attempting to level nations here will only get you killed." Hope spoke in an icy voice even as she stepped a little closer, her eyes solidly on his. "And probably everyone here. Of what will be King then? King of the Dead?"

"I will do what I wish," the once King practically growled. "I gave you one chance to prove yourself. You and your hyperbole are dismissed. Good day."

"Spare me the stubbornness of..." Hope growled. She marched over the laptop, heels clicking on the ground loudly, and pulled it over before opening up several web pages. "Read. Learn. And then we can have this discussion again if you are so inclined." With those words, Hope moved towards the door.

Namor did not, in fact, go for the last word, but instead chose to glower imperiously, unblinking, in Hope's general direction until she had fully retreated. When she had left, he went back to work without a second glance toward the open laptop whose screen showed the bright and cheerful text of "Mutants and the danger they present to us."