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xp_logsWith the nymph’s banishment from the outpost, she finds the landbound members of eXcalibur and, following a promise, has Basil regurgitate Molly.
Ibi was... cross, to put it very politely. That the prince out of time dared turn the power of a place in her own domain against her for imagined slights. If she'd been corporeal at the time, she would've growled in anger. As it was, the swirl that is-was-would always be the swamp nymph rocketed through the water and came to rest on the shore. She'd barely transformed back into something approaching a humanoid shape when Basil's hint of hunger wafted across her mind, followed by the stronger threads of the joy of play and satisfaction in a well-caught meal. She looked through his eyes briefly, tempted to leave the prince's erstwhile companions to their own saving.
The glint of something sharp caught the sun. That... would not do. Basil was one of her older companions, a line that had stretched thousands of years, unbroken. That these uplanders would dare!
Between one blink and the next, Ibi was next to Basil, and the swamps were thrumming with her fury. Her glare caught the uplanders, flora moving threateningly towards their feet to trap them in place. "Loose that weapon and your bodies will fertilize my swamps," she hissed out, face sharpening into something reptilian and wholly other. "Basil, darling. Drop your toy. If you dine on anything today, it will be that upstart of a time-displaced prince, not a curious youngling."
"Oh thank God, I didn't wanna shoot it," Clint said, immediately lowering his nocked arrow so it pointed toward the ground. "It's just a net arrow, anyway, but then how were we gonna get it to give Molly back before she suffo-- wait." He stopped himself mid-relieved sigh. "Wait, what happened with Namor?"
If it were possible to assign human emotions to a crocodile, then the best look one could ascribe to Basil at Ibi's light command was disgruntled. Petulant, even, as strong jaws dropped Molly into the brackish mud and silt. He was surprisingly agile for such a large creature, and took a swipe at Molly with his tail as he turned and disappeared into the murky waters.
Ibi allowed a faint hint of her amusement at the croc's antics to bleed through, and the flora that had been creeping around the feet of the travelers started to retract. "He. Was. RUDE. Attempting to banish me from territory that has been mine longer than the people here have a recorded history with the feeble remnants of power that I led him to IN GOOD FAITH." Her hissing anger reverberated in their bones, the smallest hint of the ancient power that could be at her command. A wild, unrestrained power, the might of storms and nature that hadn't quite been checked in the same way as the Chesapeake. "Tell me why I should allow him - allow any of you except perhaps the younglings - to leave this place after such a slight?"
Despite all her travels with Sif fighting monsters, Molly could never say she'd been swallowed by one. And to be fair, she didn't want to list that as an achievement. Coughing up a storm, she laid down in the mud (after being knocked over by a giant ass tail), taking in big gulps of breath.
"That...really...sucked..." she mumbled.
Caught halfway between going to Molly to make sure she didn't hack up a lung and doing something to keep the watery... swamp... nymph from drowning everybody but Molly and probably America, Clint waffled for a moment. "Matt, America -- you guys check on Molly, please," he called, deciding delegation was the better part of valor.
"Ah, Miss -- I'm sorry, I don't know your name. I'm really sorry about him -- Namor. He's having trouble adjusting to not being, y'know, the ruler of all his eyes see and it's been eight years, ish. Believe it or not, he used to be a lot worse. But you're totally right, he shouldn't have done that... the banishing thing. Um... I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Barton."
Matt stepped up to his brother, elbowing him discreetly, as he pulled off his mask, "Our apologies, we weren't aware you were assisting us," he said smoothly tucking his mask into his belt, clearly in full lawyer mode even though he was in uniform as Daredevil. "If you allow us to depart promptly, taking Namor with us, of course, you have our word," he indicated himself and Clint, "that Namor will not return and if any of us do return to Florida, it will be for recreational purposes only," he couldn't promise to never return, not when their fathers loved Key West and cruising, but both places were reasonably far from where they were now. "Is there anything we can do to help Basil? He shouldn't have tried to eat Molly, but I understand the confusion of everything that mistakes happen."
"Sure we can't let her keep Namor?" America mumbled low. "She looks like she could give him a much-needed attitude adjustment."
Clint cast America the most intense side-eye he'd ever given anyone, then looked back toward the nymphy, water-person and said, "Right, mistakes. I'm afraid I can't even say he probably didn't mean whatever he did to offend you, just... if you'll let everybody else go back to the mansion, I'll stay and maybe we can work things out." The likelihood of getting Namor to apologize for whatever perceived slight the mangrove nymph might've accidentally given him just -- it didn't bear thinking about.
Ibi's amusement at the young woman's question and statement had a nearby climbing aster brushing against America's forearm. She probably could give the time-displaced prince an attitude adjustment, but given his poor manners he'd likely end up being food and fertilizer instead.
"Basil is unharmed," she directed at the freshly unmasked one. "Sulking because he likes a bit of sport with his meal. Good for the digestion." She floated closer, seagrass brushing against his cheek affectionately. "You are polite. It is unwise to make promises for others unless you can enforce them. I do not sense that power within you."
Movement at the shore's edge caught her attention, and her visage firmed back into stern disapproval as the ones she'd dealt with under the water reappeared. "Brat prince," she hissed angrily as Namor emerged.
"Explain yourself."
Lips pursed, Matt turned to Namor, "As your legal counsel," he stated firmly, "You are trespassing. I advise restraint." Translation, you've already made this bad, don't make this worse. He turned towards Ibi, "What I lack in magical or mutant power, I make up for with education and training."
The look on Namor's face as he emerged from the water was already displeased, but his steely eyes were only locked on the nymph. Eyes that still shown as black as the deepest trenches. With a kick into the silt, he was airborne enough to close the distance between himself and the spirit of this land quickly.
A land he was technically no longer touching.
"My comrades hold no right to speak for me, Your Abundance. While it was within Our Purview to lay rest to my people here, I will grant a future boon in exchange for your forgiveness. Name it and let us be done with Florida."
"I would have readily granted permission to lay your people to rest, had you asked," Ibi hissed. Swampy water and bracken swirled around her, tendrils hovering just behind Namor's ankles. "That you dared attempt to banish me from my territory in the process? You may count yourself lucky to leave this place alive thanks to the quick-talking of your comrades."
Small flowers and greenery had bloomed near Matt's feet, all plants native to the area. The seagrass was still brushing against his face. "This one in particular. You and the younglings may come back, provided you keep your manners about you. The archer also, so long as his weapon does not raise unless asked." She turned to Namor. "You. I will take your boons for your slights against me. You may not enter these swamps alone or without warning. If you do, Basil will have you for dinner, and your remains will fertilize the flora."
Pulling his mask back on, Matt took that as their cue to leave. Before Namor opened his mouth again. Nodding at Ibi, he rounded the team up, prepared to make the trek back out. And more, to do whatever possible to make Namor understand. Not that he'd like it. Or likely listen. It was an ongoing process.
Ibi was... cross, to put it very politely. That the prince out of time dared turn the power of a place in her own domain against her for imagined slights. If she'd been corporeal at the time, she would've growled in anger. As it was, the swirl that is-was-would always be the swamp nymph rocketed through the water and came to rest on the shore. She'd barely transformed back into something approaching a humanoid shape when Basil's hint of hunger wafted across her mind, followed by the stronger threads of the joy of play and satisfaction in a well-caught meal. She looked through his eyes briefly, tempted to leave the prince's erstwhile companions to their own saving.
The glint of something sharp caught the sun. That... would not do. Basil was one of her older companions, a line that had stretched thousands of years, unbroken. That these uplanders would dare!
Between one blink and the next, Ibi was next to Basil, and the swamps were thrumming with her fury. Her glare caught the uplanders, flora moving threateningly towards their feet to trap them in place. "Loose that weapon and your bodies will fertilize my swamps," she hissed out, face sharpening into something reptilian and wholly other. "Basil, darling. Drop your toy. If you dine on anything today, it will be that upstart of a time-displaced prince, not a curious youngling."
"Oh thank God, I didn't wanna shoot it," Clint said, immediately lowering his nocked arrow so it pointed toward the ground. "It's just a net arrow, anyway, but then how were we gonna get it to give Molly back before she suffo-- wait." He stopped himself mid-relieved sigh. "Wait, what happened with Namor?"
If it were possible to assign human emotions to a crocodile, then the best look one could ascribe to Basil at Ibi's light command was disgruntled. Petulant, even, as strong jaws dropped Molly into the brackish mud and silt. He was surprisingly agile for such a large creature, and took a swipe at Molly with his tail as he turned and disappeared into the murky waters.
Ibi allowed a faint hint of her amusement at the croc's antics to bleed through, and the flora that had been creeping around the feet of the travelers started to retract. "He. Was. RUDE. Attempting to banish me from territory that has been mine longer than the people here have a recorded history with the feeble remnants of power that I led him to IN GOOD FAITH." Her hissing anger reverberated in their bones, the smallest hint of the ancient power that could be at her command. A wild, unrestrained power, the might of storms and nature that hadn't quite been checked in the same way as the Chesapeake. "Tell me why I should allow him - allow any of you except perhaps the younglings - to leave this place after such a slight?"
Despite all her travels with Sif fighting monsters, Molly could never say she'd been swallowed by one. And to be fair, she didn't want to list that as an achievement. Coughing up a storm, she laid down in the mud (after being knocked over by a giant ass tail), taking in big gulps of breath.
"That...really...sucked..." she mumbled.
Caught halfway between going to Molly to make sure she didn't hack up a lung and doing something to keep the watery... swamp... nymph from drowning everybody but Molly and probably America, Clint waffled for a moment. "Matt, America -- you guys check on Molly, please," he called, deciding delegation was the better part of valor.
"Ah, Miss -- I'm sorry, I don't know your name. I'm really sorry about him -- Namor. He's having trouble adjusting to not being, y'know, the ruler of all his eyes see and it's been eight years, ish. Believe it or not, he used to be a lot worse. But you're totally right, he shouldn't have done that... the banishing thing. Um... I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Barton."
Matt stepped up to his brother, elbowing him discreetly, as he pulled off his mask, "Our apologies, we weren't aware you were assisting us," he said smoothly tucking his mask into his belt, clearly in full lawyer mode even though he was in uniform as Daredevil. "If you allow us to depart promptly, taking Namor with us, of course, you have our word," he indicated himself and Clint, "that Namor will not return and if any of us do return to Florida, it will be for recreational purposes only," he couldn't promise to never return, not when their fathers loved Key West and cruising, but both places were reasonably far from where they were now. "Is there anything we can do to help Basil? He shouldn't have tried to eat Molly, but I understand the confusion of everything that mistakes happen."
"Sure we can't let her keep Namor?" America mumbled low. "She looks like she could give him a much-needed attitude adjustment."
Clint cast America the most intense side-eye he'd ever given anyone, then looked back toward the nymphy, water-person and said, "Right, mistakes. I'm afraid I can't even say he probably didn't mean whatever he did to offend you, just... if you'll let everybody else go back to the mansion, I'll stay and maybe we can work things out." The likelihood of getting Namor to apologize for whatever perceived slight the mangrove nymph might've accidentally given him just -- it didn't bear thinking about.
Ibi's amusement at the young woman's question and statement had a nearby climbing aster brushing against America's forearm. She probably could give the time-displaced prince an attitude adjustment, but given his poor manners he'd likely end up being food and fertilizer instead.
"Basil is unharmed," she directed at the freshly unmasked one. "Sulking because he likes a bit of sport with his meal. Good for the digestion." She floated closer, seagrass brushing against his cheek affectionately. "You are polite. It is unwise to make promises for others unless you can enforce them. I do not sense that power within you."
Movement at the shore's edge caught her attention, and her visage firmed back into stern disapproval as the ones she'd dealt with under the water reappeared. "Brat prince," she hissed angrily as Namor emerged.
"Explain yourself."
Lips pursed, Matt turned to Namor, "As your legal counsel," he stated firmly, "You are trespassing. I advise restraint." Translation, you've already made this bad, don't make this worse. He turned towards Ibi, "What I lack in magical or mutant power, I make up for with education and training."
The look on Namor's face as he emerged from the water was already displeased, but his steely eyes were only locked on the nymph. Eyes that still shown as black as the deepest trenches. With a kick into the silt, he was airborne enough to close the distance between himself and the spirit of this land quickly.
A land he was technically no longer touching.
"My comrades hold no right to speak for me, Your Abundance. While it was within Our Purview to lay rest to my people here, I will grant a future boon in exchange for your forgiveness. Name it and let us be done with Florida."
"I would have readily granted permission to lay your people to rest, had you asked," Ibi hissed. Swampy water and bracken swirled around her, tendrils hovering just behind Namor's ankles. "That you dared attempt to banish me from my territory in the process? You may count yourself lucky to leave this place alive thanks to the quick-talking of your comrades."
Small flowers and greenery had bloomed near Matt's feet, all plants native to the area. The seagrass was still brushing against his face. "This one in particular. You and the younglings may come back, provided you keep your manners about you. The archer also, so long as his weapon does not raise unless asked." She turned to Namor. "You. I will take your boons for your slights against me. You may not enter these swamps alone or without warning. If you do, Basil will have you for dinner, and your remains will fertilize the flora."
Pulling his mask back on, Matt took that as their cue to leave. Before Namor opened his mouth again. Nodding at Ibi, he rounded the team up, prepared to make the trek back out. And more, to do whatever possible to make Namor understand. Not that he'd like it. Or likely listen. It was an ongoing process.
