xp_logs | Namor, Sharon: A Common Enemy

xp_catseye posting in

In times of desperation a cat may indeed look upon a king.

A scene was unfolding in the sitting area of the chapel entry.

Namor, poised regally in an armchair, surveyed the petitioner in front of him. He had received another scribbled note, this time with more than vague thanks, but it entreatied a plan of action.

"We see that you have finally come to your senses," he remarked with a predatory tone. "Rest assured We are amenable to opening negotiations. Retribution is the great uniter, as they say."

"Others in this place are too forgiving." His petitioner was sitting bolt upright in the opposite chair, her clawed hands curled in her lap. "Trespassing. Destruction of property. Assault. Ruining freshly baked batch of cookies. And after all of this she is to live here now. These crimes I do not forget."

Namor's icy eyes were stern. "You should not have to. Your ecstrucean forebearers might say 'Semper invictus.' The strong stay unconquered. I have been watching this paramilitary group struggle with action for years. Change is needed. Justice."

"Tell me," he leaned forward, interested, "What would an appropriate justice be for her transgressions."

Sharon considered this. "Eye-for-an-eye appeals. An accounting of the injuries inflicted so that they may be returned to her by the parties she has wronged, perhaps. Tossing into snow drifts. Ceiling dropped upon her. I will bite for Match. Husband is shy about such things. Homosexual, also."

"Mmm. I see. Neither being thrown into a snow drift or being homosexual are injuries. Your counts confuse property damage with injury. Would you seek to drop one of her own ceilings on her in recompense?"

"Well. Have heard she has been assisting in repairs." It was a grudging admission, but in the course of an official negotiation Sharon thought it important to be precise. "But further consequences are warranted. Emotional distress occurred. Continuing inconvenience and disruption to daily life also. These things one may not meaningfully quantify, maybe, but still deserving of recompense, I think."

"What would you have us do."

"Are you not a sovereign ruler? Surely you have dispensed punishments. What would be your judgement in this matter?"

"The crown is another matter." Namor folded his hands, ready for court. "Statecraft would require careful consideration of the rights of travellers and the benefit to the people for setting an example. If we were your Rome, for instance, this would be call for war. Remain unconquered. But what use do we have for territory in another dimension?"

One hand was raised.

"Borders, control, impact of dealing with other parties. Would taking one hand for justice invite conflict from her people? Would those compounding losses be worth it."

Then the other hand.

"Emotional distress is too difficult to weigh. The best one can do is make the punishment so severe that both sides feel punished. There is a good reason no one wins in compromise — it underscores that neither the slight of seeking damages can be a reward over basic civility."

He put his hands down, clenching them into fists. His eyes hardened.

"I have never cared for civility. We would send her back to her people and demand a fine be paid. Instill fear of violating our borders."

"Is not punishment if she wishes to return," Sharon pointed out, "but would be most satisfactory result." She chewed her lip, the tip of her tail twitching. "If material recompense cannot be justified, consequences that remain are social only. Shunning, perhaps."

This earned her a peal of incredulous laughter.

"Shunning. Here."

Sharon narrowed her eyes. "Shall be a war of attrition," she admitted, "waged by myself only, because others are soft. But I am Cat. Warmth and acceptance may be bestowed and removed in equal measure. Its absence shall be felt."

"So," Namor openly criticized, "Your plan is exactly how you have been acting since you arrived here. You are Cat. From what I have witnessed, that simply means using the same tactic everytime. It will fail."

He sighed. It was a thing of judgment.

"The modern world is soft, but that is to your advantage. Destroy her support network. Poison her alliances. Make it so that she has no quarter, no allies, and no one to hold her. That is when you strike. You must not be a cat, you must be a monster."

It was neither in Sharon's nature nor inclination to play games of strategy -- chess games seemed pointless when one could achieve the same effect by simply knocking over the board. But Kevin had challenged her to show him she was something more than a cat or a child, and despite every fiber of her ailuromorphic body resisting this on sheer principle she grudgingly conceded that perhaps she should try it one of these days . . . just to see.

In one fluid motion Sharon surged to her feet and regarded the King of Atlantis with an imperiousness equal to his own. "Your words shall be considered," she said. "Concession for a detente while such matters are discussed is appreciated. Crimes against me are remembered always, but favors also."

"Mmmph," Namor growled. He stood next, waving a hand in dismissal. This was concluded. "Remember: wars are won only when your enemy is too crippled to recover. We hope you can make yourself someone worthy for me to remember your crimes, Susan."

He turned on her.

"You are not that yet."