Marius & Namor | Finding X
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xp_logsNamor thinks he’s safe using the mansion gym when most residents are asleep, but he encounters Marius. Marius is surprised at what he doesn’t find: any x-gene he can sense.
Catching the King of Atlantis in a confined, public space was hard. Be it the nature of his powers or the sheer force of his (particular) personality, Namor was a creature who made the choice to be seen if only for spectacle or sport. Yet here he was at the mansion gym, if only because there he could truly lift anything of consequence.
It was also the hours at which most of the mansion would be asleep. A calculated decision.
So here the King of Atlantis, sweat slicked and solitary, struggled under the weight of many tons, attempting to squat under the pressure.
"Just a word of caution: if you find yourself in need of a spotter, I'm afraid that weight is well beyond my capabilities."
Marius gave the other man a nod as he entered the gym. For a split-second he almost did a double-take, but at the last minute managed to sublimate it into a faint furrowing of the brows. Aloud he said, "Apologies for the intrusion. The allure of the late-night workout was too great."
This got Marius a glare. It wasn't the highest tier of derision the Atlatean could deploy, but he was busy. With a grunt and an exhale, he pushed upward out of the bottom of the lift.
"Tell me," and Namor's voice was hoarse from the effort after he settled the bar, "What is so inherently human about offering the promise of no possible aid when they stumble on those they see in, presumed, need." He rolled his shoulders backward and rubbed his hands together, chalk billowing into the air.
Marius set his gym bag on a bench and peeled off his gloves. "To ensure that if the worst should come to pass you not go to your grave blaming us, possibly. A sort of anti-haunting measure." He smirked as he tucked the gloves in the bag and withdrew a pair of hand wraps. "You'd be Namor, correct? Dispossessed Atlantean royalty who has expressed disappointment in my humanity, if I recall."
"The Namor. First to my name, Avenging Son of the Jewel of the Sea," Namor recited his titles idly, like a man composing a grocery list. "The correct address is Your Royal Majesty. I am a King." He took a long drink of water. "I have little left of my people, so I must hold onto the small things: titles, dignity, and the healthy superiority of remembering that, once, the surface world's insolence had not been left unchecked. Fear thee, ancient Mariner, and so on."
He shrugged, "It was briefly novel to consider that I might not be alone."
"Ah, I see. Regrettably I am, to the disbelief of many, technically human." Marius slid the loop over his thumb and began to wind the strap around his wrist as he considered his next words. There were some abilities he typically did not reference in polite company — some people became a bit tetchy about privacy — but this was likely an exception. Just as Namor was.
"I was acquainted with another version of yourself," Marius continued as he moved on to wrapping between his fingers. "The one familiar to me was assuredly a mutant, whilst I perceive that you, despite all evidence to the contrary, are not. " The Australian paused, suddenly thoughtful. "Of course, now that I think upon it he was also white."
This got Namor's attention for more than a few reasons, but there was only one question he really had. "Was he King of Atlantis? This White-mor?"
Marius attempted to resurrect knowledge of a byzantine royal lineage that had not become any less complex for ceasing to exist. "He was second cousin to the Crown. Properly styled Marqués de McKenzie, if I recall, and of Attilan extraction, not Atlantean. It was a small island nation located in the Azores. Never underwater, to my knowledge. There was a period of time-slippage, but of course such things do happen on occasion."
"Attilan?" It was a question, but Namor said it like it wasn't a real word. Brows furrowed in confusion gave way to something else after a beat, and the Atlantean held up one finger to ask for a minute. He turned away and allowed himself to indulge in a dark bubble of laughter.
This went on for almost too long.
He shook his head, recovering, and turned back. "We are deeply sorry for your loss."
Marius secured the velcro on the first wrap and gave an easy shrug. "Truth be told I knew the man not at all. I was rather closer to his cousin, and she'd done the sensible thing and quit the mansion some years prior." Unlike the erstwhile Namor, remembering Crystal did evoke a small pang. You never forgot your first time. In this case, the first time someone had rescued Marius from full respiratory arrest.
"Regardless," Marius continued as he began to unroll the second wrapping, "I'm unsure whether Atlantis existed at all, or was mere rumour. Perhaps your Caucasian counterpart was the scion of some lost civilisation, entrusted to another royal house alike in dignity, et cetera. A great destiny never to be fulfilled. Such is the way of the world at times."
"It is imperative," Namor had recovered himself, mostly, "that you understand that I do not care. A world I can never see — it is enough that I am still the greatest man I know. Enough for now, at least." He waved this away as a fact. "You are also incorrect. So what other lies might you believe true about this past world?"
"That it adhered to some form of internal consistency and moral rightness, primarily, though that is a misconception that has since been rectified." Marius flashed Namor a quick grin as he began to wind the fabric around his other hand. "You have my respect, Your Highness. Rarely have I met an individual with a confidence that outstrips my own. It's astonishing how far that quality may take one."
"No. You claim that I am not a mutant." Namor did not grin back.
Marius cocked an eyebrow as he prized a snagged thread from where it had snagged on the teeth of one palm. "No offence was intended; I claim only that you have no readable x-gene. I recognise only mutants, or, in some sad cases, matter derived from same. As you still have a functioning spine after the set you just did my surmise is that you fall under the category of 'Powered Individual: Other.'"
The Atlantean's expression frosted over with anger, "You have no right to take anything from me." He advanced on Marius with those words, each step a warning. His clenched fists were white in his rage.
Marius went still, puzzled even as he did by the curious lack of anxiety he felt at the prospect of impending violence from a man he'd just seen squat several tonnes. It was, he realised after a moment, due to the very fact that appeared to have so incensed the self-styled King of Atlantis: Namor did not read to him as a mutant. Without that awareness constantly grinding against his fight-or-flight response he felt positively relaxed.
"My apologies," Marius said, lowering his hands in mid-wrap. "Clearly some oversight has been mine. Allow me to correct my error. What am I meant to have taken from you, Your Highness?"
Namor stopped, a hand's length from the older man. "Conflict between us would not end well for you. My wings are proof enough of my status."
"I concur, you would render me an attractive smear upon the ground," Marius agreed. "Again, I offer my apologies. I'm given to understand our disagreement is regarding your status as a mutant?"
"I . . . '' Namor was suddenly caught off guard. He untensed, easing just enough to give Marius back some breathing space. "I was not like my people, you see. I was born with these ears, but grew the wings on my heels to conquer the skies. A mutant."
"Ah, I see." Marius rested a conciliatory hand across his chest, still mildly bemused he wasn't already being punched in the face. "A miscommunication. My power can read only humans, which I'm given to understand that you, as an Atlantean, are not. It was not my intent to impugn your honour."
There could still be time for that later. Instead, Namor simply continued to scrutinize. "You are as bad as the other one with far too many words, although just as pretty." He cocked his head ever so slightly. "I will ask this only once: what exactly do you see? Answer carefully."
"'Just as'? Ah, well. Humbling, but of course I'm no longer as young as I once was. One must make way for the next generation." Sensing Namor was likely not the most patient audience, Marius fastened the second velcro strap and gave him a light shrug. "I see before me an individual who could most assuredly flatten me, should he so desire. Aside from this I cannot presume any great insight into either your character or your genetic status. To the latter, I may presume expertise only regarding my fellow lung-breathers. To the former, that is a privilege only you may bestow. In short: you are beyond me."
Be it the play to Namor's ego, the confession of not knowing, or merely the simple fact of having exhausted the man's anger with many, many words, Namor fully stood down. He was still skeptical, but the hostility was gone.
"We are unique," he allowed, but there was an odd introspection to the words. "I may be the last of my people. The world has forgotten our terrible reign, but . . . " Namor searched Marius's face as if trying to puzzle out if this lungbreather could be trusted. "My father was human, and you sense nothing. I can practically hear my grandfather laughing from the depths."
"Ah, so you are . . . biracial?" Marius furrowed his brow. "A term which, whilst technically correct, somehow leaves something to be desired. However, I suspect this to be the source of my confusion. I am attuned only to those on which I might predate. My surmise would be that your Atlantean blood excludes you from this category, although this is purely conjecture; to my knowledge I've never met another of comparable background -- genetically, and in terms of lineage."
"I am five thousand years old," Namor responded flatly. "The world has grown dull in my people's absence. However, you are correct. I was reminded of that fact every day of my life. There is," and his voice was careful now, "evidence to suggest Atlanteans only intermingled more freely after the city disappeared."
"I take this to mean you are the product of a taboo union, then. Well," Marius grinned again, "you find yourself in excellent company. I myself am the unanticipated progeny of an extramarital affair, born of a mother of not inconsiderable status herself who declined to be swept under the rug. It created a peculiar set of expectations. Or, possibly, a lack thereof."
The word "taboo" got Marius a look that suggested Namor was considering which of his organs should be removed first for maximum suffering.
"My mother was a saint," he said, with heavy emphasis on the tense of the matter.
Marius spread his hands. "No pejorative was intended, merely a union considered unconventional to the unenlightened. My own mother is . . . not a likely candidate for canonization," he said, with extreme understatement, "but she was always firm in her knowledge of her own mind regardless of the expectations piled upon her. Perhaps your own was similar."
Namor, apparently nostalgic, sat heavily on the closest weight bench. "My mother was my harbor in my storm. My human father loved her, but he was a merchant. My grandfather, the King, feared that he would make me too curious about anything outside my grand destiny." He laughed, defeated, at this, but then the early sharpness was suddenly back. "Know that we are not friends, you and I. It is just that no one ever asks."
Marius, not without sympathy, nodded his acknowledgement. "I would expect many feel a certain reluctance to question a man of your stature," he observed, declining to add that the perpetual threat of physical violence might also be a contributing factor. The facade of amiable obsequiousness he'd crafted through years of fundraising was serving him well here.
"Ah," Namor gave a dry chuckle, "a gentleman comedian. I take it you are from the Coral Sea, though I did not believe they bothered with grooming aristocracy anymore. Yet here you stand."
Marius gave the Atlantean an ironic bow. "Off the coast of it, at least. A comedian? I'm honoured. 'Jester' was right there, after all."
The other man stared, and he even went as far to silently pronounce the word in an attempt to place it. "I will admit that European history bored me after the fall of Rome. Simply call a fool a fool."
"Subtle but important distinctions. A jester is a fool with gainful employment." Marius stretched one arm across his body, then the other. "I suspect I have taken enough of your time. My original intent was to go a few rounds with the heavy bag. You are, of course, welcome to join me, but I suspect I would be a rather less than challenging opponent. At least under current conditions." The Australian's amiable smile broadened with just a hint of his own arrogance. "Catch me suitably fortified, however, and I'm sure I can put up a bit more of a fight."
"I am always hungry for a challenge," Namor said with a polite smile as he got up and eyed the exit like it might be a welcome relief. Still, manners required closure. "Before I can commit, tell me: do you talk this much while sparring as well?" He made a circular gesture to indicate his question extended to, basically, all the whole of Marius's Mariusness.
"With a mutation such as mine, raw power is not a guarantee. As such it behooves me to employ every resource at my disposal in the pursuit of victory. Powers are transient. My natural verbosity is a cherished tool from which I may never be parted." Marius paused a beat. "Which is to say: yes."
"Hmp," was all Marius got before Namor turned away to reset his station and exit this gym as quickly as possible. It was remarkably easy to erase someone from your personal reality with enough force of will.
Namor would schedule doing this again sometime between never and choosing to walk into the sea permanently.
Catching the King of Atlantis in a confined, public space was hard. Be it the nature of his powers or the sheer force of his (particular) personality, Namor was a creature who made the choice to be seen if only for spectacle or sport. Yet here he was at the mansion gym, if only because there he could truly lift anything of consequence.
It was also the hours at which most of the mansion would be asleep. A calculated decision.
So here the King of Atlantis, sweat slicked and solitary, struggled under the weight of many tons, attempting to squat under the pressure.
"Just a word of caution: if you find yourself in need of a spotter, I'm afraid that weight is well beyond my capabilities."
Marius gave the other man a nod as he entered the gym. For a split-second he almost did a double-take, but at the last minute managed to sublimate it into a faint furrowing of the brows. Aloud he said, "Apologies for the intrusion. The allure of the late-night workout was too great."
This got Marius a glare. It wasn't the highest tier of derision the Atlatean could deploy, but he was busy. With a grunt and an exhale, he pushed upward out of the bottom of the lift.
"Tell me," and Namor's voice was hoarse from the effort after he settled the bar, "What is so inherently human about offering the promise of no possible aid when they stumble on those they see in, presumed, need." He rolled his shoulders backward and rubbed his hands together, chalk billowing into the air.
Marius set his gym bag on a bench and peeled off his gloves. "To ensure that if the worst should come to pass you not go to your grave blaming us, possibly. A sort of anti-haunting measure." He smirked as he tucked the gloves in the bag and withdrew a pair of hand wraps. "You'd be Namor, correct? Dispossessed Atlantean royalty who has expressed disappointment in my humanity, if I recall."
"The Namor. First to my name, Avenging Son of the Jewel of the Sea," Namor recited his titles idly, like a man composing a grocery list. "The correct address is Your Royal Majesty. I am a King." He took a long drink of water. "I have little left of my people, so I must hold onto the small things: titles, dignity, and the healthy superiority of remembering that, once, the surface world's insolence had not been left unchecked. Fear thee, ancient Mariner, and so on."
He shrugged, "It was briefly novel to consider that I might not be alone."
"Ah, I see. Regrettably I am, to the disbelief of many, technically human." Marius slid the loop over his thumb and began to wind the strap around his wrist as he considered his next words. There were some abilities he typically did not reference in polite company — some people became a bit tetchy about privacy — but this was likely an exception. Just as Namor was.
"I was acquainted with another version of yourself," Marius continued as he moved on to wrapping between his fingers. "The one familiar to me was assuredly a mutant, whilst I perceive that you, despite all evidence to the contrary, are not. " The Australian paused, suddenly thoughtful. "Of course, now that I think upon it he was also white."
This got Namor's attention for more than a few reasons, but there was only one question he really had. "Was he King of Atlantis? This White-mor?"
Marius attempted to resurrect knowledge of a byzantine royal lineage that had not become any less complex for ceasing to exist. "He was second cousin to the Crown. Properly styled Marqués de McKenzie, if I recall, and of Attilan extraction, not Atlantean. It was a small island nation located in the Azores. Never underwater, to my knowledge. There was a period of time-slippage, but of course such things do happen on occasion."
"Attilan?" It was a question, but Namor said it like it wasn't a real word. Brows furrowed in confusion gave way to something else after a beat, and the Atlantean held up one finger to ask for a minute. He turned away and allowed himself to indulge in a dark bubble of laughter.
This went on for almost too long.
He shook his head, recovering, and turned back. "We are deeply sorry for your loss."
Marius secured the velcro on the first wrap and gave an easy shrug. "Truth be told I knew the man not at all. I was rather closer to his cousin, and she'd done the sensible thing and quit the mansion some years prior." Unlike the erstwhile Namor, remembering Crystal did evoke a small pang. You never forgot your first time. In this case, the first time someone had rescued Marius from full respiratory arrest.
"Regardless," Marius continued as he began to unroll the second wrapping, "I'm unsure whether Atlantis existed at all, or was mere rumour. Perhaps your Caucasian counterpart was the scion of some lost civilisation, entrusted to another royal house alike in dignity, et cetera. A great destiny never to be fulfilled. Such is the way of the world at times."
"It is imperative," Namor had recovered himself, mostly, "that you understand that I do not care. A world I can never see — it is enough that I am still the greatest man I know. Enough for now, at least." He waved this away as a fact. "You are also incorrect. So what other lies might you believe true about this past world?"
"That it adhered to some form of internal consistency and moral rightness, primarily, though that is a misconception that has since been rectified." Marius flashed Namor a quick grin as he began to wind the fabric around his other hand. "You have my respect, Your Highness. Rarely have I met an individual with a confidence that outstrips my own. It's astonishing how far that quality may take one."
"No. You claim that I am not a mutant." Namor did not grin back.
Marius cocked an eyebrow as he prized a snagged thread from where it had snagged on the teeth of one palm. "No offence was intended; I claim only that you have no readable x-gene. I recognise only mutants, or, in some sad cases, matter derived from same. As you still have a functioning spine after the set you just did my surmise is that you fall under the category of 'Powered Individual: Other.'"
The Atlantean's expression frosted over with anger, "You have no right to take anything from me." He advanced on Marius with those words, each step a warning. His clenched fists were white in his rage.
Marius went still, puzzled even as he did by the curious lack of anxiety he felt at the prospect of impending violence from a man he'd just seen squat several tonnes. It was, he realised after a moment, due to the very fact that appeared to have so incensed the self-styled King of Atlantis: Namor did not read to him as a mutant. Without that awareness constantly grinding against his fight-or-flight response he felt positively relaxed.
"My apologies," Marius said, lowering his hands in mid-wrap. "Clearly some oversight has been mine. Allow me to correct my error. What am I meant to have taken from you, Your Highness?"
Namor stopped, a hand's length from the older man. "Conflict between us would not end well for you. My wings are proof enough of my status."
"I concur, you would render me an attractive smear upon the ground," Marius agreed. "Again, I offer my apologies. I'm given to understand our disagreement is regarding your status as a mutant?"
"I . . . '' Namor was suddenly caught off guard. He untensed, easing just enough to give Marius back some breathing space. "I was not like my people, you see. I was born with these ears, but grew the wings on my heels to conquer the skies. A mutant."
"Ah, I see." Marius rested a conciliatory hand across his chest, still mildly bemused he wasn't already being punched in the face. "A miscommunication. My power can read only humans, which I'm given to understand that you, as an Atlantean, are not. It was not my intent to impugn your honour."
There could still be time for that later. Instead, Namor simply continued to scrutinize. "You are as bad as the other one with far too many words, although just as pretty." He cocked his head ever so slightly. "I will ask this only once: what exactly do you see? Answer carefully."
"'Just as'? Ah, well. Humbling, but of course I'm no longer as young as I once was. One must make way for the next generation." Sensing Namor was likely not the most patient audience, Marius fastened the second velcro strap and gave him a light shrug. "I see before me an individual who could most assuredly flatten me, should he so desire. Aside from this I cannot presume any great insight into either your character or your genetic status. To the latter, I may presume expertise only regarding my fellow lung-breathers. To the former, that is a privilege only you may bestow. In short: you are beyond me."
Be it the play to Namor's ego, the confession of not knowing, or merely the simple fact of having exhausted the man's anger with many, many words, Namor fully stood down. He was still skeptical, but the hostility was gone.
"We are unique," he allowed, but there was an odd introspection to the words. "I may be the last of my people. The world has forgotten our terrible reign, but . . . " Namor searched Marius's face as if trying to puzzle out if this lungbreather could be trusted. "My father was human, and you sense nothing. I can practically hear my grandfather laughing from the depths."
"Ah, so you are . . . biracial?" Marius furrowed his brow. "A term which, whilst technically correct, somehow leaves something to be desired. However, I suspect this to be the source of my confusion. I am attuned only to those on which I might predate. My surmise would be that your Atlantean blood excludes you from this category, although this is purely conjecture; to my knowledge I've never met another of comparable background -- genetically, and in terms of lineage."
"I am five thousand years old," Namor responded flatly. "The world has grown dull in my people's absence. However, you are correct. I was reminded of that fact every day of my life. There is," and his voice was careful now, "evidence to suggest Atlanteans only intermingled more freely after the city disappeared."
"I take this to mean you are the product of a taboo union, then. Well," Marius grinned again, "you find yourself in excellent company. I myself am the unanticipated progeny of an extramarital affair, born of a mother of not inconsiderable status herself who declined to be swept under the rug. It created a peculiar set of expectations. Or, possibly, a lack thereof."
The word "taboo" got Marius a look that suggested Namor was considering which of his organs should be removed first for maximum suffering.
"My mother was a saint," he said, with heavy emphasis on the tense of the matter.
Marius spread his hands. "No pejorative was intended, merely a union considered unconventional to the unenlightened. My own mother is . . . not a likely candidate for canonization," he said, with extreme understatement, "but she was always firm in her knowledge of her own mind regardless of the expectations piled upon her. Perhaps your own was similar."
Namor, apparently nostalgic, sat heavily on the closest weight bench. "My mother was my harbor in my storm. My human father loved her, but he was a merchant. My grandfather, the King, feared that he would make me too curious about anything outside my grand destiny." He laughed, defeated, at this, but then the early sharpness was suddenly back. "Know that we are not friends, you and I. It is just that no one ever asks."
Marius, not without sympathy, nodded his acknowledgement. "I would expect many feel a certain reluctance to question a man of your stature," he observed, declining to add that the perpetual threat of physical violence might also be a contributing factor. The facade of amiable obsequiousness he'd crafted through years of fundraising was serving him well here.
"Ah," Namor gave a dry chuckle, "a gentleman comedian. I take it you are from the Coral Sea, though I did not believe they bothered with grooming aristocracy anymore. Yet here you stand."
Marius gave the Atlantean an ironic bow. "Off the coast of it, at least. A comedian? I'm honoured. 'Jester' was right there, after all."
The other man stared, and he even went as far to silently pronounce the word in an attempt to place it. "I will admit that European history bored me after the fall of Rome. Simply call a fool a fool."
"Subtle but important distinctions. A jester is a fool with gainful employment." Marius stretched one arm across his body, then the other. "I suspect I have taken enough of your time. My original intent was to go a few rounds with the heavy bag. You are, of course, welcome to join me, but I suspect I would be a rather less than challenging opponent. At least under current conditions." The Australian's amiable smile broadened with just a hint of his own arrogance. "Catch me suitably fortified, however, and I'm sure I can put up a bit more of a fight."
"I am always hungry for a challenge," Namor said with a polite smile as he got up and eyed the exit like it might be a welcome relief. Still, manners required closure. "Before I can commit, tell me: do you talk this much while sparring as well?" He made a circular gesture to indicate his question extended to, basically, all the whole of Marius's Mariusness.
"With a mutation such as mine, raw power is not a guarantee. As such it behooves me to employ every resource at my disposal in the pursuit of victory. Powers are transient. My natural verbosity is a cherished tool from which I may never be parted." Marius paused a beat. "Which is to say: yes."
"Hmp," was all Marius got before Namor turned away to reset his station and exit this gym as quickly as possible. It was remarkably easy to erase someone from your personal reality with enough force of will.
Namor would schedule doing this again sometime between never and choosing to walk into the sea permanently.
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Date: 2024-02-11 05:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-11 08:53 am (UTC)