Mel & Namor | Owning the Wind
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xp_logsMel encounters Namor out on the flyer’s perch in the small hours of the morning, and they talk about the gift of flight.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Well, it was night at least. Which is, understandably, defined by its darkness. There were few stars in the sky and the moon had taken a vacation for the evening, and the ominous gloom of storm clouds only added to the ambience outside of the flyer's perch. That was a thin ramp, but a long time back the existence of fliers had given some intrepid Xavier sponsored contractor the idea to create a natural extension for those gifted few to have a quick in and out closer to the sky.
Except for one figure that was ruining the dark part of the aforementioned cliché. She glowed.
A far away flash lighting revealed that the girl sitting forlorn on the perch wasn't alone. Another figure, looming, hung in the air against the dark. He was frowning and serious, but that was masked by the time of day and the cloud cover.
"It is bold of you to trespass in our domain," came in a low rumble, also notably dark and stormy in less concrete ways than the weather.
“What th- ‘scuse me?” Mel exclaimed, shifting up from her perch. She stood and hovered slightly to illuminate her company. “Who are you?”
Mel's inherent illumination revealed what the clouds hid in their darkness — a sharp, muscular figure hovering in mid air by what seemed to be the grace of four tiny, blurred wings. He was a thing of edges, clad in only a pair of workout tights, and his sclera were as black as the ocean's depths. Namor held his head high, posture stiff.
"We are the Master of the Sky and the Depths, child. We are the star that the promise of Atlantis orbits. The wind is our's."
“Okay, sure. I’m Mel.” This place once again found her out of her element. One couldn’t even chill on a roof without being accosted by someone speaking all biblical-like. “Nice to meet ya- I think.”
"Correct," and Namor's countenance softened at the perceived acknowledgement, "It is your privilege, Mel." He said her name like it was missing syllables and simply needed to be drawn (and possibly quartered). Meeeellll.
No, no. That would not go. "Mel. Only . . . Mel."
“Yeah, jus’ Mel. Unless yer my mother or my brother.” She tilted her head at the man’s accent. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard. “Yer not from ‘round here either, huh? What was your name again?”
Another long stare, but apparently "'jus Mel" was catching. There wasn't another dramatic flash of lightning, but the figure was suddenly less of an impending course of judgment from the heavens and more of a man. "Namor. I am from nowhere anyone chooses to remember. We share a gift, you and I."
“A gift?” Mel asked, releasing tension in her shoulders she didn’t realize she was keeping. Namor wasn’t going to hurt her. (Maybe. He did live in the mansion, right? It would be a bit awkward if he didn’t).
"I was once taught that true diplomacy," he stated with a cock of the head, "is about communicating in a shared language." Namor took a deep breath, like this would be a physically exhausting task. His strange accent flattened, and the Atlantean tried to curb the sharpness of command that was so ingrained in how he approached the world. "Dude our powers are similar! That’s sick!"
A laugh bubbled up in Mel’s chest. Lord, she was way too tired for this. Maybe the whole not sleeping thing was catching up to her after all. “Yeah, flyin’ is totally sick, dude.”
Namor shook his head. "It is more than that. My people, you see, we were born to the sea. Promised to the waves, just as humans are condemned to the dirt. I was a child born to both — ears that pointed to the heavens, and the wings to take me there." He stopped himself and took a steadying breath. "The sky is a place neither of our peoples have dominion over. It is freedom. The winds are our right, the clouds our kingdom."
“Huh,” Mel said. “It’s different when you say it like that.” She wasn’t sure she agreed that everyone else was condemned, but flying was freedom. When she was in the air, Mel could do anything, be anyone. All her problems seemed so small from up above.
He wasn’t finished. "Then tell me, why did I find you with your feet on the ground?"
Mel looked out into the dark. Because she was tired. Because it was the middle of the night and she was a flying glow stick. She knew this wasn’t what Namor wanted to hear though. He wanted the itching feeling in the back of her mind ever since the night in the woods. The reason why she hadn’t gone flying with Sam or Jay yet. Why she just sat on the roof most nights.
“Because what if I ain’t the kind of person who deserves somethin’ so miraculous? I can’t fall when it’s taken away if I’m already on the ground.”
Namor's eyes snapped to her's, light refracting like something not quite human. "Fear and doubt are chains forged by lesser men. They only exist to limit those with true power, in an age that already finds any reason to limit those without." His expression tightened. "This world will never give what you deserve. You must take it."
She mulled over his words, but one thing echoed loudest no matter how hard she tried to push it away.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
“I guess. Yer probably right,” Mel looked down to pick at a hangnail. A nervous tick. Mama always scolded her for it. “I don’ know.”
"Mel," which was stated both like 'fool' and, somehow, a promise at the same time, "Tell me who would know." It was a potential promise of vengeance, as if Namor would go and teach this Lord a lesson.
Silence stretched out between them in lieu of an answer. Mel didn’t have one.
"Come with me." He did not hold out a hand, but it was implied. Namor increased his hovering height a couple feet to really drive the message home.
Mel followed, because what else could she do? She’d spent the better part of the last week grounded to that roof. If her powers decided to fail again, then at least Namor might catch her.
One foot, then the other, and they were both soaring. Namor continued to ascend — up and up and up — until the mansion was in miniature, then a dot, until it was lost beneath the haze of cloud cover.
“It’s beautiful.” The sky was a never ending pool of moonlight and darkness. It took Mel’s breath away. She had never been up this high or glowed this brightly. If anyone below could see, they might have thought she was a star.
The other man hung, arms still crossed, like a dark opposite — a moon to her star. "Here is where we belong. The privilege that we few can truly can only appreciate. It is not given, or earned. This is our domain." A snarl crossed over his lips. "You cannot let others tell you who you are, or you will only fall."
“I think I understand.” And she did. The crystallized breath in front of her and the heavens above and the lightning below. Men with wings and men without. Miracles. Faith. Mel understood faith. She’d had faith in so many, so much. Maybe it was time she extended that faith to herself.
“I think you will,” he agreed.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Well, it was night at least. Which is, understandably, defined by its darkness. There were few stars in the sky and the moon had taken a vacation for the evening, and the ominous gloom of storm clouds only added to the ambience outside of the flyer's perch. That was a thin ramp, but a long time back the existence of fliers had given some intrepid Xavier sponsored contractor the idea to create a natural extension for those gifted few to have a quick in and out closer to the sky.
Except for one figure that was ruining the dark part of the aforementioned cliché. She glowed.
A far away flash lighting revealed that the girl sitting forlorn on the perch wasn't alone. Another figure, looming, hung in the air against the dark. He was frowning and serious, but that was masked by the time of day and the cloud cover.
"It is bold of you to trespass in our domain," came in a low rumble, also notably dark and stormy in less concrete ways than the weather.
“What th- ‘scuse me?” Mel exclaimed, shifting up from her perch. She stood and hovered slightly to illuminate her company. “Who are you?”
Mel's inherent illumination revealed what the clouds hid in their darkness — a sharp, muscular figure hovering in mid air by what seemed to be the grace of four tiny, blurred wings. He was a thing of edges, clad in only a pair of workout tights, and his sclera were as black as the ocean's depths. Namor held his head high, posture stiff.
"We are the Master of the Sky and the Depths, child. We are the star that the promise of Atlantis orbits. The wind is our's."
“Okay, sure. I’m Mel.” This place once again found her out of her element. One couldn’t even chill on a roof without being accosted by someone speaking all biblical-like. “Nice to meet ya- I think.”
"Correct," and Namor's countenance softened at the perceived acknowledgement, "It is your privilege, Mel." He said her name like it was missing syllables and simply needed to be drawn (and possibly quartered). Meeeellll.
No, no. That would not go. "Mel. Only . . . Mel."
“Yeah, jus’ Mel. Unless yer my mother or my brother.” She tilted her head at the man’s accent. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard. “Yer not from ‘round here either, huh? What was your name again?”
Another long stare, but apparently "'jus Mel" was catching. There wasn't another dramatic flash of lightning, but the figure was suddenly less of an impending course of judgment from the heavens and more of a man. "Namor. I am from nowhere anyone chooses to remember. We share a gift, you and I."
“A gift?” Mel asked, releasing tension in her shoulders she didn’t realize she was keeping. Namor wasn’t going to hurt her. (Maybe. He did live in the mansion, right? It would be a bit awkward if he didn’t).
"I was once taught that true diplomacy," he stated with a cock of the head, "is about communicating in a shared language." Namor took a deep breath, like this would be a physically exhausting task. His strange accent flattened, and the Atlantean tried to curb the sharpness of command that was so ingrained in how he approached the world. "Dude our powers are similar! That’s sick!"
A laugh bubbled up in Mel’s chest. Lord, she was way too tired for this. Maybe the whole not sleeping thing was catching up to her after all. “Yeah, flyin’ is totally sick, dude.”
Namor shook his head. "It is more than that. My people, you see, we were born to the sea. Promised to the waves, just as humans are condemned to the dirt. I was a child born to both — ears that pointed to the heavens, and the wings to take me there." He stopped himself and took a steadying breath. "The sky is a place neither of our peoples have dominion over. It is freedom. The winds are our right, the clouds our kingdom."
“Huh,” Mel said. “It’s different when you say it like that.” She wasn’t sure she agreed that everyone else was condemned, but flying was freedom. When she was in the air, Mel could do anything, be anyone. All her problems seemed so small from up above.
He wasn’t finished. "Then tell me, why did I find you with your feet on the ground?"
Mel looked out into the dark. Because she was tired. Because it was the middle of the night and she was a flying glow stick. She knew this wasn’t what Namor wanted to hear though. He wanted the itching feeling in the back of her mind ever since the night in the woods. The reason why she hadn’t gone flying with Sam or Jay yet. Why she just sat on the roof most nights.
“Because what if I ain’t the kind of person who deserves somethin’ so miraculous? I can’t fall when it’s taken away if I’m already on the ground.”
Namor's eyes snapped to her's, light refracting like something not quite human. "Fear and doubt are chains forged by lesser men. They only exist to limit those with true power, in an age that already finds any reason to limit those without." His expression tightened. "This world will never give what you deserve. You must take it."
She mulled over his words, but one thing echoed loudest no matter how hard she tried to push it away.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
“I guess. Yer probably right,” Mel looked down to pick at a hangnail. A nervous tick. Mama always scolded her for it. “I don’ know.”
"Mel," which was stated both like 'fool' and, somehow, a promise at the same time, "Tell me who would know." It was a potential promise of vengeance, as if Namor would go and teach this Lord a lesson.
Silence stretched out between them in lieu of an answer. Mel didn’t have one.
"Come with me." He did not hold out a hand, but it was implied. Namor increased his hovering height a couple feet to really drive the message home.
Mel followed, because what else could she do? She’d spent the better part of the last week grounded to that roof. If her powers decided to fail again, then at least Namor might catch her.
One foot, then the other, and they were both soaring. Namor continued to ascend — up and up and up — until the mansion was in miniature, then a dot, until it was lost beneath the haze of cloud cover.
“It’s beautiful.” The sky was a never ending pool of moonlight and darkness. It took Mel’s breath away. She had never been up this high or glowed this brightly. If anyone below could see, they might have thought she was a star.
The other man hung, arms still crossed, like a dark opposite — a moon to her star. "Here is where we belong. The privilege that we few can truly can only appreciate. It is not given, or earned. This is our domain." A snarl crossed over his lips. "You cannot let others tell you who you are, or you will only fall."
“I think I understand.” And she did. The crystallized breath in front of her and the heavens above and the lightning below. Men with wings and men without. Miracles. Faith. Mel understood faith. She’d had faith in so many, so much. Maybe it was time she extended that faith to herself.
“I think you will,” he agreed.
