Paige & Namor | Mace Training
May. 14th, 2024 02:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsPaige finds Namor and asks him about the birthday present he gave her.
“It appears Our gift was not enough."
There are several ways to make any chair into a throne. A matter of posture and bearing, sure, mixed with the impression of unshakable confidence and a splash of delight in the position held. The chair itself only helped, but whatever Namor was doing in the patio chair on the lakehouse patio was some royal performance that could have just as easily been an emperor judging the fate of gladiators below. Despite the wicker of it all.
The Atlantean stood as his guest neared, even though Namor the first was only out here on the request of the woman before him. A concession. He waved a hand in an arc that was somehow both a bow and an allowance. "If it was unsuited," he said, "Reparations can be made."
Paige walked up to the patio carrying the honestly rather heavy mace that had been on the pile of presents at her birthday party. It had certainly been the most surprising part of the night. She let the head of the mace rest on the ground when she reached the edge of the patio. “No, it’s not uh…unsuited. I just don’t know how to use something like this. I was hoping you could teach me? Or tell me who could?”
Namor's second eyebrow rose to meet the first as he studied both her and the mace. "Paige Elizabeth Guthrie," he said in the same, measured tone, "I am afraid I will require more than that. You see, I know only what has been shared with me by your sister. Sit." There was another gesture at an open chair. "My gift was never a promise. Convince me."
Now it was Paige’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Well, if you can’t do it, just say so. Would have saved me a trip carrying this thing all the way out here.” She was curious to find out why Mel had told this man her middle name of all things, but that wasn’t a priority at the moment.
"The thing is," Namor said without even a blink, "that will not work on me. Try again." This was paired with a small smile that did not meet his eyes, but was not entirely unfriendly.
Hmm. She thought for sure that would work, given that Namor seemed to think highly of himself and his abilities. “Why give this to me if I’m not meant to use it? And who better to teach me than the person who gave it to me?” Paige leaned on the handle of the mace. Maybe a genuine appeal would work better. If he was waiting for her to prove something to him, he was going to have to be more direct about what he expected.
His smile twitched. "I see. An academic." This was not presented as a good thing. "Do I strike you as someone that needs to be convinced of my own ability or value? Let me rephrase, but I will not ask again: what do you wish to achieve through this?" A gesture indicated the mace, but the generalization in his tone indicated that it was easily also this meeting. Their relationship. This this.
“…to learn how to use a mace.” Paige thought that had been obvious. “Y’know. So I can protect myself and others.” Of course, if this didn’t work out, she could always find a way to mount it as a cool decoration for the wall. Or use as a cool prop whenever she got around to a D&D campaign again.
"Is that what you are, Paige Guthrie? A protector?" He folded his arms, and the slightest sneer marred his civility. "No one in the age reaches to strive for anything. Too many options, too many choices. You are all paralyzed. A weapon is only a tool."
Paige frowned. “I’ll have you know, I’m striving for plenty. I’m working on my PhD and I’m going to be a psychologist. Just because learning how to use this weapon, which I didn’t ask for by the way, isn’t my priority doesn’t mean I don’t have goals.”
Namor remained unmoved. "Tell me more of these goals."
“Currently, it’s to find an internship that fits my needs. But on a larger scale, I want to complete my doctorate and open up my own practice to help mutants, since that seems to be a necessity.” Paige picked at the back of her hand. “I want to help make sure everyone gets the support they need and no one has to go through something scary alone.”
"So, a defender." His intensity didn't uncletch, specifically, but it was clear that the Atlantean had finally found something worth focusing on. "Protecting and healing the minds of others is a noble pursuit. You have a goal. Good." Namor nodded back in the direction of the mansion. "Indulge me further, if you would," and that cocky smile was back, "tell me why I agreed to train your sister."
“Don’t know you particularly well,” Paige said, eyeing Namor up and down, “but I’m assuming because you’re pretty good at combat if you’re giving out weapons as gifts and you got wings on your feet which I guess means you can fly at least a little bit, which is helpful for Mel.” She looked up at his face and raised an eyebrow. “Did I pass?”
"How adorably ridiculous," he dismissed with a wave of a hand. "We both share a gift, yes, but your sister is dangerously young and directionless. This mutant militia of Xavier's may not know how to prepare for the war that looms, but one thing I have learned here is what it will do with the young and directionless. My gift to Mel is a way to make her own decisions. To rely on herself."
“Sure, ok.” Paige was only following most of this conversation. “What does that have to do with teaching me to use the weapon you gave me?”
"I," Namor didn't echo her way of speaking, but the mirror was intentional, "do not know you particularly well. It is traditional to give something useful — aspirational — to celebrate one's birth in Atlantis. That was meant to be the message you have yet to comment on." He paused to underscore that point. "The mace was simply on theme — a gag — yet this line of questioning makes me think you excel at bludgeoning someone into submission."
Paige smiled. “So what I hear is, I’m winning.” Strange as Namor was, this conversation was fun, like bickering with her siblings but entertaining. “Where did you get this, anyway? Online shopping? Mail order catalog?”
A sound that began life as a scoff was combined with pride and amusement before it came out from Namor, giving the impression that he'd be straightening his tie if he was wearing a shirt. "Please," he said, "perhaps I am merely maneuvering you in the direction I desire. You are the most ambitious of your siblings, afterall. That is useful, and what better way to feed ambition than with praise?" A sly smile played across his features with just a flash of teeth.
This posturing faded a bit as his eyes moved back to the mace. "I cannot be bothered to remember. I was asked to stock our armory for Excalibur, and despite my benevolence my taste in weaponry was deemed a bit too . . . medieval."
“It fit the theme of the party at least.” Paige leaned the handle of the mace on her hip and stretched her arms above her head. Looking out over the water, she thought about how she should spend more time out here now that the weather was warmer.
“If your ‘direction’ involves lesson, I’m happy to follow. Otherwise, I have reading I should be getting back to. Are you going to give me a straight answer this time?” She looked back at Namor with a challenge in her eyes. Answer her request, or she was leaving.
"I am a man of my word, human," was Namor's immediate answer. A rebuke. "Know that I have made no promises to this militia to arm or instruct their youth. My very attention should be viewed as a privilege." He paused. "Tomorrow at sunrise. I must first determine if you can be taught, and my instruction will be demanding. Nothing tailored to the softness of this age."
"Someone thinks highly of himself," Paige muttered to herself. Louder, she added, "Great, see you then." She wasn't much of a morning person, but she was looking forward to tomorrow morning.
“It appears Our gift was not enough."
There are several ways to make any chair into a throne. A matter of posture and bearing, sure, mixed with the impression of unshakable confidence and a splash of delight in the position held. The chair itself only helped, but whatever Namor was doing in the patio chair on the lakehouse patio was some royal performance that could have just as easily been an emperor judging the fate of gladiators below. Despite the wicker of it all.
The Atlantean stood as his guest neared, even though Namor the first was only out here on the request of the woman before him. A concession. He waved a hand in an arc that was somehow both a bow and an allowance. "If it was unsuited," he said, "Reparations can be made."
Paige walked up to the patio carrying the honestly rather heavy mace that had been on the pile of presents at her birthday party. It had certainly been the most surprising part of the night. She let the head of the mace rest on the ground when she reached the edge of the patio. “No, it’s not uh…unsuited. I just don’t know how to use something like this. I was hoping you could teach me? Or tell me who could?”
Namor's second eyebrow rose to meet the first as he studied both her and the mace. "Paige Elizabeth Guthrie," he said in the same, measured tone, "I am afraid I will require more than that. You see, I know only what has been shared with me by your sister. Sit." There was another gesture at an open chair. "My gift was never a promise. Convince me."
Now it was Paige’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Well, if you can’t do it, just say so. Would have saved me a trip carrying this thing all the way out here.” She was curious to find out why Mel had told this man her middle name of all things, but that wasn’t a priority at the moment.
"The thing is," Namor said without even a blink, "that will not work on me. Try again." This was paired with a small smile that did not meet his eyes, but was not entirely unfriendly.
Hmm. She thought for sure that would work, given that Namor seemed to think highly of himself and his abilities. “Why give this to me if I’m not meant to use it? And who better to teach me than the person who gave it to me?” Paige leaned on the handle of the mace. Maybe a genuine appeal would work better. If he was waiting for her to prove something to him, he was going to have to be more direct about what he expected.
His smile twitched. "I see. An academic." This was not presented as a good thing. "Do I strike you as someone that needs to be convinced of my own ability or value? Let me rephrase, but I will not ask again: what do you wish to achieve through this?" A gesture indicated the mace, but the generalization in his tone indicated that it was easily also this meeting. Their relationship. This this.
“…to learn how to use a mace.” Paige thought that had been obvious. “Y’know. So I can protect myself and others.” Of course, if this didn’t work out, she could always find a way to mount it as a cool decoration for the wall. Or use as a cool prop whenever she got around to a D&D campaign again.
"Is that what you are, Paige Guthrie? A protector?" He folded his arms, and the slightest sneer marred his civility. "No one in the age reaches to strive for anything. Too many options, too many choices. You are all paralyzed. A weapon is only a tool."
Paige frowned. “I’ll have you know, I’m striving for plenty. I’m working on my PhD and I’m going to be a psychologist. Just because learning how to use this weapon, which I didn’t ask for by the way, isn’t my priority doesn’t mean I don’t have goals.”
Namor remained unmoved. "Tell me more of these goals."
“Currently, it’s to find an internship that fits my needs. But on a larger scale, I want to complete my doctorate and open up my own practice to help mutants, since that seems to be a necessity.” Paige picked at the back of her hand. “I want to help make sure everyone gets the support they need and no one has to go through something scary alone.”
"So, a defender." His intensity didn't uncletch, specifically, but it was clear that the Atlantean had finally found something worth focusing on. "Protecting and healing the minds of others is a noble pursuit. You have a goal. Good." Namor nodded back in the direction of the mansion. "Indulge me further, if you would," and that cocky smile was back, "tell me why I agreed to train your sister."
“Don’t know you particularly well,” Paige said, eyeing Namor up and down, “but I’m assuming because you’re pretty good at combat if you’re giving out weapons as gifts and you got wings on your feet which I guess means you can fly at least a little bit, which is helpful for Mel.” She looked up at his face and raised an eyebrow. “Did I pass?”
"How adorably ridiculous," he dismissed with a wave of a hand. "We both share a gift, yes, but your sister is dangerously young and directionless. This mutant militia of Xavier's may not know how to prepare for the war that looms, but one thing I have learned here is what it will do with the young and directionless. My gift to Mel is a way to make her own decisions. To rely on herself."
“Sure, ok.” Paige was only following most of this conversation. “What does that have to do with teaching me to use the weapon you gave me?”
"I," Namor didn't echo her way of speaking, but the mirror was intentional, "do not know you particularly well. It is traditional to give something useful — aspirational — to celebrate one's birth in Atlantis. That was meant to be the message you have yet to comment on." He paused to underscore that point. "The mace was simply on theme — a gag — yet this line of questioning makes me think you excel at bludgeoning someone into submission."
Paige smiled. “So what I hear is, I’m winning.” Strange as Namor was, this conversation was fun, like bickering with her siblings but entertaining. “Where did you get this, anyway? Online shopping? Mail order catalog?”
A sound that began life as a scoff was combined with pride and amusement before it came out from Namor, giving the impression that he'd be straightening his tie if he was wearing a shirt. "Please," he said, "perhaps I am merely maneuvering you in the direction I desire. You are the most ambitious of your siblings, afterall. That is useful, and what better way to feed ambition than with praise?" A sly smile played across his features with just a flash of teeth.
This posturing faded a bit as his eyes moved back to the mace. "I cannot be bothered to remember. I was asked to stock our armory for Excalibur, and despite my benevolence my taste in weaponry was deemed a bit too . . . medieval."
“It fit the theme of the party at least.” Paige leaned the handle of the mace on her hip and stretched her arms above her head. Looking out over the water, she thought about how she should spend more time out here now that the weather was warmer.
“If your ‘direction’ involves lesson, I’m happy to follow. Otherwise, I have reading I should be getting back to. Are you going to give me a straight answer this time?” She looked back at Namor with a challenge in her eyes. Answer her request, or she was leaving.
"I am a man of my word, human," was Namor's immediate answer. A rebuke. "Know that I have made no promises to this militia to arm or instruct their youth. My very attention should be viewed as a privilege." He paused. "Tomorrow at sunrise. I must first determine if you can be taught, and my instruction will be demanding. Nothing tailored to the softness of this age."
"Someone thinks highly of himself," Paige muttered to herself. Louder, she added, "Great, see you then." She wasn't much of a morning person, but she was looking forward to tomorrow morning.
