Namor & Mel | To Strike In Anger
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xp_logsBackdated to August 7th. Mel is trying not to be in her feelings after coming back from Kentucky. Namor doesn't let this slide.
This time Mel hadn’t allowed herself to wallow, mostly because she would be fired if she missed any more work, but also to try and quell all her feelings on the situation. She was just so angry. As soon as they’d started to drive away it built up in her. Why were these things always happening to her family? It didn’t seem fair.
It showed in her movements. The tightness in her shoulders that she had trained out of had made a reappearance. Her jaw remained perpetually clenched. An aggressiveness that had been somewhat absent before was fully felt behind every hit. Mel was a live wire.
It also made her clumsy. Anger without direction was a dangerous thing, and after dropping her staff a third time Mel let out a curse under her breath.
Namor watched the staff drop with the sort of removed aplomb someone might use to observe a train wreck in solution motion. The two hung suspended in mid-air, sparring, but it was only after it made a soft "plink!" in the lake that his eyes returned upward to stare flatly at Mel.
"Well," was all he said.
With a huff she floated down to pick it back up. “Sorry, sorry. I know I’m distracted. It’s jus’….” She shook her head and straightened her back. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”
A wave of the hand. "Apologies are useless. Explain . . ." and he bit his lip, searching for the right word. A moment's full scrutiny had him land on a pointed, " . . . this. Undirected, petulant rage." That same hand went to his chest. "I am something of an anger whisperer, you see."
Mel furrowed her brow. “Things… weren’t good when I went back home. It’s jus’ frustrating. Unfair. Why can’t they be safe and happy? Why is it jus’ one thing after another?” It all felt like her fault too. If she had been home, maybe Elle wouldn’t’a run off.
"You are above simple self loathing," Namor said. "Anger is fuel. A tool to be sharpened and pointed at others, but it must be channeled. Try again. Explain what you feel."
She thought on in for a moment, twirling her staff absentmindedly. “…I guess I’m angry at the world? Like there’s people who make a livin’ offa takin’ advantage of others an’ get away with it. It ain’t fair. Good people never seem t’catch a break. Here, back home. There’s always somethin’ happenin’ to ‘em.” Something emotional caught in her voice. It felt stupid and childish to say out loud.
A shrug. "The world has never been fair. You lack a target, unless you mean to burn entire cities. It could be done." A thoughtful pause. "With proper commitment. Would you fashion yourself into a leviathan? Reigning destruction from a dread seat?"
It was really hard to tell if he was joking.
“Yes? No? I don’t know!” Mel exasperated. That was the problem. She didn’t know who to go after to make things right, and when she did there was nothing she could do. In the face of the world’s problems she was just a girl.
"Do not claim," and he voiced pitched with a hint of disgust, "you are simply a girl."
She looked down at the water dejectedly. “I weren’t good enough. My sister got shot, the guy who did it got away, an’ half those damn cultists are allowed t’jus’ go free. I- it-“
Mel stopped herself. “Sorry.” They were still working on the whole self-confidence thing. It was hard for her not to feel small when her powers weren’t flashy or useful compared to so many others at the mansion. Not good enough to save the day nice and neatly. “I ain’t bein’ respectful of you or yer time. I’ll be better.”
The man floating before bit his lip, thoughtful, before setting his own practice weapon to a resting position.
"Strike me," he commanded, an echo of their first match. "Unleash the totality of your fury."
Frowning, Mel floated back a few inches and wound the staff, building momentum. She thought about all the shit that had gone down in the past few months, how it had hurt so many of the people she loved, the sense of helplessness she’d felt.
Sufficiently pissed off again, she lunged like she’d been taught, bringing the staff down on Namor.
It made a loud crack.
The Atlantean had braced himself, but his particular gifts afforded protection against the crushing depths of the sea. He studied her facial journey with interest.
"Channel that feeling," Namor said. "Loathing and shame are useless distractions. Let your wrath scour you of anything that lingers."
Mel gazed down at the two pieces of staff bewildered, before looking up at Namor. She…. she didn’t know she could do that. “Okay, yeah. Yeah. I can do that.”
"Very well. The anger is easy." He looked away as he made a couple of slow, practiced motions with his own weapon. "The challenge lies in knowing when to wield it to devastate those who most deserve to be punished."
“How do you tuck it away though? Keep it from spilling out until that moment?”
Namor's answer was delivered like a man commenting on the weather. "Some claim rigorous self control," and the sky didn't even open up to smite his hubris, "but everyone keeps a monster inside. Once one feeds it, it never quiets."
Mel sucked in a breath through her teeth. Self control….. well lots could be said about her self control. It scared her to think about, and was slightly jarring with how little importance Namor regarded such a statement. As if everyone was so so angry inside and keeping it back. As if such a thing was normal. “….But what if I can’t keep it quiet?”
"Then simply do not. You people," which could have meant land dwellers, lung breathers, citizens of the modern day, "hold back too much. Anger will only ferment to bitterness if left to rot. Better to use it while it still has teeth."
“Huh.” That was an option too, she guessed. “Okay then.” Namor’s wisdom, if unconventional in this modern era, always held a vein of truth.
"Boldly declaring your wrath also ensures your enemies remember your might." He said boldly just like one might say 'loudly.'
It felt like she needed her phone to write all this down. Feel the wrath, announce the wrath, don’t try and hide the wrath. So…. not bottling it all up and never speaking of it then.
Did she even have proper enemies to announce her wrath at?
Namor had continued explaining, in detail, the proper steps, as Mel was mentally constructing a flowchart, but it blended together into a blur of confident proclamation. What next registered, however, was his conclusion: "Then you shall profit. Imperious rex."
"Imperious what?"
“Rex.”
At the risk of sounding stupid, Mel asked “And that means?”
This actually got a chuckle. "Fascinating. You know . . . no one asks. It is a family motto. A promise."
“What’s it promising?"
Namor opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. Instead, any cheer in his expression paled as he looked for what to say. "I could be persuaded to drown your hometown in a new inland sea. A small favor, just this once."
Mel took the hint. "Awful kind of ya to offer, but there are people there I like. Next time, maybe." She spun one of her pieces of staff. "C'mon, we've still got some time left. Impart more of your knowledge and wisdom upon me, o great and noble teacher."
This time Mel hadn’t allowed herself to wallow, mostly because she would be fired if she missed any more work, but also to try and quell all her feelings on the situation. She was just so angry. As soon as they’d started to drive away it built up in her. Why were these things always happening to her family? It didn’t seem fair.
It showed in her movements. The tightness in her shoulders that she had trained out of had made a reappearance. Her jaw remained perpetually clenched. An aggressiveness that had been somewhat absent before was fully felt behind every hit. Mel was a live wire.
It also made her clumsy. Anger without direction was a dangerous thing, and after dropping her staff a third time Mel let out a curse under her breath.
Namor watched the staff drop with the sort of removed aplomb someone might use to observe a train wreck in solution motion. The two hung suspended in mid-air, sparring, but it was only after it made a soft "plink!" in the lake that his eyes returned upward to stare flatly at Mel.
"Well," was all he said.
With a huff she floated down to pick it back up. “Sorry, sorry. I know I’m distracted. It’s jus’….” She shook her head and straightened her back. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”
A wave of the hand. "Apologies are useless. Explain . . ." and he bit his lip, searching for the right word. A moment's full scrutiny had him land on a pointed, " . . . this. Undirected, petulant rage." That same hand went to his chest. "I am something of an anger whisperer, you see."
Mel furrowed her brow. “Things… weren’t good when I went back home. It’s jus’ frustrating. Unfair. Why can’t they be safe and happy? Why is it jus’ one thing after another?” It all felt like her fault too. If she had been home, maybe Elle wouldn’t’a run off.
"You are above simple self loathing," Namor said. "Anger is fuel. A tool to be sharpened and pointed at others, but it must be channeled. Try again. Explain what you feel."
She thought on in for a moment, twirling her staff absentmindedly. “…I guess I’m angry at the world? Like there’s people who make a livin’ offa takin’ advantage of others an’ get away with it. It ain’t fair. Good people never seem t’catch a break. Here, back home. There’s always somethin’ happenin’ to ‘em.” Something emotional caught in her voice. It felt stupid and childish to say out loud.
A shrug. "The world has never been fair. You lack a target, unless you mean to burn entire cities. It could be done." A thoughtful pause. "With proper commitment. Would you fashion yourself into a leviathan? Reigning destruction from a dread seat?"
It was really hard to tell if he was joking.
“Yes? No? I don’t know!” Mel exasperated. That was the problem. She didn’t know who to go after to make things right, and when she did there was nothing she could do. In the face of the world’s problems she was just a girl.
"Do not claim," and he voiced pitched with a hint of disgust, "you are simply a girl."
She looked down at the water dejectedly. “I weren’t good enough. My sister got shot, the guy who did it got away, an’ half those damn cultists are allowed t’jus’ go free. I- it-“
Mel stopped herself. “Sorry.” They were still working on the whole self-confidence thing. It was hard for her not to feel small when her powers weren’t flashy or useful compared to so many others at the mansion. Not good enough to save the day nice and neatly. “I ain’t bein’ respectful of you or yer time. I’ll be better.”
The man floating before bit his lip, thoughtful, before setting his own practice weapon to a resting position.
"Strike me," he commanded, an echo of their first match. "Unleash the totality of your fury."
Frowning, Mel floated back a few inches and wound the staff, building momentum. She thought about all the shit that had gone down in the past few months, how it had hurt so many of the people she loved, the sense of helplessness she’d felt.
Sufficiently pissed off again, she lunged like she’d been taught, bringing the staff down on Namor.
It made a loud crack.
The Atlantean had braced himself, but his particular gifts afforded protection against the crushing depths of the sea. He studied her facial journey with interest.
"Channel that feeling," Namor said. "Loathing and shame are useless distractions. Let your wrath scour you of anything that lingers."
Mel gazed down at the two pieces of staff bewildered, before looking up at Namor. She…. she didn’t know she could do that. “Okay, yeah. Yeah. I can do that.”
"Very well. The anger is easy." He looked away as he made a couple of slow, practiced motions with his own weapon. "The challenge lies in knowing when to wield it to devastate those who most deserve to be punished."
“How do you tuck it away though? Keep it from spilling out until that moment?”
Namor's answer was delivered like a man commenting on the weather. "Some claim rigorous self control," and the sky didn't even open up to smite his hubris, "but everyone keeps a monster inside. Once one feeds it, it never quiets."
Mel sucked in a breath through her teeth. Self control….. well lots could be said about her self control. It scared her to think about, and was slightly jarring with how little importance Namor regarded such a statement. As if everyone was so so angry inside and keeping it back. As if such a thing was normal. “….But what if I can’t keep it quiet?”
"Then simply do not. You people," which could have meant land dwellers, lung breathers, citizens of the modern day, "hold back too much. Anger will only ferment to bitterness if left to rot. Better to use it while it still has teeth."
“Huh.” That was an option too, she guessed. “Okay then.” Namor’s wisdom, if unconventional in this modern era, always held a vein of truth.
"Boldly declaring your wrath also ensures your enemies remember your might." He said boldly just like one might say 'loudly.'
It felt like she needed her phone to write all this down. Feel the wrath, announce the wrath, don’t try and hide the wrath. So…. not bottling it all up and never speaking of it then.
Did she even have proper enemies to announce her wrath at?
Namor had continued explaining, in detail, the proper steps, as Mel was mentally constructing a flowchart, but it blended together into a blur of confident proclamation. What next registered, however, was his conclusion: "Then you shall profit. Imperious rex."
"Imperious what?"
“Rex.”
At the risk of sounding stupid, Mel asked “And that means?”
This actually got a chuckle. "Fascinating. You know . . . no one asks. It is a family motto. A promise."
“What’s it promising?"
Namor opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. Instead, any cheer in his expression paled as he looked for what to say. "I could be persuaded to drown your hometown in a new inland sea. A small favor, just this once."
Mel took the hint. "Awful kind of ya to offer, but there are people there I like. Next time, maybe." She spun one of her pieces of staff. "C'mon, we've still got some time left. Impart more of your knowledge and wisdom upon me, o great and noble teacher."
