xp_logs | Jono, Namor | Water, Water Everywhere (Backdated)

Backdated to December 10th, 2024.

Jono wanders into the chapel to find Namor reviewing his compilation of Atlantis research. The two chat about expertise, politics, past assistants, future assistance, and being an ass in this instance.

The office was covered in paper.

Some of it was obviously dated, if given the sheer amount of post it notes and document tabs scattered amidst hand-drawn runes, charcoal on paper illustrations of twisting, sea-carved shapes, and a myriad of star charts and maps. There was also evidence of a number of attempts at organization which stood juxtaposed to the notched focus of the man at the center of the room.

Well. Not a man.

Namor pivoted to grab a folder. He didn't pay much attention to the remnants of his last trip to the ocean's depths that sat carefully on a rolling cart near the room's entrance, today's wormhole business, or the chance that anyone might be lurking in the doorway. Instead, he plucked a pen from behind a pointed ear and notated furiously in a language that wasn't human.

"Are these all about Atlantis?" Jono asked. He'd been wandering, and his feet had brought him to the chapel, which had then led him to the office. "Are they organized in some particular way?"

He didn't like Namor, but curiosity had gotten the better of him and he was going to at least try to be polite for as long as the other man minded his manners.

Namor's blue eyes glinted inhumanly as they tracked in deliberate slow motion from where he had been writing to the doorway. They narrowed.

"Evidence," he corrected, "and memory. Water, water, everywhere, as your people say, and not a drop left of home. Their king will remedy that." There was something mournful in the once-king's voice, and an edge bordering on reverence. He gestured, proudly, at his sprawling collection of paperwork. There was some order apparent, if one squinted, but it was less of a system and more of an idea currently.

"I did allow my assistant to pursue opportunities elsewhere earlier in the year. Regardless. It is my grand responsibility to find my people."

“May I look?” Namor was being pleasant for once, which was immediately suspicious to Jono, but did force him to be polite in turn. “What sort of evidence have you collected? And has it led you anywhere yet?”

Some of the tension drained from the Atlantean immediately at the overture. He set his file down and settled into something like a parade rest. Less tense, sure, but still wary by way of formality. "You have Our permission," he allowed. Namor's voice pitched lower, "It stands incomplete, as the depths are black and deep. We have gained momentum over the last year through the recovery of outposts."

“What alphabet did your people use?” Jono asked, looking through the documents. “Are there similarities to any human languages? Ancient or modern? Or did your assistant have to learn Atlantean directly from you to be of assistance?”

The maps were interesting. He didn’t have much experience with aquatic maps, most of his folkloric mapping had been land based.

"I am no scholar," Namor said with a scoff, like even imagining that was beyond belief. "But our writing was never for lung breathers. Kate Pryde assisted me with the annoyances of this modern age. Details, protocols, impenetrable customs."

"You know," Jono said, trying to keep the snark out of his thoughts. "If you taught someone Atlantean so they could read these they might be able to help you. Different perspectives and all that."

The Atlantean's expression hardened to steel and he let the full weight of it settle on Jono."I know nothing of you. Yet I have read and studied your people's histories -- enough to be cautious. What little I have left of my home is a gift, not a curiosity for the uncommitted."

Jono rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say it should be me who learns it. But surely anyone willing to learn an entire language to help you find your people can’t be considered an ‘uncommitted’. Not all of us are out to get you, some people truly just want to help. Removing the barrier that prevents them from helping to their full potential might prove beneficial to your quest, that’s all I’m saying.”

No wonder Namor hadn’t made much progress.

"Fascinating." The steel faded as Namor leaned ever slightly forward. "You," and he stressed the pronoun again to only Jono, "dare to accuse me of being close-minded and paranoid in a single breath. Typically I am the one seeking to make an art of arrogance." Yet for the severity of his words, Namor didn't seem truly offended. "History proves it is not wise to share too much with white men. Tell me, non-air breather, what expertise could you offer the world to break down barriers?"

"Yes yes and I'm English, categorically evil by virtue of my country of birth." Jono rolled his eyes. "For the record, not that I'm sure you understand humor, but that was a joke. I understand why you're skeptical of anyone who looks and sounds like me."

Jono wished he could smirk, smirking would definitely make his next comment hit different. "You tell me Gills, what do you know about punk and grunge?"

"Gills." The young man's nickname was echoed back with enough impudence to make paint peel. "Understand I am happy to acknowledge humor worth the merit – although, considering your self-claimed nation's monarchy, that might be well worth a laugh. Punk was Britain's nihilistic and pseudo-revolutionary reaction to that, no?"

“It could be nihilistic, I’ll give you that. But members of the subculture were and are frequently participating or leading protests for equality not just in the UK but globally. I’ve never been in charge, but I’ve certainly pushed for change and have done my part in trying to break down the fucking bullshite system the aristocracy put into place to subjugate anyone who doesn’t look, sound, or act like them.” Jono’s gaze was steely. He was so tired of the assumptions that it was all for the aesthetic, that nobody had a fucking spine or principles anymore. That he was a poser just because they’d met him during what Paige had described as a depressive episode.

"Any crown holds an obligation to protect the people," the tall figure delivered with the same inflection another might use for 'good for you' mixed with 'sounds like a personal problem.' Namor was a man who afforded himself the blissful ignorance provided by believing people should really know less about each other. He turned the pencil he still held in small, controlled circles. "Rebellion and challenge breeds a healthy mindset for those granted titles. Keeps the patrician class small. Healthy for everyone, really."

“Then why the fuck don’t they?” Jono snapped. “It’s all bread and circuses to keep us entertained so we don’t notice how they’re fucking us over while paying for their lavish lifestyles with our money. No system that inherently places anyone above another by virtue of who their fucking parents are should exist. No handful of people should be able to subjugate others or continue to enact genocide and colonialism against another group solely because it advantages them. It’s all bullshite.”

Namor shrugged. "I agree there is nothing inherently novel in human blood." His tone was light, like he hadn't really given this thought. "Yet it strikes me that your social system has been constructed to insulate rulers from any real danger instead of putting them on the front line." He waved a hand dismissively. "Where there is no threat, there is no test of leadership."

“Yes well, the threats have been levied against us.” Jono grumbled. “Which is why being part of movements and protests is such a huge part of boundary breaking. Because we’re making ourselves targets of the state.”

It was like explaining modern politics to a baby . . . or an old person who’s last paid attention when John Lennon was still alive.

Namor was neither.

"I regret your system has failed you so," Namor said with surprising earnestness. "Do understand that I neither care for this time, nor wish to be any human's ruler." He gestured wide, once again, to encompass the room. "I have a far nobler purpose."

"Yes, well, even noble purposes often and most especially seem to require help if you want things done correctly." Jono said, not as bitterly as he might have ten minutes prior. If Namor could be pleasant, so could he. "Change is rarely achieved by an individual."

Namor blinked. "How fascinatingly adorable. My participation in Excalibur is no mere indulgence – I have worked to gather allies here for that purpose. I have a team." He stopped then, studying Jono. "What is your expertise, precisely? It cannot be solely nitpicking."

"Research." Technically, his expertise was music, but he was actually very good at research, and had made ample use of the mansion's database access since he'd moved in. "Though, if you have need for a rock musician I could also fill that role."

"Delving into such depraved lungbreather sources. How unpleasant, but not without use. And your ability to think on your feet?"

“I’m alright. I’ve obviously not experienced every possibility and I don’t like to make baseless projections, but I’m usually pretty good.” When did this start feeling like a job interview?

"Hmp. Would require field experience."

“Then get someone else to fucking do it since I’m apparently too new for your liking.” Jono rolled his eyes. He hadn’t even suggested himself for it!

If silence could be sharpened past being merely pointed, Namor let it stretch just enough to cut.

"Everyone starts somewhere," came eventually. "Tell me what you desire here, then, before this idle inquiry grows stale."

"I like to help and I like to learn." Jono said, ignoring of course that he'd come here just because he'd fancied a walk and he'd wandered in this direction. "Obviously, we don't care for each other- but that doesn't mean I won't help you find your home if you ask."

"Trust I value competency over friendship," Namor stated flatly. "Only fools turn down help, but your skill is unproven. It is easy to claim knowledge. I have been stranded in this depths-cursed century, what," and he made a pantomime of counting, "One, five, ten years? Show me some evidence I have yet to find." His eyes flicked toward the door. A subtle hint.

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I never claimed to have knowledge- rather a willingness to acquire it.” Jono snarked. “If you want something from me be specific about it. Or don’t.”

He nearly missed the hint to leave but barely caught it. Rolling his eyes, Jono left the room, thinking loudly about how people should really speak plainly or not at all.

The other man didn't even look to see Jono leave.

"Mammals these days," he bemoaned to no one, "cannot even take up a challenge. Nonsense."