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xp_logsClea brings Namor as her +1 to the Paris HFC. They talk about the real reason why they were there.
December 21st, the mark of Winter Solstice, the longest day of the year, one of the biggest events for the Paris HFC Courts. Gold and Silver covered the room and those from their respected Courts wore similar colors.
Clea wore a gold dress with a splash of black and her red hair was done up and adorned with more black and gold pieces. She was getting used to these parties, as she has been to several this year, but this one was different. It was her first one attending and she was asked to bring a partner. Clea couldn't think of anyone more suited for this event than the one she was standing next to her. Looking up at him, "Thanks for agreeing to this Namor."
Namor glanced down at Clea, all bare chest and his own colors in deliberate disregard for the room’s gold-and-silver vanity. For all of her carefulness, he instead dared the room to ask him if he belonged. The answer would be a cool line of Atlantean flicked their way — something that sounded polite if one didn’t speak it, and very much not if one did.
Then, to Clea, low enough to be intimate without losing any edge:
"Agreeing is a generous interpretation," he said. "Your Courts insisted on a partner. I would be remiss to let you arrive alone and force every minor sorcerer here into a crisis of confidence. Consider my presence a corrective."
He offered her his arm with a courtly flourish entirely at odds with his lack of a shirt.
"Come. You deserve admiration. I will simply . . . provide scale."
Clea smirked, "I'll take that as 'You're welcome, Clea.'" She knew that his presence would draw attention of others, especially of the inner courts. It was hard not to look at him with his bare chest for all to see. Clea took his arm and had a devilish smile, "I am sure you will provide more than that Namor. Shall we grab a drink and make the rounds?"
Namor adjusted the fall of his coat, which was a sharp, asymmetrical piece that was half-tailored blazer, half-fluid poncho. It settled around him like a quiet verdict. He surveyed the gold and silver of the Court with a faint, knowing smile.
"In my people’s traditions,” he continued as if he didn't hear her question, "these colors belong to mourning. Yet here they are used for spectacle." A beat. "Curious how some cultures turn grief into spectacle when they are unbothered by its cost."
His gaze returned to the sorceress.
"You did not bring me here to linger decoratively by a bar," Namor said. "If you want me to be your blade tonight, name the target. I am never offended by being wielded, Clea. I only expect honesty in the hand that grips the hilt."
Clea looked around and thought about Namor's words. "Much of Atlantean culture was lost. The last time I visited their Library I saw a few tomes but I was so busy looking for anything regarding the Road I didn't have time to look." She smiled again at Namor's words. "Of course I would like to show you off. I am already in the Outer Courts, but I am looking to get into the Inner Courts." She said as she picked up a glass of champagne from the bar. "Since emerging from the Witches' Road my magical powers have shifted which did gain me some attention, but my goal is much higher than just attention. I want access to information without needing permission. I would like a higher seat within the court."
Namor took the champagne flute from her hand without asking, weighed it between two fingers, then set it on the nearest passing tray as though removing a distraction from a student.
"Ambition." His voice curved around the word appraisingly. “At last you speak plainly. These 'Courts' will applaud your beauty, your dress, your talent,” he said. “They will never fear you. And without fear — or its refined cousin, respect — you will remain a guest at their table, not a contender.”
He let his gaze drift across the glittering room.
"You want a higher seat? Do not merely seek permission or follow rules. Manufacture a moment in which you become indispensable. Make them realize that excluding you is a liability. The inner circles of the truly elite reward inevitability, not diligence."
Clea eyes scanned the crowd as Namor talked to her. He was good at giving her a prep talk for sure. "There is something that I haven't really indulged in telling others. Only a few know." She looked back at him. "I did tell you after the Witches' Road, my power grew. I learned that the Ancient One had put a seal on me which broke. I have a connection to my birth world in terms of harnessing that power. I am still re-learning my limits but it has put me at odds with others who wish to put a muzzle on me. I refuse. And I won't let anyone here do the same."
Her blue eyes turned back to him, there was a flicker of purple flames in them for just a moment. "There are two positions available within the Inner Court at the end of the Solstice. We just had a celebration for the new Queen and King early this year, but the inner court is a start. Gold Rook is my current mentor. They would be the easiest."
"Gold Rook," he said. Namor's eyes took on a dangerous distance. "Good. Good. The easiest targets are always the ones closest. Trust can be a weakness."
He leaned in just enough that the weight of him pressed into the space between them.
"Seats are not granted, Clea. They are taken."
Clea nodded. He was right. Even if it was shown as a placement granted, if you wanted something within HFC, you had to make moves. Clea saw this as an opportunity to further her position and gain access to information. As a Witness she was privy to some of that information but needed to be granted access or permission. As Rook, it meant she would be trusted to just use it.
"You forget one thing, Namor, Trust can also be used as a strength. Being consistent, using empathy, keeping an open dialogue and trusting in my own capabilities." Clea spotted the current aging Gold Rook talking to some guests, "There he is. Shall I use you? We might even get an invite to the after-after party."
Namor’s mouth curved — not a smile, precisely, but more a creature from the depths doing their best impression of a primate gesture. A show of teeth.
"Empathy," he said, tasting the word. "Yes. A tool best by learning when not to use it." Still, tracked the Gold Rook with lazy precision, already measuring angles and openings. "Consistency is how one convinces a court you are safe. Yet power is how you convince them you are inevitable."
He offered his arm again, this time with less flourish.
"By all means," he murmured. “Use me. Lead on, Rook-in-waiting."
Clea took his arm and made her way across the room to where the current Gold Rook mingled with others. "Bonjour Monsieur Enzo. This is my companion for the festivities - Namor. A confidant of mine." Her blue eyes shifted a bit. "I wanted you to meet him before your retirement. You will find his interests in ancient magics - unparalleled." Enzo looked intrigued and turned to introduce himself and thus began the longest night.
December 21st, the mark of Winter Solstice, the longest day of the year, one of the biggest events for the Paris HFC Courts. Gold and Silver covered the room and those from their respected Courts wore similar colors.
Clea wore a gold dress with a splash of black and her red hair was done up and adorned with more black and gold pieces. She was getting used to these parties, as she has been to several this year, but this one was different. It was her first one attending and she was asked to bring a partner. Clea couldn't think of anyone more suited for this event than the one she was standing next to her. Looking up at him, "Thanks for agreeing to this Namor."
Namor glanced down at Clea, all bare chest and his own colors in deliberate disregard for the room’s gold-and-silver vanity. For all of her carefulness, he instead dared the room to ask him if he belonged. The answer would be a cool line of Atlantean flicked their way — something that sounded polite if one didn’t speak it, and very much not if one did.
Then, to Clea, low enough to be intimate without losing any edge:
"Agreeing is a generous interpretation," he said. "Your Courts insisted on a partner. I would be remiss to let you arrive alone and force every minor sorcerer here into a crisis of confidence. Consider my presence a corrective."
He offered her his arm with a courtly flourish entirely at odds with his lack of a shirt.
"Come. You deserve admiration. I will simply . . . provide scale."
Clea smirked, "I'll take that as 'You're welcome, Clea.'" She knew that his presence would draw attention of others, especially of the inner courts. It was hard not to look at him with his bare chest for all to see. Clea took his arm and had a devilish smile, "I am sure you will provide more than that Namor. Shall we grab a drink and make the rounds?"
Namor adjusted the fall of his coat, which was a sharp, asymmetrical piece that was half-tailored blazer, half-fluid poncho. It settled around him like a quiet verdict. He surveyed the gold and silver of the Court with a faint, knowing smile.
"In my people’s traditions,” he continued as if he didn't hear her question, "these colors belong to mourning. Yet here they are used for spectacle." A beat. "Curious how some cultures turn grief into spectacle when they are unbothered by its cost."
His gaze returned to the sorceress.
"You did not bring me here to linger decoratively by a bar," Namor said. "If you want me to be your blade tonight, name the target. I am never offended by being wielded, Clea. I only expect honesty in the hand that grips the hilt."
Clea looked around and thought about Namor's words. "Much of Atlantean culture was lost. The last time I visited their Library I saw a few tomes but I was so busy looking for anything regarding the Road I didn't have time to look." She smiled again at Namor's words. "Of course I would like to show you off. I am already in the Outer Courts, but I am looking to get into the Inner Courts." She said as she picked up a glass of champagne from the bar. "Since emerging from the Witches' Road my magical powers have shifted which did gain me some attention, but my goal is much higher than just attention. I want access to information without needing permission. I would like a higher seat within the court."
Namor took the champagne flute from her hand without asking, weighed it between two fingers, then set it on the nearest passing tray as though removing a distraction from a student.
"Ambition." His voice curved around the word appraisingly. “At last you speak plainly. These 'Courts' will applaud your beauty, your dress, your talent,” he said. “They will never fear you. And without fear — or its refined cousin, respect — you will remain a guest at their table, not a contender.”
He let his gaze drift across the glittering room.
"You want a higher seat? Do not merely seek permission or follow rules. Manufacture a moment in which you become indispensable. Make them realize that excluding you is a liability. The inner circles of the truly elite reward inevitability, not diligence."
Clea eyes scanned the crowd as Namor talked to her. He was good at giving her a prep talk for sure. "There is something that I haven't really indulged in telling others. Only a few know." She looked back at him. "I did tell you after the Witches' Road, my power grew. I learned that the Ancient One had put a seal on me which broke. I have a connection to my birth world in terms of harnessing that power. I am still re-learning my limits but it has put me at odds with others who wish to put a muzzle on me. I refuse. And I won't let anyone here do the same."
Her blue eyes turned back to him, there was a flicker of purple flames in them for just a moment. "There are two positions available within the Inner Court at the end of the Solstice. We just had a celebration for the new Queen and King early this year, but the inner court is a start. Gold Rook is my current mentor. They would be the easiest."
"Gold Rook," he said. Namor's eyes took on a dangerous distance. "Good. Good. The easiest targets are always the ones closest. Trust can be a weakness."
He leaned in just enough that the weight of him pressed into the space between them.
"Seats are not granted, Clea. They are taken."
Clea nodded. He was right. Even if it was shown as a placement granted, if you wanted something within HFC, you had to make moves. Clea saw this as an opportunity to further her position and gain access to information. As a Witness she was privy to some of that information but needed to be granted access or permission. As Rook, it meant she would be trusted to just use it.
"You forget one thing, Namor, Trust can also be used as a strength. Being consistent, using empathy, keeping an open dialogue and trusting in my own capabilities." Clea spotted the current aging Gold Rook talking to some guests, "There he is. Shall I use you? We might even get an invite to the after-after party."
Namor’s mouth curved — not a smile, precisely, but more a creature from the depths doing their best impression of a primate gesture. A show of teeth.
"Empathy," he said, tasting the word. "Yes. A tool best by learning when not to use it." Still, tracked the Gold Rook with lazy precision, already measuring angles and openings. "Consistency is how one convinces a court you are safe. Yet power is how you convince them you are inevitable."
He offered his arm again, this time with less flourish.
"By all means," he murmured. “Use me. Lead on, Rook-in-waiting."
Clea took his arm and made her way across the room to where the current Gold Rook mingled with others. "Bonjour Monsieur Enzo. This is my companion for the festivities - Namor. A confidant of mine." Her blue eyes shifted a bit. "I wanted you to meet him before your retirement. You will find his interests in ancient magics - unparalleled." Enzo looked intrigued and turned to introduce himself and thus began the longest night.
