17832/If Genosha, Then Latveria

If Genosha, Then Latveria
Date of Scene:	02 May 2024
Location:	Latveria - Castle Doom
Synopsis:	A formal, last-moment meeting between heads of state executed down to the last detail sees Polaris of Genosha and Doctor Doom of Latveria consider the implications of a United Nations willing to turn its guns on the helpless-- and what, if anything, could protect populations like theirs, historically overlooked by the powers of the world, from being caught in the next fusillade.
Cast of Characters:	Lorna Dane, Victor Von Doom

---

Lorna Dane has posed:
One does not simply walk into Latveria.

As ruler of the only known posthuman-majority nation on Earth, Polaris enjoys certain advantages that would be inconceivable to most. Among them is a network of short-to-long range teleporters conducted through the razor's edge dance of achieving comprehensive transpatial logistics without collapsing the integrity of local spacetime due to a cacophony of incompatible rips and folds. Typically, this means that when she really wants an audience, she's entirely capable of walking right into their presence, flouting just about every conventional doctrine of diplomatic relations in the process. In practice - because she is not that rash - it means a tendency to appear close, but not TOO close-- near enough to be a sudden, unannounced visitor while offering her intended host the chance to react.

But Doom is not 'most'.

And to teleport casually onto Latverian soil, into Latverian airspace or waters would be to invite his namesake.

Which means that Doom was guaranteed the courtesy of a heads-up appointment before a Genoshan VTOL touched down at a Latverian landing site-- albeit a short-notice one.

Rash or not, the Queen of Genosha's not all that big on fucking around.

After passing through customs and other assorted traditions, Polaris enters the Doctor's throne room, her entourage having dissipated to wait or mingle. Every inch of her royal garb - a deep green bodysuit with a halter neck, sheer side paneling, and tights so darkly purple as to approach black - shimmers when it catches the light, because every inch of it is composed of extra-resilient, extra-flexible alloys. The cape draped over her shoulders - a subtly bristling sea of purple tones comprised of thousands of shards - is pure, recycled Sentinel (Mark-I-III and -Delta/Wild) armor.

The agenda - sent ahead, of course - is diplomacy in the face of an increasingly violent and unpredictable world.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Doom is never taken by surprise.

Which may be when the appointment is schedule, it's receipt and approval is answered within a matter of seconds. Not minutes. Not hours. To further drive home the impression that Latveria was prepared for the arrival of the one bearing the codename 'Polaris', there is an entire welcoming committee prepared to receive the visiting monarch and dignitary. While she may have her own retinue, the honor guard of Servo-Guards and even a half dozen organic members of the Latverian Armed Forces are present to act as the Latverian protective detail for the visiting monarch.

The journey to Castle Doom is carried through the streets of Doomstadt itself with the honor guard walking as a security screen on either side of the avenues that they travel. Citizens of Doomstadt line the streets, offering their respects to the passing monarch of Genosha. While the walk from the landing pad to Castle Doom may be a time consuming one; it's likely just another method of control being established by the workings of DOOM.

The arrival of Polaris within the throne room of Castle Doom results in Latveria's own monarch rising with ease from his throne. Doctor Doom's cowl up and his cape thrown back from his shoulders, he begins to stride forward and down the few steps that act as a dais for the Throne of Doom.

"Queen Polaris," Doctor Doom proclaims as he descends those few steps and begins to stride across the throne room floor toward his arriving guest. The Mask of Doom remains fixed upon the visiting monarch as he approaches. The goblet in hand - or gauntlet, as it were - is placed into the awaiting had of an organic servant of Castle Doom and it's king. Onward he carries himself until the Doctor arrives within the orbit of Polaris, at which point he extends an armored hand toward his guest. Whether she accepts his hand or not is surely a test. In the meantime he carries on with a strong, but warm tone of familiarity and all without a single note of surprise or discontent, "Lorna, it is a pleasure to see you again and with a stylish new ensemble? It certainly has the approval of Doom. It is very dynamic," he says with a smile that can be seen on account of the widened mouth of his mask. No doubt this is one of his goblet-drinking masks, as opposed to some of his more standard masks.

The pleasantries are addressed and compliments paid. Doctor Doom's other gauntlet - not being offered to Polaris - extends to the side and his titanium clad fingers snap. Somehow. Though if one is capable of such a feat, it would surely be Doctor Victor Von Doom. That snap of fingers summons a butler forward, who offers a pair to the pair of royals. Only then does Doom's gaze turn aside to the butler, then back to the Queen of Genosha to ask, "See to it that my guest, Queen Polaris, receives any refreshments that she may desire."

Lorna Dane has posed:
"Victor," answers the familiar address as Polaris takes that metal-clad hand and lets her sixth sense wander, briefly, to assess just what Doctor Doom - or his armor, at least - is made of.

"I'm honored that you could make time for me," comes with a measured smile of her own. "Then again, we seem to have a lot in common, lately, being among the only heads of state not infected by whatever fascistic madness seems to have overtaken the UNSC."

Briefly, the cape bristles like a porcupine on high alert as those last words are spoken; one deep, calming breath later, it lays back down.

"So I guess it's natural."

Turning from Doom, briefly, she takes the offered goblet in the hand that just occupied his gauntlet. The butler gets a small, gracious nod and lift of the goblet before her attention turns back to the Doctor. Her free arm loosely folds across her chest; the other props itself atop it, holding the goblet near her lips as she regards her fellow monarch, thoughtfully.

"Why did you resist?" she then wonders, meeting his eyes through the holes in his mask. "I was already there, talking to King T'Challa-- trying to make in-roads to start getting those refugees somewhere safe to stay. Even before they deployed the real obscenity, I could feel it in my bones: that old, familiar sense that I had nobody to trust but my own. They didn't have to have been coming for me; I saw how fucking easy it was for them to come for anyone who wasn't them.

"Again," she emphasizes, low and adamantium-jacketed.

Pausing, she takes a long sip from the goblet, eyes still trained on the mask's.

"So why did you fight them?"

Victor Von Doom has posed:
When Polaris' hand comes to rest within the palm of his gauntlet and her investigation of the armor gets underway, the answer is quickly determined. The titanium alloy that sheathes Doctor Doom is not magnetic. Further, it was mystically forged which only further fortifies the construction of the suit. The opposite gauntlet soon rises up to rest across the back of Polaris' hand, containing it between them as though a warmth embrace of sorts. "It was the pleasure of Doom to do battle alongside you," the Latverian monarch offers with a voice ringing with sincerity, "though it is truly unfortunate that the events that transpired ever came to pass."

The bristling of the cape is noted and Doom's cowl shifts, head titanium clad head nodding once as though some form of silent agreement. He does release the hand from between his gauntlets, at which point one arm lowers to rest at his side. The other is offered out to Polaris as he gestures toward a doorway on the southern side of the throne room. No doubt it will eventually lead to the outside and the walls of Castle Doom, both to afford the pair an opportunity to take in the view and refresh themselves with a bit of fresh Latverian air.

The questions result in a prompt answer out of Doom, which likely means he's either given it ample consideration or had expected the questions to arise, "The answer is simple, Lorna," the Monarch of Latveria answers with a soft smile. While she peers into the holes of his mask, Doom can be found looking back. He meets her gaze without hesitation and his answer is given promptly, with thoughts of a stroll upon the walls of Castle Doom briefly set aside, "If them, then Latveria. If Genosha, then Latveria". The words are spoken with weight and strength, the makings of conviction, "If they are willing to utilize their strength against the innocent, the unarmed? If they are willing to engage the King of Wakanda, the Queen of Genosha, and more? Then they would be so bold as to set their sights upon Latveria. There they would find Doom. There they would be crushed."

There is a pregnant pause before Doom shifts slightly, angling his body as though to begin moving toward the southern wall and what would undoubtedly be the parapet beyond it. His mask cants aside, peering down and aside to Polaris as his position shifts, "If that is the eventuality? Then why wait to confront them. If their back is broken elsewhere, then my people are kept safer."

Lorna Dane has posed:
The distinct construction of his armor, with its mystical touches that defy categorization as anything beyond 'fucking weird', get filed away as a matter of course, next to all the other strange alloys and energies Polaris has encountered in her life.

His answer - and the readiness, the ease with which he delivers it - gets filed away too, albeit after a lengthy spell spent analyzing it. Doctor 'Literally Named' Doom is a figure so notorious, so dangerous that novel forms of electronic and sorcerous encryption were invented for his file in the X-Men's database when - within weeks of it first being compiled - the entire system suffered a catastrophic data loss; even though no evidence has ever been uncovered to point to the possibility of Latverian interference with their servers, the fact that the possibility could not be conclusively ruled out meant choosing utmost caution.

So the possibility that he's full of shit is one which Polaris weighs heavily as they step into beautiful Latverian air, arm in arm.

But it IS weighed against the Occamesque efficacy of his reasoning, and how well it mirrors her own: to whatever extent she can or can't trust Victor Von Doom, she trusts his conviction to protect his people against a world that has never had much of a place for them. Who would he be, after all, if Latveria fell?

"Who would either of us be," finally breaches dark green lips, low and thoughtful, "if we let our nations fall? If we let down those we swore to protect when nobody else would?"

Her attention turns towards walls and the land beyond them, hair gently rippling amidst some mixture of wind and magnetic waves. "But charging off to war won't keep them safe either, Victor. Whatever we do -- whatever it looks like, protecting ourselves from the jaws waiting to snap shut around us -- it ought to be done carefully," she suggests, slowly. As if working it out in real time.

"With allies," follows as she turns her head to meet his gaze. "Themyscira -- shockingly -- has shown that it's willing to bend the knee at the drop of a dime; they can have whatever their trust ultimately buys them. But Wakanda; Atlantis... Kahndaq... we aren't the only ones with reason to worry, are we?"

Her head turns from him again, but this time her attention's pointed up. Way, way, up, in the precise direction of the moon as she remarks:

"Nevermind that the moon is being colonized, now. How long until that gets ceded too?"

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Welcome to sunny, picturesque Latveria. From the wall of Castle Doom the village - city - of Doomstadt can be viewed below. Stretching beyond that are the verdant fields and forests of Latveria. To the north: mountains. The breezes are warm and the air is fresh. It's no wonder that the so-called quality of life is so high in Latveria. Under the rule of Doctor Victor Von Doom, Latveria and its people have flourished.

There are important matters of State to be discussed however and Doom does not shy from such topics. In fact he seems to relish the opportunities to partake in them. "We have answered the question already, Lorna. The Queen of Genosha and the King of Latveria; it is our duty to protect our people. If we know that eventually the war drums will beat at our own borders? Why wait to confront the threat that will inevitably turn its gaze toward our respective lands?" The question is left to hang for only a moment.

Before Doom carries on, illustrating the rhetorical nature of the question, "Throughout the history of the world, imagine how many horrid events could have been avoided if only those with the power to act, to defy, had done so earlier. The United States, much of the West really, rightfully claims themselves the victors of World War Two. Yet at a great cost. What if they had joined earlier? History may have been dramatically different."

No doubt the power armor that Doctor Doom wears features its own air recyclers and purifiers. No doubt it offers him copious amounts of oxygen, given how much talking that the man can do. It may very well be quite impressive.

Then Doom shifts, turning his attention from the lovely view and back toward Polaris. He offers her a soft nod of his head, his mask and cowl shifting with the moment before he continues, "It is also why, especially during this tumultuous time, that allies are more important than ever."

Lorna Dane has posed:
"I've already been the Queen of Ashes, Victor; it won't happen a second time," Polaris slides into the gap, ironclad.

"I'm not opposed to violence," eventually follows, when the miracle of Latverian/mysterious, monastic engineering finally let her get a clarifying word or two in. "Or to reminding the worst actors of the world that they ought to step lightly and remember their places. We're way, way past the point where someone should've stepped up to do it. The Justice League, and the Avengers, and... god, all of them. All of them have the power to help these people behave, even if it's hard. Even if it's uncomfortable-- what's the point of building a base on the fucking moon if all you're going to do is watch innocent people die because nobody wants them--?"

This close -- with instruments as sensitive as Doom's -- the shift in the local magnetic field is palpable, as is the severe spike in ambient energy.

As is the writhing green aura clinging to Polaris' body: what would be a faint, wispy glow to mortal eyes is made infinitely clearer to Doom's.

As is the swift cessation of all these phenomena when the Mistress of Magnetism allows herself a slow, deep breath to brace herself.

"But if we could shock them off this insane course they're on by showing them what a united front of transhuman nations looks like -- what exactly it means to turn their backs on the rest of us -- then maybe they'll stop beating those drums," she evenly finishes before turning her attention back to picturesque Latveria.

"I haven't forgotten what I've learned," she adds, softer, "working with the X-Men: I'd prefer peace." Tilting her head, she glances up at the armored monarch with one faintly luminous eye.

"But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to make war."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Now it is Victor that listens in silence. While Polaris had afford Doom the opportunity to speak without much in way of interruption, now he does the same for her. He considers Doomstadt below for a moment, but does inevitably turn his physical attention toward his fellow monarch. He listens attentively and nods along with her words. No matter how firm or passionate they become. No matter how the magnetic fields in the vicinity begin to shift under the influence of the Genoshan queen; Victor remains stalwartly unperturbed it is all. If there is a storm then, at least from his own perspective, there is none better to withstand it than Doom.

As the magnetic phenomena begins to ebb away, Doom's gauntlet clad hand rises up to rest upon the parapet's merlon. The wind takes up, causing his cowl and cloak to shift to join with the direction of the breeze. "Let us not forget, Lorna," Doom begins with the slight tone of amusement threading his words, "that I am not transhuman. I am human," he continues as his brown eyes turn along with his mask to glance back to Polaris, "yet Doom is exceptional beyond imagining. There are no others that have achieved what Doom has, nor will there ever be."

The ego is strong.

The lessons learned by Polaris are echoed by Victor himself, nodding once and firmly, "There was a time that my people were hunted. There was a time that my people were victimized. That time will never come to pass again. To threaten Latveria is to invite the attention of Doom."

It is then that Doom shifts, angling his body that he may face Polaris fully. Encased within his power armor, the Monarch of Latveria towers over the shorter Queen of Genosha. The Mask of Doom shifts downward to consider his diplomatic guest and a question is presented, "What is it you have come to Latveria to achieve, Lorna? Let us speak plainly and clearly with one another as a show of our mutual respect."

Lorna Dane has posed:
"I've been reading a book by John Cumberland," Polaris begins.

Probably, she is not here to start a book club. For one thing, there are no official records of a man named 'John Cumberland', save for a very slender W.A.N.D. file which mostly documents the ongoing debate between analysts of whether the individual described is an individual, or a conflation of various heroic/rebellious archetypes and tall tales which, throughout the lionshare of the 20th Century, accreted into something roughly approximating one. There is no author named 'John Cumberland', not even as a pseudonym.

There's a story that circulates through esoteric circles of artists as - what else - a Blues song originating from 1923 about a man called High Steppin' Johnny C., with hair like the sun and a body like a steel hurricane, who turned himself into an unbreakable wall against the violent tides animating the East St. Louis Riot.

Somewhere in a mad, dead collector of the strange's precious vault, there's a newspaper clipping from 1962 - not ours, another one - with part of an interview between Professor Johnathan Cumberland of the University of Lincoln-Nebraska discussing his theory of living societies.

Once, Project Pegasus captured approximately twelve seconds of a footage depicting a tall, muscular man with wild, golden hair having overtaken most of his head crusted in layers of snow and ice. Seated on a massive throne of carved stone, he remains utterly still the entire time, eyes open and unblinking. The footage was immediately destroyed; finding staff who were present at the time who will admit to anything of the sort is a quest in and of itself.

And now, apparently, there is a book to add to the rumors that swirl through the most arcane of communities.

"'Beyond The Threshold: On the Precipice of Transformations and Endings'. It's a treatise from 1997 about what the 21st Century could look like, and what it might take to get there, and--"

Polaris emits a soft, self-aware chuckle and waves the details off, flashing a faint smile Doom's way before considering Latveria.

"He had a lot of ideas about a lot of things, and transhuman theory was one of them. Among other things, he proposed the idea that a society operating effectively for the benefit of one hundred percent of its participants, and still producing distinct economic and cultural outputs without depriving itself of at least its baseline needs in the process could constitute a form of transhuman life in its own right-- like an organism composed of organisms suitably evolved to operate towards the common good of their collective being," comes with a deliberate pace and lots of hand gestures, emphasizing or underlining this part or that of the wildly esoteric theory she's trying her best to relate to the elder monarch.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"You're human, but you still function right on the edge of what it means to be so," she agrees, trying to draw him right into the umbrella of her argument with the help of his own potent ego.

"And given enough time to tend to Latveria without having to wonder what's next from world that stood by while your people were hunted... who better than Doom to evolve Latveria into that theoretical entity?"

As a smile flashes across her lips - wild, energized with the possibilities of a future without fear for the moment before she reins it into something more demure, Polaris turns to face the Lord of Latveria fully, chin tilted to meet his gaze.

"Who better than you to discover what's beyond it?" she presses before taking a step forward.

Before reaching out to splay a hand across on Doctor Doom's armored chest in a show of fellowship.

"I want for there to be an alliance of all the nations the rest of the world overlooks when paying attention's inconvenient, and victimizes when it's easy," she then states, clearly.

"I want for Genosha, Latveria, and Wakanda to be the first members of this alliance, because friendship between the world's only Mutant nation and two pinnacles of human excellence is a powerful symbol-- and a reminder to the countries of the UN that they are not the apex they think they are."

Plainly.

"... and I'd like for you to call me by my Mutant name while we're discussing matters of state."

With just enough smiling levity to keep the request firmly in the realm of a request, and not something more.

"Doctor."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Whether or not Doom has consumed the literature in question is never given a voice. Instead the Latverian king regards Lorna with the same heavy gaze that he has held her within since her arrival. Though her efforts at stroking his ego results in his chin inclining ever so slightly. Armored fists come to rest near his hips and Doom's elbows cock outward while he observes and absorbs. The slight tingle of mechanical influence can be heard while he speaks through the grill of his mask, "You speak wisely and astutely. Where many have failed to recognize and acknowledge the greatness that is Doctor Victor Von Doom? You have not fallen into the pitiful ignorance that plagues so many others. That alone illustrates your ability to see beyond to simplicity of so many leaders."

Lorna paints a verbal picture of the glory and greatness of Doom. The undeniable importance of Doctor Doom on the world stage and, ultimately, as a leader of the world. It's music to his ears and he nods along with her assessment of matters. The talk of the UN and the countries associated with it earns a solemn nod from the Latverian king and he does not delay in commenting upon them in particular, "The assault on the United Nations placed many of those representatives of the West's nations in grave peril. They begged the deliverance of Doom and it was obliged". He pauses for only a moment, creating a distinct pause between his statements, "When the time arrived that I sought to turn back their violent coalition? The mercy of Doom was forgotten. They have shown that they can not be trusted. They have shown that they will not act in good faith."

Doom's eyes had gradually risen to the distant mountains, causing his gaze to look above Lorna. Only now does it drop abruptly and firmly back to Lorna and the request, along with his own title being spoken, results in a firm nod. The hand that splays at his armored chest is not swept away, but he does attempt to gather it within his gauntlet once more. He attempts to fold her lone hand between the cool embrace of both of his armored hands in a show of camaraderie as Doctor Doom answers on the matter of preferred names and titles, "I recognize the distinction now and understand the importance of it, Polaris."

Lorna Dane has posed:
"Then let's talk about how we're going to build the coalition that'll save the rest of humanity from its own self-destructive arrogance, Doctor."

The electromagnetic activity crackling throughout and around her's still hovering around the slightly elevated levels her explanation of Cumberlandian thought, but there aren't any signs of the high-emotion spikes of earlier. She lets her hand be shifted and turns it to clasp his gauntlet firmly.

Now there's a spike, as charges her own anatomy for the sake of gripping his hand powerfully enough to communicate that she is willing and able to meet him on his level.

It's costly, but good symbols are, sometimes.

"And afterwards, you can tell me about Latveria's vineyards."

The goblet - forgotten amidst more pressing matters - drifts into Polaris' hand as it slips from in between Doom's, so she can take a long drink from it.