2623/Surf n' Turf

Surf n' Turf
Date of Scene:	26 July 2020
Location:	The Strait Lace Steakhouse - Hellfire Club
Synopsis:	Lorna runs into Namor at the Hellfire Club. The two chat about what makes good rulers, and what it means to be worthy.
Cast of Characters:	Lorna Dane, Namor

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Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna had had yet another meeting regarding Genosha, here in the Club it was mostly for business contracts and seeing that trade goods and other necessities still arrived to the island. She was running herself a bit ragged with all these meetings she'd been in and out of recently.. but that wasn't particularly new either.

At least she'd eventually taken a nap that afternoon, just time to get cleaned up and dressed to meet for a dinner discussion. Which by the time she'd gotten into the city, and arrived, sat down and waited... the sun had set and the club had filled in with the usual members and visitors.

The green haired woman wore a simple black dress, a halter style that was sleek and dipped down to the floor. Her hair was straightened but left free to frame her face. A wine glass was placed before her as she waited, idly taking a sip after twirling the contents of the red wine about.

Namor has posed:
One wouldn't think you'd be able to get past the door of the Strait Lace while wearing a form-fitting leggings and baring as much skin as Namor, but then no one else is the Atlantean King. In fairness, the Emperor of the Deep has taken the dress code to heart, he's simply decided to wear traditional formal /Atlantean/ garb, which is almost as a rule, far more revealing than most surface civilizations. He's ditched the black armor and green, form-fitting leggings for once and elected to clad himself in a similarly fitted blue-and-black, one-piece, v-neck, sleeveless suit. Much to the limited appeasement of the Maitre d', he's elected to also wear a flowing cloak made of an extremely thin material that undoubtedly looks obscenely elegant when affected by the relative weightlessness of the ocean, but in the air hangs simply around his shoulders and chest.

With the sort of confidence that either dares a challenge, or can't comprehend the possibility of one, the King of Atlantis makes his way through the expertly spaced tables and approaches Lorna with a faint grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Your Majesty," he greets, bowing his head very slightly in acknowledgement of Lorna's title, "It is a pleasure to see you again so soon."

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna looked up from her phone, and her red wine, looking more than a little surprised to end up running into the King of Atlantis for a second time. It felt almost ironic, that she'd worked for six months to shore up political allies for Genosha and within less than a week had managed to almost double the list of people she could call on for help.

Strange times indeed.

Surprise flitted over her expression openly and without guile as she sat up from her faintly hunched position over the table. She blinked repeatedly, and cleared her throat as she waved the chair opposite of her back in offereance. "Your majesty," She echoed back, all at once hearing how awkward it sounded to address a royal back and forth. "What a surprise, would you care to join me? I was waiting for a business contact regarding trade and Genosha. We still have a great deal of iron ore and I have a few corporations interested. But it seems, he has been delayed."

Namor has posed:
"You need not hold to formal address outside official functions," Namor offers to Lorna, similarly aware of how it sounds to constantly refer to each other as 'Your Majesty.' He takes the offered chair, settling into it with all the regal arrogance of a man accustomed to sitting on thrones. A waiter immediately arrives with a glass of wine for the King, obviously waiting in the wings for just such an opportunity. The Atlantean dismisses the man before he can even ask for a food order and glances briefly towards Lorna's phone. "Has he?" he asks, his interest in Lorna's delayed business connection obviously exceedingly sparse as he glances about the room, regarding any curious looks his way with a flat stare until they dry up entirely.

"I'm not entirely sure how you stand it," he abruptly declares, looking back to Lorna with faint irritation lining his dark eyes. He waves a hand vaguely through the air, apparently indicating the entirety of the Steakhouse or perhaps even the club. "A great deal of very small land dwellers thinking they are so very important. Just setting foot in this place reminds me every time why I rarely bother."

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna's expression warmed faintly, she'd rarely spoken to another monarch in a less formal setting. Not in her very short reign at least. She averted her gaze, picking up her wine glass and taking a sip of it. A pause followed as she glanced down at her phone and slid it off to the side. "So what should I call you? Just Namor feels too familiar.." She drawled, and shifted back in her seat.

As he asked her how she could stand 'it', a green eyebrow arched upward. "I've seen worse." She mused, and took another sip of her wine. "This is actually a place I feel relatively relaxed. It's the world beyond that has issues with who I am. At least here no one throws soda cans at me for 'being a damn mutie'. Nor do I have my father's more... passionate followers throwing themselves at my feet for being his second coming." She shook her head slightly as she set the glass in her grip down.

"Sure there's self important people here, but here I'm just one of many.." She tilted her head as she considered him. "It's likely a hold over from my upbringing that I feel uncomfortable with people that hold me in too high a regard."

Namor has posed:
With a wave of his hand, Namor dismisses her worry that his name alone is too familiar. "If it bothers you, you may attach a 'King' in front of my name," he offers, though it is with a forced detachment that suggests the 'King' is very strongly suggested. Rolling his shoulder in mild discomfort, Namor readjusts his luxurious sprawl to better face Lorna as she recounts her reasons for enjoying the Club.

"Who would dare throw anything at the Queen of Genosha?" the Sea-King asks with genuine disgust, though it's not immediately clear if it's at the proposed scenario, or the fact that Lorna would allow anyone to get close enough to throw things at her, let alone insults. Again he waves his hand through the air, though this time to indicate that he withdraws his question. "I sometimes forget just how primitive the surface world is," he admits with a sigh, "It is exhausting."

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna hmm'ed under her breath at the 'King' addition to Namor and she inclined her head simply and reached for her wine glass again. A swish, and swirl of its contents followed and she took a sip. "I tell practically everyone to call me Lorna in conversation, that if is I like you. Otherwise it's Polaris." She murmured and wiped the condensation from the glass off with her fingertips.

An amused, bitter, half laugh, half exhalation of breath followed. "Well, quite a few people actually. And one Reverend made a whole speech about how I should be wiped off the planet.. how my hair is made of snakes and I'm a demon or something." She shrugged once. "While that didn't happen in my own Kingdom mind you.." She trailed off to wave a hand at the room around them as if it explained everything. Perhaps it did in a way.

"I'm curious though, do you people never hold biases or hold another faction as different?" She asked, tilting her head.

Namor has posed:
The King of Atlantis acknowledges Lorna's suggestion as to how he may address her with a fractional quirk of his eyebrow, amusement clear but suppressed as she makes no mention of a royal title. When she reaches for her glass of wine, it seems to remind him that he was brought one as well, and he takes it without formality to taste. Ultimately approving, he drains a more substantial portion from the glass before setting it down on the table, slightly off to one side.

"Of course we do," Namor answers Lorna's question easily and without hesitation, his mouth twitching up into a faint grin, "We are creatures of thought and reason, after all. Everything with sentience engages in tribalism, separating 'us' from 'them.'" He leans forward, elbows pressing down into the table with enough force to begin gently tilting its angle until he remembers to adjust his natural strength to the far less sturdy surface furniture. "But Atlanteans respect strength. They know who their superiors are, and they do not challenge them unless they seek to die. They know their place, and none would dare raise a hand to their rightful King."

If Lorna knew the intricacies of the current Atlantean political situation, she'd know this was, at best, misleading.

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna watched him reach for the wine, faint amusement trickling into her gaze as she watched him opposite of her at the table. She knew having sipped a good way through her first glass of wine would make her looser with her tongue than she likely should be, but he was the one that joined her.

His explanation about Atlantean cultural beliefs and tribalism earned another tilt of her head as she propped her chin up with her hand. Interest holding her attention completely. "So what are they? The different groups that you rule over? How are those in your society that aren't strong treated?" She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs.

"Because even within mutant society we have factional differences. Those that have obvious mutations versus those that are human passing. Those with 'glamorous' or powers deemed 'useful' compared to those with minor powers. But that doesn't make them any less mutant either. However we also have the artificial external threat of humans to deal with. Which often forces opposing groups to work together to simply survive."

Namor has posed:
"They are numerous and are largely concerned with the unique minutiae of life in Atlantis," Namor responds after uttering an amused sound at Lorna's continued interest, "Their individual motivations would be incomprehensible outside of the context of living in my kingdom, but I imagine you have similar sorts of groups among your own people." He pauses to take another drink of his wine, his pace considerably faster than many of the refined sipping that goes on around him. "As for the strong and the weak..."

Namor trails off as he collects his thoughts, weighing his response before offering: "You phrase your question in a way that suggests to me you do not quite understand my meaning. They are not treated any particular way. We do not cast down the weak, the strong simply rise above. They are given places of honor and authority, and the weak are content to serve in lesser positions. You would call it a Meritocracy, I believe."

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna's expression remained one of rapt focus and interest, even as he gave her very little details to learn or work with. A furrow in her eyebrow followed, doubt and no small amount of dubiousness followed his comment that it would be too much to explain to her regarding his people's differences.

She pursed her lips together, and took another sip of her wine, her grip lingering on the glass after she'd taken another sip and she watched him from over the rim. "So if you had children and they weren't deemed strong enough, then the throne would go to what? The next person in your family? Or a new family? Is there a ceremony to prove you're the strongest, or is it simply a matter of convincing the previous ruler that you're worthy?" She mused.

"My father chose me as his heir for a number of reasons, mostly I was convenient. My sister is stronger if you value raw power, with her magic. My brother is faster and could kill me outright before I managed to strike him. But he chose me. I'm the youngest, and so he eschewed most human means of succession. But I have his powers." She shrugged, "I was also the only one of his children still speaking with him then. So, like I said.. convenient."

Namor has posed:
If the King of Atlantis senses Lorna's doubt in his assurance that only an Atlantean would understand the political factions within his realm, he doesn't offer any sort of response, verbal or otherwise. Instead he moves to consider her next question, listening to her explanation of the circumstances surrounding her own inheritance with interest. "Your father was a vain man," Namor insists when she's finished, "But he happened to choose well in this instance." The Emperor of the Deep is not one for mincing words, clearly. "You have faced hardships that would break a weak leader," he continues as he reaches for his glass of wine, looking at the minimal remnants with distaste even as a waiter hurries over with a bottle just behind him, "There is merit in that, that proves your value." When he drains the last of drink, he sets the glass down upon the table and barely acknowledges the man who arrives just in time to refill it.

"In Atlantis, it is a self-correcting problem. I would choose the child I thought was most worthy of leading our people, and if they weren't, another would take their place," he claims with a shrug, "The means would vary, but a weak leader can not hold the Atlantean throne for long. The people would reject them."

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna slowly worked on nursing her wine though the waiter, upon noticing that it was below half moved to refill it without her even asking. She murmured a soft thank you, and offered the man a smile before he stepped back and out of sight once more. A glance at her phone followed, though she didn't bother to check for notifications. She hadn't seen a one.

Her focus returned to Namor, and her eyebrows lurched upwards. "I think that the least of things I have heard my father called." She mused, and shrugged once. "So did you agree to treat with me because of that?" She asked, simply. He wasn't the first one to say that Magneto had chosen right amongst his children to lead. Not that Pietro or Wanda wanted the crown. The world would be decidedly a different place if the twins did.

"So it's not entirely based on physical strength in Atlantis, but also on how the people perceive their leader to be a good one? Would a leader that is particularly charismatic or persuasive then not hold as much sway as one that was physically capable?"

Namor has posed:
"I agreed to treat with you because I was told the Queen of Genosha was a striking beauty," Namor replies in a casual sort of drawl that implies it is at least partially a diverting tactic, his easy grin sliding upwards faintly as if to acknowledge that fact and emphasize that it was not the entire truth. He watches her a moment, then leans back in his chair, elbows coming off the table and shifting to relax on the armrests.

"Physical strength is only one way to prove your worth," he tells her, "Many of Atlantis' rulers were the strongest in the realm at the time, but not all. Many were learned men, or masterful sorcerers. Several were simply brilliant politicians who were able to guide their people to prosperity and peace by playing the factions against one another. Charisma plays a part, and indeed Atlantis has had a few Kings who were better at hiding the truth of their failures than they were at leading, but the Realm itself has and always will prevail."

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna rolled her eyes at the comment about her beauty, followed by a slow shake of her head. A long sip of her wine followed his comment as she tapped her finger against the sipe of her glass. "Nothing to do with my being a young queen without much in terms of a nation or experience behind her, hmm?" She shot back, her green eyed gaze lifting back to him from her wine.

"Though even then, that's a slim reason, isn't it? There are plenty of weak nations throughout the world. And Atlantis wouldn't have much issue with earning their supplication if it wanted. Now you could argue that there are hero teams out there that would stop that.." She shrugged once again.

"But I am aware I am no great beauty, much less by your people's standards, I'm sure." She finished simply. Another sip of her wine and she set it back down.

"Your means of ruling aren't so different when you lay them out as such. The people still ultimately hold the power over their rulers in the end. No one can hold onto power for long without the consent of the people." She reached for her purse at the back of her chair, slipping her phone into it with a click of the metal clasp.

"It's the same the world over at the heart of such things, isn't it? Surface or under sea. Perhaps that's a bit simplistic to boil the elements down to that..." She trailed off as she glanced back to Namor. "I haven't been at this job very long to have the finer points hammered out yet."

Namor has posed:
"Perhaps," Namor begins slowly, pausing for emphasis as he watches Lorna, bemused at the reasons she suggests for him, "I was simply bored." He holds his gaze steadily on the Mutant Queen, hand idly swirling the wine around his glass without lifting the base from the table. "Worry not about /why/," he advises with a casual ease, "Korcif the Bloody himself might have risen from his grave and implored me to meet with the young Queen of Genosha, or maybe I simply dreamed it. It matters little in the end, for you were able to make your plea and receive the aid of Atlantis just as you wished, a feat few have ever accomplished so cheaply." He lets that sit for a bit while he very luxuriously drinks the entirety of his fresh glass of wine and sets it down on the table, raising his hand to forestall the approach of the waiter he knows is hurrying over.

"The key to ruling, Lorna, is to simply be worthy. If you're worthy, you will rule well and your people will prosper. If you're not, you will be dragged from your palace and slain to appease the crowds," he claims while he stands, "Either way, you can do nothing about it. You simply are, or you aren't."

Lorna Dane has posed:
Lorna's lips twist in faint amusement as he waved away her vocalized musings on why he'd agreed to speak with her in the first place. She reached for her glass, taking a moment to finish it off in a manner that was likely not good etiquette by most standards. Either way, she drained the contents and set it back on the table. Her green eyed gaze returning to settle on the Atlantean King.

"Ennui is not a feeling I've had the chance to feel in a long time, King Namor." She offered, and made to stand.

"The concept worthiness is entirely subjective to the values a culture holds. There is no set standard definition of what makes someone worthy or not." She murmured, "And I am now more curious than ever to learn more about your people." She smiled, "Now, please excuse. I need to find out what happened to my contact that I was supposed to be meeting with."