3399/Duty Calls

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Duty Calls
Date of Scene: 17 September 2020
Location: Eastside - Queensland Park
Synopsis: Mera seeks out information from Arthur. Arthur gets a bath instead.
Cast of Characters: Arthur Curry, Mera




Arthur Curry has posed:
    The world sways into focus as it is wont to do, insisting upon itself and its reality as awareness slowly begins to return to the man who was lying there on the bench. That's the first thing he becomes aware of, the bench. The wood under his hands, the stiffness of it against his back, the way a splinter of it jabs into his side. It's enough to make the tall man wince as he awakens and then tries to sit up.
    Which seems to be the signal for the rest of reality to remind him it exists maliciously. For as he sits up his world rocks and his head /pounds/ with the intensity of several great hammers slamming into his head, heralded by the glowing day sphere high above that pounds him with rays of light condemningly. So for that moment his reality is the bench, pain, and the sun. All in one.
    Which has him scowling and sitting up, one hand rubbing at his brow as he scowls and muttering to himself in words that there on those docks wouldn't be given a second glance. A stream of invectives aimed at himself, at the world, at the sun, and at the man who invented fucking alcohol.
    He blends in though. With the pier and docks and the background there. Just another guy likely down on his luck sleeping one off. The stevedores off in the distance going about their work unloading various pieces of cargo all while for Arthur Curry, Atlantean, Prince of Atlantis, he tries to just get his eyes to open fully without the agonizing pain washing through him.

Mera has posed:
Mera wouldn't normally put into port in Metropolis. It's expensive and it doesn't really offer much in the way of opportunities. But right now, she's still trying to pin down what's been happening in the deep. Which means searching out people who may have had contact with the problem.

Rumors and research led her here, and a morning of searching the docks finally yielded fruit right here on this bench. A //very// ripe Arthur.

In jeans and a tank top with a loose button down open over it, she could pass for any normal person...except for the way she holds herself. "Well. I heard rumors, but I wasn't really expecting this."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "What?" He says at first, and the word is hurled like some sort of ancient throwing weapon intended to disable or disembowel with the almost casual venom that laces those words. Though she likely can tell it's not venom entirely meant for her, and more whomever was responsible for the mistake that is creation.
    Arthur Curry, half-blood son of Atlanna, Prince of Atlantis looks like he is ready to curl up and die somewhere if he wasn't so damned ornery. His jaw tightens as he swings his legs off the bench, and promptly rests his hands on his knees and leeeans over, but to his credit doesn't lose whatever he ate last night. He just takes some time to stare and scowl at the ground, not really looking at the owner of that voice that just intrudes upon his misery.
    And to look at him. Yeah... it's not impressive. He is tall and broad of shoulder and would be handsome if he cleaned himself up. But he looks /wild/. That hair is barely restrained by a hodge-podge of a pony tail and his beard is a wild man's beard where one could imagine things living in it rather easily. And his clothes, straight out of army surplus it seems with those brown work boots and the olive green canvas pants. His shirt is a loose grey and black hoodie that hangs open a little displaying that myriad of tribal tattoos upon his broad muscular chest. Yet from this angle...
    He seems entirely too human.
    "What are you expecting? This is a working dock." He tells her, incredulous, assuming she's a tourist and was coming here to sight see. Not knowing he was the sight to be seen.

Mera has posed:
"I thought it was an exaggeration," Mera drawls dryly, crossing her arms loosely over her chest as she gives him an unapologetic look up and down. "But clearly not."

She takes a breath, letting it out with a bit of a huff. "You are Arthur Curry, are you not?" she asks, starting to walk a slow circle around him, just in case there's some redeeming property she missed on her initial inspection.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Ah," He says as if he discovered something, then replies to her with a half-growl, "You want an autograph." As if she was a fan, though of the Justice League he's not exactly one that has much prominence at all really. Then again it's not the first time he's been approached by a fan.
    He then takes a moment to /push/ himself to his feet. And ok, he's... very tall. And for the first time he actually looks at her. Which causes his eyebrows to raise in that way that likely tells her subtly that despite his expectations she doesn't seem entirely horrible. But then he's turning away to walk toward the edge of the pier that is only ten feet away, his back to her as he covers that distance.
    Over his shoulder he says, "I don't have a pen, so if you want one," An autograph, "You'll have to find one."
    But then he takes a moment to clear his throat deeply, nastily, and proceeds to expectorate into the ocean as he scowls to himself. "Ah man, the hell did I eat?"
    Lovely.

Mera has posed:
"No."

Mera's voice is flat, one bright brow arching sharply at the loogie. "That is not what I want." After a moment's pause, she strides after him.

Raising a hand, she summons a wall of water from the marina next to him, promptly dropping it on him. She sweeps the remnants from the dock...but leaves him dripping.

"I am Mera of Xebel, Arthur Curry," she announces herself as she rejoins him. "And I am trying to find out what has been happening in Atlantis."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    For a moment the wall of water seems to just hang there, floating in front of him as he squints at it, long enough for him to start to say, "F---." Only for that wall of water to /wash/ over him, splashing onto the docks and around him in a curl of a wave that soaks him entirely, then whispers back off the docks and into the water. It slicks his hair back causing his shirt to cling to his frame as he sort of just stands there, scowling...
    Then spits out a small stream of water before turning to glare at her.
    "Mera." He says, as if a single word could carry with it all the bad luggage in the world. "Of Xebel." He completes then spreads his hands out and lashes them downwards, as if trying to divest himself of some of that wetness.
    "You should ask Namor." He then says, "It's his show." A few more shakes, almost like an over-sized retriever, not caring if she splashes her or not.

Mera has posed:
"He has been...remarkably difficult to get ahold of," Mera snorts, seeming unconcerned at the idea that he might shake water onto her. Whatever droplets get close to her seem to stop in midair, as if diverted by a forcefield of some sort.

"You needed that," she adds, crossing her arms over her chest once more. "You need a great deal more than that, and some water actually //inside// of you for that matter, but putting it inside of you is best done the traditional way. What are you even doing out here?"

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Yeah," Arthur says as he presses both hands to his brow and then pushes them back over his hair, lending it some hint or semblance of order before he lifts his head up and then makes a small grunt of acceptance. "Actually felt kinda nice."
    But then he fixes her with those amber eyes, that scowl still hovering at the corners of his mouth as he says, "Was spending some time with friends. Something wrong with celebrating with friends?"
    Which, to be fair, he was. But that was several days ago when his father's friends came into the docks. They left two days ago and he just kept on keeping on only... to end up here.
    "You want to talk to Namor go find him in Atlantis." Then there's a pause as he murmurs, "Or he might be out dealing with those Deep... Dwellers." Which has him looking thoughtful for a moment. Then pensive.

Mera has posed:
"If it leaves you in this state? Yes." Mera isn't one to mince words, and certainly not to salve someone //else's// pride. "Come."

It's less of an invitation than a command, especially when she follows it up by turning and walking away down the docks without so much as looking over her shoulder, expecting him to follow.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    Looking sidelong at the ocean, then back toward her he cocks an eyebrow and says, "What?" The disdain in the word a palpable thing. But then he's moving, a first few strides of a half-jog to catch up with her then falling into step beside her, not doing so because he's bidden but instead to give her a piece of his mind.
    "Hey, lady." Perhaps ignoring that she introduced herself, "I'm not your pet lab that you can beckon and expect to snap to. I don't take orders from anyone."
    "Well mostly anyone."
    And yet he's walking with her.
    "Where are you going?" He asks, still not including himself in that course of action.

Mera has posed:
"I have a ship," Mera answers, not bothering to look at him as she walks with brisk, purposeful strides. "One with a shower. And water. And even food that hasn't been deep-frozen and shipped across the entire world before being dropped into a deep fryer."

Technically she's not offering to share any of those, but they're probably her purpose in trying to drag him along.

"And once you're..." Now he gets a sidelong glance. "Somewhat human again, we can speak of these Deep Dwellers."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Look," Arthur says as he walks along, still following despite his protestations. "You want to talk about them, we can talk about them. I just remember the things my mother told me, and I fought them once already when one of their ilk rose up and took control of that passenger ship back the other day." Or week... or month? Was it that long ago? Time blurs for him of late.
    "But I'm not about to go with some..." He starts to append some sort of defining name for her, but instead lets those words drift off unuttered and instead says, "With someone I don't know and clean up just so I don't offend their delicate sensibilities."
    Then he straightens up and grabs a handful of his shirt and proceeds to twist it up, squeezing out some of the water even though by all rights... he could just will the water away like she did. Yet as he does so it reveals the firm abdomen, the well-defined chest, and the fact those tattoos seem to cover much of his body.
    Then, perhaps realizing she was offering him grub he then adds a murmured, "Thanks though."

Mera has posed:
"Arthur Curry." Mera stops walking, turning around to gace him. She doesn't seem the least bit daunted by him, chin tilting up enough to look him in the eyes. "When was the last time you had //any// of the things I just mentioned?"

Most women would probably be distracted by the eyes or the flash of skin. They might be cowed by the fact that he's at least twice their size. Mera, on the other hand? Not a single crap given.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    She can see her words twist his features around as he scowls and looks to the side, lips parting as he's about to answer as he shakes his head a little. "Just the other..."
    But then his brow knits and he seems to come up short as he lifts one hand to the back of his neck thoughtfully, and perhaps all the more damning he ends up having to ask her, "What day is it today?"
    But point proven.
    He instead gives a nod, "Alright, c'mon. I'll answer what you need." Then he's walking, perhaps espying her ship from far off, since really it's a bit different than the others most likely. "But you could have a much better bedside manner, lady."
    And with that he stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks on.