9431/Watery fouls forever

Watery fouls forever
Date of Scene:	03 January 2022
Location:	New York Harbor Docks
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Arthur Curry, Aspen Matthews

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Arthur Curry has posed:
    The early morning, Monday after the news had some time to spread around, to sink in, and for people to start their efforts to get clear of the island and free of what they perceived to be the danger. Many places were closed, the streets facing the East River were empty, all of the traffic seemed to be heading toward the North and the West. Which, to be fair, did damage the livelihood of some.
    Arthur, for his part, was doing his best to make sure the brick and mortar stores survived! Or at least this one. Which happened to be called Reilly's Pub down on East 62nd, close to the docks.
    "Twenty minutes, Arthur." The bartender, Sara Reilly, she shook her head and looked at the clock on the wall again. Twenty minutes was being generous really.
    "Twenty minutes. Roger that." Is given back in return by the Man of Aqua, even as he tilts back his shot glass. "Can I get a bottle for the road?"
    "Illegal." Sara says casually and easily.
    "In this time of lawlessness and crisis?"
    "No."
    "Alright," Agrees Arthur eventually. Not that he's intoxicated at the moment, his system handles the poisonous nature of alcohol rather abruptly.
    It was perhaps... more the sentiment of the thing.

Aspen Matthews has posed:
Why New York. Why did everybody hold scientific symposiums in New York? It was a shit city full of every bad guy the universe could throw at it because they didn't have anybody like Superman, just a bunch of people barely better than the bad guys. Irresponsible twits like that Stark guy, or incredibly damaged near-criminals like the X-Men.

Why not have it someplace safe and sane, like Metropolis and S.T.A.R. Labs?

But nooooooooooooo. They have a symposium on water pollution in New Yo... OK, you know what? That actually makes some sense. Especially given all the baddies (and half the goodies) dumping all kinds of stupidly dangerous things into the water here.

Aspen is a little down on New York at the moment. Doubly so because all the flights out are cancelled and she's now eyeing having to swim home.

Or surf. That could be fun.

Whatever. In one of the last pubs still open near the docks while the city evacuates in the face of *sigh* another bunch of interdimensional raiders. This is the part of the internal monologue that has her rolling her eyes in meatspace. She's sitting in the corner, showing off by drinking, by now, her seventh bottle of wine without showing even the slightest hint of inebriation.

(Sharp eyes might spot that the wine glass' tears are suspiciously thick and rich, and that there is a suspicious amount of transparent residue at the bottom of each glass.)

*sigh*

Time to get ready for a swim home.

Aspen stands and approaches the bar, holding out her credit card. "I'd like to settle?"

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Doc Matthews," A familiar voice rumbles in greeting.
    It seems that sedentary lump that had been there at the bar turns out to be not some homeless bloke the staff chose to take pity on. Instead it's that Arthur person whom she had worked with a handful of days ago before all the crazy started to take the city.
    Might've been simply the fact that the divider for some of the seats blocked her line of sight to the bar. Or might've been the seven bottles of wine. Whichever it was, there he was now. His own bottle before him of whiskey seems to be doing him some good and serving the purpose her wine did. That being... procrastination.
    "Are you newly arrived?" He asks, pale golden gaze sweeping over her albeit briefly, then lifting up to meet her own gaze. "Or newly departing?"
    Which is the moment when Sara Reilly pipes up, "Likely departing, Arthur. Since last call was just a bit ago." But then she turns to Aspen and smiles a little apologetically as she presents the bill and begins the process of settling up with the Water Woman.

Aspen Matthews has posed:
"Oh..."

Aspen stares a moment at Arthur until she places him. "Aq... Mr. Curry," she says, disguising her near faux-pas as a bit of a cough. "How nice to run into you again."

She stares at the television, sound turned off, depicting the mass evacuation and some of the reasons for the declaration.

"Deciding to stick it out are we?"

Then, after a moment's consideration, adding, "Departing. I'm really not looking forward to the trip home. I got a ... ah ... boat. So I'll be sailing home." A wry expression fills her face. "Slow, though. I'll be late for work. Though I suspect a lot of public venues in Metropolis are going to be closed too."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Possibly," Arthur says as he pulls the bottle toward himself and gives a nod toward the bartender even as he puts a few bills on the counter. Then he plants his hands flat on the surface and /puuuushes/ himself to his feet with a world weariness that's likely not physical, yet present all the same.
    It was just a one word answer given, but then he takes up the bottle and starts to walk toward the door. He pauses at the end of the bar, turning to wait for her as it seems she's about to head on her way and it's late enough that he might as well too.
    "Leave the bottle, Arthur." Sara murmurs while counting out his money.
    "Right, of course." He says.
    Then he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his heavy sherpa hoodie, nodding toward Aspen. "C'mon, we'll walk to the docks or the subway or whatever?" He takes a few moments to zip that hoodie up and loosens out the sleeves with a few shakes of his arms.

Aspen Matthews has posed:
"If I'm catching a boat at the subway, we've got pretty huge problems here," Aspen says, laughing, as she leaves, waving a friendly goodbye to Sara. "Docks, yes. Filthy as they are."

For her own part, Aspen is not really dressed for the weather. Having expected mostly to spend her time in hotels, cars, and lecture halls, her sole salute to winter in New York was a long canvas overcoat, not even a puffy one or the like, that was doing little to keep the warm part warm if her incessant shivering, starting almost immediately upon exiting the bar, is anything to go by.

And she's planning on sailing home, supposedly.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting the Hell away from this place," she opines once outside and out of earshot. "Whatever's going on is not my cuppa. I've got enough confused trouble in my life. I don't need the wet dreams of religious fanatics to add to them. Leave this to the heroes."

With great power comes great ... timidity, apparently.

Then the odd question.

"Do you figure the bottom of the ocean is safe?"

Arthur Curry has posed:
    Once out in the briskness of the Winter, Arthur seems to liven up as he takes a deep breath... holds it, then releases it with a casual chortle coming from him as she impugns poor New York's docks. A sidelong glance is given to her, dropping down then back up as she shivers. He then bites his lower lip then shakes his head.
    "You sure yer gonna be alright?" Since surfing to safety! Isn't likely to get any warmer. Then again he has no idea how her powers work.
    "I figure I'll stick around." He says as he starts walking. The tall man takes an easy stride, matching her pace more than aught else. "Better to be on the scene than at the Hall of Justice. If things kick off while I'm back there then Superman offers to carry me, or I have to ride in Diana's lil jet." His lip twists up for some reason, then continues.
    "Figure it's as safe as anywhere? Namor's likely on the ball in Atlantis." As he walks he withdraws from the pocket of his small jacket a sphere of amber which he tosses toward her casually.
    "Squeeze that, should warm your hands up."

Aspen Matthews has posed:
Aspen catches the amber, fumbling a bit between her hands until she gets it firmly in grip. She squeezes it curiously while staring at Arthur. "What is it?" she asks as she squeezes.

Arthur's stated plans of sticking around, mentioning the Justice League in the process, seem to have an impact on her, however. Whatever the feeling in her hands, her reaction is one of shame, combined with looking like someone had just slapped her.

"I'm ... not ..."

She starts trying to talk, but seems to run out of words before she even really begins.

"I don't know ..."

Voice falls flat on its metaphorical face again. Her eyes slide away and suddenly get very interested in an advertisement for some kind of painkiller displayed on the side of a building. Absolutely fascinating that ad. Riveting.

"I'm ... not a hero."

Finally it manages to come out, oozing shame and wounded dignity. Now with the demeanour of a beaten puppy, she says it flat out.

"I wouldn't know where to start."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    For a time as they walk Arthur's looking at her now and again as she speaks. Or tries to. At first there's a touch of puzzlement to his expression. Not sure what she's having a hard time conveying. But as she gets to the end of those words that understanding comes and his lips part with a silent 'ah' that's given in reflection.
    No words are given in reply for a few more strides, though he does answer her first question. "Has a few names. Comes from the depths. Loosest translation is something akin to 'Emberstone.'"
    A few more steps then he adds, "I use it to start fires. Since I'm lazy." His lip twists up a little, though there may be more to the story than that that's the one he's going with.
    But then his gold eyes are lifted and distant, focused on the docks ahead of them and the fence gateway that leads to the marina. Closest way to the docks for them, though it might be locked up for now.
    "I kinda didn't know either. Where to start, I mean." Arthur pushes a hand roughly through his hair, the tangles not being kind to the man as he shakes his head. "At first I sorta just... kept to myself. And my father thought that was wise. Since. Atlantis. That raised a lot of issues."
    He takes a deep breath, then worries the inside of his cheek before he turns his gaze to her. "Eventually though, I got... annoyed. Impatient. With how things were going. I'd see a thing, or sense a thing. And it'd piss me off. Until eventually... I decided to do something about it."
    A shrug is given then he says, "I'm not one of those guys though, Aspen, that'll hassle you. Tell you if you do nothing with your powers that you're betraying humanity. Only you can answer a question like that. Only you can know if what sits with you will sit well with you. You can't..."
    He stops and laughs, shaking his head and then rests a hand on her shoulder gently, "You can't do this crazy bullshit for the wrong reasons. You gotta do it because you feel it's the right thing to do. Out of... faith. Not guilt."

Aspen Matthews has posed:
Of course this would be the time for rain to start falling. If it were a movie. Or a badly-written novel.

So what can one conclude when rain starts to fall?

Rain falls. It's a cold, unpleasant, icy sort of rain that beats the pavement to submission, washes grime from the tops of buildings to eye level, batters a nearby bus shelter's tin roof in a noisy drum solo, and leave Aspen and Arthur completely alone.

"I don't even know what you mean!" she complains. "Faith ... in what? How am I supposed to have faith in anything when everything I thought I knew is a lie?!"

Staring moodily across at Manhattan.

"Faith in things falling from the sky? Faith in myself enough to try to do soemthing about them? I can't have either of those." A snort makes its way through her sinuses, one of self-loathing and sarcasm. "Figuring out who's making fish transparent and why? OK, that I can get behind. I mean ..." She holds up a now-transparent arm. "... it's not like I'm unused to this. Well, OK, I am, but I've come to accept it."

She's guilting herself into it. Arthur can tell. He's probably seen it before. And seen the consequences.

"But that ... is ... it's too big."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "In yourself, I'd say." Arthur pauses as the rain falls around them yet not on them. He turns to look at her, hands on his hips now and his stance not exactly confrontational, but then again it's also a strong way of standing that seems not too giving.
    "You don't need to solve all the world's problems." His lips twist up, "You ever hear that parable about the horseshoe crabs?"
    The tall man waits a moment as she shakes her head. So he furrows his brow and looks over toward that locked up gate to the marina, the fence, the way the heavy wrought iron fence lies. Then he looks back at her, "A child rushes out onto the beach after a horrible storm last night. And on the beach they come upon hundreds upon hundreds of horseshoe crabs turned on their backs by the violence of the storm."
    He smiles a little as they stand in their own miniature eye of the hurricane. One rough hand slides out of his pocket as he takes hold of the lower strut of that gate, then /pulls/ up with a scrape of iron and plastic causing the fence to just rise on its supports a good three feet. Enough to duck under.
    He'll wait for her to slip beneath then follow through before he continues the tale. "So of course the child rushes about turning over one dazed crab after another and guiding them to the water until they're able to swim off."
    He stuffs his hands back into his pockets after letting the gate settle back onto its supports with another scrraape of sound. Then he nods to her, "An old man walks up and notices what the child is doing, and tells him, 'Child, don't you realize there are too many of them, what you're doing isn't enough to make a difference.' so the child looks at the old man as he puts one last crab into the water and tells the old man, 'It made a difference to that one.'"
    Once done he looks out to the ocean, then the young woman. He half-smiles a little, "Still cold?" And as he asks that he starts to pull off that now dry hoodie. And unless she stops him he'll wrap it around her shoulders.

Aspen Matthews has posed:
"I'm fine," Aspen says at the question, though the hoodie isn't exactly being turned down. "This 'emberstone' thing of yours is ..."

Her face goes distant.

"It's not exactly heat is it?" she asks in a thoughtful voice. "I've felt something like it before, only much stronger. Going through me. I was directing it. It's what Killian wanted me for; all his talk about training me and bringing me to my heritage was just cover for that."

She shakes her head and returns to the here and now. "Doesn't matter. I haven't been able to do it since. I probably burned it out. I make pretty fountains and keep the alcohol out of my mouth when I'm guzzling wine. Some 'hero'."

Then in a small voice she adds.

"I did throw a crab into the water once. To save it from some seagulls."

Her eyes look up at Arthur's. "And if you start laughing so help me I will find out if I still have that power!"

The words are severe. The face is sheepish and the eyes are dancing with laughter.

Then she closes her eyes and concentrates, gathering tendrils of rain in her hand to form a ball as she does so. With a bit more concentration the water in her hand ...

... begins to boil.

"Oh, wow!" she breathes, eyes open, staring at the ball of boiling water she's impossibly holding in her hands, the amber stone underneath it glowing through it.

...

...

The pause as she processes this takes forever.

"Well, if a space thing falls down, I can make tea for it now!"

Just a hint of bitterness there. But a baby step toward self-assurance? Maybe?

Arthur Curry has posed:
    The grey hoodie settles on her shoulders, if she's feeling ambitious she can even use the sleeves. But then he steps back and to the side, just wearing a burgundy t-shirt and a black leather vest in its place, he definitely looks out of place for the Winter but he's not shivering at the least.
    "It can convert energy to heat, but yeah." Is the answer she's given about the stone, though he listens as she mentions some of the ordeals she's had to endure and he frowns a little, then smiles a little when she gives herself a hard time.
    And then she offers him such a grim threat about laughing that he smiles and holds up a hand, "No hey, no judgement here." His own features... though they are harsh, there's a gentleness to his tone.
    She then draws on her power and concentrates, and he'll watch as that sphere of rain is brought to life in her hand, then begins to bubble with a boil that she manages to give life to. He gives a small smile.
    "Tea's nothin' to laugh at. Could make millions in Britain." He offers off-handedly, though he does brush his hands over his thick bare arms, as if rubbing life into them against the hint of cold. Not exactly feeling the severity of the chill temperatures. But still. Goosebumps for the cold.
    He meets her eyes, "You'll be alright. And you don't gotta stick around for whatever is coming. I mean hey, I'm here. So what could go wrong?"

Aspen Matthews has posed:
The ball of boiling water turns solid and drops to the ground with a thud. Not the thud and shattering of ice, or even glass. Something different. All before it turns liquid and pours away, joining its brethren in washing accumulated crud and trash into piles near the storm drains.

Spotting the goosebumps on Arthur's arms, Aspen takes the hoodie off her shoulders again and reaches it out. "The stone is keeping me fine under this overcoat for now," she says. "You keep this. Soon I'll be in the water and swimming, not feeling any of this."

Like the shame. That will vanish too.

"And for what could go wrong, would you like that list in alphabetical or chronological order? Or cross-referenced both ways?" She taps her chest. "Me scientist. Me think all things go wrong. Me need know to not blow up world."

With ocean currents or something. Don't ask her to make sense right now. It's not going to happen.

As they reach the water, finally (the part that's not falling from the sky), Aspen sighs and takes off her overcoat. Carefully she places her personal electronics into a sealable pouch she pulls out from an inside pocket, secreting it in the same pocket, zipping it closed. She then steps out of her clothing.

Well, flows out, since she's now a transparent statue. The clothing falls to the ground only to get gathered up and placed into her overcoat.

"I was lying about the boat," she said. "Sounded like a better thing to say than my planning to swim to Metropolis. That would have sounded weird."

The rippling statue of Aspen-shaped water smiles? ... is that what that distortion around her mouth is? ... at Arthur. She ties her overcoat with practiced fingers into a bundle, the sleeves holding it all together and forming a handle.

"I wish I could stay, Arthur," she says with regret dripping from her voice like the rain dripping from the sky. "But ... I can't even see a crab. I can only see a space rock that wants tea."

The water form pours into the ocean, taking along with it the bundle of clothes.

Then the rain falls on Arthur.