9531/A cold morning at the docks

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A cold morning at the docks
Date of Scene: 08 January 2022
Location: City Docks
Synopsis: PAckage delivered. Meeting finished.
Cast of Characters: Arthur Curry, Achilles




Arthur Curry has posed:
    Water splashes across the docks in a crystalline cascade, bits of ice and snow and sludge spread across the wooden slats, falling into a smooth rivulet that washes over the side and back into the river. It wasn't so much the cold, or the ice, or the grime. It was more... the smell. Bludhaven's waters stunk and each time Arthur Curry found himself going up the river to pay a visit... he always had to take long hot showers after.
    One boot emptied, the other is upturned as well as the Half-Atlantean slouched on the end of the docks, those heavy brown workboots being cleaned and brushed free of the refuse on it. Once those are done he sets them aside and removes the heavy grey hoodie he's been wearing these Winter months.
    Now that is going to take a bit more effort there in the morning sunlight. A focus of one hand, golden eyes glowing, and sloooowly water beadlets faded into existence over the clothing, then form a small spiral and launch themselves back into the water. Which eventually... leaves him with dry clothes.
    "Januaries suck." He pronounces with some touch of animosity and mainly to himself.

Achilles has posed:
    "January sucks." mutters Angelo as he pulls his oh-so-average looking sedan into the area. "This had better be worth it mother. You don't talk to me in three centuries, and then just show up on my doorstep with a package you want -me- to deliver on your behalf."

    Yes, Angelo Tampambulos, aka Achilles of Pythia is talking to himself... or to his rear view mirror, as if his mother could hear what he was saying. Who knows? Maybe she can.

    But somehow, she knew where to tell him to go... and the car stops, the tire-rubber crackling the thin layer of ice that froze over the parking lot surface. His may be one of the only cars there, and it definitely is the only one that is running.

    He took the liberty of making a stop on the way, and when he steps out of the car, he has two carry-out cups of gourmet coffee that he sets on top of the sedan before moving to the back and popping the trunk open to retrieve the package contained therein.

    To most observers, there is nothing really special going on there. But the fact that he came to a stop something like twenty yards from where Arthur is dealing with his dislike of the colder months might draw attention.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    Attention is drawn, and focused, shifted sidelong toward the approach of the car and the way its wheels crunch gravel, grit, and snow. From Angelo's point of view it might seem that the homeless guy on the dock is eyeballing the sedan and its passenger. Which, on some level, is true. But there's no malice in the glance, nor machinations.
    More just a guy grimacing at the prospect of having to get up and move before he's quite ready.
    Luckily he is done mostly with dealing with his Winter clothes and pushes himself up to his feet, sliding an arm into the sleeve of his hoodie, then snaking the other into place. Once that's done he looks less homeless. Maybe more a rock show roadie?

Achilles has posed:
    Package, which is about two feet by one foot by one foot in a nondescript cardboard box... in hand, Angelo turns to regard the roadie-ish guy.

    "Please forgive me if I seem presumptuous..." he says, in a voice that sounds like it has been working overtime to shed its English accent, but is in just the last vestiges of it... "But would you be a Mister Curry?" he asks as he shuts the trunk with an elbow and sets the package upon the closed car trunk.

    "I hope so. I was asked to bring this to you, and before you ask... no, I have no idea what is in the package. I was not deemed worthy enough to be told that. But I believe it would not be harmful to you."

    His eyes flicker to the steaming to-go cups above his driver's door, "Oh, and one of those coffees is for you." he adds. "Whatever is in the package however, is a gift from the Nereid Thetis if that helps."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    That earns him the side-eye. That sidelong look with furrowed brow and narrowed gaze from the tall man with the wild hair. His lips part and he seems to chew on the inside of his cheek in that wary yet casual manner of a man pondering the mysteries that lie ahead, and coming out on the end of it ignorant.
    "Yeah," He says at first, no fear in him. Not yet at least. He's got that sort of stance and attitude that makes one thing of a man comfortable wherever he stands and seemingly projecting that aura of control and ownership despite the docks not really being his.
    "Arthur." He says in way of introduction. Mr. Curry... well is how he imagines his father.
    "Who asked you to bring what now?" That said he looks at the box, the deliveryman, then the car. There are pieces there that need connecting, until then there's the mention of Thetis.
    "Thetis?" Hands resting on his hips now, "Hnh, how'd that come up?"

Achilles has posed:
    "It's a long story. But..." Angelo shrugs with a lopsided grin, "Most of my stories are really -really- long. Let's just say that she is my mother. If you -require- more... I can give you more. I'm not really someone who likes telling people I just met all about my life story. But..."

    He steps over and picks up one of the coffee cups in each hand before holding one out to Arthur, "Okay. Arthur then. You can call me Angelo. There, now we're a bit more acquainted, yes?" he asks.

    And Angelo has not shown anything but confidence and self-assuredness in his stance for centuries. He seems totally comfortable and doesn't seem to feel the least bit threatened. In fact, he seems to be at ease and smiling at least casually. Like he is enjoying this meeting.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Sure man," Arthur says, but mentioning Thetis is his mother the young Atlantean gives a nod, "Ah ok, yeah I've met a good number of Greeks. Lots folks runnin' around these days." And just like that he's strolling across the way to meet the man half-way to accept the coffee.
    "And Greeks bearing gifts. Might as well dive into it." No need to fear as he takes up the cup of coffee. For a moment he pulls off the lid just to check if it's got anything added to it, less that he needs it to be a particular way... and more to just get his taste-buds ready.
    A sip is taken, though for now he's pondering the package. Brow beetled with curiousity he makes a slight face and then murmurs, "Course, I'm gonna open it. Maybe not here. But soonish." He looks up, "So if it's going to explode into hundreds of little centaurs then best lemme know." For some reason something that specific makes sense to him.

Achilles has posed:
    Wincing just the tinist bit at the mention of Greeks bearing gifts.. after all, he was a part of what caused that saying to begin.

    "Well, it's not a horse, if that helps." Angelo states before he takes a sip of his own coffee. "It's also a bit small to contain a bunch of soldiers." he adds. The coffee is just black. What it -is-, is rich and hot on a cold morning.

    "S, mother tells me that you are someone of note. And she does not say that about many people. In fact, she hasn't so much as spoken to me in... well, let's just say that the last time she and I spoke was somewhere before the American Revolution." he adds, giving away more clues. What? He likes doing that part of the game.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    Scrunching one eye up he continues to glower at the package, but he leaves it for now and take a step to the side to lean back against one of the wooden timbers that support the docks. He eases back against it, both hands around the coffee and his eyes on Angelo. "I'm part Atlantean, so that's probably how we overlap in our own ways."
    Another sip as he looks at Angelo and does seem to ponder, his head cocking to the side at the casual mention of such longevity. But he also knows that it's often not entirely polite to come out and ask a Greek direct questions, especially when having accepted a gift.
    "I'll take it with her regards, see what can be seen when I run it downstairs." Into the ocean assuredly. He lifts his chin, "So you have no clue what's in it, just at the behest of Thetis."
    Another pause, "Hnh."

Achilles has posed:
    "Well, Nereids aren't exactly known for being direct. But I asked her if it was anything harmful.. her reply was... oh how did she state it?" asks Angelo as he takes a sip to give himself time to recall the exact wording.

    "Ah yes. She said, and I quote.. It will bring no harm to its intended recipient or his people."

    Then he shrugs and grins, "That is about the most direct that I have ever heard her be. When I was an arrogant wanker of a youth, she told me something about achieving glory and yet death, or happiness without either. To this day, I wish I'd chosen happiness."

    But then he shakes his head as if trying to clear it from being punch drunk. "Anyhow. Atlantean huh? I guess we may be super distant cousins or something. I could be wrong, but I seem to recall the tales of Atlantis hinting at some relation to Poseidon and the Nereids way back in the annals of history."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    A short chortle comes from the tall man as he shakes his head and takes another sip of coffee afterward. "Well, here's hopin'." Arthur says that with a casual ease, taking a deep breath as he ponders it and glances across toward the ocean. Something about the water is not exactly inviting, what with the chunks of ice floating on past and the brackish color of it.
    But then he side-eyes Angelo again, those Greeks, always sneaking something past you. Or dangling it in front of your face. "Hnh." He says again, not voicing what might have piqued his curiousity. But Angelo's words aren't going unnoticed.
    "Yup," At the question of his being Atlantean, "Maybe. I'm half-Atlantean so chances are..." He lifts a hand, uncurling fingers to the side with a dismissive gesture, "We're possibly cousins, right along there with Genghis Khan," Since that man did craft quite the genetic legacy.
    "Well, you wanna know what's in it when I run it down, or you wanna be surprised and hear about it next time the Fates evoke their will and all that?"

Achilles has posed:
    Shrugging, Angelo shakes his head, "I'm used to not knowing things. There is a saying. Something about wisdom coming from accepting ignorance or whatever." He grins and lifts his coffee cup in a salute. "Be well cousin." he says.

    Never mind the fact that he pre-dated Genghis Khan by something like twenty five hundred years or whatnot.