Owner	Pose
Aspen Matthews	It's Wednesday night and what does a responsible, hard-working girl like Aspen do? She skives off work early, swims (yes SWIMS) from Metropolis to Happy Harbor and, upon arriving, she starts catching waves. Without a surfboard. (Rentals are ... gross.) And without waves. Except when she's there. Now she's not COMPLETELY irresponsible. She is wearing a half-wetsuit, and she is also doing this just around the bend of the sparsely-populated beach so she doesn't draw too much attention to the fact she's doing impossible things on impossible waves curling up behind her, but sharp eyes attached to a bit of knowledge might spot that something is a bit off. This doesn't include the little gaggle of teenagers that were drinking underage near that same stretch of beach. The guys are too busy ogling her, and the girls too busy being catty as their boyfriends look elsewhere to notice that this is just wrong.
Michael Erickson	It's Wednesday night and what does an alien field agent masquerading as a human (with real human skin and hair why would you think him anything different?) who gets stuck in Rhode Island overnight on business do with his time? Walk the waterfront of Happy Harbor, apparently, like a proper tourist. He'd been sitting at the counter of the Mad Yak Cafe for a good while before closing time settled, and now he is out walking the sand in his casuals and boots, toting a to-go cup of coffee in his hand as he looks out across the swiftly-darkening horizon. The sun's already gone, after all, and the sky is curing to a gorgeous midnight blue shot through with purpose.     And there's the girl there hanging twenty-eight-hundred where she should be hanging, you know, ten. That's the term, right?     He stands on the sand, watching her pull those ridiculous feats. Knows that it's not right - well, it's not /normal/, anyway, but it's absolutely rad so why do anything to take her attention away from her work? So he stands there, sipping coffee, watching the girl in the shorty suit destroy the laws of hydrodynamics in the name of doing her own thing.     This planet, man. It's nuts out there for tourists.
Aspen Matthews	Apparently this surfing thing is a near-mystical experience for the woman, given the blissful look on her face as she does ... well, frankly impossible things. Even with a board the kind of near dance-like moves she does verge on the dubious as far as reality is concerned. The fact that she's doing them when her FEET are the surfboard(s) renders it beyond the point of difficult and well into the realm of ludicrous. Then that last wave. Where the penultimate wave led her up to the beach ... before CURVING and taking her back out to sea in time to step--STEP--to the ultimate one. One that could only reach the size it does if there was an incipient storm surge. Or an incoming tsunami's precursor. This sweeps her toward shore as she swoops her arms and twirls in place, eyes closed, mouth in a broad, relaxed smile, before suddenly swallowing her in a violent whitewater curl. When it goes back, leaving the sea smooth and untouched, almost, outside of ocean swell and some light peaks from a gentle breeze, she's gone. Missing.
Michael Erickson	Everyone has their personal magic. For this lady, it's water. He watches her perform her miracles in the name of finding joy, unsurprised at her effective hydromancy but never unimpressed. Watches her face, takes note for later reporting. Of course, it's easier to see her from afar thanks to what hides beneath the layers of holographic disguise that appears outwardly as casual clothing: thousands of years of technological development has led to the armor he wears, a thin metal skin worn over his own that looks like chrome musculature. Not that she would see it. Or anyone else. Hidden away by the illusory image of him as regular man, macrovisor sensors track her movements as if she were there in front of him, a private show just for him. Of course he's a voyeur. It's his job.     It's the macrovision that lets him see the smile on her face. That's the only reason he doesn't charge out to see what he can do, to try and fetch her. Clearly she knows what she's doing - whatever powers she has letting her move like this, or, if she's in fact suicidal, well...he's not going to get in the way of a woman who smiles as death takes her. So he sips his coffee, his hidden helmet visor half-retracted to allow him to do so. Waits to see if she surfaces anew.
Aspen Matthews	The teenaged onlookers freak out a bit as she vanishes, rushing over to where she should have been washing up on shore but wasn't. Behind them she steps out of the ... ... no, it's not stepping. It's something more. First the wetsuit makes its way shoreward, out of the teens' sight. Then it fills with water. Then she's in it and stepping out of the water, casting a brief amused glance at the backs of the teens before walking away toward Michael. Bone dry. So bone dry her hair waves like a flag in the breeze instead of sticking even slightly to her skin. "Did you enjoy the show?" she asks as she passes him by. "I saw you standing and watching."
Michael Erickson	A faint smirk crosses his lips as he watches her manifest from over the rim of his cup. "Bit hard to miss," he says, his voice a rich baritone, his accent placing him firmly abouts in New York City. Manhattan, probably. "Came outta there like Venus from the seafoam, y'know. There a matinee, or is this a command performance?"
Aspen Matthews	The woman laughs a musical laugh not entirely dissimilar to the sound of foamy water hitting shore. "I'm afraid that the performances are purely for myself and any who happen to be present. Surfing is how I relax." She doesn't mention the bit about how she came out of the water. "Do you usually come to the beach to watch surfers or was this a special occasion?" While she talks her attention is roughly evenly split between Michael's face and the water, positioning herself, in fact, so both are in her frame of view. "I'm just in after work. This is my favourite beach now that's within reach of a commute."
Michael Erickson	It's a pretty sound, that laugh. Makes him smile a bit more. "Yeah, well," he says, "I'm down here on business. Client meeting. Thought I'd go on walkabout, on account the waterfront was supposed to be so nice. Didn't think the scenery could get better than that, but here we are." Vague gesture in a circle with the mug, enclosing the sea and her person in the same orbit. "I tell rich people how to keep themselves safe from men with guns. Except, you know, the ones who can turn into water and slither up their drains. Strictly conventional affairs."
Aspen Matthews	"Slither ... up ... drains?" The woman's face looks a little shocked. Surprised. And more than a little grossed-out. "Who do you know that does that?!" she asks, pausing, then holding up her hands defensively adding, "No, on second thought I really don't need to know that." Still making a face, though clearly trying to suppress it, she holds out a hand, "I'm Aspen. Dr. Aspen Matthews if you want to be formal. I run the Oceanographic Institute of Metropolis University, home of the fighting Cephalopods." She holds up her hand in a fist, half-heartedly waving it, "Go 'Pods." She looks out across the sea as the sun starts flirting with the horizon. "I skived off work a bit early to come surf some. I like this beach. It's not as crowded as the one near work. It lets me cut loose some."
Michael Erickson	"My job to envision unconventional methods," he says with a chuckle. Michael takes another sip of his coffee, then. "I'm a suspicious sort. Michael Erickson, Doctor, nice to meet you. I'm afraid I've got nothing else in the way of title, so there you are." He grins a tad at her now. "So you come out here, become one with the ocean? Turn to water and back again? You don't...lose yourself with the conversion?" Absolutely typical questions, these, of course. Gorgeous women liquefying and solidifying. Probably something on the internet about that. Best not to think too hard on it.
Aspen Matthews	Michael can almost see the ... angler fish lure? ... light up over Aspen's head. "Oh! You saw that, did you? Nah, that's a little parlour trick I do." She's waving it off in a light-hearted fashion but is also watching Michael warily at the same time, sending a rather conflicting message. It's not hard to read her face either. 'How did he see that?' "It's actually a trick involving sand in flowing currents. It can look very convincing. If I could have magic shows at the beach I could make people think I was a witch!" The laugh is false. Very false. "A sand witch!" Now the laugh is genuine. And vaguely apologetic. She knows what she did. "I'm just a very strong swimmer," she lies smoothly, "with very good lungs. I can stay underwater a long time. Lets me set up all kinds of gags."
Michael Erickson	Ah. Michael looks at her, frowning faintly, but gestures again. "Well that's disappointing. I got good eyes, I see lots of things. It's my job. As for the rest...lady, I just saw two guys seal a crack in the Lincoln Tunnel up with laser beams out of their heads. You don't wanna cop to it, fine, but let's not pretend I'm an idiot." Lies do nothing for him. "Ain't like I'm gonna spread it around. None of my business."
Aspen Matthews	Aspen freezes a bit, staring wide-eyed at Michael as thoughts race around in her head. Then she unfreezes and shrugs. "I ... was hoping you didn't see clearly enough," she says ruefully. Ghost of a smile flirting at the edge of her lips. "You were a good ways off so ... you know ... plausible deniability." She takes a deep breath and expels it noisily. "But yeah, I can do tricks with water. And my body. Mixed. It's still kinda something I working out for myself, so I try not to advertise it." She gestures out to where the sea is now only lightly waved with sea swell throwing a bit of water a little bit up the way on the beach where a bunch of teenaged boys and girls are milling around and trying to figure out what's going on. "Today's little trick I didn't even know was possible until I met Aquaman and ... well ... implications of things kind of added up and I learned a few new things." She pauses a moment. "But apparently I'm not the same as him, so ..."
Michael Erickson	He nods, bending down to put the cup int he sand. "I don't know anything about that guy," he says, "But really, just...relax, all right? I'm not gonna run off and get the natives. You seem a bit too good for the torches and pitchforks treatment, and you're just trying to have a good time. S'all right." He gives her another smile, this one much warmer than the last. Offers her his hand, finally, to shake. "Hell, I'm just glad it's that. For a second I thought you was gonna drown yourself. Waste of a doctorate, that."
Aspen Matthews	"Nah, the drowning happened a couple of times earlier. The second one was the clue that something weird was up when a witness saw me turn to water." The grin is affable, but eyes a little troubled. "That was, like, a couple of months ago. So ... lots of adjustment. I learned things about me that ... I'm still processing." Like she's a mutant? Something else? Who knows. But it doesn't fully explain those eyes. That thousand yard stare is verging on PTSD. "We all know how people are at reacting to strangeness, right? Any given person can be smart. People are stupid. The IQ remains constant as the number of brains increases. That kind of thing."
Michael Erickson	"Like I said." He looks down at his hand, puts it away. "Kind of like puberty all over again, I guess." There's a deep pang of pity for the woman; he's seen all kinds of things, seen people in their moment of discovery. She just turns to water. At least she doesn't awaken and consume a planet in flames. "Look, Doctor? I'm just a guy, here, and I can't imagine what you're going through...but if you look around, right? Plenty of people got these kinds of gifts. Maybe you should, I dunno, look for 'em. Let 'em help you out." He looks out now across the water, shifting always, a constant, glittering captive of motion. "Like I say, you seem good people. Be a shame for you to get dragged down due to the judgment of people can't share your experience."
Aspen Matthews	"I've been speaking to some..." Aspen admits, voice small. "When you join the club it turns out there's a lot more around you than you realize." Voice stronger. "But it's still a shock. Learning that ... everything you know is wrong and that you're different than you thought you were and way different than the people around you." She smirks a bit, then, as she looks over at Michael. "I do a bit more than just turn into water, though," she adds. "Which ... what did Voltaire say? Something about power and responsibility?" She looks across the water with a vague yearning etched into her face, like it's calling to her and she's resisting its allure. "That's what I have to work through," she says distantly. "Now that I know ... what's my responsibility?" And she's back in the here and now, hand outstretched for a handshake. "You seem a nice guy, Michael. Mind listening to me whine a bit more? Or maybe distract me by telling me stories of rich people who have no clue how to be safe."
Michael Erickson	"Sure, hon." A moment's spent scanning the sand around him, looking for a good spot to sit. Oh yes, miss, he's all ears. Do tell unto him your secrets. At least here, she'll get something out of it that isn't betrayal.     Settling down he looks up at her, scanning that pretty face. The emotion. These humans...even when they're possessed of powers they cannot understand, they push on. It's certainly something to admire. Plenty of psychological profiles to the point, knowledge about that resilience, have been sent back home.     "'With great power comes great responsibility'," he affirms. "But I think Voltaire was talking about the excesses of the nobility. Guess it still applies nonetheless, power over noblesse oblige." He /is/ a nice guy, all things being equal. It's just his job, his bosses, that cast a shadow over him. But that's nothing that Aspen needs to worry about. Yet.
Aspen Matthews	"The one I always think of is Metropolis' own: Superman," Aspen says thoughtfully as she adopts a lotus-like pose in the sand across from Michael. "The scale difference aside, we're ... pretty much the same. Not human. Gifted with extraordinary power." She looks Michael in the eye. "He could rule the world, you know. Easily. He could take it over and there's nothing anybody human could do to stop him. But he doesn't. Why? It's not fear of punishment." Again her voice goes distant. "If I wanted to I could ... become very wealthy. By exploiting what I can do. Not a lot could stop me. Maybe not even him. But I don't want to. So ... why?" She shakes her head and looks over the water again. "I think Voltaire had a point. People like him. Like me. We're the new nobles. But we've had the full history of the horrors of unchecked noble power to look at and get repelled by. Neither of us want anything to do with it. So that leads to ... what SHOULD I do? Just ... be Dr. Aspen Matthews and keep my nose out of things? Or be like Superman and stick my nose into everything? Or something in between." Her entire form dances when she shrugs. "I don't know. And until I do, I ..." She grins sheepishly, gesturing to the placid bay. "Play."
Michael Erickson	"Better play than mope," he says with a shrug. Humorless, perhaps, but at least he is sincere. "All I say is, be careful saying that nobody could stop him. Or you. If you can manifest this, someone else can do better. There's always a greater power."     What a comforting sentiment - but he's not a psychist, he's a soldier. His people are pragmatic. "Have fun with it, help people out if you can. But I figure that you shouldn't worry about existential questions, at least not at this time. Worry about the stuff that you have control of at the moment. And that..." He gestures to the water, then. Marking the obvious. "Besides, seems a grim thing, putting yourself in that place. Seems to me that you have a playful spirit. Rare thing. Don't let it go to waste."
Aspen Matthews	"Meh. I just love surfing. And sailing. And swimming. And diving." She puts a mock-annoyed look in her voice to match the mock-annoyed expression on her face. "Yeah, OK, so maybe there were some clues!" she 'snaps', face severe, eyes dancing. "But riddle me this wise-guy. How does snowboarding fit? Hah! That's one in the 'not obsessed with water' side, isn't it!?" She rolls her eyes then, self-deprecatingly it seems. "Yeah, all the pieces were there. Swimming. Surfing. Diving. Marine biology. The evidence was there that something was different about me. I mean when I was a teen..." Which couldn't have been long ago. "...most of my college roommates had BTS pictures on their dorm walls. I had Aquaman." That face is DARING him to comment... "And now I can do the kind of research other marine biologists can only DREAM of! I want to see what goes on in the Marianas, I'll be down there and poking around in a few hours. Seeing and sensing more than any of them could ever hope to accomplish!" There's that little seed of pride hidden behind that shrubbery of play...
Michael Erickson	"Snow is frozen water." Checkmate, hydrophile! Michael looks back out over the sea, grinning faintly at the front she puts up. The sweet stubbornness of her. These humans. Insane by the standards of the Shi'ar, but to him...     "Sounds like you've got a long life of fascinating research ahead of you, then. Good for you." He gets to his feet; somewhere in his field of vision the teltale glyph appears that suggests the armor he wears as a second metal skin will need recharging soon. "Well, Doctor, I've gotta turn in. Getting lte. But you sound like you've got a good head about you on this, what's going on with you. I wish you well with it. Maybe I'll drop in and say hello next time I'm in Metropolis, if you like."
Aspen Matthews	Aspen makes no move to get up herself as Michael does, just watching him idly from the sand. "Sure, feel free. I'm director of the aquarium, among other things, so I'm usually there when it's tourist hours. If you can get past my secretary you've earned the right to see me. Or, you know, I'm in the phone book." A rarity these days. "And I occasionally..." She holds her fingers barely apart from each other. Then spreads them. Then lets her hands' separation take over and spreads her arms wide. "...can be found on the beach swimming. Lots of ways to get in touch." She looks down a fraction of a second after a mildly embarrassed grin crosses her face, hand sweeping abstract patterns in the sand. "Thanks for the talk, and glad you enjoyed the show."
Michael Erickson	"So am I," he says with a chuckle. "In the phone book, that is. Michael Erickson, Murray Hill. Manhattan." He looks out the way one last time, the last the purples of the sky now darkening entirely. Time to go. "Right. Take care of yourself, Doctor. Go have fun."     And then he's off, stooping to collect his cup and marching off across the sand. Busy week for him. Busier than most. Two days of being shot at, a third keeping a tunnel from collapsing. Now this. Gods only know what else will come, but as always, he'll be ready. The Empire needs him. And so do these wonderful primitives, too.