Namor and Cal

[ax_mimic]

Namor finally gets a reluctant, skittish roommate.


Cal came out of his latest session with the Professor in a foul mood. If he'd known that making progress meant he'd be thrown into a room with another kid, he wouldn't have been so eager. The old guy would have seen right through him, of course. Cal might have his telepathy, but it wasn't anywhere near as good as his. His mimics were never perfect.

So he went to his room, shoved what few belongings he had into a backpack, and walked back into the hallway to find Room 120. He scanned the inside to see whether anyone was home, and found one mind inside, to one side of the room. He knocked once, then walked in, headed for the empty bed to drop his bag there, heart thudding hard in his chest at being made to share with whoever this dude was. "I'm Cal," he said, doing nothing to hide his irritation.

Namor's side of the room was unassuming... at first blush. The Imperial Crest of the Atlantean Royal Family was mounted above the head of Namor's bed; a simple, stylized trident fork that was visible on the gold belt he wore as he lounged upon his bed. Here and there, pieces of Atlantean paraphernalia were scattered about; a conch here, some coral there, the occasional piece of sea rock, and a lump of what appeared to be nothing more than aged bronze sitting upon his desk next to his computer. Propped against the wall at the foot of his bed, Namor's own trident sat, made of what looked like gilded bronze.

However, the Atlantean prince paid little attention to his new roommate's demeanor as he lay, seeming disinterested, dressed in an open vest and pants that terminated at the calf, both made of some sort of blue scale. Namor was thumbing through the pages of a catalog of menswear, making notes here and there, mentally. "Namor the First," Namor replied, still not using the surname of his surfacer father.

The First? What made the old guy think Cal was stable enough for that shit? Or would ever be. He shook his head to himself, and just started unpacking, stuffing things into his dresser and closet. He didn't have much, so it was going to be done quickly enough.

The lump of bronze on Namor's desk vibrated a few times, before an illumination came from it and it opened up into a saucer-shaped projector that brought up the image of a beautiful, albeit blue, woman. Namor had sat up at the sound of the vibration, setting the catalog aside. The woman's visage swiveled toward Namor, and she began to speak to him in a language that did not sound unlike ancient Latin, though it had significantly evolved from that. Namor responded in kind, nodding and speaking as if Cal wasn't there.

Whatever was said, however, the topic quickly changed to English. "You have a roommate now?" the woman asked, seemingly happy for Namor.

"His name seems to be Cal," Namor said. He glanced across the room to Cal. "She cannot see you at this distance. The communication device can only pick up an image from roughly a yard away." If he didn't want to be seen, he wouldn't be. He would be heard, though.

"His name is Cal," Cal piped up flatly, as he went on putting his clothes away.

"It is good that you are socializing with surfacers, Namor," the image said to him, though she was smiling a bit wryly at her son.

"I find them complicated. However, this Xavier seems to be something of a paragon of mutantkind. He is rescuing mutants who have been put in danger by their surfacer kin," Namor explained.

Cal closed the drawer of his dresser a little sharply, but kept his back to the conversation, and remained still.

"A marvelous endeavor," Namor's mother replied, smiling. "You should contribute in any way you can, my son."

"I will, mother," Namor said, having already decided that awhile back when he'd first learned of it. "I will keep you apprised of any further developments," he added, smiling. He said something to his mother in Atlantean, with a small smile, and she replied similarly, before the image vanished and the lump of brass resumed its unassuming, misshapen form.

When the call ended, Cal forced himself to go back to putting his things away. Go through the motions. Pretend everything was fine. Those were things he was used to doing.

"You must be particularly inured to the unusual," Namor said to his roommate. "The student body's reaction to Atlantis' existence was... amusing, at least, from my perspective."

"I've been here for a few weeks," Cal replied shortly. It wasn't as if he'd learned about Atlantis today. "But I'm glad you find 'surfacers' so fucking amusing." They said having a sense of humor was important. Cal was pretty sure he'd left his back with the Right.

Namor swiveled on his bed and sat with his feet on the floor, the wings on his ankles bristling restlessly. "I see," he said. "I was unaware you were not a newcomer. Indeed, I was barely informed of the fact that you would be arriving. The Professor was not specific, however, so I should not have assumed." As to the other point, well... "I mean no offense at my amusement," he clarified. "Indeed, half of my heritage is that of a surfacer. However, it is a ... world with which I am unfamiliar. So of course I find some aspects of it amusing."

"Of course," Cal flatly echoed. Everything about this guy was rubbing him the wrong way, and he had to settle the fuck down. He took a breath as he finished putting away his stuff, then turned back to him. "I'm part of the rescues they got a month ago. Don't come at me out of the blue. Don't try and wake me up if I'm having a nightmare. And let me know if anything about your mutation's fucked up. I'm a mimic."

Namor took inventory of the rules with no complaint, nodding to each. "It is actually unclear to me as to which aspects of my mutation are due to my Atlantean heritage, and due to my mutant surfacer blood," Namor said, figuring that was a fine topic to go to. "However, I would assume you could mimic my ability to fly, as well as have some of my strength and durability. I am... abnormally tough and strong for an Atlantean."

Nothing dangerous, then. Cal nodded at the guy's ankles. "What's up with the Hermes winglets?" They couldn't actually be the way that he flew. The physics were all wrong for that. Decorations? A biological leftover evolution hadn't gotten rid of yet? Or was it more fucked up bullshit, and they actually did propel the guy when he flew?

"That is how I fly, I am told," Namor said. "Though I do not have to think of it as such. It is more..." He paused to think. "It is more like breathing, rather than... flapping one's arms, say," Namor explained. "I simply will myself to fly, and I do."

Decorations, then, although they might well house the center of his flying ability. It would be odd for them to be so far from the brain, but - Cal pushed the thoughts away. It was a testament to his ongoing recovery that he would think like a budding bio-scientist again, but he wasn't ready to go back to that by a long way. He wasn't sure he ever would be, given his many unresolved issues with his father.

"I might try it some day," he simply answered, forcing himself to carry on a conversation, when all he wanted was to walk out the door.

"I welcome you to do so," Namor said, politely. "Whenever you desire to do so, you need only ask."

Not really, Cal thought, but knew better than to say. "Yeah. Er, thanks."

"No need for thanks," Namor said. "I am just as curious about this as you are, I would imagine. Defining how much of my innate abilities are owed to my surfacer heritage is... an interest of mine. And an interest of Atlantis."

Way more curious about it than Cal was, actually. He shifted slightly where he was, ignoring the resentment chafing at his insides. He was a regular font of information about other people's mutations, wasn't he. "Don't you have biologists?"

"We do. However, mutation is... unprecedented among Atalteans," Namor clarified. "And our technology in terms of certain aspects far surpasses surfacer norms, from what I have seen, though things such as this 'Danger Room' I've seen are comparable. But as I said, mutation is unprecedented. Our biologists know nothing about it, and would know nothing as to where to start."

"They don't sound very innovative," Cal remarked, but there was no sentiment behind the words. They were what they were, and it didn't really matter to him.

"Part of... the few flaws that Atlanteans possess," Namor began, carefully, "is that we are steeped in tradition. It gives us strength. Unity. There is virtually no crime among our people. However, it does, yes, as you say, make us... rigid."

Few flaws. Right. Cal was highly skeptical, but again, he didn't really care. "Well, welcome to the surface, I guess."

"Your welcome is appreciated," Namor replied, without hint that he meant anything to the contrary. "I look forward to sharing a living space with someone."

Well, that made one of them, but Cal managed not to say anything. "There's stuff I gotta do." Like not be here. "I'll see you later."

"Very well," Namor said, resisting the instinct to wave a hand in dismissal. This man was a peer, in a sense, and not a subject. "I shall see you later, then."

"Yeah," Cal agreed, and turned to go without a look back. He didn't know how he was supposed to sleep in a room with a stranger, but he would have to figure it out. If the Professor thought he was ready, then he probably was.

Comments

[ax_everlight]

Haha this seems like nothing can go wrong here. This will be a really interesting personality match!