1963-06-07 - The Submariner
Summary: Jean and Logan go to Jimbo's to track down and introduce themselves to Prince Namor.
Related: http://marvel1963mush.wikidot.com/log:1963-05-30-long-live-jimbos
Theme Song: None
jean logan namor 


Workers crowd around Jimbo's Diner on the outside, many of them with buckets and scrub brushes to scrub down the newly placed windows, while others with their buckets of paint to paint on the new decor that was afforded to them by Prince Namor. It was a local hotspot now. While the boys who were in there in that fateful night refused to return out of fear, there were a few new sets of people and employees that filled the diner proper.

It was expressly stated that Jean wanted to find this 'prince', not to give him a peace of her mind, but to find someone else just like her and the Professor. He spoke to her in his head. He had control. He leaked confidence and had a rare anger just like Logan's. He could be a friend, maybe another mutant. He could possibly join them at the school for lessons.

Jean was naive in the sense that this could happen, with a few pleads and well wishes. Maybe even a few promises that would probably fall on deaf ears to someone like Namor. Maybe to even learn and figure out how in the world he managed to have the control that she lacks. Maybe.. some common ground. Or maybe she just wanted a new friend. She didn't even know her own motives.

Sitting at their same booth, Jean looks out the window, a shoulder pressed against it as she watches the towel move in circles in front of her face. She ordered a nice burger, an order of fries and a coke. Apple pie to boot. Money she had gotten from Xavier with the promise that she would keep herself safe. Doesn't hurt that Logan was there to.. well… babysit as she calls it.

"I don't think he will show up today." Jean confesses. "We could always come back tomorrow. And the day after. Probably after that too. I really like it here. The people seem calm. But busy. I should have brought my sketch book."

Namor, as it turned out, was a regular at Jimbo's. He knew Jimbo- a former soldier who he'd met during World War II. A man of honor and courage- someone Namor could respect. Those of the surface world the Prince of Atlantis truly respected were few and far between. Warriors like Jimbo- who fought for what they believed in, and did so with courage and honor were few and far between and wholly worthy of Namor's respect.

That, and no one made coffee like Jimbo's.

Namor landed in the parking lot, as he was often want to do- coming directly from the ocean he had the scent of the salt and clean ocean depths on his skin as he stepped in through the door. Pointed ears. Wings on his ankles- it was Namor, alright. No one else paraded around shirtless like he did in 1963 except him- it was pretty far flung fashion for the era. He pauses, seeing Jean- and simply nodding his head- before he moves to the same booth as he had that other night. He sits, quiet as he waits to be met by the server. He had no need for a menu- he knew what he wanted.

Logan runs a hand back through his hair as he sits across from Jean. He has an ashtray and his mug of coffee, "Wingfoot seemed like he might be a hell of a lot of trouble, darlin'. I still ain't convinced this is a good idea. But you wanna chat with him, brain radio t'brain radio? You know me, I'm happy to help ya any way I can," he says.

He grins at the waitress, thankfully a new one who doesn't recognize them. The cook was the same, though, and had tried to get her to throw them out, but she'd told him to hush. "I get anythin' else fer you two?"

"I don't know about brain-radio. I'm scared of that. I'm afraid if I do something wrong someones head might explode." Jean sighs a little in resignation, though the little bell upon the door has her eyes lifting and.. -yup-, there he was! And.. half naked. Again. Such sort of things really didn't bother her, but she does wonder how he keeps off the chill. But as he nods to her, her cheeks flare with a little bit of red and her gaze immediately cants towards the window washers again. "He's here."

Thankfully, the waitress returns, and Jean offers up a little bit of a smile. "Um.. just another slice of pie, ma'am? Is that okay?" She glances towards Logan, waiting for his order.. and soon, she moves from her side of the booth to Logan's, her knees upon the soft seats to drape her arms around the back. It was close to Namor's, which.. could possibly annoy the prince outright.

"Hi." She says, a little bit confident since Logan is around. "I'm Jean Grey." She holds out her hand for a shake, really.. unsure if meetings like this were to start.

Namor sits- he is indeed in complete control, at least for the moment. He looks quietly to Jean as she drapes over the back of his seat, looking to her hand then back up to her face. Blue-gray eyes focused on her's. "I am Namor, Prince of Atlantis, The Submariner, Avenging Son of the Atlantean People- ruler of all this world's Oceans." he replies, "I didn't think I'd see the pair of you here again." he admits, "I suppose I should invite you both to join me so this doesn't become awkward." he offers with a bit of a sigh in his voice- if he's annoyed, he's hiding it well.

He looks up to the waitress as she arrives. "Coffee. Black." he orders, but the cook had seen Namor coming. He knows what Namor wants- fresh coffee, ready to go in its mug like he's some sort of VIP.

Logan makes his way over, since he's been invited. "Howdy, bub. Sorry, Prince Bub," he says. He lets Jean take the seat across from Namor but, instead of sliding in with her, he grabs a chair from a table. He slides it up to the side and straddles it, taking another drag on his cigarette, "Get me a refill, too, sugar," he says, letting Jean run the show for a moment and mostly just there to make sure Namor keeps his nose clean.

Jean was left hanging, her hand remaining in place as she hesitantly pulls it back to tuck underneath her chin. His title was long as it was complicated, but the last bit she got. Ruler of all the Ocean's, and she immediately thought that this was something impossible. Part of her wanted to test him, but she figures that would invoke his ire. And it was something that she didn't want to try to do. "Okay!"

Logan was already up, so Jean slides from the booth, grabbing both of her plates with a bit of balance to place them down first, then taking her soda last to flop right into the booth with a bit of a bounce.

"Um. We.. I mean -I- actually came here looking for you. Prince Namor." She has no clue how to act in front of royalty. And it shows. "I.. just wanted to ask you a few things and wanted to know if you'd meet Professor Charles Xavier. He's.. a swell guy. And a Professor. I .. am not saying that you need help but.."

It was clearly obvious what she was doing. She just wanted to make some friends and have them live with her in that big ol' house in the hills where almost everything is puppies, sunshine and rainbows.

Once Namor has his coffee he lifts it and takes a sip. This is the reason he came here, after all. This is done before anything else. "I am familiar with Professor Xavier." Namor replies, "I met with him not too long ago, to discuss a potential donation from the people of Atlantis for his institute." he states simply, "He has yet to decide on the donation." he offers next, an answer to a question he assumes is coming. "I suppose I can take some questions, Jean Grey." he offers the young woman, looking to her quietly. Apart from drinking his coffee, he makes few other movements. His face is flat- wearing the nearly unreadable pokerface of a practiced diplomat- mixed with a certain regality only nobility seems to be able to exude. His eyes do shift towards Logan- and a simple nod is given to the other man of greeting- before he returns his attention to Jean.
[18:33:09] Logan is playing bodyguard, but he's more than that. He can drink in the scents on Namor's skin, listen to the beats of his heart, come to understand more about the way he ticks. Fishboy doesn't seem like he gets much in the way of nervous, which means reading lies might not be that easy. But guys like him don't usually lie much - too much ego, too much stroke, to think that they ever gotta fool anybody. Logan knew that well enough 'cause he was the same, even if he didn't have the breeding or the fancy nicknames.

"Whatcha think's the Professor's holdup on the ol' donation? Point o' fact, what's Atlantis' interest in a landlubber school?"

Jean's food remains largely untouched, and once she realizes this, she politely takes a fry and dips it into the provided tin of ketchup. She doesn't take a bite yet, wanting to speak first before anything. She had -so- many questions, and probably little time to do it. "I.. I didn't know you knew the Professor." Jean stated with amazement. "Let alone met the man.. I.. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume you didn't." She smiles tightly, then relaxes a little bit. If she were trying to read anything from him, she couldn't. It was actually comforting, though Logan's curiosity begins to take hold. "How did you.. or how do you have such control?" She lifts her hand, tapping lightly at her temple. She didn't want to out herself to the public, even if no one is really paying attention to the three. "Can you do other things that are special? Like.. I met a man who can do something with magnets."

She quiets down as Logan asks his question, it was something she was curious about too.

"He is worried I would require something of him- of strings attached to the donation. However, I would apply none. He is misguided to think his future of peaceful coexistence can be a true reality in this world. Unlike the movement of Martin Luther King Jr., the people he wishes to protect present an actual danger to a world unforgiving of differences. The gift, I hope, would be used to properly train his students in self-defense." There's another sip of his coffee, after answering Logan. He looks then to Jean. "Atlanteans are naturally…" he lifts his hand up to tap his head. "Although, I imagine it doesn't go quite so far as your ability might. Training is part of everyday life, though, seeing as everyone is able to project their thoughts. Its rather difficult to speak under the water." he remarks with a sly smile. That's as close to a joke as Namor gets. He takes another long sip of his coffee. "I can fly. I am strong beyond belief. I fear no normal man-made weapon, and I command the denizens of the deep through my mind as is my right as Prince of Atlantis. I command an army large enough to safely hold all the oceans on this planet. I swim faster than any other creature in the oceans, and am powerful enough that I fear no man or nation." he replies, then to Jean's question on his abilities. "I have fought in two wars and countless other battles, and even though I near my sixty-third year of life, I remain in my prime. I am Namor, and I fear no man or beast under, or above the oceans."

Logan smirks as he takes a fresh draw on his cigarette, "Ain't that a natural fear, though? Foreign government takes an interest in ya, usually they're gonna want their back scratched sooner or later. Not to mention, if he wants to stay under the radar, takin' funds from an alien power's the kinda thing that gets ol' J. Edgar all tight in his lady britches," he says. Don't ask how he knows about Hoover's cross-dressing - you don't want to know.

"Don't get me wrong, son, sounds like you got plenty o' power at yer fingertips. But if you fought in wars like you say, then you know war is hell. Chuck might be a little wet behind the ears, but him tryin' to figure out a way to keep the peace ain't a bad thing. It don't hurt to try. Now, I do agree about gettin' 'em trained up right, just in case the whole thing goes straight to hell," he says.

Maybe it all came a little too late for Jean, she was actually staring at Namor's neck, at least hoping to see an inkling of gills behind his ears. But there were none. His ears, they were strange and pointy, she could faintly smell salt, but she doesn't see a lick of water on the man. Perhaps it was because he was out of his element. She didn't understand politics enough to know to comment, but both men.. as they speak, seem sure.

Combat. It's something that was needed, especially if things turn out oh-so very wrong.

But his wide range of skill amazes her, so much that she remains quiet. Taking all of the information in, her hand pressed to her cheek as she takes in a breath. Finally, she begins to eat with the realization that they are quite possibly, having dinner with the strongest man in the world. It kind of messes with her head at the moment, and she did her best not to broadcast it.

"Mark my words. There will be war." Namor says to Logan. "I smell it as clear as the shark smells blood in the water. I hear the whispers of fear on the floor of the United Nations." Namor then mentions, "As for War, I rather enjoyed the exercise. It was entertaining." he says coldly, "However, not all have the warrior spirit, I realize. Your Professor Xavier is one such man. I have no doubt he means well, but I know well what's coming once the word gets out." Namor says simply to Logan, "I suppose its lucky they have someone like you around." he notes, his own practiced eyes having sized Logan up. He knows a warrior when he sees one.

Another sip of coffee is taken slowly. "I just don't want to see children murdered." he notes finally, returning to his coffee. "Particularly when they could save themselves." Perhaps an odd sentiment- but Namor was not without a soul. He did have a strict code of honor… and standing by to watch children die, even surface children, seemed to rub him the wrong way.

Logan takes a deep breath for a moment. Something about Namor gets under his skin just a little bit. Probably a class thing - he never had much tolerance for aristocrats on the best of days. Not that Namor said anything actually offensive, it's just the tone and the self-regard that rubs like sandpaper along Logan's skin.

To the last remark, though, he's in agreement. "Ain't none o' them gonna die on my watch," he says. He hadn't fully decided whether or not to stay at the Institute or not, but what Namor says helps to resolve him. He'd seen plenty of children die in his days. "I do think yer underestimatin' Chuck. Don't get me wrong, he's a soft touch. But I get the feelin', when the chips are down, he ain't gonna be holdin' back too much."

The quiet chewing of Jean slows as she listens, the certainty of their words brings about a small level of fear, so much that the soda within her glass begins to tilt at an odd angle. Her hands withdraw from the table, wrapping around herself as she hunches just a little, quiet.

"I don't either.." She murmurs quietly, her hand soon lifting to press against her cheek to rub hard, she really didn't like this discussion. She knew that mutants like her and Logan were hated, feared even. Part of her spent most of the time in the asylum listening to the rampant thoughts of the traumatized few that they were gods abominations.

"I.. I think that he's really nice. Charles. I haven't seen him angry, ever." But she has seen him in action, however brief. He was quick on the draw. "If.. even if he doesn't accept or says no to whatever you offer. Would you still help us?" The adults, not the children. The children are a given. "If we need it, I mean.. if.. war is there.."

"Let us hope that is the case. I admit only a single meeting with the man, and he perhaps has a better read of me than I of him." Namor offers to Logan, after another sip of coffee. He offers a quiet lift of his cup in salute. "That I am glad to hear." he says, of Logan's decision to ensure the safety of the children in the institute.

Jeans question is unanswered for a moment as Namor takes his time to think. "Perhaps." he replies, "I can make no promise. It depends on how it would affect Atlantis. I am the ruler of my people, and so I am my people- it is my duty to them, first and always."
[19:25:03] Logan takes a sip to finish off his coffee, "War always comes eventually, one way or the other. Way o' the species," he sighs. He's seen it too many times. "I never minded a fight, I just ain't got much use fer the folks that sit in safety an' send other folks and their kids to do their dirty work," he says.

He can read Jean's distress, however, and moves on to a different topic, "What about Jean? I know Chuck's gonna do what he can for her, but I figure with a thing like that, every bit o' help she can get is good. Girl's already paid a steep price tryin' to take care of it herself."

At least there was something to perk her up. A single meeting? How about more? "You.. you can come back with us, right? At least to get to know everyone better. If not for anything else. We could learn about your kingdom if you're willing to teach us, yes?" Maybe then, the donation would be accepted, but either way, she could learn something new about the world instead of what she's heard on the radio.

Even though his words don't hint at a promise, she was still hopeful and respectful. "I hope it doesn't happen. The fight.. 'er.. war. Or whatever." She waves her hand, then shrinks back just a little as the conversation switches to her.

"Professor Xavier will get back to me regarding that, as well. We have a day planned where I bring an Atlantean feast. He's also pressing me to allow some of the students to visit Atlantis- which, I'm afraid to say, is not currently possible." Namor replies, first. "However, we will start with a… culture exchange." His attention is then turned to Jean.

"You desire control." Namor states. "Control comes from practice. From trying and failing." he offers, with another sip of his coffee. "Your mind is like the ocean. It is often chaotic, but has a method- and every element is connected." he speaks now, as if from rote. Something he's heard as a child- every Atlantean has heard. "The winds of the surface conjure mighty waves, but your core remains calm. You are fluid, and flexible. All of your mind, is like the ocean- larger than any other thing on this planet. Deeper and wider than the sky. Know the Ocean, Know yourself. Find your center and keep it close to your heart. Return to it when you venture too far."

Logan listens to the flowery poetic bullshit that Namor spouts and manages to keep a straight face. Who knows, maybe it helped. As long as Jean was buying into it, that's all that mattered to him. He was just glad his powers were pretty goddamn straightforward. Saved a lot of headaches, in the literal sense.

But he just sips his coffee and listens now, letting Jean glean what she can.

"I so want to be there.." Jean comments, almost giddy. Though, now that she thinks about it.. perhaps there'll be something weird enough for her to try to say that she's done it. It was a quiet goal of hers to do something weird and unusual, nothing like what consisted of her powers. Eat weird, be weird, go on a slide.. she had dreams.

Though, as Namor begins to lecture her on the use of her gifts over all, she remains quiet. Beautiful and poetic as it was, it carried weight enough for her to grow still, imagining her mind as the ocean. Ever expanding, ever moving, quiet and growing.. She seemed almost lost in the moment, a quiet little 'aha' moment dawning upon her as she slowly nods her head. His words spoke of peace, some which mimic Namor's nature that she feels right now. And it was moving.

"Wow." She murmurs quietly, that little sense of calm allowing the soda which remained in it's chaotic state to calm. Just like that.

"I.. don't want to take up more of your time Prince Namor.." She says quietly, then swallows. "Um.. see you soon, I hope?" She looks to Logan, just to see if it all was agreeable.

"We shall see when Professor Xavier gets back to me regarding this cultural exchange." Namor replies. He finishes his coffee, and as before, pulls a golden coin out from a pocket. He puts it down on the table and slides out of the booth. "Consider your meals on me." he states, with a quiet nod of his head. He looks towards the cook. "Please tell Jimmy I'll make an appearance at his Forth of July Barbeque next month. I'll bring a tuna." By which he means a 1500 pound whole tuna. He stands looking quietly to Jean and Logan both. "I'm sure we'll meet again, Ms. Grey. Just remember to focus on your center." he nods quietly to Logan- as he walks towards the door.

A man steps out from the shadows at that point, holding a gun. "You! You're the one who made my wife leave me! After you came around here with your chest flaunting out- how can a man compete with that! You can fly, and you're strong- and you ruined my life!" Namor stands impassively as the man comes close and wields the gun in his face. He is fearless, at least, when faced with a .22. "Do you mean to use that weapon, or are you just spouting angrily because you did not take control of your life when you had the chance?" NAmor asks, staring impassively. The man fires- five shots. Five bullets that flatten against Namor's skin as if they were nothing. They just fall to the ground. Namor then turns, and reaches out to grab the end of the man's gun- squeezing until the metal crushes under his fist. He stares the man down, marching towards him as the attacker now cries out in fear- Namor's great anger starting to rise. "You dare attack the Prince of Atlantis?" he asks, eyes narrowing. Turning. Namor is indeed like the ocean. Capable of great calm- and great fury alike. For now, he manages to keep his calm as he opens his hand and drops the broken gun at the man's feet. "I should kill you where you stand." he says, lifting the man by the coat he's wearing. "Luckily for you, I'm not in the mood to wash blood off my tunic." What little there is of it. He throws the man- who flies across the parking lot and right into a dumpster where, luckily, yesterday's coleslaw is there to break his fall. Namor turns, looking to Logan and Jean. He nods, before he flies off into the air and back towards his home.

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