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Finished at last with her own presentation, T'Challa is taking the time to actually sit quietly at a table in the convention hall bar. A caraffe of some wine, or perhaps a fruit juice made with very dark berries, rests on the table together with two goblets, one of which is turned over and half-full of the same dark burgundy liquid.
The almost ebon-hued young woman sits alone, without the immediate presence of the trio of bodyguards who were in evidence during the poster session yesterday. Today, rather than a black dress, she is now wearing a white sheath dress. A white lab coat with an ESU name badge is hanging on the back of her chair, and a thin accordian folder rests on the table beside her. For the moment, her eyes are closed, listening to the strains of soft jazz currently flowing through the bar.
*
"Ah… perdoname, Your Majesty?" A voice T'challa would recognize as the young heir to Da Costa Industries hails the solitary Queen of Wakanda. Roberto da Costa positions himself across from her, standing at the opposite side of the table and smiling at her in a friendly fashion.
"Buenos noches. Roberto da Costa, we were briefly introduced yesterday. Might I offer you some company, your Majesty?" he inquires, waiting to be invited before seating himself.
*
T'Challa's eyes open, neither with shock nor lazily, just a simple act of will, and those dark eyes take in the man across her table. That she sits here without her security detail is significant, though what it means may be a mystery. It has to mean something, doesn't it?
"I appreciate the respect for my country and my own position, Senior da Costa. But perhaps we could dispense with the titles, for now? At the moment, I am a graduate student, relishing the successful completion of her team's public scientific presentation." T'Challa offers, in that whiskey-toned voice with the mysterious African accent.
Assuming Roberto acquiesces to her request, T'Challa then gestures towards the chair in front of him, welcoming him to join her, at least for now. "I must confess, Senior da Costa, you impressed me with your adaptability last evening. Few men could stand up to the kind of scathing, withering distaste Victor von Doom can dole out. Even fewer would do so merely to serve as a distraction for someone else."
*
Roberto chuckles and settls into the seat across from T'challa, curling his hands around a cup of coffee. "Ah… y'know, Johnny's one of my best friends," he tells her. "We got into plenty of trouble back in the day."
He sips his coffee. "And Sue's good people, from everything I've heard. So, y'know— I go left, Johnny goes right, I get under Doom's skin and run before he realizes that Sue's ducked out. I mean, you see it all the time in college or at bars, a guy who doesn't want to take 'no' for an answer. Seemed the gentlemanly thing to do."
*
What might be most interesting is that da Costa never once seems to wonder how it is that T'Challa picked all of that up. It wasn't obvious, by any means, and she was rather busy herself during that timeframe. But she picked up a lot. And she didn't hesitate to bring it up in conversation.
"I do not doubt that Mr. Storm is one of your friends, nor that Ms. Storm is in fact worthy of your help." T'Challa offers with a droll tone of amusement, as she lifts the goblet and sips from its contents. "I merely found it rather enlightening and interesting that you would so bravely choose to act, and do so adroitly. I applaud the effort to diplomatically defuse the situation."
*
"I know, I know," Roberto says, with a broad, swarthy grin. "It's because I'm so charming and easygoing, it just seems impossible for anyone to take me seriously, sabes?" he says, before laughing with an easy, relaxed manner.
"I like to drink and carouse and party, Yo— T'challa," he tells her. "But don't mean I don't pull my weight when it's time to get it done. I'm just smart enough not to run up and throw fists with Victor von Doom in the middle of a diplomatic party. Besides," he says, taking a sip of coffee. "Was kinda fun makin' him look like a spoiled lil' kid in the middle of that crowd."
*
The Wakandan queen allows one of those barely-there smiles to grace her lips, with a slight shake of her head. "However you wish to look at it, yes. I suppose all of those viewpoints have some merit." She takes another sip of whatever is in that goblet. "Of course, antagonizing Doom has its own consequences. But I am sure you thought of that before you decided to act." Mistress of understatement, thy name is T'Challa of Wakanda.
*
"Didn't then, didn't now," Roberto says, managing not to look as unnerved by the idea of irritating Von Doom as he probably is. "It was the right thing to do. Sitting around thinking about consequences only makes you start second-guessing yourself. Either you do the right thing and you take the hit on the chin later, or you start hiding from responsibility because of consequences."
"Couldn't look myself in the mirror with such blatant appreciation if I did that," he says, that flashing, boyish grin returning.
*
T'Challa chuckles softly and raises her goblet to Roberto. "Well, I applaud your spirit and will, Senior da Costa." As amused as her tone may sound, her response is genuine; she really does think its worth applauding. "For a head of state, however, it becomes necessary to always think about the consequences, even while still acting as quickly as is necessary and never being paralyzed by those realizations." And that, right there, might be the most genuine insight into the heart and mind of Queen T'Challa one could hope for.
"So. You are no scientist, Senior da Costa. Is your attendance at this conference more a matter of supporting friends and allies? Or a corporate shopping trip with an open bar?" the Wakandan inquires.
*
"Ehh… mas o menos," Roberto says, making a weighing gesture with his hands, and grinning shamelessly. "The Fantastiques are here, of course, but a few business friends and colleagues, some Harvard chums, and the like— people I enjoy supporting and endorsing."
"But, I am, despite my dashing good looks and charm, the Vice Presidente of Da Costa industries. I'm also our international relations manager. The technology here requires rare minerals, and we are one of the largest exporters of rare earths and industrial metals in the western hemisphere, at the moment. If I can bring some of these technologies back to improve our production techniques, or find a purchaser for our goods— or even help with Brasil's economy— well, you are familiar with the term 'win-win'?"
*
T'Challa smirks a bit and nods. "Touche, Senior da Costa. Touche. Yes, I am familiar with the concept of the 'win-win'. The concept, if not the term, is rather universal." And she is clearly a woman very comfortable with international relations. "I must admit, I find you far more charming a representative than I found your father. Then again, my impressions of him are likely rather colored by his participation in the Bilderberg Conference." That particular consortium of largely European and American business interests once summoned T'Chaka to meet with them, to negotiate access to Wakandan vibranium. When he refused, and called them out on their bias and privilege, they hired mercenaries to kill the royal family. It's no wonder that would color her perspective, assuming Roberto is aware of it.
*
Roberto shrugs at T'challa, taking no umbrage at her assertion. "My father is much of the older schools of thought. He is the son of my grandfather, and we are— to be honest— not far removed from farmers. He grew up labouring in grandfather's mines, and while he decided rocks and dust were not for him, he never quite abandoned my grandpapa's position on issues of social conservativism."
"But, I grew up in Rio de Janeiro, and it's a very hrm… progressive sort of city. And I travelled the world extensively, went to Harvard— I've embraced a more moderate mentality than my father, I think."
*
"So, you're saying you are cosmopolitan enough not to think quite so lowly of we mere African 'darkies'?" T'Challa offers, with just a hint of a biting edge. It's mean. But that's exactly the attitude shared by those who hired those men to kill her family. She should know: she helped kill the men they sent. Just not soon enough to save her father.
"Obviously, Senior da Costa, I know what interest your company has in Wakanda's resources. And, given your associations with others, you are likely better aware than most just how well we can and do provide for ourselves." Which is all well and good, but T'Challa really isn't revealing anything. Just assuming that he knows. "So. What do you have in mind?"
*
Roberto's grin flickers and falls, and he gives T'challa a rather serious look. "Your Majesty, I am a child of many nations," he tells her. "My mother had some Anglo-Saxon in her, and my father comes from the stock of Brasil itself— my name is Portugese, but my heritage comes from Africa, Europe, even the native Incans. So I do not see 'darkies' or negroes— I see cousins." That smiles returns, flashing and dismissing his serious tone. "As I said, Rio is a true melting pot. There are so many shades of skin that only a fool with too much time on his hands looks for ways to categorize them all."
"I am, unlike everyone else here, not intersted in your vibranium," Roberto tells T'challa. "I study well— I recognize that it is the source of not just material wealth, but defense and international relations. However, Wakanda does have one thing my family is interested in— technology. You have made fantastic advancements in the fields of recycling, and we— well. We know our mines are not limitless. However, we also have many resources a technologically rich nation like yours would need, such as rare earth metals, silicones, things of that nature. I think that might be a productive avenue of transaction, si?"
*
T'Challa quirks slightly, watching and listening as Roberto speaks about his views on racial equality. At the end, she simply offers a tiny but perceptible nod, as if affirming his conclusions. But she says nothing at all.
T'Challa might just have startled a tiny bit, as Roberto boldly mentions the vibranium, and disdains to try negotiating for it. But she stays quiet and listens to all that he has to say, before considering and offering her response. "We have not found ourselves terribly short of rare earth metals. Nevertheless, I am certain you would not be shocked to know that we are not quite so rich in those as we are in other things." T'Challa purses her lips momentarily, and then nods. "I think that our recycling technologies would be something we could consider sharing beyond our borders. It is at the least something we can discuss further." And without making this young sovereign angry.
*
"Si, si," Roberto murmurs, listening to T'challa. "Da Costa industries is in the process of expanding into industralized production of many goods— vacuum tubes, silicone computer chips, even refined rubber vulcanization," he tells her. "/Chewing/ gum. Colas and soda drinks— we make it all, and distribute much of what we don't manufacture."
"What I can offer Wakanda is a neutral partner who isn't affiliated with North American interests, Latverian diplomatic pressures, or European Assembly leanings. We're independent and we want to stay that way, and we much prefer to do business with /people/, not major corporate or government interests. Wakanda represents an ideal trading partner for us, si?"
*
"We are still a government interest, Senior da Costa." T'challa answers, inclining her head. "But I suppose we could find you some direct business partners within Wakanda. That would meet your standards, would it not?" Still, she can appreciate that allying with da Costa would be a far better thing than doing so with some American or European conglomerate, or being opposed by the governments of those lands. "Would that be preferable?"
*
"Si, mucho preferable," Roberto tells T'challa. "You are a government but not one allied to the G-8 or the European Alliance, and therefore not working with the vested interests of anyone but your own people. This, I can respect," he tells her, "and besides, I already find you vastly more tolerable than dealing with most of the bureacrats in North America I've met," he says, laughing easily and grinning wide at the ebony Queen.
"Whatever Wakanda is comfortable with, we'll happily work with you as best we are able," he assures her. "And we have a personal connection now, si? So there is always someone a heartbeat from ownership you can call, personally, if you have any concerns or questions— or if you find yourself at loose ends in New York sometime, and wish some company?"
*
T'Challa considers a bit longer, and then nods. "I will make arrangements. Perhaps a week from now, I'll call to set up appointments at the Embassy in New York. Then you can meet the private business owners, and negotiate contracts to your mutual benefit." Many wonder whether Wakanda is perhaps a tyrannical country of state-owned businesses, but they are in fact a carefully monitored and supported capitalist society with a fully empowered monarchy.
"I must admit, I am not the most social of students in Manhattan. Nevertheless, I would not be adverse to meeting again, socially." T'Challa offers. She's not quite a cold fish, but she's definitely not 'warm and fuzzy'.
*
Roberto spreads his fingers, grinning at T'challa. "Then, we call this a win-win-win, good for Brasil, good for our industry, and good for the two of us, si?" he says, before laughing merrily.
"I'll leave my calling card at the embassy the minute we return to New York, and be sure that it's with someone responsible," he assures T'challa. He digs in his breast pocket— his suit's definitely a lot trendier than the 'respectible' one he was wearing the night previous— and passes her a business card as well. "And, just in case, this is my personal card," he tells T'challa. "Because how can I pass up a chance to get a drink with the Queen of Wakanda? I know some excelente places, for a nice cocktail or a bit of food- discreet, classy. Do you dance, T'Challa?"
*
T'Challa accepts the card, glancing at it, and then reaches back to slip it into the pocket of her lab coat. She's not exactly one for a purse. "Thank you … Roberto." There's a delay there; she was clearly about to call him 'Senior da Costa' again, but chose not to do so.
"I do dance. But I confess, the dances I prefer are not precisely the sort popularized in Manhattan." T'Challa answers, offering rare smile that is a bit more than half, showing real amusement. "I would not necessarily turn down an opportunity for a good meal and some good entertainment. Perhaps one of the jazz clubs?" She did seem to be enjoying the soft jazz being played here in the bar.
*
"Muy bueno," Roberto says, clearly pleased. "I know a little place around the corner from a seafood bistro you will love, I am sure— Miles Davis has played there, and you might have seen Senor Coltrane show up to play a tune," he grins. "Is a perfectly egalitarian place, the young and the old of the jazz scene alike might show up to warble at us. Is sometimes good, sometimes bad, but is always interesante. I'll reserve us a private table when you find your schedule permits— I am sure you are much busier in New York than I am?"
*
T'Challa smiles warmly at the mention of Davis and Coltrane. "I very much enjoy the music of both of those men. I also rather enjoy Fitzgerald and Holiday." Every one of them black, but surely that has nothing to do with her interest. Or maybe it has everything to do with it? "I will give you a call, when my schedule allows for such an outing." Her dark eyes twinkle. "And I will look forward to the music. And perhaps the company, as well." She can at least be gracious, despite her apparently instinctual aloofness.
*
Roberto rises when T'challa does, and bows with a smooth and effortless motion. "Muy bueno, T'challa. I have thoroughly enjoyed getting to know you so socially— I look forward to developing this friendship as time goes on."
"If we do not see each other again at this conference socially, then— until New York, Your Majesty?" he inquires, eyes dancing merrily at the ebon-skinned Queen, the picture of regality.