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In the middle of the day in New York during this time of year it's just as likely that the sun will be shining as storm clouds could threaten. October is always chaotic, with leaves blowing across the sidewalks, and today a steady drizzle lends that faintly spooky and a touch foreboding aspect to the day. It's there, around the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park that Peter had mentioned after he called Jen and dropped her a line. Sure it wasn't the most convenient place to meet up, but it had a certain charm even with the pitter-patter of droplets causing ripples in the fountain.
Today, Peter Parker moves along the sidewalk with an umbrella over his head and his ESU backpack slung over his shoulder. His pace is even, steady, with the other Daily Bugle photographer walking alongside him. The young man's smile is easily given and he gestures occasionally as he walks. "See, that guy Eastwood. I dunno, I don't buy him much as a cowboy." A shake of his head is given. "John Wayne, sure. But him."
He pauses as he reaches that fountain area, his brow furrowing as he tries to focus on the people there. Assuredly it's not as many tourists as usually frequent the place, what with the weather. But there's still a fairly decent crowd.
*
The great big umbrella, something suitable for a golf course and half the championship team, signals where Jen actually is. That vast sweep of nylon protects the Californian attorney underneath it from the rain. She has to view the rain with a healthy dose of skepticism, something only localized to Alcatraz and San Francisco, which serves the entire dodgy Bay Area right for some unknown sin. Compared to New Yorkers, her coat is unnecessarily heavy, a thick wool trench wrapped up around her, collar lifted.
Hastening stride gets Jen somewhere, though she dodges around puddles and, in one case, a huge galumphing dog that resembles a throwback to a wolfhound. It might just be, given the everlasting darkness boiling over half of the park and the seething morass of nasty things eager to gather in most of its shadier corners. Which would normally make her stand out, a nice tempting target, especially in heels and a pencil skirt. Terrible things to wear in rainy weather.
*
For his part, Eddie's dressed pretty casual, a button up shirt that he hasn't bothered to button and a white undershirt. That and jeans. He'd button up in the office. But he does lean closer to Peter, his professional competition, because really, he doesn't want to get wet. "I'm pretty sure if John Wayne was alive during the Wild West he'd be taken as a native, but Eastwood… He's clearly *acting*. He's too… pretty-faced. He doesn't look rough, doesn't look windblown or sunbaked. John Wayne, he looks like he's made of leather. Good quality leather, but leather." he agrees. For the moment he doesn't so much notice anyone else under the dreary sky. For the moment.
*
"Lee Van Cleef though," Peter seems about to go on about the qualities of a certain breed of cowboy, but then he draws up short a bit as he stands there at the southern end of the fountain area. He takes a deep breath and then smiles faintly as he glances sidelong towards Eddie. "Alright, so I should sort of tell you something."
He espies the tall striding woman of the emerald persuasion, perhaps around about the same time that she might come to Eddie's attention… considering that she does cut quite a particular silhouette. "I did sorta mention I was meeting someone for lunch, well…" He gestures with a nod in Ms. Walters' direction and then offers her a wave with a wry smile. "This is her. Don't make any high pockets jokes."
*
A tall and man with hard blue-grey eyes and black hair surveyed the area as if looking for someone, meeting someone who had not yet arrived. His off color skin tone and pointed ears spoke to a genetic ancestry not entirely human. He was dressed in suit and tie, the brilliant white shirt was beautifully pressed and crisp even in the rain, tapered lapels colored to barely accent. Black on black on black again, each color of non-color discernable from the next. Something about him stuck out, but wether he ached for attention or unconsciously commanded it was not clear. Hands stabbed into pockets, and his stance just so; He looked like pampered gangster, or a ruthless politician, perhaps even an actor. He cut smooth lines out of the air even stood still, and anyone who got close enough and cared enough to look could easily identify the media favorite: Namor, Prince of Atlantis. A manfish who seemed to show up in places one usually expected heroes, whos loyalty and motives remained under constant critical scrutiny.
*
The umbrella gives Jen some privacy, even as she peeks up at the overcast sky and gives it a touch of a scowl. Nothing dispels the gathering clouds blotting out the stars or ceases the driving winds. Her stride is little inhibited by concerns such as paths, much as she tries to keep to them, and she heads straight for the fountain and its reporters. Forget 'off colour' jokes; her complexion is a deep, burnished jade where it can be seen at all. She looks rather like one of the statues leapt off its plinth, moseyed down Fifth Avenue into Bloomingdale's, and walked out with a chic suit to join the masses. Taking a breath, she slips right up to the lip of the fountain and plants herself there, essentially awaiting for the others to do their full circuit before they meet up with her. Spares them all from the unease than if she snuck up on Peter and pounced him or something of the sort, especially since that usually ends in a crater, clods of grass in the air, and sheepish grins. Right.
*
It's just then that Eddie's attention is drawn over to—
And Eddie's mouth hangs open a moment, agape.
The moment extends straight into awkwardness before he blinks, closes his mouth, and then continues to stare. Screw awkward, there's a very tall green woman… there. Eddie doesn't know quite how to process that. Then Eddie notices the less overt but also weird Namor. Eddie at least knows— in a certain vague way— how to fit a 'prince' of a no-longer-fictional city into the context of his brain.
But Jennifer is just about breaking Eddie's thought processes. He manages to say, with great intelligence and dignity, to Peter: "She's a green giant." Its not quite as quiet as he thinks it is.
*
For the moment Peter hasn't noticed Namor, and to be fair it's because the Emerald Amazon is approaching and he grins to take her hand in his when she draws near. If it's appropriate without being too awkward he'll even dare a kiss to her cheek should it be offered considering she is a touch taller than him. A bit. But once they're close enough he turns back towards Eddie and offers, "Yeah she uhh, wasn't always but… you know. We were talking about weird things before."
It's at that moment that he gestures to them, "Eddie Brock, I'd like you to meet Jennifer Walters. Jen, this is Eddie. He's a coworker and an ok guy." He looks back to Eddie and offers, "Remember that rally JJ had me cover like a month and some ago? Yeah, we met there."
It's all so terribly lovely and pleasant as the trio of young people meet and greet. But not all goes well amongst the crowd. For them they're not close enough to hear assuredly. But Namor might hear a faint rumble of displeasure from a pair of men. One of them makes a scowling comment that is akin to something about 'freaks' and 'mutants' but then one of them shoots the Prince of Atlantis a look and hushes his friend.
*
Namor lifted a hand to his cheek, limbs smooth and graceful, his body language seem to say 'watch me close now' much like a stage magician's practiced ease would communicate. He extended his middle finger and delicately stroked at some invisible particle occluding the corner of his eye. Then, as quickly as he had targeted the insult toward the malcontent, the man was forgotten and the hand was slid easily back into his pocket.
*
Eddie's eyebrows try to climb up off of his forehead when Peter goes for Jen's hand, then kisses her cheek. The astonishment is just going to set up camp on his face and make permanent residence there. But he nods his head when Peter introduces him, "Hi… Jen." He takes a step back away from her, but only a small one. "Nice to meet you?" The question is totally in his voice, "I, uh. Have never met a." He fails to find a way to identify her: she's still not been slotted into his world context.
But more easily (a little), he can nod over towards Namor, "That's that guy." Pause, "From Atlantis." Yesterday he would not have been able to say that word with ease: but at the moment Eddie's brain can accept that as slightly normal. "Namor?"
But Eddie is back to staring at Jennifer a bit, "You're…" Nope, still not working right.
*
Said Amazon tilts the umbrella back and allows for a tilt of her cheek, the same kind of mildly blushing professional girl of a certain age meeting her beau anywhere in New York City. Minus the fact she has the statuesque proportions of a marble capable of inspiring Michelangelo. Jennifer does not try to shrink away from the attention, much less shirk the duties of greeting Eddie with a smile. "Closer to two or three, actually, wasn't it? Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Eddie." She extends her hand quietly.
It could be something of a dare. She might share Peter's sense of mischief, maybe. Maybe. Following a look over to see whom, or what, caused the stir. That fellow she most definitely knows. "The honoured ruler of Atlantis, you mean? I imagine one of the partners has been officially acquainted. Never met a female attorney, Mr. Brock? I get it all the time, especially from the judges. I walk in, and you should see their jaws and wigs drop."
*
"She was a little shorter then," Peter turns back to Eddie and seems amused at the impact the introduction has had on the other man. "We sorta hit it off, but yah. We hang out a bit now and then." With that said he steps to the side and gives a nod. "So were you thinking that diner down on…"
But then his attention is distracted by Namor's presence and he blinks, "Oh hey that is him." He looks towards Eddie and tilts, "You know…" He rubs a hand to the back of his neck, "We _are_ reporters after all." But then again Peter's never been one to go after a guy just hanging out minding his own business.
*
Namor was approached in due time by a man and a woman, who spoke to each other in semi-hushed tones. "… blockade, he had all his… under the soviet ships…" and then she replied with, "I guess he's calling in the favor." It was none other than Adlai Stevenson, U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations to his female aide, Marietta Tree. When the stopped before the Prince of Atlantis, guards of Namor's that had been milling came into proximity and the trio by the fountain would find themselves comfortably (if loosely) mingled with by more suited figures who'd been disguised as news paper and coffee swilling nobodies, some sort of human private security firm by the look of it. There was a brief conversation in hushed tones, some nodding by the ambassador and his aide. Namor lit up, charm gliding over his features like it came naturally too him. He never smiled, save possibly with his eyes, but he wrapt the pair around his finger as he layed out whatever it was that seemed important enough for a rainy day meetup. A few minutes later it was over, hands where shook, and Namor's retinue faded back away. Namor himself strode over toward the fountain and the assembled persons of interest. "My apologies for being rude, if I'd come to say hello and been interrupted by my meeting, it'd have been awkward." he explained, and he seemed so utterly convincing in this regard, the mellow baritone of his voice, the cleverness of his enunciations, the engagement of his eyes across to each individually.
*
"A female attorney?" Eddie doesn't even know where to begin, "They let you be an attorney?" If he's having issues with her being a lady attorney or a green attorney, its anyone's guess. The weirdness is overpowering. But he does take her hand and shake it: it's strong. On anyone else probably it'd be a little too strong for comfort. For her..?
When Peter reminds him he's a reporter, some neural activity restarts, and the speed in which he's tugging his backpack off and pulling out his camera is perhaps impressive. "Hey, Mr. Namor, your uh lordship! Care to comment on what brings you away from your city?" Not the most enlightening of questions, really. He's totally gonna take a picture of the prince.
*
For her, that mild shake probably constitutes a spring breeze among some dandelions and nodding wildflowers, no more than a riffle. Jen does not exert herself in the least, giving what constitutes a very gentle shake in return. See? Even the jade jotuness can be exceedingly pleasant. "I assure you, I obtained my JD with honours and a great deal of hard work like everyone else. One of the eight ladies who sat before a wonderful dean who, on our first day, castigated us for taking up seats better warmed by men rather than flighty young women with no head for the dignity and weightiness of the legal profession. Apparently being a member of the bar means I immediately want to fly off to an altar, be wed and have children immediately." The glimmer in her green eyes crackles with mischief, for all her tone stays reasonable, and her nightshade grin sheds all the laughter she tries not to inflict upon her voice.
"'Mister?' Oh goodness. I have been socializing far too much with the Wakandan queen." Her sotto voce comment to Peter will travel, albeit cast in the lowest tones, aimed no doubt at Peter. Floating arc of a smile still in place, she glances towards Namor and then back to her erstwhile beau. The umbrella is tilted forwards for a touch more privacy. "A suggestion, if you wish to ask for his photograph, stay right where you are and allow him to come to you."
*
Peter's response to Jen is to comment idly with pursed lips, "She… is not my favorite person." Though he does not exactly mention why in mixed company, assuredly she knows why however. But Peter smiles at Namor's approach and steps back to let Eddie take the lead in the investigative reporting.
Making sure to hold the umbrella up enough for Eddie and Namor as well if he seems to care about the rain at all. Peter looks at the Atlantean with a curious air and then risks a question, "Is it true you have connections to the Fantastic Four, sir?" He asks off-handedly, curiousity taking him for the moment.
*
Namor offered a subtley rakish pose for any camera that might be weilded. To Eddie, an appraising look was given to determine the man's seriousness. A curt, "No." was his response. Then he glanced to Peter, looking between Jennifer and Peter for a few passes as if he was picking up on some kind of body language. "Relationships, of any kind, can take on something of a transient nature." he said cooly. He glanced to Jennifer and explained, "You usually don't know its over until its too late." then looked meaningfully to Peter, as if he had something to be accountable for.
*
And Eddie totally took that picture, and two more in quick succession, just in case; but he does turn something of a sour look to Jennifer. "Hey, you're the lawyer— didn't know women could be but you don't see me telling you your lawyering. I'm a journalist and photographer. I know my business, ma'am." Nodding his head to Namor, he says encouragingly, "So Atlantians don't believe in marriage and how marriage strengthens family values, then?" He LOOKS like he's taking mental notes.
*
"Alas, still one of my clients." A waggle of an emerald finger and Jen tucks her glossy hair behind her ear. The umbrella lends the suggestion of black to sylvan locks mostly contained in a tight chignon, and for the most part straying in their wildness a bit. "Unless I break partner, such relationships pay for those Sunday dinners of which we are so fond." Her chin lifts, and for a moment all the arrogance of said ancient queens and warriors defeated in the end only by a demigod (supposedly) settles into her poise, and the lawyer's mask over her emotions gives a polite smile proof against most, if not all, casual inquiries.
*
"Forgive my rudeness, Your Highness," Peter smiles a bit, not entirely sure if he got the title right, probably didn't. "This is Jennifer Walters, Edward Brock, and my name is Peter Parker." He touches a hand to the center of his chest and offers the identification of a few more words, "We're reporters, so hopefully you'll understand the curiousity. Just the other day we were talking about how times have been changing. Atlantis… I mean wow." Such a gift for conversation.
He then steps back and tilts his head, "Are you going to make your home here, sir, or are you just visiting?"
*
Namor looked to Eddie dourly a moment then he shook his head dismissively "Leave it to a human to think marriage is a relationship." said the noble manfish who would undoubtedly be married to a stranger at some point in his life; though he didn't bother to explain himself. To Peter he glanced, as the man seemed to prattle a bit. He could see Jennifer was closing her doors and Eddie had her on the defensive anyway. "Mr. Parker, that you would waste the chance to ask me something significant on a chance meeting tells me that you aren't a very good reporter." his beautiful baritone wafter over the dismissal, "Someone who wants an exclusive with visiting dignitaries should be forced to call upon some measure of their acumen, or whats the point. You could just let him report the news." he said, indicating Eddie as if he where some measure less than Peter in their chosen field. He offered a thin smile, and excused himself.
*
Hey, now, what's this? The Prince of Atlantis was totally going to get some level of a hit job out of Eddie, but now? Now he's gone and said he's better then Peter. That's the sorta thing that friendships are built on. Or things that make Eddie grin. "Oh, you don't view marriage as relationships, your, uh, lordship? Are they like business transactions then? In America we believe in family values, that family values is what makes our country great." Yes in fifty odd years if Eddie is still alive he's voting Trump. "What values does Atlantis hold dear, sir? Wouldn't you agree that values are what define us as peoples?"
*
The polite smile remains even as Jen dips the black umbrella forward, once more cutting off sight of her face. "I think, Mr. Parker, there are a number of things beckoning for your attention. Dinner is at eight." A pause follows, and then a strike of a little grin. "Those awful things on a bun." The revolted and amused sound of her swallowed laugh is something of a farewell without a farewell. And then she is up, standing from the fountain lip. The light shake of her head brings the tumble of her waist-length hair, ratifying the otherness as much as it remains perfectly acceptable for 1963 tastes and mores, albeit in a swaying curtain of kelp or fronds of shredded, curling silk envisioned by Icelandic elves. "Another time, Mr. Brock, and Namor of Atlantis. Perhaps you'll find your significant and insightful question from another corner, like whether you believe Atlantis can maintain a positive diplomatic dance among fellow nations of the world when the climate of fear, distrust, and unease with anything perceived as 'other' or non-human has been steadily increasing over the past several years. But what would I know?" Fingers wiggle. "Toodles."
*
Jennifer has left.
*
"Well, I'm more of a photographer to be fair…" Peter says, then he probably realizes that that's even worse for him since he hasn't even taken a picture yet. But he steps back as his attention is given back to Jen and he lifts a hand to wave. "Eight o'clock, seeya then."
But then by that point Namor has made his departure and it leaves Eddie and Peter there to look after the two departing super-beings. For a moment he looks after one, then the other, and finally he tells Eddie. "Well… that could have gone better. Did you want to come to dinner?"