1963-10-28 - Do you mind?
Summary: Namor and Skali see who can be a bigger jerk.
Related: 'None']
Theme Song: None
skali namor 


Two large double doors, closed, marked the threshold into His office. The sounds of other workes far away, in cubes, created the din. Skali's desk set askew the plane of the doors, wedged into one corner, a set of chairs with a coffee table strewn with Harpers Weekly and The New Yorker across from her.

Early for his appointment, Namor had arrived flanked by guards who remained upright and milled about just out of view. The manfish was dressed in a suit, and looked for all his effort, to be just another financial suitor of the big boss. At some point he'd grabbed a periodical and had perched his ass on the far corner of her desk. He smelled like linen and cologne, he smelled like the bedsheets did before the error in judgement.

Namor had a dark expression, but seemed no worse for carrying it. He glanced over toward the owner of the desk a few times, "You mind?" he asked mysteriously?

*

Tac-tackety-tack-tack-tacket-tack-tack

The keys on the typewriter echoed in rhythmic undulation, endless as the crashing of waves. With the phone silent, Skali's work was uninterrupted and the young creature could finish every last memo and letter that required penning before four. At four, she would need to attend to the second of twice daily walks required by her boss' hound. This would place her at her later dinner date a few minutes late, which was just enough of a delay to make the man wonder if she would show at all. A bit of trepidation put her at an advantage from the start.

She could have commented on the 2 o'clock appointment arriving, save for a head nod and a polite 'Welcome.' Perhaps she could have entertained him with offerings of coffee or something with a bit more bite. However, Skali had not been hired to be pleasant and deviating from the schedule set would disrupt her carefully crafted plans. So she continued to type. And the sound continued to rattle the pens on the heavy desk, the intensity with which she struck each key a precise kind of violence.

Until it was silent.

Golden eyes lifted from her work to regard the visitor with an apathetic inconvenience, eyebrow raising as she intoned with no apology in the lyrics, "No."

Heck if she knew what he was bent out of shape about, but it wasn't her problem.

Tac-tackety-tack-tack-tacket-tack-tack

*

Namor seemed satisfied, and continued to rest his ass on her desk, glancing toward his magazine; flip flip. Then he exhaled heavily and checked his watch like the luddite he was. He glanced to the double doors impatiently, and then swiveled to stare at the woman, waiting for her to look up and ascertain the source of his displeasure.

*

Ancient beast of myth and legend as she was, his hovering did not try her patience. A curl that had fallen loose from carefully pinned hair shadowed her features as she worked, occasionally blown aside with half-hearted effort to keep it out of her way. However, she made no break in her efforts to formally put it back into place. Occasionally her nose would flare, and her eyes would water, the scent of cologne having always offended her heightened senses.

Finally, her hands paused, fingers trembling over the keys as she took a steadying breath and then sneezed. This break in her focus was long enough to glance upwards at the man perched on her desk, a twist in her lips as she smiled. There was nothing polite in the expression. She seemed to be delighting in his frustration, regardless of the source.

"Looks like his last appointment is running late. You can always come back next week. Maybe he will have time to see you then Mr?"

She knew his name. She just made a point of forcing him to repeat it.

*

Namor dimmed his eyes in that moment, as if he knew she was fucking with him. Then he glanced toward the doors again, and back. "Mr. Sparkles. Maurice J. Sparkles." he said sarcastically. "Perhaps I should have someone in my office to block the blitz." he said after a pause. So then he looked to her again, "A nice tight-end like yourself. What's he paying you anyway?" To his credit he took the magazine from her desk and walked it back to the table, and dropped it back onto the fanned stack. He didn't even seem interested in the answer. "Can't you get me in there?" he wondered, trying a different tact. "This is the last thing on my list and I just want this day to end." It was perhaps a nice touch to end on an appeal to her humanity, but the damage was likely done.

*

Accustomed to comments of the lewd nature, she shrugged and answered his inquiry to her rate of pay with a simple,

"Enough."

The sarcasm meant she had hit a nerve, and in a different setting, her smirk would have spread into a delighted grin at the mild torment. As it stood, she had feigned acting human for long enough that only a glimmer of humor flickered in those eyes and she glanced over to the leather-bound book on the side of her desk.

"I'll make sure to adjust the name before announcing you. I have the wrong one written down, it would seem. My mistake."

The sound of the double doors clicking over in a rather final 'lock' drew her focus briefly, before she pursed painted pink lips in a frown and clicked her tongue.

"Oh dear, it seems like he's running late. Probably won't be able to see you today at all. Would you like to reschedule Mr. Sparkles?"

*

Namor met her eyes for a moment, a subtle nod conceeded the match. Skali, one, Namor nothing. "Well." he said in gracious concession. "Its Namor." he explained, "I'll try again another time." tail between legs, he knew he was beat and seemed a fraction less imperious. "I apologize for my lack of patience." he leaned on her desk with a palm. "We are setting up a tax haven for businesses willing to move their headquarters to Atlantis. An effort to boost our GDP, and make our bid to the United Nations for membership. If you wouldn't mind letting your employer know I would be in your debt, Ms…?"

*

The submission gleaned through the control she exerted on the double doors was savored. It never got old. To serve in heaven or rule in hell, she favored the latter and had thrived on Midgard for centuries while reveling in imagined power. Pausing in making the corrections within the scheduling book, she tilted her head in a quaint fashion as if a dog catching something in higher pitch than expected. The loose curls had doubled and shadowed her laughing eyes.

"Tax evasion? Ah, if only there were a way to satisfy the relocation without actually moving. I fear your high fashion doesn't meet his tastes. And he's never been one for sea food. More of a Japanese Beef sort."

As he gathered space, she reclaimed it, standing in a fluid motion that did not betray the high heels she perched on until they were matched in height.

*

Namor stood the rest of the way up with her, taking his palm off the desk and exhaling to purge himself. Having already conceded, he did not seem frustrated by the further denial. "How fortunate." he said, being seafood of a sort himself. He offered his hand across the desk, "I still didn't catch your name." he explained, seeming to focus now, and push other things out to the peripheral. Delicate webbing on his fingers connected a bottom inch of every finger together, his fingernails sharp and pointy, his skin color slightly inhuman pale blue. Up close, ears could be seen to be pointy, and nictitating membrances peeked just over the rim of his eyelids. He was an all together curious looking beast up close, but in offering his hand didn't seem to think she would care; but maybe he was wrong.

*

Perhaps the most inhuman thing she had done since he stepped into the office was unwinkingly take his hand. Her own palm was surprisingly calloused in contrast to the rest of her appearance; the black dress that hugged thin waist billowed around the hips, pleated skirts whispering with the sudden shift of her weight as she released his hand to lean against the desk. She should have been entranced by the ethereal beauty, or disquieted by the nigh Uncanny Valley sensation of seeing something humanoid but not quite human presenting himself in this context.

But she wasn't.

"Miss Wolfestin. I go by Skali though."

There was no perfume on her skin, no baubles about her neckline. Everything she presented was deceptively honest, a natural presence that needed no adornment to stand confidently. A deity in human skin.

*

Namor cocked his head slightly to one side as their hands clasped. A long moment past in silence, a silence in which he did not remember that they where exchanging curt pleasantries. A long moment in which he searched her eyes for something explained plainly enough, but that required verification. "Gn." he grunted. Then he shook her hand finally. "Sssskali." he said, the sound of it dripping of his teeth.

But the manfish was steadily drying out, and would not be right again until he was safely back in the water. "Well met, Skali." and nodded to his retinue as he released her hand and with it the conversation. He'd given her another glance on his way out, an unsure one, a curious one; but any questions he had he'd kept to himself and would bring them with him back to the salt.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License