1963-11-30 - Green, Black, and Tan
Summary: ACT-F, Wakandan rituals, and french fries.
Related: N/A
Theme Song: None
tchalla jennifer 


Without the costume and an entourage, T'Challa really can pass for a normal black woman in America, at least until she opens her mouth. She's still exceptional, but that's life. Rather than gathering at the law office as has been their want, T'Challa decided she would rather socialize with her lovely lawyer, so she placed a phone call earlier in the day and invited Jennifer to meet at a local watering hole. For sheer amusement she chose an Irish place, just in case Jennifer was feeling green; she'd fit right in! So by the time the appointed hour rolls around, T'Challa manages to stroll in five minutes early or so, and she looks around to see if her invited guest is already here, before she seeks out her own seat if not.

*

Some days are beautiful and crisp, productive in every sense. Others require a nip of Jameson neat, and a boat of French fries. The difficulty for a very tall green woman is her appetite; she can put Idaho out of the potato business and not pack on more than a pound, maybe two, in the whole endeavour. This time around, however, she will be easily spotted by height there in the corner, her hair left loose and exquisitely mossy. Nothing inhibits her from munching on a fry, however, and thumbing through a rather dog-eared novel that probably hasn't been reviewed fully since she bought it. Thrilling exposition, isn't it? On the other hand, with her tumbler of Jameson in hand, Jen probably considers buying three bottles just to upset the heavyweight regulars who think they can drink a girl under the table. They probably can, just not this one. Either way, she has an eye open for the blithe queen of Wakanda, and offers a wave from her dark, deep booth.

*

Tall but not that tall, T'Challa does spot that big green hand, and she heads over to slide into Jennifer's booth. She lucks out, because as much as a tall proud black woman in an Irish bar stands out - and could be trouble - it pales compared to the nearly eight foot tall boundless bounty of emerald pulchritude that is already here, and if they weren't going to riot at Jen's appearance, they're not going to really make open trouble - beyond sniggering and probably raising their prices - about T'Challa. The queen slides into the booth and looks at the novel, the fries, the alcohol, and then up to Jen with an amused smirk. "So, you beat me here, and it was my invitation. Clearly you weren't too busy today. And you're hungry."

*

At least there are the Black Irish, fabled thing of largely invented Hollywood stories as they are. At least here they can tolerate her, and it helps: she's wearing a black t-shirt with the Guinness toucan on it, establishing herself as one of the girls. Simply a regular girl who happens to be a mutant, but evidently mistaken as their kind. It wouldn't be too odd, altogether. Walters is not unreasonably uncommon in Ireland.

Another fry is down, destroyed. "Advantage of speed," she says. "I avoid heels, and arrive places quicker. A blessing when you get down to it. And yes, always hungry. All that work and so little time to sleep or eat regularly, unlike some svelte wise women I know. Pity they have more forgiving jobs than trying to prevent a sea change in the law from taking us directly backwards. Would you sit and like a menu?" Nudging one over is easy enough to do.

*

Already seated, T'Challa agrees to the menu option. "I do not bother with heels either, except when a specific affair of state requires Western formal attire. And I prefer to avoid those as much as possible." Erudite as always, the African beauty shrugs off her jacket and settles in. Assuming they agree to serve her, she'll eventually get to put in an order, but she can watch Jen devour grease-saturated carbs in the meantime. "I take it the legal hurdles of the day were rather frustrating?" she inquires, in her version of 'so, how bad was your day'?

*

"How do your own country's councils tend to take place? Is it similar to this with everyone bending to a mind-boggling schedule in auditoriums and fancy halls, or do you have a more sensible approach?" Jennifer's curiosity is still contained by politeness, memorializing the question by reaching for her whiskey. Triple distilled certainly serves her well, the flood of flavour welcome upon the palate.

Service to the Wakandan queen may be a tad spotty, but nothing like terrifying the establishment by a lawyer's warning and a nightshade smile to hurry them along. "I cannot complain much. Motions filed, paperwork done, the standard uneducated arse trying to hit me with a two-foot long tongue covered in microscopic hooks like I am some kind of termite. You know, standard day."

*

"My country's councils tend to be held in a conference room. We tend to dress in Wakandan style, without a high heel in sight." T'Challa answers, smiling. She watches Jennifer a bit longer, and then continues. "When there are disagreements, we wear battle gear, and we issue challenges in the palace arena for all the citizens to see." Right, So much for that 'civilized' veneer. Whoops!

Once T'Challa is given the chance, she orders a Guinness - it's suggested by Jen's t-shirt, so she cannot help herself - and a burger and onion rings. She also boldly informs the waitress that she's covering the tab for both of them tonight. "Was that hyperbole about a misogynist hitting on you aggressively? Or did you encounter a monster with a two-foot tongue today?"

*

"You leave me envious. Next you will tell me women are permitted to defend and prosecute, and they have since 1588, by our method of dating things, and how charming our little exercise in democracy is." The attorney could put her head on the table, but why bother risking it? Its polished, aged finish speaks to durability. Not much stands up to any variety of jade giantess, or even worse, her cousin. "Do you really issue challenges? What happens when one duels, is it merely to first strike, an agreed upon severity or something enshrined in law? Fascinating. I hadn't thought many of those rules survived, though I know the custom of dueling is still extant in parts of northern Italy and possibly France. They may have abolished it totally. Pity, imagine seeing a fencing duel."

The question of a two-foot tongue is met with a blink. "I don't usually resort to hyperbole. A bad habit for a lawyer, given our interpretations are based upon precise, finesse, and words. Quite literally, he was angry and tried to give me a… a tongue-lashing." Yes, it sounds as awful as the pun is, and her smile is hidden behind her hand. "I have not found out whether he got off the top of the building without assistance. I did alert the engineering and maintenance staff." Pause. "Right before I came."

*

T'Challa chuckles at Jennifer appreciatively. "Actually, women have been allowed as counselors, bodyguards, and members of the armed forces for about that long. But I am only the second queen to ever rule the Panther cult on her own merit, rather than as surviving spouse or regent to a young heir."

Jennifer's fascination with their dueling catches T'Challa slightly off-guard, but she answers the questions honestly. "In general, contests are decided by first blood, or more severely upon yield of the defeated. Only a challenge of rulership is decided by death, and then only when issued directly, rather than as a contest to determine the heir." Because T'Challa did not have to kill anyone to inherit her throne, but she did have to fight, and win. Her father, on the other hand, had to fight and kill the leader of the White Gorilla tribe, when he challenged T'Chaka intent upon deposing him.

The Wakandan queen chuckles softly as Jen continues her story, and leans back as her drink and food finally arrives. "Thank you." she offers the waitress. "Well, anyone who tries to give you a tongue-lashing should know better. Hopefully he learns well, and you will not be beholden to further his education in the future."

*

All this knowledge is well worth having. She listens intently, rather delighted by the notion. Foreign traveler, Jennifer Walters? Believe it. One day, she will.

The dueling and contests of leadership do catch her rather by surprise. "Really? Is the crowd necessary as witnesses for a fair fight, like judges, or as a kind of cultural observation? I am thinking something of the Roman arena, though without the excesses implied by lions eating Christians and the like. An actual display of skill, as it goes." The green jotuness waits for the drink and food to be delivered by a server who scurries off, in part because she has more pints to pour as the crowd fills in the empty tables. Those two have some kind of privacy, at least.

"Anyone scolding another adult rather deserves it. I doubt he'll learn but we refuse to keep him as a client." Things just look plummy. "I received some of the latest briefings, and realized how much I need a bloody science degree. Six of them. Med, physics, chemistry, physics. One wonders exactly what I bring to the whole international affair. At this rate, I'm starting to have doubts."

*

"The crowd is necessary as observers, witnesses and cultural observation for the royal challenges. For regular duels and challenges amongst the council, only the ruler - or regent - and the council are required." Which helps, naturally, to keep the council looking like a unified front to the people of Wakanda. T'Challa seems happy to answer the questions to Jennifer, but one can imagine she likely would never answer these questions if asked by the likes of the CIA, or the average citizen on the street.

"What you bring to the table is your education and experience in international law and negotiation, not to mention your own inimical capabilities." T'Challa answers firmly, apparently having no patience for this talk about not being qualified for the effort. "We need you at least as much as we need the scientists and detectives amongst us. And I am sure the others would agree." Even if T'Challa has to bonk their heads against brick walls first to clarify matters.

*

No doubt the average citizen on the street would like to know about cuisine. The CIA has questions about border controls. The lawyer? She likes to know whether the cultural elements are adopted or longstanding, affected by societal changes, that sort of thing. Jen fishes through the basket of fries and pulls out another two, dipping them lightly in the provided ketchup. Just enough to get a reddened finish, rather than gobs of sugary paste squeezed out of Heinz 57's best.

"I can argue international law until I'm blue in the face," fine, green, "but that seems to be somewhat less helpful in this instance. We are looking beyond ourselves for the first time. Science and technology rule in these fields, and we play catchup as a society. I have the faint idea when the questions stop, it's only then I wade out and cause trouble. Albeit it means going back to the gym and actually practicing with more focus. I'm no Captain America."

*

And T'Challa is only too happy to answer all of Jennifer's questions, no matter how esoteric they may be. She seems to enjoy feeding the other woman's voracious mind, if only to hear what the questions are in the first place.

"But we are an international coalition." T'Challa argues. "Things will not always be smoothed over by the fact that we are operating as one planet against a foe beyond us. Questions like the rights to the technologies we seize, or the housing of prisoners we capture. I will grant that I would have some ability to assist in those negotiations and discussions. But even I would function better with you present to help. And I imagine we all will need time to practice together. Most of us have never fought as a team with anyone, or only a few people." T'Challa always as a loner.

*

"We are a coalition and that needs to be hammered home. I ought to wear that foam headdress of the Statue of Liberty, and just remind everyone of the entire purpose of this affair. It's not to show off the technological might of one nation or bullying the rest." Oh no, Jennifer does not do well with that notion. Intimidation and bullying fail to register much once one is termed, reasonably, a monster. Albeit a monster in a toucan t-shirt, sipping whiskey and essentially absorbing the atmosphere.

Her fingertips tap against the table. "This is what bothers me. What are we? What is our mandate? And what exactly are they expecting us to accomplish in light of what happened? I'm not going to lie to you, turning back time to understand how something happened or who did what is part of the job. But do they need warriors, forensics experts — which is outside my qualifications, mostly — or scientists? All of the above? Right now, we're left trying to do some guesswork and that would help to have before we get to the table."

*

"That is part of why I intend to share Wakandan technology with the others, as a way of driving home that this is not an American program, nor a Russian one, nor one exclusively between the two. A true coalition." T'Challa agrees, though she won't be wearing any giant foam heads, nor openly her crown. There are limits to the ostentation she is willing to endure.

"From what I understand, our mandate is to identify the threats we face and learn as much as we can about them, and then determine how to best protect the Earth from the threats they represent." T'Challa answers. "Which means to me we need all of the above and more. Including good, solid leadership." One can hope they'll get it.

The evening continues, with good company, decent spirits, and reasonably passable food. T'Challa pays the bill when things wind down, and then they can go their own ways home. They'll be seeing one another again soon enough.

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