1964-02-18 - Shaky Friendships
Summary: Luke and Shuri get off on the wrong foot.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
shuri luke 

Luke sits behind the bar, leaning his back against the shelf of liquor, the mirror reflecting the place around him. It's late morning and there isn't much of anyone here except an old man off in the corner, sipping on a cup of coffee with a splash of whiskey. He's just homeless, Luke let him in to give him some time out of the cold and shove a hot meal in the grimy bastard whether he liked it or not.

He's been away for a bit on personal business, leaving the place in capable enough hands, but being back here seemed right somehow. Still he wondered if, even in the short time he was gone, this place - not just the bar, the neighborhood itself - had changed. That sort of thing happened when you weren't looking.



It seemed like it was the place to be, especially those who nearly shared the same skin, who almost looked beaten down, often times happy and mingling with their children.. a far cry from what she sees in Wakanda.


And yet men were looking down upon their own, hostile to their own, it was enough to cause Shuri a little bit of disgust, but she tarries on. Right into the Cigar Factory and out of the cold, where she wasn't dressed for the weather, no. But dark gloves do tug the african colored cloak around her, her hair slightly frizzed from the droplets of snow, her cheeks a slight hint of rose and her lips, while Princess'y, nearly cracked. She even.. sneezes? Christ.. she was getting ill..


Luke looks up from where he's organizing, a smile quirking his lips as he sees the gorgeous African making her way in, "Technically, we aren't open yet, but I'm prone to make an exception or two. What can I get for you?" he says.

He's wearing a simple yellow t-shirt, stretched easily over his impressive physique, along with jeans and a gold chain around his neck. His hands are nimble as he gets out a glass, tossing it to his free hand and setting it down to prepare to pour whatever libation Shuri has in mind.


Shuri looks up at the sound of the rich baritone that echoes through the bar, her heels clicking in a rather quick pace as she settles upon the stool which was unbecoming of a lady.

"Whateva' that would take de chill off of me bones.." She states, her own accent thick. She -was- attempting to sound more Americanized, she just didn't quite hit that mark.


Luke nods and goes to mix something simple, a bit of spiced rum, "I don't get much chance to do anything exotic. Most folks around here go for beer, whiskey and wine," he says. He adds a bit of juice and carbonation, before sliding it across.

"You're definitely not from around here," he says. "I'd pretend I can tell where, but, truth is, I don't think I've ever heard an accent quite like yours before. You're definitely not Jamaican," he grins.


Shuri watches his creation of the drink with interest, her lips already tucking within as she pulls out a bit of beeswax balm from her clutch to begin to moisten her lips. Even a few napkins were set upon her knee, to carefully dab around her nose as she sniffs, the drink handed over and taken.. sipped first, her brows furrowing.

"No. I'm not. I'm not even supposed to be here.." She sniffles, taking another sip of the drink which causes her to shiver and shudder hard. "Good.. gawd.." She snaps out, her eyes near bewildered as she looks to the cup. "Dis is delicious!"


Luke grins and dries his hands after washing them - hey, she's sick - turning back to face her, "Well, yeah. I ain't about to serve somethin' nasty, especially when an exotic beauty comes swingin' into my place in the middle of the day," he says.

The old man in the corner adds a wolf whistle to the proceedings, earning a glare from Luke, "Drink your coffee, Cletus."

"So, you just in need of refreshment or you have anything else on your mind today? I don't know about where you're from, but, in America, bartenders are traditionally the best listeners."


"You are too kind." Shuri states, her lips pursing as she gives a loud sucking pop. She wasn't about to ask for more, she knew her tolerance level, and yet, the sound of the whistle does make her cringe.

Too loud. Refocus Shuri..

"Just refreshment and a warm building." She states completely. "I'm from Wakanda. Usually I am not afforded a drink such as this with chemicals. Tis born in ree'tral to have such a thing. But I have nothing to say to you that you would unnerstand. Nor care fa."


Luke cocks his head, "Wakanda, huh? Well, that explains a few things. The accent, of course. And the high opinion of yourself. No, no, it's okay, I get it. You guys got all kinds fancy gadgets and you're all secretive and you're all rich as hell. Us po American folk, we just ain't got the education to understand all them big Wakandan ideas," he says in his baritone.

"Glad I could supply ya with such nice chemicals, though," he says.


There was a blank stare that was given to Luke, even as the glass was soon lifted to her lips. She didn't take a drink, she only cut her eyes away, lowering the glass upon the counter top as she keeps her gaze downward, to shuffle through her belongings.

"I did not know that being from Wakanda was so offensive to the pepa' here. Perhaps that is why the reception is not most welcome." Money was placed upon the bartop as she pushes away, drawing herself to a stand.

"It would be most kind if you tell no one that I was here in this establishment."


Luke snorts, "It ain't you bein' from Wakanda that's offensive, lady. It's the presumption that bleeds out of your mouth that being from Wakanda means you're better than the rest of us," he says. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Enjoy the Ritz-Carlton or wherever it is you're staying. I'm sure the concierge will run you a bath so you can get the slum off," he says.


Her brows lift high, and soon a smile curls her lips. "Perhaps." Though, Shuri wasn't here to ease the diplomatic relations, really. In essence, she was looking for her brother.. which meant..

Her black glove hand extends ever so briefly, fingers snapping out to reveal the clawed tips within her gloves.

A quick snatch out has her hand smashing through the wooden table, cracking it clean down the middle. A no-nonsense kick allows it to sail away, and with a whip and a turn of her fuzzy hair, her hand snatches out with a flourish that retracts the claws with style.

"I hope to neva see you cross my path again.. worm.."


Luke leaps over the bar with surprising alacrity and strides over hard, reaching out to grasp at the Panthress' wrist before she can get out.

"Nothing against your penchant for drama, but, when someone destroys my property, I usually either get 'em to pay for it or I call the cops," he says. "Worm or not, this is my bar. I don't give a shit about your opinion of it, but I'll be damned if you're gonna tear it up and then walk out of here with your nose up in the air."


The snap against her wrist causes the leggy woman to turn, the whip of her dark hair floundering as she turns to face him, her arm rearing up to bring herself closer to the man with the steeled grip. While he was obviously taller than her, the closeness gave her a vantage point, one that remains unseen unless she herself decides to enact some revenge for the lesser American to grips her in the form of authority.

Instead of making a further scene, she plays nice, her head leaning just a little to clear the wide berth of his shoulder to spy the homeless drunk who watches with lips apart, towards the cash that was left upon the bar top, then to the dark man, skin just like hers, who stood in front of her.

"You will see that I have left more than enough to cover the table and more." She states, wisely backing down from such a fight.. impending or not. She does need allies in this, her being in the States was a -complete- secret, even to most upper echelons of the government who'd seek to protect the Wakandian. So making a further scene? Not in the cards.

But wisely? "This is not in the form of charity." She states, turning her head a little to listen for Luke's accent, attempting to mimick it. Hell, he was one of the first ones she's held a lengthy conversation with that she actually participated in. "The drink was worth the price." Table? Eh!


Luke holds onto her wrist for another long moment before he lets her go, flexing his fingers and frowning softly, "Fair enough," he says. "I don't mean to be…" he shakes his head, "Sometimes my pride gets the best of me," he says.

"Don't rush off," he says, making his way back to the bar, "I'll pour you another, if you like," he says. "I am curious as to what a woman from Wakanda's doin' here in Harlem. We're not exactly near the United Nations," he says.


As soon as he lets go, her wrist was shaken out briefly, her dark skin nearly drawing a purplish hue, before soon retaining it's natural color. She looks up towards the larger man as he returns towards the bar, her lips.. while impossible, attempts to form into a thin line as she approaches her previous seat, settling upon it, her gloved hand upon the money which was soon pushed towards him to relinquish.

"I can tell." She says honestly. "And I would like another." Though, as to the reason why she's here, she considers telling him the truth..

"You are not. No." She admits once more. "My mother and fatha' thought it best to send me to the Americas. They feel that I need to learn diplomacy, and how to betta interact with other nations so that I can properly serve my people." She attempts to adjust her accent, her words slowing considerably.

"And when I have completed my task, I shall return to Wakanda and sit upon the throne until my brother, soon-to-be King takes over the mantle."


Luke manages a grin, "Well, I ain't gonna argue about the diplomacy. You're definitely more of a fighter than a peacemaker," he grins. "But everybody's different. Truth is, I've had to learn to think with more than my fists a few times myself," he says.

AT the revelation of her royal pedigree, he manages to keep a straight face, "Well, I'll be damned, an actual princess. Pardon me for not curtsying," he says, taking a sip of his whiskey soda.

"Seems like that's a lotta weight to put on some pretty young shoulders, you don't mind me sayin'. Parents can be rough enough on their own."


"I will admit that my attitude is a bit uncouth.." Her eyes glance over towards the ruins of the table, and she forces a humbleness to retain her features. "And for that I apologize." She bows her head slightly, then gestures towards her empty glass. She -really- wants that drink. "But it is hard. Tis not the demanding of respect, but the expectance of it."

She forces a smile again, and yet her face falls flat. "I do not speak of my lineage easily. The consequences of my being here could potentially be grave." But she does agree. It was a lot of weight, but one she's trained for since she was a child. This puts her at a pause, her lips pursing as she stares forward, her brows lowering just a hint, her shoulders also slumping in her own little reply.

"But what is there left to do? Honor thy mother and father and the Gods as best as my ability. That is our way of life."


Luke pours that drink for her, carefully adding a little bit more rum than he did the first time. She seemed like she needed it.

"Well, I won't get into a theology argument, although I can hear my preacher Daddy over my shoulder barking a bit about that 'more than one god' thing," he smiles.

"The honor your parents thing, he was real big on that, that's for sure. And yeah, having a whole country looking in your direction, that's as serious as it gets. Doesn't leave much room for being human, but human we all are," he says.

He reaches out and clinks his glass against hers, 'So I'll make you a deal - anytime it gets to be too much, you need someplace where you can just be a person, warts and all - consider the door open."


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