|
   |
.~{:--------------:}~.
The Wakandan embassy is a little different from a typical consulate, the likes of which typically only exist in a national capital. No doubt Wakanda has one of those, but it's small, unimpressive, and generally forgettable. Odd that the country keeps a higher profile in New York, but the generally isolationist nation set its star by the United Nations rather famously. Thus the monarch-in-residence can get a cup of spiced tea and look out towards the UN building if he likes, though it's still some distance from his fabulous slice of the Big Apple. An array of newspapers and folios sit around him, though he pays them only passing heed. T'Challa has a voracious appetite for knowledge, reading in particular a source of information when not prowling the streets in the shadows and shaking down individuals for information. Some things you cannot learn from the New York Times or the Bugle or Buzzy the Spud in Hell's Kitchen. Diplomatic cables convey important information too, and those he surveys with customary neutrality etched on his features like a statue of old.
Whatever he reads, he clearly doesn't like, given the irritable twitch of his knee and the bounce of his heel. Had he a tail, it would be twitching instead, but Bast hasn't seen fit to transform him into a glorious actual panther or black khemet cat prowling the urban savannah, so he will make do with what he has.
Kevin pads down the stairs barefoot, dressed comfortably in a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. Prowling the night means sleeping late and while he's been up a little while already, he's being lazy this morning. Or what for him is the morning. "Bad news?" He's been down once earlier as the half empty coffee cup attests but it needs a refill.
Robbie pulled up to the embassy to 1) See T'Challa and 2) check out the embassy. He's never really seen it before, and they way Wakanda just -looks- is pretty freaking sweet. He's dressed very unceremoniously…his signature leather jacket, black pants, combat boots, fingerless gloves. He sees T'Challa and Kevin chatting, so he approaches with one of those curious looks of his.
"Your highness, Kevin. How goes?" Very casual indeed
"Little news today is without a spice of trouble or sorrow," T'Challa replies as he looks up from the latest dispatches encoded in such a way only his kimoyo bead will translate the details. A shifting algorithm makes for a difficult code to break, especially because the underlying patterns are randomly generated and long. He taps his finger against his knee and nods to Kevin. The Dora Milaje, ever present, keep a low profile as women can, performing typical duties like having coffee, indexing records, and not doing the paperwork. Filing is not their job, nor would they be any good at it. One of them looks up as Robbie enters, signalling interest in the way a pride of lionesses collectively lift their heads. Hello, is that a meal? Yeeees? No?
Looking over a couple seconds before Robbie actually enters, Levin gives the man a nod. "Robbie." he greets before looking back to T'Challa. "Today, yesterday and the century before that. Trouble and sorrow are part of being alive." So says the ex-cop. "Anything in particular that concerns us?" Translation: anything we need to do something about?
Honestly….they are wise to keep an eye on Robbie Reyes. Because if they knew what he was? They'd probably shout the Wakandan equivalent of Satan or the Devil in their beautiful native language. Either way, he nods softly to Kevin. "Oh, bad news huh? Need a hand?" He asks softly.
before his attention is on T'Challa. "….you're guards are looking at me funny." He says to try and get the man to smile. Nobody said Robbie had a particularly strong sense of humor.
"Typically visitors present identification," says the one woman nearest to the door in perfect English, even if it tastes a little of Cape Town. She can easily dismantle most people with sass alone, let it be said. They know all about watching things, and the Wakandan version of the lord of Hell — running a club, alas — is not enough to entirely abet avoiding poking the happy fun ball.
T'Challa regards the last of the papers and starts to fold them up, orderly and neat as if they came off the stand. "It seems the war in Southeast Asia is beginning in earnest. The Chinese have issued a statement they will not accept violation of their territorial integrity." Considering whom his nation is aligned to — the unaligned movement — that is significant enough. "Nothing to blow back as yet upon the city. But if this is war, America will suffer.."
"Vietnam." Kevin agrees. "It's a bad situation and likely to be worse than Korea. It's not going to be a popular war like the two World Wars were." For certain definitions of 'popular', anyway. "If the President starts seriously committing troops there, as opposed to advisors which no one believes are really advisors to begin with, there's going to be a lot of unrest." He pauses to take a sip of his coffee as he thinks a moment. "If they have powered heroes like we do, and they get involved, there's going to be a lot of pressure to get our involved as well."
Robbie crosses his arms as he shakes his head. "Nasty business." He shakes his head softly. "It will certainly be a popularity issue…nobody wants to fight."
"Terribly so." T'Challa wears an expression thoughtful by design, and incredibly measured for its calm nature all the same. Nodding to Kevin, he says, "I have no doubt this will be a battle by proxy. Never only one nation but many, and the Communist world will rise as we would to defend them. Wars by proxy we cannot afford." Heavy rests the head and all that, though what does a small nation have to worry? Americans aren't rolling up on his doorstep. "I would advise caution to them, but would they listen? I fear the President is too much for his sabre rattling."
"I wouldn't say nobody wants to." Kevin counters. "There are some who do, who'll profit with either money or politics from going to war. They're standing up to Communism, promoting democracy, and keeping the world safe from the red menace. Some will get rich off of it. Others will get elected. A few, both."
Robbie nods softly to the two men around him. A deep sigh. "It is what it is. It's not going to end well…gonna have to keep my head low. Nobody wants what I've got in a war."
T'Challa rises from his seat and moves with all the grace of a man capable of truly, honestly prowling. Watching the others is a study on his part, psychological profiling and consideration that comes with never acting rashly. He rather embodies Augustus Caesar's precept to make haste slowly. "War comes. Then what do you do? continue about your lives? Expect someone to stand up and say it should not happen?"
"There's going to be lots of people standing up." Kevin points out. Indeed, they already are. And if true war starts, those numbers will multiply. "That is what will happen in America. The question is, when war comes, what will /you/ do, my king?"
Robbie remains silent, cold gaze shifting between T'Challa and Kevin. A conversation between Wakandans.
"What does a proper monarch do? I will review what impact this has on our people directly. I will not give cause for further loss and death by knowingly contributing to actions that would harm innocents," T'Challa says slowly, after measuring up every word. "I will continue to support those who question why this cannot be resolved diplomatically, and be apart from the superpowers. The world does not answer to Moscow or Washington. A middle path may be difficult, but it is not impossible. And I will continue to do what I can here — as I have already." Easy to say when a few hours could put him flat over the Pacific, monitoring for missiles in a way regular engineers haven't even thought about. "True war is already in motion. We have not named it yet. I can feel that. It is too late, I think, for bold masterstrokes to end what already happened. Isn't it?" This, to Robbie.
Once T'challa has spoken his course of action, at least for the moment under the current circumstances, Kevin gives him a nod that's clearly also a bow of his head. The king has spoken. "Lets hope those with power don't get directly involved. It could escalate things quickly."
The King certainly has spoken. His eyes fall on T'Challa as he is addressed, though sadly he nods. "Yeah…tensions are too high, past actions are done. Now…we wait for the likely storm to come, unless there's a way to minimize or stop the blow altogether." He shrugs then softly, keeping his eyes on the two as the
before him
One can be grateful, if not glad, to always have a head resting heavy above them. T'Challa takes the knowledge and suggestions as they are offered, spreading his hands. "Is there nothing better that we may focus on for the benefit of the city? Surely there is some way to push for things to be better here. It is as important to look to the neighbourhood as the plain." It's not a perfect translation of the Nigerian proverb, but it will do.
Holding up a hand, Kevin starts ticking off on his fingers. "Reduce the organized crime in the city, especially in the poor sections like Harlem and Hell's Kitchen." Though that's hardly news to the Defenders. "Eliminate corruption in the police force." How? Beats him. That's what got him into all this in the first place. "Increase the number of soup kitchens in the city." Which really means throw money at it. "Also, jobs for those who don't already have them."
Robbie sighs softly. "Aside from doing what I do to keep the punks off the streets? Deal with-" then Kevin speaks. "Yeah, that is one way to go about it. Eliminate corruption…but that goes deeper than police or politics."