2014.04.14 - WW2 Flashback - To the Victor... No Spoils

World War 2. The war to end all wars was decades ago, and yet here we are. The Normandy invasion has already happened. The Allies have gone from losing the war to suddenly winning it. France is not liberated, but it's starting to be.

For one like Namor, this is only the beginning. He knows after the Invaders defeat Germany and Italy he'll be needed in Japan. The Americans need air superiority, and he is the most superior thing in the air, the land or the sea.

Captain America called him a superman. He wonders what he would do if Atlantis was gone and the surface needed him.

That's the funny things about bars and pubs. After a few drinks, everyone is a philosopher. So as the troops cheer and sing and drink. Namor is rather introspective. And why he doesn't hate the surface drink called beer, it doesn't seem to hit him the same way it does to the rest.

It sure hits Zinda, though she certainly has more of a tolerance for it than... well, most of the men in the bar with them today. "Hey, hey," she says, placing a bottle down on Namor's table. A wine bottle. "We found this in the cellar. I figger- everything you done these past few days- plus, y'know, bein' royalty. First good bottle of French wine we find, you oughta be the one to have the first glass, yer Majesty." She has a funny way of using the title. Like a friendly nickname, and the proper form all in one. Then, she adds with a smirk. "And... we can't find a cork screw." A couple of the guys behind her laugh.

In honor of this actually being something of a celebration, Zinda's ditched the uniform and found herself a nice dress... or, well, borrowed one from a nice local French girl with a similar figure, in exchange for some food rations and trinkets she'd collected. Her hair's pinned up in victory rolls in the front, and left to fall loose down the back. Somehow, she even found some nice shoes to go with the dress. No stockings though- took her almost half an hour to paint the seam on with eye pencil with some help from that same local girl. But all in all, she doesn't clean up half-bad.

Namor smirks at Zinda. The infamous Lady Blackhawk he knew better than most, since he had to sit in a cargo hold, in a salt water tank because the Allied Powers didn't understand how his strength worked. She was a powerful woman in his mind, and that dress made her look amazing. He got why the soldiers like to share some sort of comic about her having sex a lot.

Namor picks up the bottle, grabs the very edge of the cork and pulls it out easily, super-strength also mean super-grip. After the cork is gone he says, "Wine I like better than beer, though I have to admit. It doesn't have the same effect on me as it has on the rest."

He looks over at the watching men, and a lot of them stop laughing and turn their heads. Namor had a reputation... don't mess with him unless your name was Human Torch or Captain America... you might be lucky if your name is Hawkman or the Flash.

Namor did smile at Zinda's apperance, he was so used to her uniform and her half covered in engine grease and flying his transports, he forgot that she was a beautiful woman as well. An Namor, in this era, was a notorious flirt, "No glasses, Lady Blackhawk, but then again I do even get the whole glasses thing so drink from the bottle if you wish."

"Darlin', we ain't in the air, call me Zinda," she says, grabbing a chair and pulling it up to sit beside him. She grabs the bottle, and does just as he says, taking a long drink from it. Then tilts her head side to side a little. "All right. It. Wasn't as good of a French wine as we thought it was. But still. We're in France. It's wine. It was the thought that matters," she says, and offers it back to him. "What I wouldn't give for some bourbon."

Namor chuckled as he took the bottle from her and took a long drink himself, for him a long drink was probably about three drinks more than the average person. After he put it down he said, "If you want bourbon, I believe the United States is about 7,000 meters that way"

He points west, he always seems to have a perfect sense of direction, "And I'll call you Zinda the second you stop calling me 'Your Majesty' especially because technically you should refer to me as 'Your Royal Highness.' I'm a Prince, not a King."

He glanced down at Zinda's outfit and then back up to her hair, then her eyes and said, "Besides on the surface I prefer Namor. Or that ridiculous name your press came up for me, 'the Sub-Mariner.'"

"Really? Well, we don't have kings or princes were I come from, so... I was just goin' by..." she waves a hand at him... "the whole... "majestic... ness?" she trails off. "Fine. Namor, then. Though I gotta admit, what is it Toro an' Buck are callin' ya? Subby?" she grins, mischieviously. "I kinda like it. I might take to it to," she drawls, teasingly, then giggles. "It's cute." Either she's very tipsy, or very secure in the belief that Namor will not strike a woman, because wow, she's really tugging at a loooot of threads here. /Cute/.

She's right on multiple points. Toro and Bucky call him Subby, he hates it. He won't hit a woman who isn't attacking him. Ask Warrior Woman, Lady Lotus or Spider-Queen how not getting hit by Namor goes. But she called him majestic... in a way.

He'll but up with Subby from her if only... those legs that seem to go all the way up. Namor's culture is a culture of swimmers, nice legs are like huge tits to the surface, "Alright I'll accept Subby, but you are resorting to the nickname of teenage boys, for the record."

Namor himself was barely considered more than a teenager by Atlantean society so there was some hypocrisy there, not one that Zinda would know though, "And I'll call you Zinda when your not flying me around in a fish tank."

Namor smirks and says, "Besides, you much more beautiful than Toro or Bucky. I think."

"Well, I /did/ put in some effort in that department tonight," she says, then looks at the back of her leg. "Fake stockings are already smudged t'hell though," she says, and grins. "Just don't let Blackhawk hear you sayin' so. Even if we ain't..." she trails off again. "Official. At the moment." She frowns. "God, he's a frustraitin' sonofabitch sometimes," she says, and shakes her head. "He gets jealous, even if he won't do more'n kiss me. Even then, he acts like he's breakin' the rules. Like we even /got/ rules- we're practically privateers, for God's sake." She gives the Prince an apologetic look. "Sorry. Drunk. Ramblin'."

"Stocking are interesting to me, but I like the natural muscle lines of your legs more," Namor admits, still smiling since his last set of lines, "Besides, I'm the Prince of Atlantis, the only member of the Atlantean military in this war. I'm not part of any organization, I go where I go because that's where I know I can destroy those who attacked my people."

He frowns for a second and then smirks, "You cannot fraternize with the men, if I'm not the men." He reaches out and touches her face gently and says, "And I am not the men."

He looks over to men still watching and frowns at them, the rest suddenly realize they have better things too do. Many have seen the news reels of Namor tearing apart U-Boats with his bear hands, they don't want to be on his bad side.

"It's a real tempting offer, Namor," she admits, closing her eyes, and she shakes her head. "Really, really tempting. I mean, I've /seen/ you practically in your all-together and-" she trails off again. "/Real/ tempting." A pause. "But Janos- Blackhawk. I know it's complicated, an' frustratin'. He promised me when it's all over, we're gonna settle down." She forces a bit of a smile. "I know the men, they say a lotta things about me. That I'm some fast girl, an' that's why I'm here, not to fly, but to keep the men happy. I... I can't be that gal, even a little bit, Namor. I'm sorry."

Huh? (Type "help" for help.)

Namor still smiles and then stretches back a bit, every single muscle on his body is defined. In an era that basically Eugen Sandow is the only body builder, Namor himself is an example of perfection that would make Sandow weep.

However he also knows Janos Prohaska. And as far as surface-dwellers went, Janos was like Steve Rogers, an honorable man who deserved Namor's respect.

He smiles at Zinda and says, "Then in another life, Zinda."

He laughs and finishes the beer he already had and then the french wine they were sharing, "Maybe in seventy years. Maybe in a hundred."

He looks at the beautiful woman that was Zinda and said, "But next time you fly me around in that fish tank I'm going to be just as cross and angry as I was the last time."

"Wouldn't expect any less from ya, Little Mermaid." She grins wryly. Sure, the movie won't be made for another, what, sixty years? But she /reads/. "Next time, when I'm less wobbly, I'll at least give ya a dance."

Namor smirked and stood up and then lifted Zinda in his arms, "We'll dance tonight, and I'll make sure it's a good one."

'I'll be Seeing You' had just started playing on the USO radio in the pub and he carried her around the floor, swaying to the music as he did. His eyes never left her eyes as it happened. As Namor of Altantis danced the infamous Lady Blackhawk across the floor, even if her feet never touched the ground as he did.

When the song ended he carefully let her back to her feet and said, "I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you. Nice thought,"

He started to walk away, the booze was dehydrating him after all, and even if he didn't know it at this moment he had two wives to marry and have die on him in the next 80 years..

He looked back at Zinda in her pretty dress and her victory rolls, "Janos is a lucky man, I hope he never forgets that."