2014.06.04 - Latveria's New Friend

The Latverian Embassy, NYC. Not a place most people would think Namor the Submariner would be. Or maybe some would consider it fitting considering how he returned to the public eye a year ago, or that he is part of Lex Luthor's pet superhero team.

The Atlantean King however could care less what people would think of him coming here. He has never really cared about the opinion of the rabble around him. He has met Doctor Doom once before, and while he wouldn't call that meeting productive, he did earn a bit of respect for the Latverian monarch. And now as he is once again king, (after spending some time in self imposed exile, he has come her to speak with Doctor Doom again, and perhaps even formalize relations between the two nations.

If Aquaman knew he was doing this, he'd probably try to stop him. But he also cared little what the younger King of Atlantis had to say about his comings and goings.

It's hard to miss the Latverian Embassy; plenty of tourists and locals alike try, but the gothic castle dominating its region of Metropolis is hard to miss. A wrought iron fence circles the perimeter, and guards in regal, Latverian military dress flank either side of the gate leading inwards. Lush trees dot edges of the ground just past the fence as well, lending the property a degree of natural grace that's rather at odds with the imposing architecture looming over the green line. Towers not only ring the roof of embassy itself, they top the various walls and outlying structures splitting from and surrounding the central body. Like so many structures in this city, the embassy is designed to move upwards instead of outwards, despite its rather sizable footprint in the city; it's many stories high, even without the towers.

The interior of the embassy bears little resemblance at all to its exterior; inside, it's a bustling hive of activity with employees carrying out the day to day tasks that keep this pocket of Latveria in the West functioning. While there are plenty of touches from home - paintings, Latverian flora, tapestries, sculptures - and the occasional chandelier-lit space, it is the very picture of a modern diplomatic consulate. If Namor were to sit and study some of the lowest tier employees long enough, he might begin to notice a certain, suspicious rigidity to the way that they complete their simple cycles of tasks, or a tendency not to smile, make eye contact with, or do much of anything else to acknowledge visitors outside of staying out of their way; others - like the bright, but reserved woman who escorts Namor through the stone corridors leading to the Doctor's abode - are much more willing to interact as appropriate, though.

One of the embassy's upper floors is all Doom's, so Namor's guided tour through the embassy ultimately ends with elevator doors opening into a sprawling office that could have easily been plucked from any Wall Street high rise. As soon as he steps out, the doors will close behind him; his guide knows full and well that this is not the time or place for her. Rather than the many smaller(but mercifully glass-paned, rather than empty) windows studding the embassy, there's one huge one dominating the wall behind the desk where the Doctor sits with his fingers steepled before his mask. He is, of course, seated in a massive iron throne rather than an office chair.

"It has been some time--Your Highness," he says once they're alone, his already low voice filtered through electronics until it's a low, static-kissed rumble. "I would offer you my congratulations, but they would be--hasty, wouldn't they? I wouldn't mark you as a man who'd be content with half of what is his; still, though. You seem to be on your way up in the world; you must take some pleasure in that...?"

Namor smirked and said, "Things do change in a mere forty years. That much is for certain. King Orin is... young. And rather trusting. One way or another I do not see that being the best results for Atlantis itself."

It wasn't exactly a threat to Aquaman, but it was rather clear that Namor saw very little need for two Kings of Atlantis. He ruled it alone for decades after World War II and he saw little reason for him to share the power now. But that was the Atlantean way when their were legitimate heirs to more than one of the family lines of the Council of Kings. Didn't mean he had to like ruling at the side of a man who spent most of his life on the surface.

He looked about Doom's 'office' though throne room seemed more appropriate to call it, "I have to admit, as far as the creations of surface dwellers go, your dwellings on this little island are the most impressive I've seen. Most 'important' people here seem to prefer to be humble with their power and resources."

He walked a few feet forward and gave a glance to everything the room had to offer, he did not feel that Doom was hostile to him, but the warrior in him wanted to ensure he knew his environment and be prepared in case something happened. The surface world had a tendency to have emergencies happen at moments notice. They were barbaric people in Namor's mind, prone to violence way to quickly.

"You however, and I have to admit it draws respect from me. You prefer to allow people to know exactly how powerful you are and why you deserve their respect." Namor stopped as he approached the Throne of Doom, "It is a trait that I appreciate, the talking monkeys constant talk of equality and rejection of the concept that there are just some people who are the elite is rather vexing to me at times."

"Humility is a crutch for those with no better option than to accept mediocrity," Doom dismissively replies. "It serves no purpose in dealings between men of substance."

The Doctor's armor hisses, whirrs, and the plates gently clatter against one another as he rises from his throne and folds his arms over his chest. There are doors on either side of the office; Namor can probably make out the sound of computers and other machinery behind both. If were to look hard enough, he might be able to make out the faint lines where sections of the walls and floor aren't quite seamlessly integrated with other parts - evidence of, if not traps, things not being quite what they appear to be.

After all, in a world where anything can happen at any time, it pays to be prepared.

"How long will it be before things change again?" he muses, moving out from behind the desk so that there's nothing between he and the Sub-Mariner. "Surely, you have as much of our young king's trust as anyone; will he be an old man by then, I wonder? Ready to hand the reins to his young, trusting spawn..."

The Doctor gently clucks his tongue after trailing off. "When will people come to know how powerful Namor is?"

Namor shook his head and says, "I think the people of this city know exactly how powerful I am. Summoning giant whale monsters tends to show you power rather quickly. And my own people celebrated my return as if I were Poseidon himself returning to lead them into a new golden age."

He considered the words Doom had spoken to him carefully, he could see what he was saying but Namor had his own course at the moment and Doom's words wouldn't change it, "And Orin and I, don't exactly get along. He is wary of me at the moment. And while I am stronger than him in every conceivable way, brute force will not solve the problem of the naive king."

Namor crossed his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow, "And what exactly is it concerning to you? You have your own country to manage, and even though it is tiny compared to the vastness of Atlantis. No doubt, it should be your be primary interest. From what I understand you do not have a council of elders and a large royal family to run the place for you."

Doom's eyes narrow. After years of living with his face hidden from the world, the Doctor is well-practiced at taking advantage of the ambiguity his armor provides; his posture remains tall, strong, and sure, even as his features twist angrily beneath the mask at Namor's comparison.

"Latveria's affairs are, as ever, well in hand," he crisply states. "She has no need of councils or families to handle them when she has me."

Of course, as the two monarchs speak, there is another Doctor locked away in one of Castle Doom's labs, performing experiments unfit for lesser minds--or eyes. And another still perched in his throne, brooding.

"Despite this, though: Latveria and Atlantis have much in common: both of our nations lie outside of the neat blocs and alliances that comprise the world around them. Both are surrounded on all sides by lessers who distrust them at best, despite - or perhaps because of - having the capacity to bring them to heel at a whim. Atlantis' concerns are mine because we share them," he rumbles, throwing his arms out to either side and sending his cloak fluttering out behind himself; rather than falling afterwards, his right hand comes up in front of himself as he continues, "Strip away the frustrations of letting your rule be dictated by councils and the idle whims of a soft-willed surface-worlder, and they are mine" By the end, his fist has snapped shut with a sharp, metallic note, punctuating his declaration. "We are men with few friends in this world, because we are men who this world is not equipped to understand, nor accomodate; I do not wish to push you into rash, disastrous action. I simply tire of seeing someone so like myself - someone with the potential to be a king among his people - toil needlessly in the designs of others."

His arms fold over his chest again as he takes heavy, echoing steps towarsd the Sea King. "And more than that," he adds as he closes in, "I would have you know that should Atlantis ever require it, she would have the full support of Latveria in ridding itself of its weakness."

Namor watched Doom carefully as he spoke, he was judging Doom's every action, every word. And he was finding himself liking the man more and more. It was a rare thing to encounter one of the surface dwellers who actually had a fire in his heart for anything other than the most selfish of thoughts.

However as Doom reached his conclusion Namor's face twisted into a scowl, "I -am- a King to my people, Doom! And I will not have you question how effective of a monarch I am, just as you would not tolerate it from me. A much as King Orin has done in the forty years that I was gone, only twenty himself as king, are nothing compared to that which I have accomplished in the thirty I accomplished as King before him or what I will accomplish now. Even with him there."

His eyes were sharp and impassioned, his voice strong and loud as he was speaking, "He is also King as is his birthright, but the military loves me, the people love -me-. I am the King of Atlantis, he is the blonde boy who's birth marked the curse of my disappearance. He is of no concern, a tool to use to keep the surface nations from treating Atlantis as a dumping ground for all it's pollution and waste. A poster child for the surface to look and marvel at. Look at the King of Atlantis, he's a blonde haired, blue eyed man. He can't possible be a threat to us. Let him play superhero with the so-called Justice League all he wishes. At the end of the damn, Namor is the Avenging Son of Atlantis. And has always been the leader of it's people."

"Though," Namor said his blood running a little cooler now, "I do agree with you on one point in all of that. Atlantis and Latveria have much in common. And while 'Aquaman' has done much to get acceptance for Atlantis on the surface, I find the idea of actually being allied with many of these so-called civilizations on the dry land grotesque. The allies of Atlantis must be chosen with great care."

A smile returned to his face and he said, "Which is why, I am here and not sending Orin to snivel in front of the United Nations to beg for scraps for the largest and most technologically advanced civilization this planet has ever seen."

"What does one call a king who shares his throne with another?" Doom wonders, just as Namor is beginning to compose himself. His tone is casual--conversational, even; if he were anyone else, it would almost certainly suggest a genuine, if perhaps passing interest in the subject, but from his lips...

It isn't that Doom wants to get on Namor's bad side, it's just that the Sub-Mariner's pride seems to be the quickest way through his nobility. He didn't show much in the way of fear throughout the tirade, even if he'd prefer to keep Namor teetering on the edge of outrage rather than letting him tumble all the way over into violence; rather than move, or flinch, he just stood with his arms folded and absorbed the lesson on Atlantean politics.

"It hardly matters," he dismisses shortly afterwards with a wave of his hand. The implication couched in his statement about the UN - that Latveria's technical achivements are somehow less than Atlantis' - is left untouched, despite a hidden scowl. "You are certainly more than you were the last time we met, regardless of the circumstances; I commend you on your initiative. And your wisdom in seeking an alliance with the only nation worthy of your time."

Doom is remarkable at hitting Namor's buttons, that much is very obvious. And Namor's anger does rise as Doom makes the comparison again just to off-handily dismiss it moments later. He doesn't scowl or frown this time, instead he just ceases smiling, though the rage he feels is very obvious through his eyes.

There was no way Namor could even claim he didn't have a massive temper. He is the man who attacked New York City twice now, once when he first appeared to the surface in 1939. And then again when he recovered from amnesia in 2013. But he wasn't going to let Doom goad him into an attack (unaware that Doom doesn't want that at all.)

Through tight lips he says, "Latveria is definitely worth my time. And it's worth Atlantis's time. I often say to Orin that Atlantis must stand alone, but only a fool believes such things. What I am saying when I say that is, Atlantis does not need to be answerable to a bunch of talking monkey's that call themselves a Security Council. And I'm sure Latveria could use an ally that isn't tied into the resource wars and influence peddling of the other Super Powers."

Yes, Namor was upset, but he knew that Doom had his own ego as well. Referring to Lateveria as a Super Power akin to the United States was a true statement in his mind, so sharing it and currying favor with Doom seemed a wise bet to make.

"Indeed; as long as petty, jealous fools are allowed to have the run of the world, true isolation is a dangerous game," Doom replies, his own simmering frustration with that notion evident just beneath his words. He's certainly made his share of deals and alliances in his time as a monarch, despite Latveria's - his - reputation as a dangerous, rogue power; if he could pare down the number of leaders he's forced to work with to just one - one with a temper problem, a grudge against the surface world, and earth-shaking powers, at that - it would simplify his life immensely.

He still has a ways to go before reaching that point, of course, but Doom is a patient man, the least that he can do is see how far this angle can take him, regardless of how long it may take to bear any fruit.

"Atlantis has a friend in Latveria," he continues, stretching a metal clad hand towards the Sub-Mariner. "Your nation is the oldest super power in the world and mine the youngest; it is only fitting that they face the chaos of this broken age together."

Namor reached out his own hand and grasped the metal gauntlet of Doom, "Aye, Fitting and appropriate. There was a time I thought I could trust the nations of the Allies, but those Allies have proven to be more harmful to Atlantis than the Axis was. It was easier back then. War paints your enemies in uniforms and allegiances and asks you to simply to knock them down. To then watch your allies use your sovereign ground as test sites for their weapons and dump sites for their refuse. You become disillusioned with them rather quickly."

Which was in part the reason Namor was here, Latveria was a land locked country that already had an environmental record better than any other country in the world, save perhaps Atlantis, but then very few people from the surface have even been to the closest Atlantean cities, "To a long and prosperous friendship, Lord Doom."