Template:Featured Articles/26-2024
 Jay turned slightly to look at the wet figure behind him- no monster, but Jay wasn't going to rule out the man being some sort of spectre. He was surprised to notice the small, hummingbird like wings on the man's ankles. Ever since he'd gotten his wings he hadn't been one much for submerging himself. Then again, there was waterfowl. Maybe this man was more like a duck. Jay glared at him slightly as his heart slowed down. "You got me pretty damn good," he said to the figure. "And that's a shame about the bass." Namor stopped, turned, and squinted. "Never doubt that I do everything 'pretty damn good.'" He took a swig of water. "There is more pleasant fishing on the other side of the lake — a healthy stock of perch." He stretched his arms wide, seemingly unbothered by being wet in the chilly March air. Jay's politeness got the better of him, now that he was willing to rule the figure out as a ghost after watching him drink. "Well, I'll be taking that advice if'n you'd like to join," he figured it would be a no and kicked off. Why walk all the way around the lake when he could fly there in a shorter path? This got a stare. "You," and the incredulity in the Atlantean's tone was so plain as he squared his shoulders that he might as well have been pointy, "Clearly understand nothing of Namor." His eyes blazed with pride for just a moment, but then, "I have not been fishing in 5,000 years." Maybe Jay had judged this Namor as not being a spectre too soon. He didn't sound like he was exaggerating when he said 5,000 years. "You want to be joining in then?" He asked, not letting himself be put off by this self important man's attitude, especially when he sensed just a hint of sadness in his last statement. The full weight of inhuman ice blue's eyes fell upon Jay Guthrie as the young man received his full appraisal. Whatever they found, Namor answered, "We accept your invitation. It should be diverting, at the least." He nodded. "What is your weapon of choice? Simple hook and line?" "Well, I don't got a net for trawling and I never liked folks who shoot at the fish," Jay said as he began to fly to the other side of the lake, following Namor's knowledge of it. It also gave him an excuse to turn away from the man. That stare gave him the heebie-jeebies something fierce. The other, muscled man took a minute to retrieve his water bottle from the dock, although he didn't follow immediately after. He had retreated back up to the boathouse itself, grabbing an item. Still, his voice echoed across the water to Jay in questioning disbelief. "They do what to the fish?" "Shoot at 'em," Jay called back, gesturing as if he held a shot gun in his arms. "Bam! Just overkill I think." The Atlantean was there, then, crossing the lake on his own flight — movements quick and jerky compared to Jay's own soaring. A man stepping on air between hovers. His wings blurred in motion. "Typical," Namor judged, "Mankind loves to show power when it is least needed." He had fetched, it seemed, both a practice spear and an old, unloved fishing pole. Namor darted forward, if only to be just a breath in the lead. "The joy is in the hunt, not the kill. Foolish." Jay watched the other man fly, hummingbird-like and urgent, like he had to get wherever he was going yesterday. He observed Namor's fishing gear- he hadn't even thought of spear fishing. Jay wasn't sure he had ever met anyone who spear-fished. Then again, if this man was some sort of ghostie like he had expected, why wouldn't he? Wasn't that something they'd done before fishing poles? Just how old was this guy? Jay landed into a walk, setting his own fishing gear about. "My joy's always been in the atmosphere and the wait, but to each his own. I agree with you about the power thing though. No need for it." |
