Chapter Text
The toggle lights flash every which way, coloring the room in reds, purples, and greens. An orange light shines bright, reflecting off Namor's glass at the far end of the room. He stands in the shadows, his regal posture unflinching, though his eyes flicker with disdain. It’s not the type of gathering he enjoys, but Shuri had convinced him to come along. And now, he’s stuck watching the cherry-pink tip of her tongue swipe at the salt on her finger as she indulges in a large drink.
"Can you believe they’re making margaritas?" she says, slurping at the glass with obvious delight. "And they’re so good!"
Namor barely holds back a sigh. " Margaritas ," he mutters. "Truly, this gathering reaches the heights of diplomacy."
Still, he lifts his glass, only half-listening, his mind swirling with thoughts of how ridiculous this "Avengers recruitment party-meeting-thing" is. The message had been unclear, but according to Shuri this man—Nick Fury's desperation for attendance was apparent.
Namor stands rigid, drink held awkwardly, his gaze flicking to the windows of the Quinjet. The flickering lights and hum of the ship irritate him, but nothing compares to the sensation of every shift of the Quinjet’s mechanical parts.
He takes a sip of his drink, which suddenly isn’t so appealing. The crowd sways around him, filled with a mix of people he neither knows nor particularly wants to. He never enjoyed these kinds of gatherings, not even when they were necessary for diplomatic purposes. But Shuri—she seemed to thrive in them, her energy feeding off the music, the lights, the people. It was as if this chaos made her shine brighter, and somehow, that only made Namor feel more isolated.
"These gatherings are ridiculous," he mutters under his breath, "Loud music, clumsy mortals, and overpriced drinks."
Shuri shoots him a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised. "Overpriced? You didn’t pay for anything."
Namor huffs, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s suppressing a grin.
"Maybe if you weren’t so tense," she says, leaning into his space, "you’d actually enjoy yourself."
She’s in her element, smiling, glowing, completely oblivious to the ridiculousness of the event. The music was too loud, the drinks absurdly neon, and the people… well, he had yet to decide if they were worth his time.
He loathes flying contraptions as well. They are unnatural, defying the very laws of the ocean and sky. And yet, here he is, standing in one—surrounded by surface-dwellers.
He glances at Shuri, who’s laughing and enjoying herself as if nothing about this situation bothers her. Of course it doesn’t. She’s the one who lives for these machines, who flies them without a second thought. She trusts them.
Namor’s jaw clenches, watching Shuri. "This is hardly a suitable location for a gathering, much less one involving alcohol."
Just as he says this, the Quinjet makes a slight lurch, barely noticeable to anyone else, but enough to make Namor straighten with immediate focus, his fingers tightening on his cup.
Then, a loud crash echoes through the room, followed by several drinks spilling across the floor. Namor’s sharp eyes dart toward the source of the chaos—a small, orange cat with a suspiciously innocent look in its eyes.
Goose, Fury’s so-called "pet", though Namor had heard whispers of something far more monstrous.
Namor narrows his gaze, watching as the creature knocks over yet another drink, sending it tumbling off the table with a flick of its paw. The liquid splashes onto the floor, and the cat meanders away, leaving a trail of spilled beverages and upended glasses in its wake. No one seems to care. In fact, some of the partygoers laugh.
"This… this is the kind of behavior allowed here?" he mutters under his breath, his eyes tracking Goose as the cat saunters toward another unsuspecting glass. Namor silently wills the cat to knock it over just so he has an excuse to leave. Surely this is enough evidence that this gathering has spiraled into complete madness.
Shuri notices his growing discomfort and nudges him with a grin. "You look like you’re ready to fly out of here."
"I will never understand why you surface-dwellers insist on defying gravity," Namor mutters, his fingers tightening around his glass. "If you were meant to be in the sky, you would have wings. This… monstrosity is unnatural."
Shuri chuckles. "It’s just a Quinjet, Namor. You’ll survive."
Her knowing smile and twisted humor has Namor’s thoughts drift back to the last time he was trapped in a flying machine. Shuri’s jet. The one that nearly ended him.
The memory is vivid—Shuri’s determined face, the heat and dizziness, the sheer force of the impact as it exploded and sent them crashing back toward the desert. His body was strong enough to survive, but the reminder of that battle still lingers in his bones.
Before she can respond, a man—too clumsy for Namor’s liking—stumbles forward, bumping into him.
Namor's eyes narrow as the cold liquid soaks through his cloak. The man stammers an apology, his face flushed from either the alcohol or fear—it’s hard to tell. Namor glares, but before he can say anything, Shuri’s laughter rings out, drawing his attention back to her.
"Relax," she says with a grin, her lips glistening with the rim of salt and tequila.
"Sorry about that," the man finally says, clearly more interested in Shuri than in Namor’s displeasure. His attention shifts to her with a smile that makes Namor's teeth clench. "Princess Shuri, right?"
She nodds as he sips her drink.
"I’m Shaun. Or Shang-Chi, whatever works."
Namor blinks, the name catching him off guard. Who introduces themselves like that? His eyes narrow slightly, observing the man in front of him, casually brushing aside his identity like it’s a joke.
"Shaun! Great to see you. This is Namor."
Namor stands tall, exuding all the gravitas of a king, his dark eyes fixed on Shaun, who is seemingly unaffected by the aura of intimidation. Shaun extends his hand for a shake, but Namor simply stares at it, as though contemplating whether it is worth acknowledging.
"Uh, right," Shaun says, awkwardly pulling his hand back. "So where are you from?"
Talokan was not a topic for idle conversation.
"This is your first Avengers recruitment thing too?" Shuri interjects, eyebrows raised as she clinks their glasses, a friendly gesture.
"Yeah, first one," he replies, smiling. "Nick Fury sure knows how to throw a confusing party."
Namor allows the conversation to flow without him, silently observing. Confusing is certainly an understatement, but Namor has yet to decide whether the surface-dwellers’ disarray is due to incompetence or sheer ignorance.
Shuri chuckles. "We’re all just here for the ride…literally."
Shaun laughs, leaning back against the wall. "Seriously, though. I thought this was gonna be some formal, high-stakes recruitment thing. Instead, it’s like a college mixer, but with, y’know, superheroes."
"I assure you," Namor cuts in, his deep voice laced with a touch of menace, "there is nothing casual about gathering the most powerful beings on the surface world."
Shaun blinks, then laughs again, clearly missing the undertone of Namor’s words. "Oh, no doubt! I mean, look at us—a pretty wild lineup, right?"
Namor continues to stare at him, unblinking. Wild was one word for it. Disorderly was another.
Shuri leans into Namor, barely concealing her whisper. "You’re not gonna shake his hand? He’s being friendly."
"I have no interest in these surface-dweller rituals," Namor mutters.
Shuri turns back to Shaun, engaging with him warmly, her face lighting up. She laughs as they exchange pleasantries, their conversation flowing as if Namor isn't standing right there, drenched and growing more irritated by the second.
Shaun doesn't seem in any rush to leave, and instead, he and Shuri fall into easy conversation, laughing and swapping stories. Namor watches him lean in slightly, his easy smile lingering on Shuri’s.The audacity of this surface-dweller. How could they not see that Namor was standing right there, glowering?
"So," he continues, glancing between Shuri and Namor, "what do you guys think of this flying thing?" He gestures around, as if the Quinjet is some minor inconvenience. "I mean, I’m used to some pretty crazy stuff, but this whole ‘meeting-in-the-sky’ thing is a bit much, right?"
Namor’s jaw tightens. The flying thing. The Quinjet hums beneath his feet, a constant reminder of everything he despises about surface-dweller technology. "It is unnatural," he says, his voice low and firm.
Shuri grins, clearly enjoying the tension. "Namor’s not a fan of flying."
Shaun looks down, clearly noticing the winged-ankles. "Yeah…I mean, I’ve been on a dragon, so this isn’t the craziest thing I’ve done, but still—sky meetings? Not my vibe."
Dragons? Namor wasn’t sure if he should be more irritated by the casual use of the term or the ease with which Shaun throws out such fantastical details of his life.
He knows this party is supposed to be some kind of recruitment-slash-meet-and-greet, but what exactly was the point?
Suddenly, he feels... fluff. Namor’s eyes widen as he feels claws dig into his scalp. His hands shoot up, gripping the creature. Goose, the cat—or whatever it really was—stares down at Namor with its wide, unblinking eyes. Before Namor can react, the cat purrs loudly and curls itself into a ball on top of his head.
Shaun and Shuri erupt into laughter. Namor’s scowl deepens, as Goose purrs contentedly, his claws flexing ever so slightly against Namor’s scalp, as if to remind him exactly who’s in charge.
His eyes flick to Shuri, seeing the joy in her face, her laughter like a balm against his mounting frustration. For a moment, his rage dissipates, replaced by something more tolerable—something that comes when Shuri is happy.
"Take this thing off me," Namor growls lowly, but there’s no bite in his words. He’s resigned, for now.
He reaches up, grabbing Goose gently by the scruff of the neck, lifting it off his head and setting it down on the floor. Goose gives a nonchalant meow and wanders off, tail flicking as if it has won some unspoken battle.
"Enjoying yourselves?" Namor askes, his voice a low rumble.
"Oh, come on, Namor. Don’t be so uptight. Even Goose likes you." Shuri flashes him a teasing smile, still trying to suppress her laughter. "This is a party."
"Or a meet-and-greet?" Shaun suggests.
Namor’s eyes narrow as he watches the cat saunter off, tail swishing in arrogant triumph. "If that creature approaches me, I will throw it from this flying monstrosity."
Shuri stifles her laughter, taking a sip from her drink. "You know, you sound exactly like an old man complaining about new technology."
"I am an old man," Namor snaps, only half-joking, his eyes flickering with irritation. "And this machine… this death trap… is an abomination." He is eyeing the interior of the Quinjet like it’s a ticking time bomb. "This is the same as your flying contraption," he mutters. "And that one exploded."
"Hey!" Shuri gapes, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "It was you that destroyed it. This is different! We’re not going to crash. And no one’s attacking you this time."
Namor crosses his arms, still unimpressed. "Yet."
"You’re definitely starting to sound like an old man now." She gives him a sideways glance, her grin widening.
"And you," Namor replies, his tone dry, "sound like a child who has not yet learned the consequences of playing with fire. One malfunction, and you all will be plummeting to your deaths."
Shaun is shaking his head. "Man, you are intense ."
Namor keeps his eyes on Shuri and gestures vaguely to the crowd of Avengers. "Are we nearly finished here?"
She pats his arm. "Almost. Just try to survive a little longer."
Shaun agrees, clearly unbothered. "Yea, just go with the flow, man. You’ll be fine. Worst case, if the jet crashes, you can fly back home, right?"
Shuri laughs again, unable to help herself. Namor stares at Shaun, unimpressed, but the tension in his shoulders eases slightly. He will not admit it, but seeing Shuri smile, hearing her laugh—it’s enough to make this gathering bearable.
But the next time Goose comes near, Namor will be sure to keep a wide distance.