[indent][u][b]February 28th; 7:34 PM Deck of the RAS Nautilus, Approaching Gotham City Harbour[/b][/u][/indent] [color=orangered]”Gotham. [i]Thank Christ.”[/i][/color] A trio of words Malcolm honestly never thought he’d ever find himself saying out loud, yet here he was- Stood on the observation deck of the now-surfaced Atlantean transport as it made it’s final approach to the sprawling metropolis that was his adoptive home, which slowly rose up on the horizon like some big ugly mass of light and smog. His father would lose his mind if he’d ever heard him utter that. The twelve-hour voyage had been… much less [i]eventful[/i] this time around; given the option of staying in the city where they were almost all old enough to legally drink and party with impunity or spending half a day in a claustrophobic tin-can racing through the crushing depths of the ocean to visit their parents, most students were quite emphatically in favour of the former, making for a somewhat quieter ride back to the surface. Sure, he had his usual celebrity things to deal with, a few selfies here, an awkward conversation with someone there but it was downright mild compared to the trip down when the Nautilus was absolutely [i]filled to bursting[/i] with young adults who’d seen his face pasted all over magazines, television and the internet for the past six years. Not to say he wasn’t known by the people below the surface, mind you, but that was… [i]different.[/i] He tenderly rubbed at the bandages on his right hand at that thought. [i][b]Very different.[/b][/i] Still, with home now in view at least, it would [i]probably[/i] be a good idea to make sure the groggy, grumpy seasick beast that’d followed him all the way here was actually awake and not snoring loudly and open-mouth drooling all over her seat like she was when he’d left her in their cabin a few hours back. A cursory glance behind him through the ship’s hull confirmed that, yes, that was indeed something he’d have to take care of. [color=orangered][i]’God… dammit, Karen.’[/i][/color] The boy thought with just a slight twitch of his brow and a hint of dread. His sister in all but name was emphatically [i]not[/i] a morning person. At least not in a big damned submarine, anyway. [hr] [color=orangered]”Karen...”[/color] Nothing. [color=orangered]”Hey, Karen.”[/color] Still nothing. He felt his brow twitch a little, just slightly annoyed at the drooling, snoring mess of a girl before him he’d spent the past seven minutes and thirty-four seconds trying to politely wake before reaching out and grasping her shoulders in the most… [i]genial[/i] way possible. [color=orangered]”Hey. Bubble-Pop. [i]Ruck the fuck up”.[/i][/color] [i]...And gave her a not-so-genial shaking.[/i] [color=orchid]”Ngghh…”[/color] groaned Karen, one eye half-opening to glare at him irritably. [color=orchid]”Wha…? What is it?”[/color] Raising a sleeve, she drowsily wiped the drool from her chin and shook her head. It seemed to take her a moment to remember where exactly she was, her eyes briefly darting about the cabin she had been seated in. When she caught sight of the rain outside, a look of relief overcame her formerly grouchy face. [color=orchid]”We’re here, [i]finally!”[/i][/color] she said, standing from her seat. Stretching no small number of pops and cracks out of her body, she stepped around Mal to leave. [color=orchid]”Come on, I need some fresh air—even if it’s [i]Gotham[/i] air.”[/color] At this, Mal just slightly shook his head but followed behind all the same. Stuffing his hands into his pockets as he went. [color=orangered]”Y’know, ya might’ve wanted to mention that sea-travel didn’t agree with ya.”[/color] Karen shot him a sharp glance, ducking under the bulkhead—after grabbing her bag— as she exited the cabin for the airlock. [color=orchid]”I didn’t [i]know[/i] that sea-travel didn’t agree with me. I’ve honestly never traveled under sea as...well, like [i]this[/i] before.”[/color] [color=orchid]”Did you bring an umbrella, or do I have to try and conjure one?”[/color] Karen asked him. At all that sass, Mal just snorted at Karen and pulled a fold-out model produced by his mom’s company from his coat’s inner pocket. [color=orangered]”Of course, [i]Your Highness...”[/i][/color] He sassed right back at her, in his typically ‘Malcolm-ish’ way. [color=orangered]”...Wouldn’t want a bit of acid rain ruining all that bed-head you’ve got going on there.”[/color] Karen stepped under the umbrella and nodded for him to continue walking. [color=orchid]”Honestly, I’m so sick to my stomach right now that my hair’s the very [i]least[/i] of my concerns. I dread stepping back on that thing in a week.”[/color] Being unable to simply teleport to wherever she wanted to go had apparently been quite the jarring experience for her after all these years. Having to travel like a normal person was quite new to her. [color=orchid]”Hopefully this feeling wears off quickly,”[/color] she continued to grumble. [color=orangered]”Well, we [i]could[/i] just use the teleporter in the Grotto next time.”[/color] Mal stated with extremely well-concealed mirth as he calmly zipped up his coat and started up the stairs to the airlock. [color=orangered]”...If you’re so opposed to conventional travel, that is.”[/color] [color=orchid]”It depends—how opposed are you to me projectile vomiting in your face?”[/color] asked Karen with equal mirth. [color=orangered]”Whaddaya think the umbrella’s for?”[/color] [hr] The harbour was, as could be imagined. Wet. Very wet. Owing to both the rough seas hammering against it’s edge and the typical Gotham ‘welcome’ of thunder, lightning and a shitton of rain. Also, the traffic, if just how long it was taking their ride to arrive was any indication, Malcolm mused as he stood there under the glass ceiling of the passenger pick up area, with the hood of his coat still pulled up after having left the umbrella for Karen’s use, having been just a tad more prepared for the local weather then she was, apparently. Still, it was nice to be back above the waves and breathing non-recycled air for a change— even if it [i]was[/i] filled with that famously polluted Gotham stink that warred incessantly with that of the raging seawater up the pier behind them. If one could even be bothered registering that with all the cacophony lights and sounds that had become the Gotham waterfront in the Post-War years, where even in this weather, businesses, merchants and people of all types- legal to questionable- from all types of places- near, far and downright strange- went about their nightly routine without even a hint of slowing down- Some Chinese guy, an Italian and what was clearly a [i]goddamned Minotaur[/i] in business wear stood on the corner under an awning, drunk as all hell trying and failing to sing Auld Lang Syne and to get anyone who passed by them to join in on the fun. Or maybe just teach them the words. Either or. A harpy that a more fight-ready part of his mind recognized as being suspiciously similar in appearance to one that broke into his mom’s place and tried to [i]kill them[/i] six years ago stumbled out of a bar, caught sight of him and staggered across the street to make a… [i]frankly disarmingly bad[/i] attempt at either picking him up or picking a fight— hard to tell around that shitfaced slur— before being gently shooed away by an Atlantean Marine who’d also been on the Nautilus to see the surface on his leave days. Something he did often enough, apparently, that when he entered that very same pub that harpy had just left, he was greeted with a thundering cheer (and at least one thrown bottle to the face) audible even from across the street. Right before someone was abruptly ejected from that same pub via the window, to even more cheering, before being helped back to his feet and led back inside for another round as if this was just another daily occurrence and some Magi patron within pieced the window back together with his magic mojo. Average weekend on the Gotham Waterfront after the One Week War, all things concerned. With a little chuckle, even in the midst of all this thunder and rain and madness, Mal had to admit- [color=orangered]’It’s good to be home.’[/color] But still, it’d be better to be dry and [i]out of this damned rain,[/i] he’d have to admit as his eyes went back to scanning the proverbial horizon for that damned car again. [color=orangered]”That accident on Fifth and Wayne finally cleared up.”[/color] The boy finally spoke to the girl beside him, eyes locking onto something in the distance. [color=orangered]”Won’t be too long now.”[/color] Karen quirked a brow at her brother, frowning. [color=orchid]”Are you already looking to jump back into things? We haven’t even been back for an hour..”[/color] Though, in reality, her objections might have simply been due to her current inability to contribute much to the hero scene. At the moment, she was simply normal homo magi—and not a particularly powerful one, either. If she went out trying to fight crime as she was, there was little doubt that she would get badly hurt, if not killed. [color=orchid]”All [i]I[/i] want right now is some of Henry’s food,”[/color] said Karen, referring to Zoey’s private chef. [color=orchid]”I love Atlantean food, nothing compares to Henry’s cooking.”[/color] [color=orangered][i]”’Back into things…?’”[/i][/color] Mal snorted in response with a little shake of his head. [color=orangered]”Karen, if the past month has taught ya anything the past [i]six years[/i] somehow haven’t, it’s that the fight [i]never ends. Regardless of where I am.”[/i][/color] And, turning his head to fix the blonde with a little smile that was both rueful and somehow… almost [i]relieved[/i], he added- [color=orangered][b][i]”And it never will.”[/i][/b][/color] Though, before [i]that[/i] particular avenue of discussion could be fleshed out further, their ride finally arrived, kicking up no small amount of water as it came to a stop in front of the passenger shelter. [color=orangered]”Well, looks like you get your wish, Karen. Henry’s always had a soft spot for ya, so he’s probably been frantically cooking up a feast ever since I called ahead last night and said you were coming.”[/color] The boy stated with a little laugh; truth be told, Henry had a soft spot for [i]everyone[/i] who ate his food, but Karen seemed to get just a bit more in the way of portions for reasons he was pretty sure had everything to do with her systematically de-hooliganizing her pseudo-brother over the past few years. Something the high-class chef was more than a little grateful for. [color=orangered]”...So, shall we?”[/color]