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Namor, King of Atlantis, the First Mutant, Mighty Invader looked on helplessly—no, not helplessly, Namor, King of Atlantis, was never ‘helpless,’-- as Emma Frost, the second blonde beauty to ever steal his royal heart, tittered away with the undeserving Scott Summers. Usually Namor, King of Atlantis, would not be worried. His charms could sway even women with the hardest of hearts. He was even known to persuade women to break up with their grade-A douchebag boyfriends. Or so he’d been told.
He had offered Emma Frost the chance to be his consort, to rule over his vast watery empire, and yet there she was, enjoying an exquisite white wine in a tackily romantic Parisian café with Summers. Namor, King of Atlantis, could not understand it. How could she stay with that land-dwelling weakling, when he, Namor, had offered her his love, devotion, and meticulously sculpted torso?
“Pardon moi, monsieur, mais pourquoi êtes-vous chacez dans la fontaine?” asked a young-ish Parisienne. She was superbly dressed, but she looked at the King of Atlantis as if he were a common vagabond. Namor, King of Atlantis, had no idea what she was saying, but he reasoned that the simple girl was befuddled by his choice to watch Emma Frost and Summers from the fountain across the street from their café.
“I am Namor, King of Atlantis. I liberated your city from despots. I am beginning to regret it now,” he said imperiously, glancing over to Frost and Summers, who were now holding hands and leaning ever closer together.
The girl glanced over, her eyes resting on the couple, before she rolled them dramatically and sighed.
“Les americans. Ils pense que simplemont parce qu’ils sont a Paris, ils peuvent agir comme des annimaux dérangés.’’
And she turned on her heel and left. It was no loss to Namor. She was a brunette.
He watched the seemingly happy couple, and was so lost in his own manly brooding that he didn’t notice the woman return, this time with several Parisian policemen.
“C’est il!” she cried pointing at him. Taken almost totally by surprise, Namor didn’t notice the policemen moving towards him until both had seized him and tried to drag him bodily from the fountain. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Emma Frost leading Scott Summer discreetly out of the back of the restaurant.
“I am Namor, King of Atlantis!” he cried, thrashing. The two policemen, who were really quite minuscule, fell off of his arms at the slightest shake, toppling onto the cobblestones. “I will not be treated as a common criminal!”
‘’Pour l'amour de baise, obtenir plus de vous-même,’’ came an exasperated voice from behind him. He turned, and the well-dressed brunette sprayed him with her MACE keychain.
"Les americans stupides," she said, rolling her eyes once again for good measure as she looked at Namor, King of Atlantis, spread-eagled on the cobblestones.