"That was…" T'Challa trails off, looking away with a tinge of colour to his cheeks that hadn't been there previously. Harrie respectfully waits for the prince to work off his portkey-induced nausea, all the while her mind spins and spins and spins. They're at what T'Challa has informed her to be the very bordered to his country now, having caught a second portkey when they'd arrived at Nairobi almost right away. In the distance, she can see mountains stretching towards the sky, snow-capped peaks a stark white against the sun.
"That is Jabari Land," T'Challa breathes, standing tall now that he has recovered enough to do so. He still remains in the clothes she has transfigured for him, though Harrie is hesitant to adjust their current wear to account for the African temperature, not if they are heading for snowy mountains. A cooling charm instead then. One flick of her wand later and a blessed coolness blankets their shoulders, brushing up against the edges of Harrie's jacket.
"Aren't you going to get in trouble for brining another outsider in?" She's curious; after all, the last one T'Challa brought into the boarders had gone, for lack of better terminology, apeshit on them, thrown their prince off a cliff and done who knows what to their king. Quite frankly, Harrie doesn't think she could surpass that if she tried… Okay, she totally could, would only need a little magic to do so, but she ain't going to. Erik's caused the poor man beside her enough hassle and, well, part of her does feel a little guilty. After all, she'd been the one to put Erik and T'Challa in contact so she's probably— no, wait. She isn't going to get any shit thrown at her for Erik's poor decisions. He can take the heat for this one. She's just there to make sure the Wakanda's don't do something ill-advised. She's kinda attached to her soulmark and if Erik kicks it, so does her sweet-ass design. There's no one else in the world with her particular combination of languages; it's special for more than just being her soulmark.
She's still gonna wring his neck. Metaphorically, but yeah.
"Probably," T'Challa admits, turning to her and firing off a charming, cheeky little grin, "but I am hoping the elation of seeing me still among the living will be distraction enough."
"Fair point." Man, why couldn't she get this Wakandan prince as her soulmate? He'd be a hell of a lot less problematic than the one she's been lumped with. But, naw. Lovely as T'Challa is, he would have come racing to her rescue when she needed it as a baby-teenager, probably on a white horse. White rhino. Whatever it is they use as mounts in Wakanda. And, nice as that'd have been at time, it wouldn't have helped her grow. Not like Erik's whole disdainful 'suck it up' orders had. Yeah, those very orders are coming back to bite him in the ass because he's bloody well pushed her into it, but that sounds like a him problem.
"So why are we going through the mountains and not the lush, flat-land jungle?"
"Because Wakanda boarder patrols cover all aspects of the jungle and the flat-lands. While the Jabari do patrol their own lands, it is not done to the same extent, nor do they hold any deep loyalty to the throne."
"Sounds… dangerous."
"They are of course, Wakanda and, should the country be truly threatened, I do believe they would come to our aid," T'Challa admits, already striding off towards the mountains and Harrie keeps pace with ease, transfiguring her pretty shoes into a set of more suitable hiking boots. "But they have never sworn loyalty to the golden tribe."
"Huh." That means fuck all to her; golden tribe; something to do with the throne maybe? Maybe it's T'Challa's tribe. Hell, she barely knows how the inheritance in her own country's royal family works, nevermind a country that is in a completed different continent to her own. She'll try though— if Erik hasn't already gotten her black-listed by association. Damn idiot.
"And how will this Jabari Tribe take to you trespassing on their lands if they do find you when patrolling?"
Here, T'Challa pauses, cocking his head back to look at her again with that boyish grin. It's nice to see him smiling, even if she's just a little worried that he's supressing the whole family drama in order to focus on the here and now. "Again, I am hoping they will dislike the idea of an outsider sitting on the throne more than they like the idea of making an example of me." Cute.
"I guess I can cover your ass for you," Harrie says, shoving one hand into her pocket and fervently wishing that she'd been clever enough to bring along a bag of supplies or, hell, even a broomstick or two. T'Challa hadn't exactly warned her than they'd be walking half the way there. Well, that's an exaggeration, but the point still stands. "It's the least I can do given Erik's whole… Erikness." A shrug of her shoulders and a laugh from T'Challa, short though it may be.
"I do not hold you accountable, Harrie. Erik's actions were his own, though I am afraid I do not know the entirety of the story, nor how deep his thirst for vengeance goes." Goes unspoken is his worry of what Erik has done to his father and Harrie swallows around the lump in her throat, rolling her sleeve up to better expose her forearm. As far as she can tell, there's nothing on there to hint towards kinslaying and, with only a brief moment of hesitation, she extends her arm to T'Challa so that he too can read the markings there.
"Conqueror," he reads slowly, a hard frown slashing across his lips and Harrie coughs, feeling her cheeks redden.
"That one's me, actually. The Woman Who Conquered; it's a play on an old nickname." She expands no further on that one, even with T'Challa's weighted gaze on her. "Is there anything else on there that we should be concerned about?"
"Nothing that I can recognise as a recent development," T'Challa states and Harrie draws her arm back, pulling the sleeve down to cover the exposed skin. "I am afraid I spent a reasonable amount of time studying your soulmark prior to our first meeting," he confesses, stepping carefully over the rocky terrain with all the skills of a trained athlete well-used to working on the ground. Harrie, well, Harrie is athletic herself. But, you know, Quidditch is played on broomsticks. Terrain isn't something she's ever had to factor in before and it sucks.
"How much mountain have we got to climb?" Harrie asks, warily eyeing the stretch of snow that is lying in wait for them. Hell, she hopes they don't have to go all the way up otherwise her slick cooling charm is very quickly going to become a warming one.
"Truthfully, I am unsure. I have not been to Jabari land before. They are… distrustful of outsiders."
"Distrustful of regular old outsiders, or distrustful of Wakandan outsiders?"
"Well, there has never been anyone not of Wakanda heritage within the country to trespass upon their lands." Great.
"I guess it's a bloody good thing I've been in my fair share of fights then."
.
.
There's still no sign of the scrappy little white girl and Erik is, well, not concerned, but there is discomfort bubbling away in his guts. This ain't normal for her; girl's usually off seeing the sights and helping people and all that other shit. There's no high-end party and, when he'd hacked into her pre-planned timetable (it's a hella good thing she's got her own charity going on because that means people have to actually keep track of her fucking schedule which means there's actually some way for him to look in on her now) he'd seen the whole week had been cancelled out with no excuse given. Which is not a worry for him. It ain't. Snowdrop can take care of herself and he's got enough on his plate to deal with right now.
See, he can't out the king without some authenticity to his claims and Erik cannot say with any certainty who was there to watch. Oh, sure Uncle James had scampered right after Erik'd come who to his father's corpse and that's a sure sign of guilt if he ever did see one, but that don't help him with proving the old king killed his Baba. The king'd have had Dora with him too, but he doubts the badass warrior women will ever throw their weight behind him when he's gunning for their former king. The current ruler he may be now by ritual combat, their own ways of deciding the divine right of ruling, but that doesn't mean there won't be any lingering loyalties left. It's why he's keeping a sure eye on the newly promoted general. That spear is hella sharp and Erik is very much aware of it.
Point is, he can't call the king on it outright because nought stops the fucker from just denying it. Erik, despite his claim to the throne, is still the outsider. These people don't know him and he needs some authenticity to back him up here, to show his people that he is on their side, that he cares for them and all his black brothers and sisters. He can't get their asses into gear until they're ready to stand with him. And, with what he knows of his Wakandan history, there's one key player that sticks out like a hella wonky nail in the otherwise stable set-up of T'Chaka's rule.
Ulysses Klaue.
The king ain't dealt with him yet and he's left it ripe for the taking; the resentment has built up towards the thief amount the Wakandan people and Erik— he knows how colonizers like Klaue think. Better yet, he knows how to get into the American database and, for all that Klaue is an absolute fucker who should be in jail, he's also (to the American's knowledge) the only person running around with a supply of vibranium. Of course they'd be keeping track of him, even if they can't pin-down his exact location. More importantly, they have a way of getting into contract with him, one-way as it is. All Erik needs do is exploit that. And there's that juice bit of bait over in England just ripe for the taking. The only reason he'd not gone straight as it is—
Fuckin' Snowdrop. He's got no confirmation she's actually in Hong Kong and hasn't magicked herself back over to the homeland; last thing he needs is her running into him mid mission and ruining it all by sticking her lily-white nose in.
"Oi," he calls, flicking his fingers in the direction of one of the Dora. Her eyes sharpen and Erik puts on his best smile, wide enough to flash the gold caps of his teeth. "Give that War Dog in Hong Kong permission to break in; I need a sighting on the girl." Harrie could fuck things up big time just by showing that face of hers; Wakanda know about her, otherwise Cuz would have never had a reason to seek her out and Erik's seen the files they'd made on her. Last thing he needs is her showing up right now and rubbing it in that he's even more of an outsider, that he's not just been left outside but the one who shares his soulmark is an outsider too.
"W'Kabi, you, me and two Doras are gonna run this op, how long do ya need to get your gear together?" The other looks up from his kimoyo beads with a heavy frown which ain't able to hide the burning determination in his gaze. Erik knows it; that fire's got a home in him too, scorching through his lungs, feeding off every breath he takes. Oxygen is fuel and the fire drives him, pushes him on as it licks at his throat and sears his oesophagus.
"Two hours, my King." My King. Yeah, that's got a ring to it, that has. When you're sitting up here in this pretty town of shiny vibranium, it's easy not to worry about the rest of the world, about the state of things out there. Or, he supposes that's how it is for those born into this cradle of comfort. Isolated and ignorant to the rest of the world, that or they know and just don't care. Erik ain't sure which option is worse if he's honest. He ain't sure he wants to find out either. Wakanda was supposed to be this beautiful place where all is right in the world and the sun sets over a glorious kingdom. It was the stuff of fairytales when he were a kid and now all he can do is look 'round and find it lacking. They're advanced, so fucking advanced and they just, hide. Hide away from the world, hide away from those who need help, hide away from those they've left behind. Hide and hide and hide. Well, no more. As soon as Erik's got his justice, they're going into the light and all those oppressors will learn why they shouldn't a tangled with 'em. Get a taste of their own medicine.
"Make it happen then; we're heading to England."
.
Wakandan tech ain't like anything he's ever flown in before. He'd been too jacked up with nerves to enjoy the flight with Cuz but now, riding towards his next victory, Erik has the opportunity to just, bask. It flies so smooth you wouldn't even know it was in the air unless you looked out the window and saw the clouds go whizzing by. And it's fast, faster than anything the US managed to supply them with before. Which, yeah, that brings up a bit of a problem. He has kinda bailed on their shitty military. He's not too bothered about it; it was a means to an end, a way to develop his skillset until he could worm his way into Wakanda. But life had gone and thrown him a bone for once and now here he is, king of Wakanda, his Pops' murderer confined to his rooms until Erik has the legitimacy to his word to condemn him and— and then what? Kill him? Or make him watch as Erik tears down everything that the fucker has worked to keep the very same as every other king before him?
"My king," one of the Doras he's picked out addresses him (Ayo, he brought Ayo and Okoye, best to not let the newbie to the guard and the newly installed captain have time to plot against him which means keeping them close). "May I ask what the plan is for this operation?"
"Sure. There's a mislabelled bit of vibranium sitting pretty in the museum of Great Britain. Yeah, not even in Africa, but over in Britain where it was appropriated by the colonisers. How'd y'all miss that one?" He cocks an eyebrow at Okoye, but the general merely glares at him, no doubt suppressing a sneer. Ice cold, bad bitch attitude. It's no wonder she'd become one of the youngest generals in the history of the Dora Milaje; were she loyal to Erik, he'd promoted her too. As she's not, well, he ain't even gonna sleep with one eye open; he'll just not sleep at all. She ain't put down that spear at all yet, it's still clenched tight in one fist even now. "I've already sent a coded messaged out to the black-market channels that the CIA have tapped; Klaue will be watching and with that the buzzword vibranium pinging on his radar, he'll come scuttling along to check it out. A quick flick with a vibranium mining tool and he'll know it's the real deal. Klaue hands over the money and scarpers, unaware the three of you are waiting in the wings."
"And what about his back-up?" Okoye cuts in ruthlessly. "No doubt the coward will be cautious; it is how he has evaded us for so long."
"Y'all saying you can't handle a few measly white-boys?"
"Of course we can, my King," W'Kabi agrees, an easy rise to his voice from the cockpit. The two Doras frown that little bit harder but Erik's satisfied. So yeah, maybe Klaue will bring some company of his own, though he doubts there'll be anyone significant; the chance of him being able to find a suitable bodyguard on such short notice that can stand up against two fully trained Dora and a Wakandan boarder guard is slim to none. With Erik hyped up with the power of the Black Panther also hunting him down? Nah, he's got no chance. Fucker will be brought back to Wakanda for Wakandan justice, Erik'll have his authenticity and then he can drag T'Chaka out for his trail of kin-slaying outside of ritual combat. He wants to know. Wants to know why, wants the fucker to look him in the eye as he tells Erik why he found his Daddy with panther claws in his chest.
Leaning back in his seat, Erik flicks a quick glance to the clock, eyeing the time. It's crawling closer to evening; there'll be no getting into the museum right now, though it'll probably be best to hit the place up at night for the job. Easier to turn off all the security with the Wakandan tech he's now got access to. The general may not agree with his methods, but she'll sure as hell be unable to complain about the results. And really, ain't that all that matters? The scrappy white girl will probably have something to say on the matter but, really, he don't give a shit now. This is what he's been striving for his whole life, this is what he's been focusing on ever since he found himself an orphan. There's only an hour left in the air before they land, enough time for a quick power nap if he wanted one. But that'd run the risk of finding out what Snowdrop's up to, wherever she's at. Certainly not Hong Kong anymore; the war dog over there had reported the suite had been empty for at least twelve hours, if not longer. Leaving via teleportation means he's got fuck all ways of finding her right now, not unless Harrie's feeling generous enough to stroll around some capital city with a whole lotta cameras. But nah, he ain't that lucky. And he don't need sleep, not right now.
Instead, Erik jumps to his feet, making for the panther suit that's been laid out at the back of the ship. It's the defunct design T'Challa hadn't wanted to use according to the lab-dwellers; they'd bene getting ready to strip it down to its base components before he'd rocked up and demanded a fitting. It's needed a little adjustment 'round the shoulders, but it's good to go. Besides, the golden spots are subtle enough to not scream 'look at me' but flash enough for Erik's tastes. 'Sides, it won't have felt right, wearing Cuz's gear. There's that lingering sensation of guilt, small as it is, but Erik shoves it down with well-honed practice. If T'Challa had actually seen what was going on out there, had even an inkling of what it meant to be Black outside of Wakanda, maybe he'd have understood. Wasn't his fault, but that never changes anything. Wasn't Erik's fault he was born in the wrong country but that'd never given him a bye.
"Bring up the blueprints of the museum; I ain't giving Klaue even the slightest little hole to fucking wriggle through."
Not the fic I was expecting to update this Easter, nor the one I predicted would distract me, but here we are.
Anyway, I've got some idea of what'll happen in the next chapter so, with any luck, there won't be a long wait until I manage to squeeze the creative juice out of the ol' imagination. I hope you all enjoy this chapter & are staying safe :)
Tsume
xxx