King of the Seven Seas (EMH) Chapter 30: Definitely Not Bribing

[Third Person Pov]

Arthur and Mera stepped out of the small clothing shop, each now dressed in a much less suspicious—and far more comfortable—set of clothes. Arthur tugged at the hem of his new orange shirt, the bright fabric catching the afternoon light. The green pants fit him surprisingly well, loose enough for movement but sturdy enough to survive whatever chaos their day might bring. The sapphire pendant resting over his chest glimmered with every step, the gem almost seeming to pulse with color.

Mera, meanwhile, adjusted the green blouse she’d chosen, soft and airy beneath the flannel she had tied casually around her waist. Her shorts gave her the freedom to move, and the thick boots clattered confidently against the sidewalk with each step. Her red hair cascaded freely behind her, catching glints of sunlight and turning heads without her even trying.

“We’re actually pretty lucky,” Arthur said, shading his eyes as he peered down the street. “We landed close to the art museum. If we run—well, our version of running—we can get there in just a couple of minutes.”

Mera smacked a hand lightly against his chest, grinning up at him with playful challenge in her eyes. “Then how about we make this interesting and race there?”

Arthur snorted. “What are you, five? We’re adults. Why would we—”

He didn’t even finish the sentence. He shot off like a bullet.

Mera blinked, momentarily stunned. “What—HEY!!” Her voice cracked in indignation before she lunged forward after him. “Where is your honor, Arthur Curry?! There wasn’t even a countdown! You absolute cheater!”

Arthur laughed, the sound carried away by the wind as he lengthened his stride. He ran with effortless grace, posture perfect, cutting through the city like he belonged there. To the pedestrians, he was little more than an orange-and-green streak slicing past them.

Mera, refusing to be left behind, leaned forward into her sprint, body streamlined as she tore after him. “Just you wait, Arthur Curry!” she yelled, her voice fierce but gleeful.

Arthur vaulted over a line of cars at an intersection, clearing the entire stretch of traffic in one massive leap. Heads turned, jaws dropped, and a few people screamed as he landed on the opposite sidewalk in a low crouch before rocketing forward again.

Mera narrowed her eyes, fangs of determination glinting in them. Instead of leaping the street, she dove upward and landed on the hood of a moving car with perfect balance. The driver honked repeatedly—whether out of shock or disapproval was unclear—but Mera didn’t even look down. She hopped from car to car like stepping stones, letting each vehicle’s momentum shoot her forward in long, elegant arcs.

Arthur glanced back and didn’t see her. He huffed triumphantly—until the rising chorus of honking made him whip his head to the side. His eyes bulged, and he stumbled, nearly eating pavement.

There was Mera, crouched like a victorious jungle cat on the roof of a speeding car, hair whipping wildly behind her. She looked directly at him, tugged down her lower eyelid with one finger and stuck her tongue out in open mockery before launching herself toward another vehicle ahead.

Arthur couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing. Spinning back around, he spotted a flagpole jutting from the side of a building and lunged upward. He wrapped a hand around the metal pole, swung his body in a smooth arc, and flung himself onto a nearby rooftop. He landed with a roll, kicked back up with momentum, and began bounding across the roofs one after another.

Both of them carved wild, impossible routes across the city—darting through alleyways, vaulting over obstacles, taking shortcuts that no normal person could ever consider.

And finally, rising ahead of them like a pale monument, was their destination—the Atlanta Art Museum, towering in gleaming white stone and glass.

Their eyes locked on it at the same time, and the spark of competition ignited into a blazing wildfire.

Arthur lunged off the roof just as Mera hurled herself from the top of a food delivery truck. They landed on the sidewalk almost simultaneously. Without hesitation, both burst forward in a final sprint.

They nearly crashed into each other—and several terrified museum-goers—before skidding to the massive front doors. Mera’s hand slapped onto the handle first. Arthur’s fingers arrived a fraction of a second later, but before he could push, she twisted her hips and sent him stumbling aside.

“HA! Victory is mine!” she declared triumphantly, throwing her arms up.

She immediately broke into a goofy victory dance, shuffling from side to side and pointing aggressively at Arthur’s face. “That! Is what! You get! You cheater!” she exclaimed with each jab and stomp.

Arthur clicked his tongue in defeat. “Tsk… fine, whatever,” he muttered, slouching as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He pulled open the door with exaggerated nonchalance. “I let you win.”

“Yeah, sure you did,” Mera scoffed loudly as she pranced in behind him, still basking in her glory. “Did you know there’s an old saying in Atlantis? ‘Cheaters never prosper.’”

Arthur paused mid-step and gave her the flattest, most unimpressed look imaginable. “…That’s a saying here too.”

“Oh really?!” Mera blinked dramatically, lifting a finger to her chin as though contemplating a great mystery of the universe. “What do you know? I never would have guessed.”

“You’re so annoying,” Arthur muttered, rolling his eyes as he trudged toward the front desk. He tried to maintain a shred of dignity, but Mera practically radiated smug satisfaction beside him.

She folded her arms behind her back, swaying playfully as she hummed, “Hmm, really? Because to me, it sounds more like the irritated whining of a cheater who failed miserably to win—mmh hmhm hmm—”

Her teasing was cut off when Arthur clamped a hand over her mouth. Mera’s eyes sparkled mischievously above his palm, completely unbothered.

The receptionist glanced between the two of them, unsure whether to be amused or concerned.

“A single ticket for an adult,” Arthur said flatly, “and another for a child.”

Mera made an outraged, muffled noise that sounded vaguely like “Real mature!” but thanks to Arthur’s hand, it came out more like, “Rmml matmmr!”

Arthur sighed and relented. “Fine. Two adult tickets, please.”

The receptionist winced apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir, but all tickets need to be pre-ordered. We’re completely sold out for the day.”

That snapped Mera back into mission-mode. She pulled Arthur’s hand down and asked quietly, “What do we do? We need to get inside.” Her playful demeanor evaporated, replaced with sharp focus.

“Let me handle it,” Arthur muttered.

He leaned in toward the counter, reached into his pocket, and placed five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills onto the desk. He slid them forward with a casual motion. “Are you sure,” he said calmly, “that there isn’t anything you can do for us?”

The receptionist blinked. “Sir… are—are you trying to bribe me?”

Arthur stared him dead in the eye. “No, of course not. What would possibly give you that idea?” Without breaking eye contact, he placed another hundred, bringing it to six.

The receptionist’s lips twitched. “S-sir, that’s not how this works—”

Arthur placed down a seventh.

“You can’t just keep adding—”

Arthur placed the eighth.

The receptionist inhaled sharply. “S-sir, you’re putting me in a very difficult—”

Arthur added the ninth.

Then the tenth. A perfect thousand. He double-tapped the stack like he was confirming a final bet, then gently slid the money forward, one brow raised in quiet challenge.

The receptionist stared at the cash. Then at Arthur. Then at the money again. Then back at Arthur.

His fingers suddenly danced across the keyboard. “Well, what do you know—you’re in luck, dear customer!” he announced, voice suddenly bright and pleasant. “A booking error just opened up two spots! Would you like to fill them?”

“That would be wonderful,” Arthur replied smoothly. “How fortunate for us, huh?”

“Yes, extremely fortunate,” the receptionist said, his smile now borderline saintly as he discreetly swept the money toward himself. “Do enjoy your visit.”

A short while later, Arthur and Mera walked away wearing matching wristbands. Arthur waved over his shoulder. “A pleasure doing business.”

“Hope you both enjoy yourselves to come again!” the receptionist called out, equally cheerful.

Mera shook her head as they rounded a corner. “You are a shameless, shameless man, Arthur Curry.”

Arthur puffed out his chest, hands in his pockets. “Was shame going to get us inside the museum? I think not.”

Mera laughed softly, skipping a step closer until she wrapped her arms around his. The two of them walked together into the museum's towering gallery halls.

“—hear me?”

Arthur blinked. “What?”

Mera stopped, confused. “Hm? What is it?”

“Did you say something just now?” he asked, glancing around. He had definitely heard something… faint, almost like the brush of a breath.

“No?” She scanned the area as well. “Did you hear something? Because I didn’t hear anything.”

“Strange…” Arthur murmured, brow creasing. “I swear I just heard a little boy’s voice.”

He turned, scanning the nearby exhibits and open areas, but nothing stood out—no kids, no echoes, no source.

“So you heard a little boy’s voice,” Mera said slowly, “and your first thought was me?” She raised a brow. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“Ah—wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that—” Arthur stumbled over his words, panic creeping in.

“Uh-huh…” Mera sing-songed, leaning into him with exaggerated suspicion. “You want to know what I hear? The delusions of a loser~” She dragged out the last word with wicked satisfaction.

Arthur fixed her with the flattest stare he could muster while she burst into giggles.