11499/Socialness at the Mansion

Socialness at the Mansion
Date of Scene:	07 June 2022
Location:	Avengers Mansion - Recreation Room
Synopsis:	Janet, Felicia, Natasha and Greer chat casually in the Mansion Rec Room; Janet offers Felicia and Greer a job taking on a local gangster.
Cast of Characters:	Natasha Romanoff, Greer Grant, Janet van Dyne, Felicia Hardy

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Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff was focused. She was sitting over in a lotus position over on the couch, and had her fingers out in front of her with the remote in hand. She would zap them along hte remote, entering channel numbers seemingly at random as she would go along hte hexadecimal database of channels before opening her eyes and hitting 'enter'.
    Apparently someone had different ways of settling the 'there's nothing to watch' routine.

Greer Grant has posed:
Idly rolling her head about to stretch her neck muscles, Tigra makes her essentially silent entry into the room. "Hey there, Nat," she says by way of greeting. Okay, not so silent after all. "How many channels do we we get, and let me guess, can't find something to watch?" she asks, taking in the Widow's aggressive approach to channel surfing.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would turn over and give a wave, "Hello Greer." Ending up on what seemed like some sort of Russian documentary that had been subtitled over into Thai if one recognized the lettering on the screen. "I hope that you've been well>"

Greer Grant has posed:
When the channel seems steady, Tigra watches for a moment to see what Natasha's settled on. She recognizes the language being spoken, recognizes that she doesn't recognize the subtitles, and with an amused flick of her tail turns to head over to a wet bar. "Well enough, at least. You?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would smile, "I'm fair on this end. Operations continue at a normal tempo and routine. I've been somewhat more focused on S.H.I.E.L.D. affairs as of late."

Greer Grant has posed:
A wry grin from the feline at the phrasing. Operations at normal tempo. "How is that front going? As far as you're allowed to talk about, that is," she amends before rummaging in a fridge at the wetbar. "Want a drink?" she calls.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would take a moment to consider, "Acceptably. not all operations go the way we wish, nor as well as we would. An unfortunate constant of life." A very specific non answer there. "i'm sure you can find something acceptable there."

Greer Grant has posed:
Tigra emerges with a cola for herself, and steps over to offer one to the Widow. "Nicely neutral there," she notes. "That's like the daily horoscope sort of answer. Non-specific, vague, but able to read into it what you want. But I knew I was asking about classified stuff, so I'm not surprised," she says with a grin to take the edge off.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would just smile, "The way it has to be. If you have specific questions related to an operation and Avengers business, I can answer them on an individual basis. if you wish for more specifics.. You can always petitio to join the agency."

Greer Grant has posed:
Tigra pauses for a moment as she considers that. "I bet I'd look good in a spy catsuit," she muses. "Emma Peel, with stripes. But a cat in a catsuit, seems awfully meta, like someone trying to be a hipster and not pulling it off." She stands talking to Natasha's who's sitting on the couch. A Russian language documentary plays on the TV with Thai subtitles.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would smirk, "I'm sure that you could handle it. And there are other outfits that can be worn besides a catsuit. You could be.." She would muse, "Some sort of feline fatale." Apparently Natasha did occasionally have a sense of humor.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet strides into the rec room with her usual self-possession; like she owns the place, and is gracing everyone with her presence. "Ladies," she bids Greer and Natasha with a florid tone-- but flashes a smile to show she's pleased to see them. She must be on her way to the gym; she's in calf-length grey yoga pants with a dayglo-yellow stripe running up the side of her legs, and a sports top that leaves her bare midriff exposed. Cute and immaculately white trainers complete the low-key look, but even in such casual wear Janet looks like she's prepared to be ambushed by a photographer. The socialite casts around the sofa looking for the remote; she sees it in Natasha's hand and lifts her chin at the spy. "Turn it to CSPAN please? There's a import bill being debated and I wanna see how it's going. God knows I bought enough of those senators off," she mutters. "Even if it passes I might end up just breaking even on the deal."

Greer Grant has posed:
A broad grin from Tigra and a hand on a hip set at a saucy angle. Feline fatale sounds fun to her. "Oh that's a good one," she says approvingly of Nat's joke. She looks over at Janet's entrance and takes in her outfit, certain that it was calculated to the millimeter. "What's the joke? An honest politician is one that stays bought?" she asks before opening her soda and then stepping back to the wet bar. "Want a drink?" she asks magically.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would grin at Greer, "But of course. Russians have somewhat morbid senses of humor so you'll fit in fine." She would nod in approval to Greer, "It's worse in the intelligence agencies. You'll fit right in." She would turn over her shoulder at Janet. "And what's the nature of it? Do you care for the particulars on who's supporting it?" Her not having any particular bone to pick in the setup.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet puts her hands up as if absolving herself of any responsibility. "Hey I didn't invent the game, I just play by it," she says with a wry defensiveness. The socialite props one thigh under her and sits down on the sofa's armrest to watch the TV. "And pass on the drink, I'm waiting for Steve to get down here so we can go work out. Thanks though."

She watches the proceedings with a detached interest; the topic is trade goods and import regulations, and dry as it is, she follows it studiously. "Okay, see that guy in the blue? That's Senator Thatcher, from New Jersey. He's the chairman of the Senate Commerce Committee. My SuperPAC kicked his campaign a giant-ass check and I got some facetime with him last month. If this bill gets passed, it'll change the way my goods are taxed for import resale. Even just a three percent bump in revenue is tens of millions of dollars. Which means, big payouts for shareholders."

Greer Grant has posed:
A wry expression from Greer that has both a smirk and a grin in its ancestry somewhere. "Yeah, I've heard that about Russian humor. It's entirely understandable when you can sum up Russian history with 'And then it got worse.'" An absent nod at the decline of the drink and she steps back over to the others. "Laws and sausages," she murmurs softly, after Janet's summation.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
That's the way the game is played. Natasha has no particular judgement on it. "Of course." It's all just another Dacha on the river somewhere to her. Whether it's capitalist, soviet, anarchist.. Or whatever particular way fiefdoms were setup by currency. No judgement. Her smirking at Greer.

Speaking in Russian 'Quite' before going to watch. "So who else has made him so many donations that you're worried?"

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet shrugs diffidently at Greer's sidebar. "It is what it is," she remarks. "I do it, Edna does it, and that asshole Mugatu does it. -God- do I hate him," she seethes with sudden vituperation. "But my problem today isn't with Thatcher. It's with-- there, that guy, with the hair," she says, pointing at someone else rising to speak on the floor. "Senator Kimsey. California. He's all 'tax and spend, tax and spend'. Wants to implement tariffs, which means I have to fork over an extra five percennt to the Feds. Either I eat that loss, or I have to pass it to the customer," she explains to the two other women. "Which is bad for business and bad for consumers. Anyway--" she makes a slashing gesture through the air with one hand. "Looks like they're not ready for a vote yet, so you can switch back to whatever," she suggests to Natasha.

Greer Grant has posed:
Tigra holds up a hand. "Wasn't judging," she protests to Janet. "I know how it goes. Sure, in an ideal world everyone would be motivated purely by altruism and ideals and all of that high language stuff, but we're all only human." She pauses a beat, glances at her furry bust. "Metaphorically speaking," she adds. "You've got your interests, senators have theirs, customers have theirs, shareholders have theirs, some of all of that overlaps some of it doesn't, and we all try to live together anyway."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would shrug, "Neither am I. you are simply playing the existant structural flaws of things to your personal advantage. It's teh same with any bureaucracy or industry at any level. Capitalism is a cutthroat business after all." She's not minding or judging. "Very well then." She would move to flip the channels over to a Russian documetnary that for some reason had been subtitled in Thai.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet gives Greer and Natasha a highly skeptical look. "You two are sucking -all- the fun out of being a ruthless capitalistic bitch," she informs them, and then a beat later, she laughs. "Well anyway, it helps pay the bills around here," she says. "So it's not like this is funding my second superyacht."

She leans back and fishes her phone out of a pocket in her sports top (yes, it has those) and glances at the screen. "Oh yay, Steve got pulled into something," she says, without much enthusiasm. "Well in that case, screw the workout, and I'll take that drink if it's still on the table." She prompts Greer with a flash of her most winsome smile.

Greer Grant has posed:
A quirking of the corner of Tigra's lips in something like a grin at Natasha's observation. It spreads into a fuller grin as Janet complains about taking the joy out of ruthlessness. "Was it Churchill who said something along the lines of democracy being the worst form of government, except for all the others that had been tried?" she asks. "And I, for one, am grateful for the way you put the proceeds to work." She nods as the offer of a drink is eventually taken up on. She casually does a backflip onto one hand and then pushes with that arm to go over the wet bar without spilling her soda. She then digs in the fridge something Janet would like. Jan's standing near the TV, which is currently playing a Russian documentary, subtitled in Thai. Natasha sits on the couch, with the remote. Jan also looks fabulous at the moment.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would shrug, "I worked for ruthless tyrants, mass murderers, and communists. She who cast stones." She would quip while glancing over at the screen. "And it's on the change in fashions after the first Russo-Japanese War and the shifts when the serfs were taking on more rights and the nobility had to make some pretenses of adapting to the new culture."

Apparently Russian documentaries could suck all the booze out of Janet.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
    Still unsure what the actual rules of the Avengers dress code is, Felicia Hardy enters the building and her attire is a dead give away that she has no clue what is and isn't allowed. The woman is wearing something that could have been purchased down in the gift shop, but it's almost too tacky to be sold. A white shirt with some screen printing on the front, stretched tight over Felicia, as she advertises her fandom of CAPTAIN AMERICA text over an angled red white and blue shield. The shirt is tucked into a pair of breezy short denim shorts and she has a pair of low top black and white converse on.

    The thief is lounging today. Or doing laundry. Hard to tell as she has her hair meticulously styled and sweeping curls bounce around her shoulders as she steps in and pauses, looking up from her phone as she lowers it to her side and spies the three women in the room. "Whoa. Didn't think I was stumbling into an A-Team meeting." Felicia says, lifting up ruby red lenses off the bride of her nose to tuck into the white locks of hair on her head.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet accepts the soda from Greer and roots around in the sofa cushions near Natasha for a few moments. She digs out a silver flask and rattles it. At the sound of liquid sloshing around, the socialite beams happily and cracks her soda open. A third of it is poured into a convenient vase and she uncorks the flask so she can top off the soda can with its contents.

She uplifts her chin cordially at Felicia. "Hey Fel," she greets the woman. Janet's gym attire is as informal as it gets, and even grants Felicia a silent approval at her choice of merchandise.

It's not a Wasp shirt, but it's a close second.

"I did a grad project on the Bolshevik fashions," she tells Natasha. "We were given an assload of old tablecloths, sheets, sackcloth, that kind of thing. Had to design something that was fashionable but made out of the cheapest material. There was one woman who basically invented the entire pre-war fashion sense of Russia. Lamanova... something. Nadja? Nahera? Naj-somethinng Lamanova," she says, giving up. "Brilliant designer."

Greer Grant has posed:
Two extremes of the dress code are personified by Tigra and Janet. The former, of course, wears only a bikini while nowhere near a pool, though she does make it look good. The latter wears coordinated yoga pants and sports top and trainers. At the mention of the A-Team, Tigra produces a breadstick from snack storage at the wetbar and holds it like a cigar. "I love it when a plan comes together," she says with a broad grin. Lowering the cigar, she starts to say something about Soviet fashion, then thinks better of it.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
the thief is given a low nod by the assassin as Natasha would evaluate Felicia as she would enter. "So what particular excursion are you preparing for?" She would inquire in passing to Felicia while listening to Janet talk. "Interesting. What were your thoughts of it?" She would inquire to Janet as shew ould listen with rapt attention.
    "Or are you merely being indulgent?" She would inquire to the blonde with the very, very well done up hair. Natasha is being hte odd woman out of the group, wearing her normal combat jumpsuit and her normal equipment. which she probably wore all the time if seh didn't have to change for a mission, come to think of it.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
    "Hello Janet." Felicia says to the woman she's most familiar with, as not a designer or anything like that, the platinum blonde is a part time model, though she can't recall getting to wear any of Janet's creations, but she does catch onto the conversation at hand fairly quickly. "I've always been a fan of Russian fashion though, or at least what I saw in the old magazines back home growing up. The big furs and..." Felicia pauses as she was starting to dream of bundling up in Siberian sable coats, and trapper hat.

    "Sorry." Felicia whispers as she pockets half her phone and slips over to the fridge next to Greer and smirks. "Glad someone got the reference. But I meant the biggest stars. The ones people really care about. The ones that get s**t done." Felicia says, opening the fridge and pulling out a diet soda.

    Turning and cracking the drink while looking back to Natasha, Felicia shrugs her shoulders, "No excursion that I know of. Unless someone needs me to break into something I figure I'm kind of a reserve trainee or something like that."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"I've got some thoughts on it, but I won't bore everyone here," Janet tells Natasha. "You wanna hear about it though, catch me up later and we can kick it around. Maybe I can make you a cute skirt out of an old flour bag," she suggests with a michevious expression.

"I don't think we even -have- a trainee plan," Janet tells Felicia. "If we did, no one told me, anyway. Maybe Steve will know. But Steve thinks his job is to keep everyone *in* training. All the time." Her eyes roll but there's a tolerant smile that betrays a lack of real rancor. "If you wanna do, y'know, superhero shit, go do it. Pick a fight with that Penguin guy across the bay. Or see what the local Maggia are up to. If you get in over your head, send up the flare," she says with a shrug. "If you're just, like, bored, or whatever, I could find something for you to do. I've got a few business rivals who I haven't properly threatened in a while."

Greer Grant has posed:
Tigra keeps her breadstick as a cigar for the moment. "If you don't think we're all here to get stuff done, you ought to reconsider," She says to Felicia. A nod of agreement to Janet. "Just do it, as the shoe company says. And now a lifted eyebrow. "If we're out fighting bad guys, and I get in trouble, I don't want to think that if you're coming to help me you don't think you can get stuff done," she says. "We're all Avengers here. You wouldn't be here if you couldn't get it done." And now the breadstick goes from cigar to carrot as she munches on it ala Bugs Bunny.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would shrug her shoulders, "If your talents are required then I'm sure they'll be taken advantage of when necessary. And is she required to perform some field missions for evaluation?" Natasha would inquire over to Janet with a shrug of her own shoulders. Her having already done her brief 'evaluation' of Felicia in the field. Turning her attention over to Janet's commentary while smirking. "I see." Her interpreting that in her own way.
    "I suppose that would count as freelance work done on consignment?" Her not particularly caring. It's not like said acts by the felonious feline fatale would impact her at all. "And are you supposed to be some sort of Marxist?" to Greer.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
    "Oh, I've gotten shit done. You wouldn't BELIEVE the shit I've gotten done. There was those werewolves that one time. I didn't even know they existed. Then that time Ant-man, Captain America, Power-girl and I fought some nazi vampires, and some weird internet AI baby..." Felicia is counting the times on her fingers at this point. Knowing how insane it sounds and feels to say, but she's grinning ear to ear. "Any of you call, I'll be there. Can't promise I'll be dressed all prim and propper, but I'll be there." Felicia grins and moves over to break off a piece of Greer's breadstick and pop it into her mouth before moving towards the couch. "I'm just bored off my ass lately." Felicia says, hiding her pain with a need to do something physical.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Well Nats says she won't kill anyone for me, which sucks, but she's got a point about us not being corporate assassins," Janet says, and looks sidelong at Natasha with an expression of vaguely disappointed frustration. "But like-- I don't know how you could possibly live on merch royalties," she tells Felicia and Greer with a vaguely symapthetic tone. Merchandising is a thing in the Avengers, carefully managed by Janet herself-- though some people elect to not collect their dividends, returning them to the pool or spending it on *gasp* charity.

"But yeah if you're looking for work, there's a guy over in Harlem that needs a tuneup. He's a bagman for a local Maggia front, the Manfredi family. I'd like to know what his import/export distribution for his illegal goods looks like, 'cause I'm pretty sure he's the asshole smuggling those counterfeit JVD handbags." Her eyes slide sideways to Greer. "How about you, Tigger? Want to be a cat burglar for an evening?" Her lips twitch with mirth at her playful baiting, but the offer seems genuine.

Greer Grant has posed:
A satisfied nod from Tigra as Felicia speaks of her accomplishments, and an amused flick of her tail at the breaking of the breadstick. "And don't forget it," she says, before looking at Natasha and waggling her diminished stick. "Last night I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I'll never no. But no, not doing Groucho Marx. TV show from the 80s, the A-Team. Leader smoked cigars and had a habit of saying he loved it when a plan came together. Typical mindless action sort of show, but fun for what it is." She tilts her head curiously as Janet talks about counterfeit smuggling, and then grins crookedly at the offer. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," she says.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would shrug, "That level of domestic disturbance is a bit outside of my line of work. By all means take care of it. I'm sure that Janet will arrange that a suitable bounty is given in the matter and that you'll get something useful on your end if you perform well." She would offer over to Felicia while leaning back. Fashionista and ahead of the times seh was not.

    Natasha would nod, "I met the man briefly. He was quite a curious carouser and quite handsy."

Felicia Hardy has posed:
    "She's pretending that she's Face, and in a room like this... I think you're all Face." Felicia says, not daring to say that anyone here isn't a beautiful queen in her own right. "I'm not really the killer type, but corporate espionage and foul play against someone hurting one of you. I can do that." Felicia says, moving to rest her backside against the back of the couch as she takes another sip of her soda.

    "Handsy..." Felicia repeats, arms moving across her belly to cross beneath her chest as some memories flood her briefly and she frowns. "I'll meet them Janet. Just, get me a decent dossier and I'll speed up the timeline on getting this creep."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet gestures at Natasha with a 'well there you go' gesture. "See, if you'd just broken his neck right there, I wouldn't be in this jam," she accuses the spy. "You're lucky I'm such a good friend that I'm willing to ignore these little oversights." She delivers the joke in such a deadpan that the line can't be taken remotely seriously.

"Anyway-- how about I buy you two dinner and we talk turkey," Janet suggests to her co-conspirators. "How much do you want for the job? Does ten grand each sound about right?" she suggests.

Greer Grant has posed:
By now Tigra's cigar/carrot/breadstick is gone, and she dusts a few crumbs off her fur. "Hannibal," she murmurs to Felicia. "Face was Starbuck from Battlestar Galactica." Talk about a misspent youth, here. A brief double take at Janet and Natasha at talk of broken necks, and a skeptical look. "Can we do dinner later on?" she asks. "I need to see a man about a dog. After that, I'm all ears to hear about what you got in mind on this, and I'll follow the expert's lead," she says with a nod to the career cat burglar. She finishes off her soda and disposes of it before heading out of the room.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would give a twitch of her lips at Tigra, "Good luck getting that yarn you're after. And if you need to neutering that dog the old fashioned way." She would offer to the clawed girl. She would fold her hands together while glancing at Janet, "Oh, make it worth her while. Industrial espionage? That won't even cover the expenses it takes her to case those places out. If you're going to bother to hire her you might as well pay her as such. Don't insult her competency by offering her such a paltry sum."

Felicia Hardy has posed:
    Felicia's still out of the moment with her thoughts falling inward into a hole she tended to avoid whenever possible, but Tigra moving to the door draws her out of her pending depression black hole and Felicia raises a free hand towards the furry woman's back.

    "Bye..." She says softly.

    Coughing to herself and twisting to face the two on the couch and eyeing Janet with her flask, Felicia extends her hand and shakes her diet soda with a nod to the booze while thanking Natasha with a pair of raised eyebrows, a sharp nod and a thank you smile.

    "Yeah." Felicia begins in a semi serious semi teasing tone, "It costs more than that to get me out of bed. Or into bed. I forget which."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet rolls her eyes at Natasha's interjection. "Whose side are you /on/," she hisses with a theatrical sotto voice. "I don't come to where you work and slap the--" she breaks off as Tigra excuses herself. "See ya, Tigs," she bids Greer. Fingers lift to wriggle in farewell as Tigra takes her leave of the little group.

Her eyes flicker back to Felicia's fine features, not missing the brief moment of introspection but not quite reacting to it fast enough to say something. When Felicia offers her outrageous sally as a point of wage debate, Janet grins floridly at her. "Lookit you, high roller. Me, I do it for free. But I'm charitable that way." She winks at Felicia and laughs gaily, then gets to her feet. "Think of a number that's worth your time. I'm a big believer in paying a fair rate for unique talent."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanoff would cluck her tongue, "I'm making sure that if you're going to help her put the Miss in Mis-Demeanor that you properly reward her for your efforts. Since I'm part of the burgeoius and you're part of the proletariat, of course I have to help ensure that my fellow woman of similar class gets a fair pay, given your capitalist tendencies towards ensuring you can get yourself another super yacht." She would shake her head over in amusement.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
    Taking a breath, Felicia smiles at Janet, that winning model smile she mastered some time ago, but never took for granted. "I'm thinking at least seventy five." Felicia says, looking to Nat, expecting the spy to jump in once more, feeling a touch of solidarity with the red head at the moment. "OOh. Maybe more. I've always wanted a super yacht." Felicia notes, saying it as improperly and southernly as she can, pronouncing the CH as CH even. Grining once again, turning back to Janet and pulling her soda back, not topped off, but also enjoying the company enough to not be bothered.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet rolls her eyes at Natasha but laughs anyway, shaking her head at the redhead's sly chivvying. "Don't hate on me because of my tax bracket," she suggests to Natasha. "Or ask for clothes when you get tired of catsuits and sackcloth," she adds.

"All right, I gotta bounce," Janet announces. "Good catching up with ya, Nats. Felicia-- dinner, you and Greer pick the place. I've got a table at Le Cirque if you feel like keeping it formal." She heads to the door, pausing only to wiggle her fingers in farewell. "See ya!"