12155/Whyfore Art Thou Cycling, Oh

Whyfore Art Thou Cycling, Oh
Date of Scene:	25 July 2022
Location:	Dakota Rooftop
Synopsis:	Whatever it was.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Blackagar Boltagon

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Jane Foster has posed:
Breezy, hot day, the perfect time to stay inside where it's air-conditioned. That would hardly be all that fun, though.

Instead the Dakota's lush rooftop garden and nice terrace to beckon the ritzy, glamorous celebrities, Nobel winners, artists, and Inhuman king. Come outside. Stay flexible under the slanting umbrella, sprawl on a lounger, or admire the Tour de France on a table stuck on the wooden table facing towards the shaded area. A pergola wrapped in a few tasteful vines (fake and real) offers additional escape from the city being a baking concrete box. Jane is on said lounger, ignoring the fact that she probably should burn in the sun. A sarong loops around her waist, a slippery blue bikini top something that calls for SPF 100 sunscreen.

So it is she's watching some Dane on a slender carbonite frame whip his way past a series of dessicated hillsides. The downward slope sees farmers and sheep waving flags. Well, farmers, anyway.

"I hope we see the stage through Gascony or Provence. The south is so beautiful. Of course, our Greek island feels like this, drier and such."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The term 'Our Greek Island' may be more apt than realized. After the vacation there which extended past the original week, Blackagar had simply deigned to purchase the Villa they had been residing in and to add it to the collection of 'Inhuman retreats' which really roughly translates into places he likes and wants to keep. Granted, for political reasons, the entire Island will end up purchased away from the Greek Government, made an sovereign space, but none of that will interfere with those that live there; people who are in his mind much like family after just that short time.

Then? Instead of staying on the lovely island, the suggestion had been made to witness the Tour de France. An /Event/ as it was described to him. Now, watching the individuals weave their way through the road from where he sits lounging next to Jane, there is a curiousity in his face that results in sign language coming forth. ~This is it? They simply ride their two wheel machines about the countryside?~ It is not so much disappointment as it is confusion.

Almost as confusing as when he had previously asked why people were staring at him. It is still an unusual process for Blackagar to consider the fact that other people might look at him when he sits there in a lounging chair without a shirt on. Why would they look? A glance around, then his attention resettles on Jane, the blue eyes covered by sunglasses that he has opted to start wearing at times.

Jane Foster has posed:
They have a Greek island, though Jane probably doesn't quite know about the transaction. She just enjoys the company and the beauty of the Aegean, with the occasional getaway. No one probably minds a pegasus hanging out on a hillside, chasing off invasive species, and sometimes rescuing sailors. The Olympians may disapprove but they don't have an exclusive contract to save Mediterranean souls.

So an Inhuman island purchased at the discretion of Blackagar Boltagon has a coast guard of one very Aesir-Vanir horse. A sightseeing tour might leave sailors boggled and the dolphins laughing under the waves.

<<It's one of the most famous sporting events in the world. Those bikes weigh about as much as that olive oil we brought back. Not an amphora.>> Her amusement is prevalent as she hands over a dish with charcuterie, olives, and cubed cheeses in a dolphin-shaped pattern. It's a mode. Currently, a black olive doused in a hint of rosemary is popped into her mouth. <<They race. You see, it's made up of several different legs. They win a coveted jersey and starting position for having the best time on the leg. The person with the cumulative best scores and times ends up winning. They cover a circuit throughout the country; it's not a small matter. More a marathon.>>

She leans over to kiss him on the cheek. Her sunglasses are predictably large. <<Trust me, it's quite thrilling when they go through the mountains or the lavender fields. I've seen them chased by wild horses.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<Wild horses?>> Blackagar asks back, doing his best to sound intrigued. It is rare for him to not find something he enjoys, there may be a hint of distraction about his mood in fact but it does battle against the surrounding environment and most particularly the company being kept. A few of the cheeses are selected, favoring the mozarellas soaked in olive oil and spices. <<I suppose I struggle to see the merit of the exertion, if that makes sense. Running? Certainly. But operating a ... bicycle you called it? It seems like a mixture between various things taking place, a lack of commitment to full exercise but certainly not letting a vehicle or another animal carry you.>>

Letting his attention drift from the race towards Jane, that he considers much less foolish. <<But if you attest that it is a famous event then I shall seek to understand its merits. Is it a testament to some event in the past? A flight from some war that was done and this is a tribute to that moment?>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<<The White Horses of the Camargue. They're famous. Others run wild in the earlier stages near the mountains, where they no longer answer any master but their own herd and Zephyrus of the west wind.>> Waxing a bit romantic? She probably is, though Jane waves her hand playfully to be stir the idea. His distraction causes her a point of interest, though she doesn't press him on it. Rather, her hand drapes lightly against the side of the lounger, perhaps testing if this too is a burden that he would rather not be layered with. Another square of a good marbled cheese gets swept up, and popped into her mouth. <<Not everyone can be perfectly formed and maintain their figures and vigor without exercise. Some enjoy taking it to greater extremes. They see it as a challenge of the mind and body, an act of self-perfection. You can see the same when an artist commits himself to mastering a sculpture, or the ascetic tests the limits of themselves to achieve a higher goal. Also, they're French. Have you not learned from Paris that the French will do what they like?>>

She tries not to laugh, truly, but the smile lifts at the corners of her mouth all the same. <<It is famous. Consider the fun you could have exhausting your brother by making him chase a goose around the Sea of Serenity. I happen to know a few craters he could possibly tumble down in such elevated style in pursuit of a trophy. They have the most lovely views. Besides, you don't have animals to carry you up there. The commitment to exercise then may be a priority.>> His other question, though, has her thinking. <<It was used to sell automobile magazines at the turn of the century, I believe. They founded it for publicity.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<Tell me more about this... answering to no master but themselves...>> Blackagar asks, seemingly intrigued and looking playful while he asks it. There are certainly ideas that are in his mind, the covered eyes not doing enough to conceal the other expressions he holds that consider possibilities Jane just offered. <<I suppose, the element of pursuit of something, no matter what that is, and the perfection of it does hold merit.>> Pondering continues for a moment, the race all but ignored for the time. <<Do not judge me harshly for not understanding. Although it may seem silly to me, I do not wish to disparage those who find great value in the event and its actions. It holds value to them, therefore it is worth the effort to understand.>>

Humor decorates, Blackagar shaking his head, <<My brother would simply find a way to cheat in order to save face from the potential disaster of having to do it himself. We are like two opposites, Gallant and Goofeth.>>

Then the hit comes, <<A riding event to sell... automobiles? How utterly confusing.>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<<A riding event to sell a sporting magazine and, yes, automobiles. Because you'd want to drive where they were riding. Such is tourism. The Michelin stars awarded to the best restaurants in the world are hosted by a tire company who puts out guidebooks, with the aim no doubt to make us all travel and eat. Easier when my boyfriend can carry me anywhere, wheels or not.>> Light pauses last a moment. <<That sounds so casual. My /person/ of interest? My lover? My vehicle?>>

She does not even look back while fishing for a tomato to pop into her mouth before she gets in trouble. Breaking into giggles while watching valiant Spaniards try to flatten the crush of Dutch and French cyclists would be inappropriate, though she still thumbs her necklace anyway. Habit, now. Shiny things are shiny.

<<Let me guess. You're Goofeth?>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<It does sound rather casual,>> Blackagar affirms thoughtfully, <<I would loathe to call it juvenile, but it does pull some of those images to mind. <<Significant Other? Partner? Companion? Pack Mule?>> The last he puts in with a very innocent expression. <<I could easily call you my better half.>> Oh now he's just playing for bonus points.

<<I mean, it would depend who you ask. I am pretty sure that I could easily qualify as Goofeth depending on my mood.>>

The race going on behind them is ignored for a few moments longer before finally he is able to pry his eyes away to look back at the competitors. <<At the very least, they are working very hard to try and compete. How often do they fall or crash?>>

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane drily licks the olive oil from her fingertip. <<I kick, be careful. That would make me someone named Jenny, not Jane.>> The residual oil and spice is pleasurable enough to emit a soft sigh, banishing any notion that Blackagar might in fact be threatened by a girl with a chair or her sashaying off in a huff. Wrong person; scientists behave and given huffing is for teenagers, well.

<<They crash every so often, typically when they're bunched up or it rains. One goes down and quite a few follow. It's amusing if you don't realize how much training, time, and money are lost.>> Oh, those famous pictures of clouds of cyclists tipped over like cows come to mind, and she shares them with Blackagar after tossing a sprig of thyme at him. The fragrant arc is a pleasant thing, at least. <<They also wear those tunics and have thighs as big as my head. Quite the sport. You sure your brother wouldn't be convinced not to cheat and to try? I'd like to watch a horse run after him. Speaking of, having no master means no shelter, uncertain food, aggressive breeding partners, and being chased around by territorial herds, so it's not all sunshine and rainbows.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<Oh, I meant names you could call me. For I am much more muley than anyone I know,>> he points out humored. The mistaken moment passed off and instead he just smiles at her sweetly. <<But I do much prefer the sound of Partner if I am honest. It infers such a depth of importance, beyond relational.>>

He studies the bikers, the way they race and that they sometimes crash and how it becomes a domino effect. Along with the image of certain people being chased down, all disrupted by the arrival, just in time, of thyme. Blinking, he glances over at Jane, lowering his sunglasses as he does so allowing the pleasant humor in his eyes to shine. <<Everything you just listed ... some of it sounds fun. Well. Maybe two of them. Being chased around from field to field for certain, the other. I could be convinced.>>

Looking towards the bikers, there's a few moments, <<How long until they reach the south of France where you wished to watch them?>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<<You aren't a mule. You don't even have hooves. Stubborn? That would seem...>> The laughter still remains as Jane reaches for another sliver of bread, mopping in through a sweep of balsamic vinegar. Happiness lies that way as she sighs with satisfaction. <<Very well, you best run. Ten seconds headstart to run? Shall I shoo you from the nearest field?>> The notion has her sitting up on the lounger, slanting a look through her rounded sunglasses. It's always a pleasure to watch and to needle, just lightly, with the soft brush of humour.

<<Partner will do well. It's also something people out west say when they wear cowboy boots, and you are /not/ wearing those boots and being taken seriously.>> Oh, grave Blackagar, the cow poke. Nope, another lifetime. She blows him a kiss and then looks back at the cyclists in their promenade. <<They shouldn't be long for there. Fairly soon, then?>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<I will have you know, before London I had actually visited a place that was called... El Paso I believe.>> Blackagar points out. << A kindly gentleman offered me an old hat he had to help with the sun. He was quite concerned that I would 'Shrivel up like old leather without it'.>> Could it be true? Does he own, somewhere, a cowboy hat?! Ask him and no answer will come, that is a secret for another time.

<<Well if you wish to catch that phase of the race, we should move where we are at and, how did you put it at the Louvre? Beat the crowd?>> At that time of course, he had taken it to be a literal consideration and was quickly corrected on the idiom to prevent a mass casualty event.

Jane Foster has posed:
<<Old El Paso...>> Jane thinks of the jingle for the salsa before she can help herself, and another mark on their culinary tour of the world remains. <<You mean to tell me, love, that you went to /El Paso/ before you went to New York. Were you working your way north from the Antarctic, or was there something compelling there?>> This is fascinating, not a point of embarrassment or horror. She's a westerner of the Pacific sort, and everyone knows Texas is a weird microcosm of things.

The brunette chuckles softly. <<Beat the crowd? Oh, yes. And that said, I haven't been to Paris since a fallen angel and a god of death tried to eat me, but there you are.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<I keep telling you that you must introduce me to this fallen angel and God of Death so I can have a conversation with them about their actions.>> Blackagar laments it with such innocence that his halo must surely be shining in brilliance. Being calm and in control of himself was finely tuned. Part (only a small part) truly dislikes the fact that he loses some of that control where Jane is concerned. He is expected to become passionate on behalf of the Inhumans, to become that way for her is simply an unexpected twist in his life.

<<As for Texas, I was in Westchester working my way to New York when someone suggested how good fajitas were. So I asked where to get them, they said Texas. So I went.>> Because naturally everywhere Blackagar goes revolves around what food he can eat. Duh.

<<It is best I did you know. Had I not gone to Texas, my next destination after New York City was London, which would have had me arriving three days before I actually did.>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<<If I knew where he was, and finding him wouldn't cost me my mortal life, I would. Unfortunately, Azrael is a problem. Arawn is a different matter, though, he's in the undercity of Paris where the catacombs are more often than not. His realm isn't just confined to a few scraps in Wales.>> Jane doesn't usually divulge this information, and the halo might take on a certain tarnish given that Blackagar now has a location and a name. <<Though beware, he's sitting in an enormous necropolis. Fighting him there may not end well. I think the Doctor -- Strange, that one -- knows more about the deal they struck. I couldn't get close, and I was dying several times over when they were last in conflict.>>

The complication of an Inhuman after a human with terrigen crystals around her neck is an interesting conundrum. And yet, not so much that she cannot resist. <<You find Azrael and I'm fairly sure several boons may be headed your way.>>

Easier to shrug and pick up the plate, levering it to rest on her forearm. <<Your next destination was ordained, then, by a nameless force of a starbound power greater than we could ever know? I believe that.>>