1369/Sat'rday, Rainy Sat'rday

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Sat'rday, Rainy Sat'rday
Date of Scene: 25 April 2020
Location: Dane Whitman's Home
Synopsis: Running through breakfast! Talking about SHIELD stuff. So normal before the storm.
Cast of Characters: Dane Whitman, Jane Foster




Dane Whitman has posed:
There are few things in life as enjoyable as waking up on a Saturday morning...or really any day that one doesn't have the perils of a day job hanging over their head...hearing the pelting of heavy rain on ones' roof, and knowing that you don't really have any particular reason to get out of bed at that moment, so you just...doze off some more.

Few things, except perhaps waking up /with/ someone when that dozing is finally over. Not that the rain has stopped, but even so, when Dane finally does fully awaken maybe...an hour or two later, he smiles a bit at having a certain Jane Foster wrapped up in the covers with him. It had been a late night, what with an overseas mission and all, but a pleasant surprise to find her here when he returned. It's not quite cohabitation but it'd be a lie to say this was the only time this week he'd woken up like this. Even if some of those other mornings had involved an alarm.

Still, figuring he's slept enough for one night, he leans his head over and kisses the top of Jane's, before caaaaaarefully trying to extricate himself in spite of the rain. Can't stay in bed forever!

Jane Foster has posed:
Saturday mornings are lovely to wake up to at all. Someone close as Jane is to the scientific side of society -- and medicine, something rarely discussed -- certainly understands how a rogue prion can utterly destroy someone's life. Random chance might make morning never come at all. Brave the world with a smile, that's a good motto. More importantly, the morning brings a laziness to it usually absent through the rest of the day, the kind of brilliant discovery acquired with effort.

She cracks open her eyes against the shimmer of the grey veil morning draws on the world, and sighs softly when the fall of Dane's lips upon her skin. Dusky lashes tilt back and her smile dreamily arises, considering she has no reason to rush with the bestirring from under the blanket. Especially not with few covers kicked aside, clinging this way or that to the curve of her calf. "Remind me to make this a habit," she sighs, the rain tumbling over windows and roofs, washing the world clean.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Well, consider that one habit I'll gladly enable for you." Dane says with laughter in his voice as he slips from the bed, moving over to the bathroom, splashing a bit of cool water on his face and otherwise undertaking about one-quarter of the morning routine, before returning to the bedroom, if only to pull on a pair of flannel pajama pants, a sleeveless T-shirt, and some slippers.

This does, however, leave a perhaps-tempting fluffy terrycloth bathrobe available for someone else's use. Just in case anyone might be interested.

"Take your time." Dane notes, grinning, "Gonna head downstairs and get some water boiling. Feel free to ponder whatever you might want for breakfast." The better for whatever steaming caffeinated beverage they might prefer.

Jane Foster has posed:
"We should consider it an excellent one to pursue. Just the sort of thing a girl needs for body and soul. Relaxation where the air is marginally cleaner and the ambient decibels lower than New York." Jane combs her hair with her fingers, trying to rearrange the tangled brown knots into something appropriate to the morning's affairs. The actual brush is hidden in her purse, something she is not inclined to scramble towards getting. "Would you like me to make breakfast or is this one of those ideas of wandering out into the wide world? Because I can promise you, it sounds splendid if you have one of those large golf umbrellas we can squeeze under together. Spring rains are some of the finest. You know they call the smell of the earth before it starts to rain petrichor? I've always loved that term."

She sits up anyway, admiring Dane while he noodles around the bedroom. Far be it from her to deny herself that, catching a glimpse of him and grinning back. "Mm, not staying put unless I have to convince you to stay put too."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"You cook, I cook, either way I'm pretty sure breakfast can be managed. If you /want/ to go out we definitely can, but I think we've definitely got whatever we might need to fend for ourselves right here. I know at a minimum I can whip up a couple omelettes. I make some pretty mean French Toast with Challah bread, too. Take your pick. Except Waffles. The waffle iron broke in transit and I haven't gotten around to fixing or replacing it yet." Dane notes with a chuckle, "And as for convincing me to stay put...probably not too difficult, as I'm inclined towards being a bit lazy today. But if I'm being completely honest...I'm also hungry!"

Jane Foster has posed:
Laughter shines as it tumbles from Jane, and it makes her shoulders gently convulse. She brushes the covers away, unable to resist the gravitational pull of Dane's offering, swiveling to put her feet on the ground. Pushing herself up, she trods after him with a bit of fawn-legged wobbliness to mark the progress towards him. "French toast? Challah? You give me some hard choices here. Let's try challah, that's the rarer of the two. I certainly won't be complaining about it, though do you want me to dig out my wafflemaker? I have no problem bringing it over. I may even have a box for it still." The curve of her smile brightens at the notion. "Until you fix your own, anyway."

She wanders down the stairs, ghosting her fingers along the wall, stretching out. "I have a bottle of Vermont syrup I've been saving, and here we are on the wrong side of the tracks. I may just have to make the most of it for next time."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Nah, I can manage to fix or replace the wafflemaker easy enough. Maybe I'll take a look at it this afternoon." Dane comments as they make their way downstairs. THey're soon in the kitchen, with water set to boil and the fixings of Challah Bread French Toast beginning to be gathered. "I've at least got some real maple syrup in the fridge." He notes...important that. Once you've had it you can never go back to the imitation. It's practically the law.

Eggs are soon being beaten in good measure as Dane adds, "You want anything with this. Could fry up some bacon or sausage. Or cook up some eggs. Up to you!"

Jane Foster has posed:
"Nothing like rewiring a waffle iron on a full stomach, is there?" Jane pulls her t-shirt a bit lower, just enough to straighten it out. She can worry about changing clothes afterward, especially once she noodles her way around the kitchen helping to set cutlery out and cleaning any dishes off the table that need attention. One wet facecloth later, she is set to wipe down the countertops to be friendly and fresh. "Real maple syrup is phenomenal. Let me pull that out. Have you ever tried maple creme? It's absolutely delightful, especially when you let it drizzle and melt into the bread. I admit having eaten it from a spoon, but you must never tell." She moseys around Dane, stopping to kiss him behind the ear, and procuring a pair of plates and one more for the challah. "I can keep scrambled eggs on the menu. I need protein, with all the jogging we're doing. I seem to forever be hungry! Imagine that."

Mischief burns in her dark eyes, full of affection and delight. Out comes the maple syrup and she puts it on the table along with everything else. "How did you do going out with SHIELD? I am still trying to parse through some of the data and I need to speak with Simmons."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Maple creme? Can't say I've had the pleasure." Dane admits, "Sounds interesting though. And I won't tell, except for this text-message I'm sending Darcy right now." He mimes tapping away at a phone screen without any such phone in his hand, grinning impishly. At the next, he sets aside another bowl of fresh eggs, cracking a few into it, before returning to the first, adding a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg, and a dash of vanilla extract...also real, not imitation, and a teaspoon or two of milk, once again setting to mix it. He sets it aside to heat a pan, throwing some butter in it to melt.

"The jogging probably doesn't help, especially in combination with all that other extra physical activity we seem to get up to."

It's said with perfect innocence in tone, perhaps not quite so much in expression. But the comment of work brings a nod, "Everyone made it home plus a few younger folks in cryo-tubes...that was unexpected. And a big AIM cannon and a hijacked Quinjet blew up. So...pretty successful mission, I guess?" He adds, "I'm not really on the list for getting the sensor feed from Metropolis, just for going out and setting up and checking the sensors themselves."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Oh, gods, it's amazing. I need to ensure that you try it. It comes out rather thick so you need a knife, because the syrup gets distilled down even more. Only a teaspoon might be enough but when it spreads..." A sigh of pleasure lilts off her lips and there resides in a harboured grin, Jane tilting back her head with abject delight. She reaches for the cloth and draws a little leaf shape on the counter, then wieps it away while Dane cleans. "Darcy will probably blow my phone to smithereens the moment she realizes I spent the night with a bona fide /teacher/. She probably thinks this to be the cause of my corruption." The light wiggle of her fingers takes that bowl a little to the side, and she sniffs before Dane pours it out. "Oh the batter. It smells heavenly. I fear you might have convinced me to do terrible things for that."

She quizzically looks up when he says 'blew up.' "You're serious. They had a hijacked Quinjet, and it exploded? That isn't good." A dreadful hint of a smile fades, leaving a worried look. "No casualties is always good, but what were young people doing in cryo-tubes? That really is awful. Kids being frozen?"

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Oh no...Agent Barton blew up the Quinjet. Hastings sabotaged the Cannon. The Kids were an unexpected find. Looks like Rogue Russian elements were experimenting on them, or possibly selling them. Not sure, either way medical has them now. Doubt it'll be easy but hopefully they turn out all right." Dane notes of the previous night's mission.

His grin is maybe not entirely salacious when he replies to Jane's admission over the batter mix, even as he starts dunking the challah bread in it, making sure to coat all of the slice before he puts it in the pan with just a bit of a sizzle, "This is me, putting that knowledge in my back pocket for later"

Jane Foster has posed:
"Rogue Russians experimenting?" Jane's shoulders twitch but she doesn't proceed further beyond that. "I could complain how horrendous that is, but we would be preaching to the choir. Are you okay?" The next question, now the victims are out of the way, come with a worried tone, even as she rests her hand on Dane's shoulder, leaning in to watch him work. "Work sometimes opens up unpleasant doors. The data feeds are rarely so bad, but I am glad you're there."

The cloth ends up wrung out and put in the sink, leaving her free to pass over anything needed. Otherwise she hangs back against the counter. Sizzling scents, and cinnamon, leave her sighing with satisfaction and solicitous seduction. "I never tire of that. Ever."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine. Didn't even get scratched." Of course his thoughts stray to the physical, though truth be told, even with the horror of kids (well, teens) being experimented on, it's fairly low on the list of horrific things Dane has witnessed at one point or another.

Like many who have lived on their own for any significant length of time, Dane has /some/ skill in the kitchen. Perhaps not so extensive as Jane's hobby grants her, but those things he does know how to make he makes well, and he can follow a recipe easily enough, provided it's relatively clear. Either way, this is clearly something he's made before, and before long there's a thick slice of Challah Bread French Toast and some scrambled eggs placed on the table for Jane, with Dane's own helping coming just a minute or two after. Coffee and tea as desired is made available. "All right...eat your heart out, Wheaties, here's a real breakfast of champions."

Jane Foster has posed:
Feet tucked back against the cabinet, almost sitting on the counter, Jane keeps generally out of Dane's way while he cooks. If he needs her to hold anything, she offers to do so and to take away plates to the table as necessary. She hasn't years of experience waitressing, but being the helper on many an occasion in the field applies here. She's had to live too often in a camper or squished in the corner of a rental apartment with Darcy as her roommate not to be a partner in crime.

The sigh of satisfaction lingering on her lips when she gets challah French toast is louder than it might be. "You know, I could tear this apart with my fingers, but I know better. Let's go get a seat and plan out our day. Are we jumping in mud puddles?"

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane settles into a chair with his food, grinning just a bit ruefully, "Well, hopefully it doesn't involve turning into a Dinosaur or Gorilla. Because that's still a thing, apparently." Dane shrugs, "I assume someone's working on it. I can follow a roadmap for genetic engineering, given the right equipment, but it's not really my specialty. Just don't ask me to start a farm for genetically engineered pegasi. Because I probably could." He shakes his head, looking a touch sheepish in between bites of breakfast and sips of coffee, "Otherwise, I'm pretty much open. Nothing stopping us from splashing mud puddles, but that probably wouldn't take /all/ day."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Transforming into a dinosaur or a gorilla would stretch me to my limits. At that point, I would just ask Odin to finish it all." Jane's probably teasing. Probably. "I cannot decide which would be worse, but that's an awful game to play. Probably the dinosaur. At least the gorilla can wear clothes and mostly fumble around in a humanoid world. Drawers and doors require some manipulation that a big, toothy dinosaur wouldn't have." Knife and fork used to excellent effort, she cuts the toast into squares, and then again into quarters. "A farm for genetically engineered pegasi sounds like a fine way to get rich until someone like AIM came along and stole them. Let's not even risk the danger of it. I'd hate to see your face learning that and then chasing them down."

The sheepishness is endearing; she cannot resist, nudging Dane under the table with her foot. "Open all day. This is a hard choice."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Yeah, trying to swing a sword with stubby little T-Rex arms would probably be kind of difficult." Dane notes with a bemused grin, "Still, hopefully someone with a mega-IQ or a lot of someones with not-quite-mega IQs figures out a way to fix it soon because I don't really relish spending the rest of my life playing Planet of the Apes versus Jurassic Park." He polishes off the last of his breakfast, smiling like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth at the nudge under the table, "Why do I have the idea you already have some ideas?"

Jane Foster has posed:
"Oh, but you'd be the most /attractive/ T-rex with those strong, purposeful arms." Jane's teasing is a gentle turn rather than harsh over bites of challah stained by the finest spices from the East Indies. She nibbles around the spongy edges, breaking it up with the side of her fork where needed. The eggs go down more quickly, since she would rather focus a bit on the sweet instead of the savory. "We aren't likely to see a Planet of the Apes remake, I hope. It would be a rather delightful option for us to not watch that movie all over again, you know?"

She holds up her fork and considers. "I have a few ideas, but I like the rain a great deal. Going for a walk and splashing in puddles hardly counts as the right answer, does it? I have a few."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Oh? Ah right...grew up in the Pacific Northwest. Probably reminds you of home, huh?" In regards to enjoying rain, that is. At the rest though, a sidelong grin, "Well while I'm not sure there's a specific "right" answer, but I'm all ears as to whatever those ideas might be."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Of course I did. This is when we go on our adventures, of course, so that gives us an opportunity to make the most of it. I tend to want a doughnut or a pastry adventure in this. Sometimes swimming in the rain is the most delightful experience, or lying under an eave and reading. But that's hardly very social for the pair of us, now is it?" Her smile lifts higher all the same while Jane pushes back her chair, and scoops up the plates in preparation to clear the table. "Specific. Oh, I've got it. Get your boots on."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Just my boots? Or should I make myself generally presentable?" Being still effectively in pajamas, as it stands. Dane notes with a bit of amusement, picking up those remaining bits after Jane hoists her fair share of the plates and such, taking a couple of minutes to rinse them and tuck them into the dishwasher. "Random side note about living in the 12th century: You really start to appreciate a lot of modern conveniences a whole lot more."

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane looks down at her own state of affairs and then puts her hands on her hips. "Do you really think, my sweet Dane, that I look suitable for a hike or a mad dash down to the beach? This would hardly be suitable for a bike ride, so here we are in terrible situations where, yes, we need to pause and clean up a bit." That smile brightens frankly by degrees when considering the remnants of the meal, and she licks some of the maple syrup off her fingertip. Assessments take place rapidly, the need to isolate data and chase down prospective answers followed through. "Yes. When you end up perceiving the unexpected, there are certain things you can appreciate that you never really did before."

Her fingers trail down and she gives the t-shirt a good snap. "At least I should change out of this. Ought to be something presentable, or should I go ahead and steal one of yours?" Hesitating at the end, the brunette surrenders to a chuckle. "Jeans are probably a good idea. Unless you want to open up that window in the loft garage and listen to the rain fall without fear of getting -too- wet?"

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Steal away." Dane comments with a chuckle, "I've got quite a few to spare." He notes, "Jeans and boots. Got it." He heads back upstairs to where said things might be found, well...minus the boots, those live under a bench or in a small coat closet by the front door, depending on the season, and in typical bachelor fashion he hasn't cycled them into the closet from winter just yet. Just as well! Either way, jeans required, so he's off to retrieve them. Of course T-Shirts are found in the same place....

Jane Foster has posed:
Up the stairs, Jane runs at full-fledged speed. Fast as she can hope to go, the darting movements are accompanied by the patter of little feet on the risers. Skidding into the bedroom, a laugh merrily colours the air as she goes searching for the right closet to ransack. A proper drawer search takes longer. She is no pillaging Norsewoman, no Viking who might be trusted to ravage a man's belongings! No, she is better mannered than that. The search for a shirt means finding the first folded t-shirt and her jeans are fine, so there will inevitably be some momentary pause.

When he's around the corner, well. Make of that what you will. For when he comes in... Surprise!