1439/A Buzz and Banter Abounding

A Buzz and Banter Abounding
Date of Scene:	29 April 2020
Location:	Steve's Room - Avengers Mansion
Synopsis:	Asgardian mead makes for reminiscing and history musings alike.
Cast of Characters:	Steve Rogers, Janet van Dyne

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Steve Rogers has posed:
April's Avengers' birthdays successfully celebrated: check. There had, in fact, been a sea shanty or two. It was irresistable to Steve, especially after his non-lethal serving or two of Asgardian mead. Diana's lasso had remained around his brow at least until he handed it back to her with a laugh or two -- it wasn't his to keep and, yes, Janet's birthday presents had to remain a secret somehow.

A slightly-stumbling departure on his part, buzzed as he is on the mead, and now here's Steve making his way up to his bedroom in the mansion, Janet's petite form slung across his arms with a graceful draping of self weighing no more than a feather to him.

"So, 'm thinkin' maybe set more'n one alarm tonight, not sure if 'm gonna wake for the first one," he laughs, glancing down at Janet. The dimple are strong, his entire usual air of contained politesse shed in lieu of familiar presence and the tingling in his fingers and toes.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"This is why you need to be self-employed," Janet advises Steve. She seems quite content with the arrangement; her shoes are dangling from her fingertips and she nestles against Steve's chest with a queenly sort of comfort.

"I'm not showing for work tomorrow -at all-, and I get to do that, becaaaaaause," she trails dramatically, and lifts a finger.

It lands on his breastbone. "I'm the boss."

She's a little glassy-eyed herself, eyes dilated and dark; she wasn't the only one to enjoy some of Thor's home brew, and it shows in the rubbery nature of her spine.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"You do have the edge there bein' your own boss." A back and forth tilt of his head in agreement follows the thoughtful musing. He reaches his door and with an easy shifting of her weight, her hip now tucked into the broad safety of one palm and the rest of her laid against his pectoral muscle, he reaches with one hand to open the door. Nobody's head bounces off the door-frame as they enter the bedroom and well done for this. The Captain still never lets his Wasp live down the first time they'd kissed, only for her to walk smack into the mansion side-door's jamb as if utterly bamboozled.

With a nudging toeing, Steve shuts the door and proceeds to meander towards the bedroom, intending to possibly dump her on the bed -- or maybe flop down beside her, he hasn't decided just yet. "Don't think anybody's gonna be up at sunrise. If they are, there's some other super-power I dunno about that needs to be revealed. Inquiring minds'nd all," he says, swaying slightly as he turns near-pirouette to push open the bedroom door with his hip. It does mean a bit of a carnival ride-esque swinging back and forth of Janet in his arms, but! She doesn't get accidentally flung.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"I'm pretty sure that's a sign of a serial killer," Janet agrees. A surprised yelp slips her lips at Steve's pirouette; she clings to his neck and laughs giddily when she indeed does not go flying from his arms as one more victim of physics.

"It's that Asgardian beer," Janet reassures Steve. She's contentedly along for the ride; it's a smooth journey in Steve's arms. "I only had a sip and it felt like I was doing shots with Carol and Jen at the bar. I shudder to think what that'd to like... Wanda," she says. "Or Sam. There's only so much that you can get from black magic or clean livin'."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"s'got a wicked kick to it, doesn'it? Only thing that makes a dent other'n Diana's liquor she keeps at the Embassy. Only had it once back in th'war 'nd thought I was seeing stars after half a tin-cup 'f'it."

The arrival at the bed is a bit less smooth. Steve's shins bump against it and with a little glurk, he has to release his bundling of Wasp in order to not squish her. It does mean there's a half-second of air-time before landing on the plush comforter. Having caught himself with a stiff arm to the covers, Steve then can't help but laugh.

"'m sorry, <<Seillean>>, snuck up on me!"

And apparently, this is way too damn funny, because he then sinks to one knee in order to clutch his chest and outright guffaw hard enough to pink his cheeks. Assassin-beds, yo.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
% With a yelp of startlement, Janet hits the mattress and bounces once. She rights herself fast enough by planting her hands on the fabric. "Oh my god, you're /drunk/," Janet informs Steve. Her attempt at sound scandalized fails utterly, so she tugs her legs under her to kneel on the bedspread. Arms brace her weight and she rocks forward to balance on her kneecaps, looking down at Steve with a pleasantly bemused expression.

"You are a sloppy drunk," she informs him, and sprawls out on her belly. One hand slides up to run through his tousled hair. "It's adorable. Speaking of adorable, you and Cassie were a living Hallmark Moment," she informs him. "Scott's a darling for bringing her to these things. She's going to grow up /so/ spoiled."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Finding a moment to breathe in his amusement, Steve ends up kneeling at the base of the bed and resting his chin on his crossed forearms. Tall enough to do so comfortably, he blinks slowly and contentedly at the threading of her finely-manicured fingers through his hair. It's soothing to him in its familiarity.

He lifts his brows and grins crookedly to himself. "She's a good kid. Glad Scott thought to bring'er. 's'nice to know she feels comfortable 'round us all. Means we're good people, y'know? Kids know these things," he informs the Wasp with a softer smile.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Kids and dogs," Janet agrees. "But she really takes a shine to you. It's cute." Her lips curl fondly, and she twines some blonde hair between her index and middle finger. "I think she knows she's safe with you. Like you're not gonna drop her."

One arm turns over so she can rest her cheekbone on the back of her wrist, staring at Steve's profile. "You must have played with the kids a bunch when you were on tour," she observes. "I've seen the old press clippings and stuff. All those families, out to see Captain America... kids lining up in the front row."

A thoughtful expression crosses her face. "You ever miss it? The travelling roadshow, I mean. Performing."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Those dimples never go away. If anything, they deepen a touch more. His eyes go distant over her shoulder as he remembers back those days parading about. His broad chest rises and falls in a sigh, something Janet likely knows by now to be a precursor to a heavier thought.

"Kids were always happy to see me, yes. Adults too, for what that's worth...lots'f autographs signed. Didn't mind being a bright spot for them, now that I look back on it. Everybody needed the moral boost." His throat works and now a more solemn, almost guilty shadow crosses his face. He takes solace in Janet still idly playing with his hair as he continues more quietly.

"Thing is...saw both sides of the propoganda machine. When the Allies were mounting an attack on Sicily, I was up there dancing in tights in front of flashbulbs 'nd showgirls. Not that it was a necessary evil, but at the same time...knew what I could do then. Knew how strong I was, how fast I was, that I could be somewhere helping the men on the front lines. 's'bitter sometimes, I think...'cause the Allies needed the bonds to make the bullets, but 't'wasn't 'nough 'cause then Buck's unit got captured 'nd..." His lips thin. "Mean, was able to get there to him 'nd his unit, but lots'f others... 's'hard not to wonder 'bout whether or not I could've been there earlier if 'd pushed against Brant's need to have a symbol to drive the pledges."

Seeming to come back to himself, Steve then huffs a quiet laugh and looks fully back into Janet's face. "So...long way of saying yes 'nd no."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"That's a lot of 'what-ifs', honey," Janet admonishes him. Her tone is gentle, fingers continuing to rake through his hair. "What if Erskine had figured out the formula a year earlier? What if Pearl Harbor hadn't happened? What if you hadn't ever enlisted?"

"You were doing important work," she advises him. "Maybe not for a soldier, but important for America. People need ... icons, and inspirations, and role models. Don't forget about the value of being a symbol."

She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling overhead. "And, when push came to shove, you made th' right call and put your talents to better use. I think you handled it marvelously."
% She tugs at the front of her thin shirt and flaps it a few times, over-warm. "Then again, you could have gone into Hollywood. Made it big on the silver screen. But I guess you wouldn't be you, if you'd done that."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Continuing to look into her face, the Captain drowsily nods at her sentiments. "Yeah, 's'was important, I know that," he agrees still quietly. "Best leave sleeping dogs lie." In terms of frets, he means. He leans back a little to better give her space to roll over and now looks down upon her inverted face, wearing once more a small smile.

He does, however, snort at the idea of Hollywood. "<<Seillean>>, it took me a god-awful long time to learn the stage-lines. Public speaking wasn't my thing back when, not with how the city seemed content to ignore anything I said pre-serum. Hollywood...nah," and he shakes his head. "Rather be here 'nd now, with what's happened. Figure...figure 've got it good. Can't complain. Got the mansion, the team, my health, a way to repay the world for Erskine's work...'nd 've got you." He leans down to press a kiss to her brow. "Lucky to have you," he murmurs, eyes dozy.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Hey I'm not saying I want to settle down with an actor," Janet protests-- but she's smiling all the same at the gentle affection, and blindly reaches around to pat his cheek. "I've dated actors. You think I'm melodramatic? I am a fucking sainted rock compared to them. At best they're divas, and at worse they're literally crazy."

"Then again, I'm pretty sure I heard you making airplane noises for Cassie," she teases Steve. "I'm finding that kinda awkward to parse. It's hilarious, but adorable. Gotta be a word for that sort of thing." Her wrists twine around one another and she stretches in place, limber as a cat.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Word you're thinkin' of might be 'merry'. Or maybe 'charming.' Know 'm charming, you put up with me 'nough." She stretches and Steve finally rises from his kneel to flump onto the bed beside her on his back, knees still hanging over the end. He too plucks at his shirt a few times; sympathetic observation has him realizing he's warm as well. Vasodilation must be occurring.

"'nd clearly, you haven't been 'round Barnes lately. He'd claim I was melodramatic as a Greek tragedy now 'nd then." Pillowing his hands behind his head, he turns his face towards her. "Used to say I should belong to the opera." His grin is reminiscent. One hand emerges in a reach to gently cup her face in a warm palm, to draw thumb across the height of her cheekbone and back towards her ear.

"God, you're prettier'n Aphrodite," he murmurs, artist's eyes roving over her entire form.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Well now you're talking like you're in a Greek melodrama," Janet informs Steve. The compliment's saccharine enough that she rolls her eyes just a little, but utterly fails to suppress a pleased smile at the (only marginally) over-the-top compliment.

"Although," she says, swinging a leg over, and moves to straddle Steve's stomach. "I'm a little rusty on my literary history, but I'm pretty sure that, like, started the Trojan War," she informs him. Fingernails rake little ploughing furrows across the front of his t-shirt. "Which, I mean, if you want to go to -war- for me, don't let me stop you. I think I'd look good as a marble statue." Hips lift and she looks down and away through hooded eyes; she puts her hands behind her head, slouching effortlessly into a contrapposto that emphasizes her waist and hips. "With arms? Without arms," she asks, and tucks them behind her back.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Pursing his own lips against what's sure to invariably end up being a sloppy, mead-buzzed grin, Steve decides to try and play along as the cold and calculating art critic. Back go his hands behind his head. He hums overly-long, a bit more distracted by the view put up to his wandering eyes than he realizes in his current state.

"Think 'm more partial to arms m'self, the Venus de Milo's loss is a real one. Now, goin' to war f'you?" Now comes the smile, white and glittering as a diamond necklace. "'f'course. Don't think it'll ever come to that, but if it does...mean...'d hate to see the other guy," he shrugs, his smile dimming back to something more relaxed.