1597/Never A Dull Moment....

Never A Dull Moment....
Date of Scene:	10 May 2020
Location:	Dane Whitman's Home
Synopsis:	Dane Whitman and Jane Foster settle in for a quiet evening that ends with a most ominous interruption.
Cast of Characters:	Dane Whitman, Jane Foster

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Dane Whitman has posed:
Between the last few weeks of classes to be taught at Happy Harbor, investigations into shadow creatures, resurrections of long-lost SHIELD Directors, and now actual combat with said shadow creatures in Metropolis well...it's been a very busy time for Agent Dane Whitman, and really not any less for Doctor Jane Foster.

This may explain that despite having managed a night at home that they've decided to spend at Dane's place, they have foregone their usual tendency to cook for each other and are instead practically flopped on the couch in Dane's living room, with several cartons of Chinese takeout arrayed on the coffee table while...whatever they decided to tune to plays on the Television.

"I've had Sieges I felt less tired at..." Dane murmurs, tucking into some Sichuan-style chicken with a pair of chopsticks that he manages to use with decent proficiency. "Though I think that Ichor took more out of me than I want to admit." He adds, "Medical cleared me though." No lingering effects detected. Here's hoping that holds true.

Jane Foster has posed:
Chinese takeout is a favourite. Jane's love of noodles will be apparent in three pint boxes of different noodle dishes: Singapore-style noodles dashed with curry, dandan noodles with shrimp, and beef chow fun with Chinese broccoli. Currently nose-first in a bowl with chopsticks, she is making those Singapore noodles vanish with unabashed glee. The splint is still on her wrist, after foolishly trying to get it off earlier in the day, ice the bruised skin, and replacing it with difficulty. Her bangle is still under there. Not a chance of it coming off.

"Eat, then. I know few ways to rapidly restore energy. You need all you can get," she says after surfacing to swallow and for air. She's pretty adept with the chopsticks, and her lips shine a brightly saturated saffron sheen that's swiftly licked away.

Her nose wrinkles a little, after. "I start to know what those ladies in white robes standing on parapets felt like. Except they stayed well back. Mmm, this is so -good-. That spring roll looks promising too."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Working on it..." Dane replies in-between bites, setting the Chicken aside for a few moments to focus on some spicy tofu with rice. "Yep, in fact you better grab a couple of those before I finish them." He says with a grin, having already given the Spring Rolls a try.

"So Reed Richards, huh? That was a surprise. Wish there was more time to talk, not that I'd imagine it'd be nearly as interesting for him as it would be for me." Dane grins a bit, "Didn't realize you knew him, but I guess I shouldn't be that surprised."

Jane Foster has posed:
Spring roll eyed up, Jane reaches for one with the blunt end of her chopsticks. It ends up landing on the plate and she breaks it in twain with a knife, revealing the vegetable-stuffed innars. One side goes to Dane, the other held in hand. "Doctor Richards and I go back a little. Nothing compared to some, but we overlap in the field. He invited me to a rather botched interview; turns out our journalist received a rejection for a Freedom Foundation grant. It went rather poorly but Dr. Richards proved an utter gentleman. Yes, he had a sharp mind, but the arrogance sometimes associated with him retreated. He's been generous to lend his aid. I thought it prudent we call him in, not for my own hide. But in case there were further readings needed. Hopefully Agent Morse or the directorate won't be too angry with me. Clarified in that debriefing meeting for a reason, though."

She pops the spring roll into her mouth and the deep-fried sleeve buckles under her teeth with a satisfying crunch. Her eyelashes flutter, a smile shining in her dark eyes. A swallow later, and she laughs. "Asgard, I think, has nothing quite like this. Or you. I suppose now is a good time to give you a little something."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Is it arrogance when you really /can/ do pretty much anything you conceive of?" Dane muses with a bit of a smile, gladly filching that other half of the Spring roll. He quickly munches it into nonexistence to return to that tofu.

Dane looks a bit surprised at Jane's comment, chuckling, "I would've figured swordsmen were a dime a dozen in Asgard. But I get the impression you're not talking about half a spring roll..."

Jane Foster has posed:
Television babbles away beyond them, thoroughly ignored for the latest glitzy offerings at a theatre, and then at some local chain of stores. Jane returns to committing noodlicide, enjoying the offerings laid out before with gusto suggestive she really does like those. "Yes, it still constitutes arrogance if you lack the requisite humility to go with intellect. Overweening, they liked to call it in the nineteenth century. But being very smart can also make you a complete dick depending on the values you put that intelligence towards. Doctor Richards proves quite refreshing on this point, in his willingness to offer his help, not be utterly judgmental, and hear me out. We come from two different scientific traditions, granted, but he never left me feeling like I was somehow his intellectual inferior. Never mind he has at least a decade and a half in the field, much less than bright mind. Valeria Richards is supposed to be just as capable, too. One day I hope to meet her and find out. We can use more bright minds in the field, showcasing talents of a new generation. Mine is barely coming into its own, we need to think about who follows our footsteps."

Her approval rests there; no jealousy. Still, she puts down her bowl and shimmies sideways on the couch to nudge Dane. "Half a spring roll would be a bargain for you. Dane Whitman, bought for a song." She trills the last bit, and then scoots to the edge of the cushion. Getting up one-handed is a bit awkward. "I kept something silly in my bag. You don't have to open it now, but you know. Knight and all. Did your ancestors not have favours they wore now and then?"

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Interesting. Until recently the closest I've gotten to that kind of genius was probably shaking hands with Tony Stark during a walkthrough while I worked for him." Dane admits, doing what little he can to assist Jane to her feet.

At the next comment, he cants his head curiously, "They did, from time-to-time, though it was largely an invention of the latter-era knights. It was practiced in Camelot though...the custom just fell out of fashion for...quite a while."

Jane Foster has posed:
"The power of intelligence is not letting on, I think. Not really my area of expertise, to be insanely bright like that." Downplay her talents much? Jane says that over her shoulder, looking back as she heads into the foyer. It might not even be out of sight. Her bag isn't that big, but really, it's more of a book bag design with a flap overtop the compartments. Flipping this open, she kneels down to pull out something that's mostly a cube with the corniest wrapping paper one can find: penguins jousting while riding other penguins. Or seals. It's all very comical in blue, black, grey, and white.

Rather than toss it to Dane, she heads back his way. "I wasn't sure if this would make you uncomfortable so rules apply. You can totally give it back or say something. But if you have to go fight shadow creatures, you get my favour while you ride out there. Oh, and Doctor Richards sent along a better tuned version of his headphones, which I put in my pocket here." The case looks like they belong to airpods or such, but not too different. "Mine isn't so technologically cool, but I don't have the Baxter Building to myself."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"R&D's version seemed to work out well enough, but I'd certainly trust Dr. Richard's design regardless." Dane replies, reaching out to accept the package, looking entirely amused at the wrapping paper, "Where on Earth did you find this paper?" He studies the cube a few moment, then starts to open it up, splitting the difference between tearing up the paper and trying to save it.

Jane Foster has posed:
"Darcy, of course. She keeps track of the silliest things, including absolutely ridiculous wrapping paper. We've been one-upping one another for six years. You should see her Pinterest boards." Mischief brightens the candor of Jane's smile. She resumes sitting and picks up her bowl of untouched dandan noodles, the skinnier variety to be assaulted with chopsticks. "Ours worked out well, but that thing was changing the song on us mid-dance. I think it might require more layers of protection. You can swap out if you have to. Maybe something Jemma can wire up, randomizer for frequencies. I should send her that idea, in fact. Give her a challenge to rig up."

The box inside is a nest of starry tissue paper cause hello, Doctor Foster, astrophysicist. It actually comes in two pieces; the first, flat, a men's slim bracelet with constellations hammered onto the leather. A central disk is stamped metal the size of a coin, gleaming with a verdant sheen. The second, simpler, is probably a round keychain or a pendant in place of a crucifix, a stunning bit of the night sky -- sense a theme? -- with a flat brass, etched outer rim. "Either of them will tell you which way to get home. Wasn't sure a bracelet made sense under a gauntlet but it's more traditional. Though the coordinates on that piece will take you to Montauk. Just in case." She grins, munching on noodles. "I don't have silken underthings for you to flash in front of a demon."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane laughs, mischief entirely flashing across his features there, "I'm pretty sure I've seen a few silken underthings, but you're probably right, not very practical." He studies both the items intently, smiling brightly, before slipping both of them on, "Montauk. Montauk...I feel like I should know that place for some reason..." He grins mischievously again, letting on that he's of course entirely jesting. He reaches to slip an arm around her waist once she's in range, pulling her close, "I love it Jane, thank you...." And he seals it with a kiss.

Which is right about the time the TV cuts into a "We interrupt this program for a Special Report" and scenes of Metropolis in shadow start to play across the screen....

Jane Foster has posed:
He has to mention underthings and she laughs. "Save it for when we're not running off to fight shadows. Lingerie flapping around won't impress a giant shadow leg, or maybe it will. You get the little stocking?" Her chin rests for a moment on Dane's shoulder, wounded wing clasped to her chest. She gently leans against him, and just breathes in the scent of the familiar, the welcome, the blessedly intact: "I'm glad. You can be hard to shop for. It was that or something old at the Met. Darcy totally suggested the underthings, by the way, or a hanky."

The kiss she returns with cordial delight, in the few moments they have. Her phone bleats. A groan of disappointment hits. It stridently bleats, the same time as his. The television earns a wrenching look back at it, darkness coiling at the screen. "If that's your cue, that's a big cue." Her eyes trek back and forth as she fishes among the dishes for the phone. "Dane?" Her tone turns solemn, worried. "Seriously. Be careful out there. Convincing Idunn to part with an apple is /tough/, even if Lady Sif can vouch for you. Go." She can't tell him to be safe. Neither of them are going to be.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane's own disappointment is palpable. There's that half-moment of weariness in his eyes and expression, but never a threat that the call won't be answered. Dane gives Jane another brief kiss, then pulls away reluctantly, "I always try." Being careful that is.

And then he's plucking up his SHIELD communicator and strapping it on before reaching for his coat, "We'll take Strider and go get our marching orders and equipment at the Triskelion."

And then he gives her a mildly sheepish smile, before he lifts the communicator, "Stargazer and Black Knight enroute, ETA 15 minutes."