19031/Ex Umbra: Almost Full Moon

Ex Umbra: Almost Full Moon
Date of Scene:	08 September 2024
Location:	Dakota Apartment 1
Synopsis:	A rendezvous, a recovery, and reflecting on what was lost and gained.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Blackagar Boltagon
Tinyplot:	Praxidike

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Jane Foster has posed:
In splendour lunaris.

The soft glow of the city under an artificial atmosphere does nothing to dim the brilliance of the stars that Jane so admires. As a child, staring up into these same skies from her home in Washington State provided a different patchwork of constellations dictated by latitude, season, and hour. Adoration begun long ago extends to the lunar outpost of Attilan where the composition of the night sky varies from Seattle, Boston, New York, Paris.

From the Orcadian isle where she met her death.

From the lonely Falklands in the South Atlantic, where she met it again.

Wrapped in a simple blue gown that's the hallmark of Attilan style, provided by someone moved to pity or irritation, she traces the conjunctions of familiar asterisms from the sheltered balcony. Knees tucked to her chest might give her the semblance of a teenager staring into the abyssal heavens, a cup of tea set to the wayside. Funny, how needs like hunger or sleep become fast friends once risen from the longest sleep of all. Rote muscle memory is back online, even as the long days spent asleep probably reveal more to any Inhuman monitoring her than not.

She can go days without.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The sleep and recovery time has been well needed for Blackagar as well, but it is also coming to a close. Although he is still not to his normal self, it has reached a point where the ability to go out and move around has increased to the point that on this day he has elected to venture out.

But doing so alone simply will not do, so his footsteps have him approaching Jane from behind, reaching around and setting in front of her a pair of rather simple yet somehow stylish tennis styled shoes. His slightly lop-sided grin accompanies a simple message.

~Time to stretch legs.~

Jane Foster has posed:
Funny how a pretty view and hot tea can conceivably improve most situations. Warmth conveyed through the vessel pressed to her pale hands remains a slight novelty, and she basks in the sensory impressions while tracing familiar shapes. There, Vega and Deneb define two points of the great Summer Triangle, her gaze sweeping on an angle up to Pegasus. The faithful, brave flying horse of Greek mythology brings a ghostly smile to her lips, broadening as a bud opens fully before the sun at some other source beyond crystal-bright memories of her equine companion.

Her head turns as sound brushes over her mind, its source kicking her heartbeat over into a skipped pang. A moment taken to watch Blackagar approach sends a frisson of relief in wordless greeting, strangely scented by vanillin from old books, warm amber, and a touch of cedar wood. Thoughts have scent associations, apparently.

His offering she accepts one-handed, setting aside the mug onto the table with care. Some movements aren't fully reflexive yet; too fast, when unconscious. Knees drop and she slides forward, straightened. "You reclined long enough?" The playful grin has its mirror in her, head tilted back to watch him upside down briefly. Sliding on the trainers is easy enough, freeing her finger from the heel less so. But she gets them on, and shuffles the necessary two steps forward to make sure her feet are securely inside. "Lead the way, my..." Majesty? Darling? A blown kiss will have to do.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
A small, but pointed nod, comes from the man as she slips the shoes on and gets to her feet. His own observations of the sky almost a matter of rote in some regards considering a life upon the moon. However, that was not his intent or purpose at the time. There were opportunities for staring, but now was a time to take steps to forward the recovery process.

~Doctors, unfortunately have told me, that until I demonstrate the ability to conduct myself in a more normal fashion they will not lift the restrictions that I am under.~

And oh how he hates those restrictions, having 'voiced' them quite well over.

Jane Foster has posed:
He is a king, she a doctor's daughter. Solemn understanding follows as she cinches the belt tighter to her waist from where it crept up toward her ribs. Jane nudges the hem of the glittering blue robe, turquoise undertones flashing in the pale light as she turns to Blackagar. A brief pause permits comment upon her appearance before they set off, his silence a welcome and familiar veil to draw around them both.

~They mean well for the health of their patient.~ Response in Attilan court sign comes with compassionate understanding, a hidden glint of laughter lurking in those dark, warm eyes.

<<Teleporting you anywhere is within reason. You only have to ask.>> Her psychic voice is altered, since the return. Not quite as piercingly clear, a result of embodiment. Deeper, richer, since becoming corporeal.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The amused smile remains on his lip, but slowly he shakes his head, <<Are you certain of that?>> he asks softly with a glance. <<I have not wished to press regarding what has... changed and what has not. But regardless, at some point...>>

At some point it may be something to discuss.

He leads the way simply down the hall, descending a winding staircase before emerging into a simple garden that constitutes being 'outside'. The air feeling fresh if recycled in the environment. <<Not that I am one to speak of limitations presently.>>

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane draws to a halt, the hushed ripples of the skirt rolling around her ankles. Momentum lost, the draped vestment laps at her calf and washes against the trough of her flexed knee, drawn still after a few lyrical moments. <<Not at all unreasonable. Your particular concern and respect are welcome, but we are well past the point where it's pressing. Fair to say you have a right to know.>>

An affectionate smile by itself might be incomplete, but subtle, unspoken communication offers deeper reassurance. The way she eases into Blackagar's orbit and instinctively finds contact, even if it's merely the brush of her arm to his, the softening of her eyes finding his face, the open, eased stance. Over a few steps, managing not to trip until the last riser, she remains his alert, calm shadow. <<Teleportation, though? Yes, that's possible. I have been crossing through the Realms for days. My work called immediately.>> No, there's no escaping a cosmic employer with excuses like 'I was hidden.' Her shoulders twitch to the ephemeral weight imagined there, the great copper-shod wings, metal feathers that burned in his hands and peppered Daisy's roof or cratered Jemma's lab-backyard.

<<Is there anything I should be aware of? They tell me only what they must to keep the peace, I suspect.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar doesn't speak immediately before he lifts his shoulders in a small shrug, <<The doctors are concerned that I may have... burned myself out significantly.>> He explains thoughtfully. A slow look over across the horizon of the garden to the invisible dome that makes the barrier between the city and space.

<<They have detected some type of scarring perhaps? Deep damage? They do not know what, precisely, only that I am not healing as they would have expected. A combination of the place and the task done.>>

A slow smile and then he looks at Jane, <<So there are concerns that should crisis come...>>

Jane Foster has posed:
The frown lines that form across the brunette's face carry a certain weight, imparting the age she will not know. Youth remains almost forever in the realms eternal, and she needed no golden apple to preserve her flesh for the time being.

Jane glances past Blackagar into the background, a sketch of the garden's elegant greenery under the pitiless sun. Thought casts her expression in a different tint. <<Anything I can do to help, I will. I will go to the far ends of the Realms to honour what you did for me and us.>>

Extending her hand to find his, she circles around to face him, standing on her tiptoes to narrow the distance between them. It's not nearly so short as it used to be. <<Attilan will not be unprotected, nor the people who harboured me so long. Though you know that already. Daisy's frightening enough in her own right.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
He smiles, it's a slight forced but how could it not be, considering that it is so difficult a topic to consider. But then he shakes his head, <<I will not dwell on such. It is not something to be controlled at present and the advice that was given was to walk, get out, and exercise. So that is what I will do.>>

Taking the hand, he nods in the direction of the Garden path. <<Come, let us simply... be.>> Something that he did not think was possible again.

Jane Foster has posed:
Her fingertips curl around his fingers, and the space separating their palms closes to nothing as Jane holds his hand. Blackagar Boltagon is many things, complex and reserved, brilliant and stubborn, but here she knows her footing better than many places. A solemn nod acknowledges the difficulty; the doubts.

<<All things have their season. We will figure that out together.>> Sketching out a smile, she pivots with him and follows, hand-in-hand, stride matched. <<We have earned it.>>