29/Pasta and Palaver

Pasta and Palaver
Date of Scene:	19 February 2020
Location:	Little Italy
Synopsis:	A dinner out covers a variety of discussions, including just how fast a check can arrive to the table.
Cast of Characters:	Janet van Dyne, Steve Rogers

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Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Ah, bongiorno, Signora van Dyne. Signore Rogers," the maitre'd beams. An elderly fellow, he looks entirely too old and dumpy to be in the faded tuxedo he's wearing as he beckons Steve and Janet into the ristorante. Five generations of the same family have served and cooked there; the host's grandfather tabled for a much younger Steve Rogers, before the war. After a few sterling reviews and some name-dropping from a certain fashionista, the quaint Italian eatery had gone from a 'well-loved secret' to being the hottest spot for Italian fare in Little Italy. Hence the host in a faded black tux, nudging a cat out of his way with an old, hand-polished shoetip before shuffling along over the worn stone flooring. The actual candles in the alcoves and the fresh baguettes jammed into any possible container near the hostess' stand keep the place looking authnetic-- even if there are a few more luxury vehicles parked nearby than there used to be.

Janet lets Steve help her shrug out of a camel- hair jacket, double breasted. It leaves her in a slinky one-piece aubergine dress with thin ribbons tied over her shoulders and a plunging low back. White sandaled heels go with the shawl worn behind her spine and looped over her elbows. Candles reflect off the subtle beading of the dress, giving it a little motion of its own as Janet reaches for Steve's arm so he can walk them to the table to be seated.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Bongiorno." Respectfully, the Captain in his finely-fitted tuxedo greets the maitre'd in return. A scan of the restaurant has him giving a smile only a touch rueful; so much for a 'secret' indeed. Fond memories abound of eating at the place before it became a known gemstone in this section of the city. Janet's coat is taken and then offered off to a nearby waiter, along with Steve's overcoat in turn, and his arm is unerringly offered for the light weight of the Wasp's hand.

"Nice to know that we've got a table whenever we feel like it," he murmurs as he escorts his gal. The table in question is graced with a pristine tablecloth, a basket of baguettes set to steam when the delicate outer shell is cracked, and tall candles of artful varying heights already lit and gleaming. Janet's chair is pulled and once she's seated, Steve guides the chair in closer to the table before seating himself.

A brief fussing at cuffs before he settles and looks up, wearing a fond smile for the fashionista. She looks absolutely stunning as it stands. "Thinking the same bottle as last time?" After all, Steve drinks for the taste and not for the alcohol itself -- it makes no difference to his system.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Well, you know how it is," Janet says. She tucks her skirt behind her knees and settles gracefully into the chair with Steve's help, ankles crossing and tucking under the seat. "Drop a few names, make a few phone calls, bribe Lois with lunch here, and next thing you know, we've got a permanent table on reserve. I'm sure the new BMW he's got out back figured prominently into the decision," Janet says.

Fingers swat at Steve's hands and she tugs his wrist across the table to fix his cufflinks. "You have to fasten the little gold bit," she reminds him, patiently. Again. "Otherwise they get crooked and slip loose. Honestly, I *know* French cuffs aren't a new invention," she says, quite rhetorically. Steve's fingers are kissed and she puts his hand in the center of the table so she can wrap her slender fingers around it.

"You pick the wine," she advises Steve. "You're actually developing a taste for it, you know. You're in danger of becoming *refined*, honey," she informs him, and her sly smile turns into a more earnest, dazzling grin. Light glimmers from her earrings and bracelet, catching the amethysts that set off the color of their matching violet attire quite nicely.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Thanks, mom," the man says under his breath, his nose almost wrinkled, as the fashionista fixes the cufflinks. The kiss ammeliorates much of his mild ire over the affair and he leaves his hand precisely where Janet sets it, content with the warmth of her grip about his fingers.

"Heaven forbid I become refined." Her grin is returned in spades and if her smile twinkles like a diamond necklace, his own shines back like stars. "Maybe an old dog can learn new tricks after all, hmm? What about..." A pause and he lists off a wine they had two visits back, a red not too dry and perfectly matched to near-anything found on the menu. This arrives shortly along with two glasses of water by the same waiter who took their coats. One-handed in his hold of the narrow two-leafed and -listed offerings nested in a leather sleeve, Steve considers the curling script printed like iron-ink on pale parchment (sans prices, of course).

"Can't say no to those meatballs. The recipe hasn't changed since I first visited," he notes with a glance up at Janet -- the first visit being in the early 1930s.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Oh, live a little. Get something new," Janet chivvies Steve. She smiles politely at the waiter and accepts the menu. "Oh, vodka martini for me, dirty," she requests of the server. "And a glass of the wine when it's up to serving temperature."

"I'm looking at the risotto and some of the saltimbocca. Maybe want to split a charcutterie with me?" she suggests. It's more food than Janet can remotely eat, but it's not as if Steve's the sort of person who chronically under-orders at restaurants.

Crisp breadsticks the size of pencils are delivered; Janet takes one, breaks it in half, and nibbles delicately on the larger share like a rabbit shaving down a carrot. Even her lipstick and eyeshadow matches the rest of her attire, a darker shade than she'd wear during the day. Perfect for late nights and candlelight.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Charcutterie it is, yes, never a bad idea. 'nd fine, fine...something different," the man replies, going along easily with the push of opinion in regards to the wine. When the breadsticks are delivered, he puts in the order for their food as well as the wine -- a bottle of a Barolo of a goodly age and specifies too for a glass at room temperature -- and away the menus go, leaving them to themselves at least until the food arrives. Giving Janet's hand, still wrapped about his own, a gentle squeeze near the center of the table, Steve then smirks knowingly.

"Once you're done nibbling that like you might a pencil eraser, tell me about who you ran into this week. Gotta be prepared if somebody comes at me out of the blue 'nd asks about you," he explains with a sliver of teeth now showing.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet pauses, mid-nibble, and her eyes narrow minutely. Then she jams it between her teeth and breaks off a bite with a sharp *crack*.

"Interesting question," she says glibly. Her hand floats in front of her mouth while she talks and chews. It's dry bread. "See, I meet all *kinds* of interesting people. I'm not stuck in an office with a bunch of corporate drones. I get out to lunch. Go places. Meet people. Sooooo..."

The lesser half of the breadsticks wiggled in an accusing circle at Steve's face. "It makes *me* deduce that you really want to talk about someone interesting *you* met," Janet tells Steve. "'cause that's a loaded question if I ever heard one."

She braces the breadstick between her molars pauses, and holds it aloft. "She's not cuter than me, right?" Bite. Crunch munch munch.

Steve Rogers has posed:
For a very quick and utterly tempting moment, Steve pauses with his own breadstick in-hand and wonders at fencing with the thin wands of pastry. But noooooo, that's not what goes on in such a place of class, so he refrains from jousting with Janet's breadstick artfully gestured in his general direction.

His own bite is markedly sharp with a *snap* of crust breaking. "'m not one for gossip, Shortcakes, you know this," comes the lazy reply, complete with an innocent smile. "'nd it's a 'he' anyways, not a 'she', so your crown remains untarnished, princess."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"I know. I just wanted to give you a chance to flatter me." Janet blows Steve a kiss. Her cocktail arrives and she takes a quick sip from it almost before it hits the tablecloth.

"And I know. You talked to whatsisname, Clark Kant," Janet tells Steve. "Lois is an old girlfriend of mine. Best way to stay ahead of bad media is to make sure to be friendly with the lead reporters," she advises Steve.

"From what she said, Clark was just tickled to meet you. I think he wanted your autograph. I met him once. I think." Janet's nose wrinkles. "He's got a personality like a wet beach towel though. I'm not even sure I could place him in the crowd. How'd he end up striking up a conversation with you?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
Not but a minute after Janet's drink arrives, so do the two glasses of red wine. Steve, mouth open to elucidate on meeting the glasses-wearing reporter, pauses to accept his. "Thanks." A sip and he nods approval after his eyebrows lift as further compliment to the bouquet of the wine itself. "Very good, yes, we'll take the bottle."

When the waiter retreats to grab aforementioned bottle, the Captain first lifts his glass towards Janet. Candlelight glows through the liquid in a gemstone hue. "To you, <<seillean>>, 'nd your ineffable wisdom about social graces." Yes, it's a tease, but a gentle and fond one. Another sip at the wine and he then continues.

"I did meet with Clark Kent, yes," he begins, with subtle inflection on the reporter's last name. "Took a ride over to Metropolis to do some thinking. Ended up wandering over to the statue they have out there of Superman 'nd he was nearby doing his own thinking. We got to talking -- recognized him from the exposition he did on the aftermath of dealing with Loki." Steve was interviewed by the man in the wake of corraling the chaos. "Had coffee with him since he wanted to talk more. Seems like an honest man as a whole, which was refreshing. Didn't ask for my autograph or a scoop or anything. Lois is...his partner then, at the Daily Planet?"

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"I get the sense he's more like her gopher," Janet corrects with a frown. She finishes her martini and reaches for the wine. "I guess they get stuck on a lot of crap work together. Lois has the Pullitzers, y'know. She's a hell of a journalist. Scuttled more than a few careers in the New England legislatures-- *and* in Congress. He does the 'how to bake better cookies' stuff. You know." Charcutterie is delivered and Janet starts spreading salami and honey on a thin slice of bread, then sprinkles capers as well.

"Nice guy. Terrible posture. No personality. He'd be halfway decent looking if he had some posture. He's built like a *truck*, though. I bet he benches three hundred pounds. Why he wears his dad's old suits, I'll never know," she says with a weary indifference.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Janet does receive one of those lift of eyebrows that borderlines on disapproving; there is disagreement in his expression regardless.

"I'll grant you the posture 'nd the fact that he could find better suits, but he's not writing columns about snickerdoodles, Janet. He interviewed me after Loki's attack on the city, remember? He's been given crap work despite this 'nd I don't know why. Damn shame."

Salami proves impossible to resist, especially with the lure of additional accoutrements like olive oil upon the delicate cuts of bread. Setting aside his wine, Steve makes to serve himself up a generous sampling of the platter upon a small side plate. "'nd I think he's got enough personality. He's a quiet sort, 's'all. We can't all be extroverts," notes the super-soldier who really only deals with the press when he absolutely must.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet stares at Steve, chewing slowly, and digs in her purse for her cell. Slick, near transparent, thin as a credit card-- the latest from Stark Industries, no doubt. Her thumb flies over it and she taps a button so the screen reverses and Cap can read the article on dailyplanet.com.

'Ten seasonsal desserts to wow the relatives!' C. Clark, dated November 2019.

"Steve, it's OK to be critical of people. I'm sure he's a nice guy. I bet that's why Lois likes working with him. It's hard to find a nice guy, let alone someone you'd trust enough to do a 30 hour stakeout with in a parked car. Or who you don't want to murder afterwards."

An easy laugh escapes her lips with the next nibble from the aperitif wrapped up into a little serving. "It's sweet though. You, him. Like you've got a little puppy and you don't want anyone to be mean to him."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Dunno why the idea of being mean to him crossed anybody's mind in the first place." White as freshly-fallen snow, the cloth napkin Steve wipes his fingers on before he returns it to his lap. "Also dunno why the type of article defines the mastery of the writer. If that same concept of evaluation were applied to the original experiment Erskine put up, I wouldn't be sitting here," he notes, a steely undertone slipping in. Still, polite as always, he sips of his wine and adds with confident certainty, "He's got heart, 'nd that's something I respect."

He then questions, "...thirty hour stakeout for an article? That's dedication I respect." A flick of his brows and he finally begins eating his collection of charcutterie offerings.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Aaaa-dorable," Janet repeats, and blows Steve another kiss to soothe his piqued ire. "Speaking of Lois, though, I promised I'd try to set her up with someone," Janet informs Steve. "Poor girl hasn't been on a real date in months. Years, maybe. I always kind of thought her and Superman were-- y'now." Brows wiggle expressively.

The entree is delivered, and Janet sits back to collect her wine glass while it's set out. "I was wondering if you had any thoughts. Someone who'd want to go out with Lois, I mean. She's a super Type A personality, very motivated. Work focused. She'd need someone who is OK with that, or who has their own job. Maybe they can work around each other. Any suggestions"?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
Janet gets one of those nearly-flat looks from Steve at the blown kiss, but he isn't inclined to keep up a prickly defense. His ten cents were put into the conversation as it stands. The deft change in conversation is appreciated by how he shifts in his seat, as if his lower back had gone briefly tense.

To hear of the potential of a blind date, set up by the Wasp in her effortless socialite skill, has him smiling despite himself. A quiet hum of thought precedes his reply: "Suppose we'd need to consider what she wants in a significant other. Male or female, whether or not she wants somebody who can keep up with her or remind her to slow down...looks factor into it, that can't be ignored. Dunno if somebody with a similar work ethic would be a match for her if she's work focused. Feels like they'd never see one another if that's the case. We make it work, but I remember it wasn't easy at first," he says before taking a bite of his own entree, an amazing mounding of meatballs atop homemade spaghetti.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Uh, it was super easy for *me*, but I chalk that up to me being both incredibly patient and tolerant, as well as vastly forgiving of your shortcomings," Janet reminds Steve. "You were the one who kept missing signals. I could have brought a plane in to land easier than I hooked you. Though it worked out eventually." She pastes a beaming smile on her face to forestall any huffy objections from her beau before they can be voiced.

"I'm pretty sure she's into boys, but I guess I could be wrong. I know I caught her checking out Superman's ass a few times, though that's pretty much like looking at a national landmark-- everyone does it." Risotto's scooped onto her fork and she takes a few thoughtful bites. "I'll ask her. Anyone from work coming to mind? I can't exactly set her up with Tony," she reminds Steve. "I wouldn't do her dirty like that. Bruce has got the whole rat pack thing going, which is just darling, but I think that's more commitment than she's looking for. Bucky? What's Bucky doing these days?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve looks up almost comically surprised to hear his oldest friend's name dropped into this conversation. He even pauses in chewing his spaghetti, but only for a second. Properly replying apparently requires daubing at his mouth after setting his fork aside, and a mouthful of wine that won't do anything but taste delightful.

"Buck's been busy with work, last I checked, 'nd out of the city for a while on a mission. Dunno about if he's been actively looking for anyone. Mean, I can bring it up with him, but I can't answer for him." And for all sakes and appearances, Steve has put his foot down on that point. "Insofar as anybody else...?" His musing frown is averted to the thin breadsticks. "Can't think of anyone playing the field currently who seems like a good fit for what you described to me with her personality type."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
An exasperated sigh escapes Janet's lips. She rests her elbow on the table and plants her chin in her palm, rather melodramatically. "You are *entirely* unhelpful," she scolds Steven. "Thank god for that ass," she mutters a beat later-- just loud enough to be heard by him, and while he's preoccupied with his food. The fashionista winks floridly at her amore and tidily finishes the last bites of her meal. "Mm. That was good. Want some dessert? I think they've got tiramisu and gelato," she suggests.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Won't say no to tiramisu. That, 'nd maybe a cup of coffee to go with it." Janet's tease does have his ears lightly pinking; the era of deeper blush passed long ago, at least with the lighter ribbing. Steve too clears off his plate and as if summoned by the very idea of dessert, the waiter arrives to collect plates and offer up the small, short menu. Steve takes it, briefly looks it over, and then hands it back.

"Tiramisu, please, and a cup of coffee, black." He waits for Janet to put in her dessert order and once the waiter departs with their emptied plates, he pours another glass of wine for himself. Janet is offered more and poured more if inclined.

"'nd a part of me thinks that you're calling me unhelpful because you can't think of anybody yourself. 'm a little shocked. Janet van Dyne, in over her head in the world of dating?" A click of his tongue is followed by a dimpled grin.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet's foot is moving under the table, teasing at the side of Steve's calf with a lazy playfulness. At his rejoinder, though, her heel flats flat to the ground, followed by her jaw a second later. "I-- I am *shocked*," she splutters. The wine glass is held out for a refill. "I am shocked and *hurt*. I'm hurt because of the gross insinuations there. But no, you're right, I'm being a *terrible* friend. I should just dig into my address book."

Her phone's set on the table and she flickers a floating holographic display over it with a wave of her hand. "Let's see... business... friends... Avengers... here we go, 'personal'," Janet says, and preps a finger to flick the directory open.

"I mean, unless it bothers you I start calling around to some of my old flames trying to find someone to hook up with Lois," she says, fairly purring at Steve.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Janet gets a little sympathetic nod, complete with a pouted lower lip from her boyfriend -- poor thing, so beleaguered with her vast knowledge of so many unsatisfactory people! Twisting and lifting the bottle, Steve sets it aside of the candles. With wine glass in-hand, he leans back into his chair and smiles, completely unphased by how the Wasp goes through the motions of bringing up the information stashed away within that impossibly thin phone.

His smile is accompanied by a knowing tilt of his head now. "By all means, help Lois out. Not a reflection on me if you want to go about calling old flames up. That's on you, Shortcakes. 'sides, you won't pull up personal information here at the table, where anyone with a good camera phone can take a picture for further perusal. Wouldn't be smart. You're smart 'nd frankly..." His eyes drag down and up the fashionista brazenly. "The most beautiful thing I've seen in a long, long time."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet's eyes slowly narrow into thin slits of mascara and eyeshadow. "I'm torn between wanting to show you how wrong you are, and not wanting to give negative reinforcement to good behaviour." Fingers loiter in the air, then she makes a decision and tucks the phone back into her purse pocket.

"And don't pretend like I don't know you're manipulating me. I *invented* that technique. So I am completely immune to it, and you should know better."

Dessert arrives and she pointedly steals the tiramisu before Steve can get to it. Under the table, her foot starts encouragingly teasing against his calf again.

"So what else do you love about me?" she prompts, and gives him a doe-eyed look before taking a large bite of the confection in front of her.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Seeing the phone go away doesn't make a flicker of a reaction show on Steve's face. Only in his eyes, which take on a self-satisfied gleam in their true-blue depths. Away goes the tiramisu out of his immediate reach and, patient as he always is, the man merely sips at his wine while eyeing the Wasp over the translucent rim of the glass.

"Firstly...it's more likely that I invented the technique because I was around before you, so kowtow to the master, <<seillean>>," he quips mildly. "But what else do I love about you..."

The counter-squint is approving even if it's teeming with Rogersian machination. "Your wit. Your...charms," and he gestures gallantly towards her, insinuating more than just social wiles. "Your chutzpah. Your independence. Your smile. How you hold yourself." His eyes flicker down to the tuck of her jaw. "That mole on your neck right there." Their gazes meet again. "All of you."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Mm. You're getting better at this," Janet advises Steve. Lips curl in a self-satisfied expression, and she reaches one hand out to trail french-tipped nails across his knuckles and down his hand to the thick wristbones under the cuff she'd insisted he wear.

Naturally, instead of precious gems, they're tiny Shields.

"Needed a little too much prompting, but you're getting there. Give it another year, I think you'll have it down pat," she suggests.

"Though in fairness, you're still riding a pretty good surplus of brownie points from Valentine's Day," she reminds him. "So that might just be some favorable points from the hometown judge. We'll see how I feel in August."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Candlelight shines off the shield cufflinks as the man rotates his wrist to encourage her hand's foray to rest in his upturned palm. His fingers gently close around her own and his thumb glides soothingly across the back of her hand, the skin silkily smooth there, strength found beneath it.

"Practice does make perfect. August seems fair, gives me enough time to keep at it." Steve still ends up smiling and ruining his pensive air. "'nd 'm glad you enjoyed Valentine's Day. Figured I'd get creative. Paid off well if I say so myself," he murmurs half to himself and half to the fashionista across the way.

As he forks half of the tiramisu for himself. It gets plopped onto his own plate and he waggles eyebrows at Janet. Touche.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Creativity begets creativity," Janet says with a too-casual glibness. She reaches over pointedly and cuts a corner off Steve's helping, leaning waaay over the table to do it, and with a disregard for the propriety of the surroundings. Intensely green, very dark eyes match the dancing candles, and she brushes the morsel against Steve's lips until he takes a bite.

A dab of chocolate remains on his upper lip; she swipes her thumb across the smudge with her thumb, lazily. The deposit is transferred to her thumbpad. She scrapes the confection against her teeth, closes her lips around her thumb, and sucks it clean with an audible *pop*.

"Like you said. Payoffs for being creative is creativity in ... other areas," she murmurs, making no immediate effort to sit back in the chair she's propped a knee against.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve swallows visibly. He does consider pulling at his collar, but that seems a tad theatrical, even if it crosses his mind along with a flicker of heat up his neck.

He still licks at the section of his lip still graced with the ghost of chocolate before he replies, voice enviously even, "Payoffs're always good things. You thinking you want the check at this point? Gelato's still on its way." This, the super-soldier notes in all fairness to the wait- and kitchen-staff.

It's decidedly unfair how verdant the Wasp's eyes have gone, thickly-lashed as they are.

"But we can go if that suits your druthers better," the Captain says before clearing his throat.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Mm," Janet vocalizes, non-committally. Eyes flicker up and down, betraying nothing of her intent-- though Steve's sharp nose would pick up the trickle of pheremones on her smooth skin. "We *could* stay. Chat through gelato. Argue about the check. On the other hand...." Her head tilts sideways, and eyes rake Steve's athletic frame visible under the layers of that black tuxedo.

"If we get in the car and hurry home, you can have your dessert. And eat it, too," she suggests.

With a lazy, slow motion, Janet straightens, ignoring the restaurant patrons conspicuously not staring at her, and rests upright on the chair with one knee planted into the cushion and her hand balanced on the chairback for support.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"'m liking the idea of dessert at home, I think." The Captain again clears his throat quietly and resettles himself in his chair. A hand lifted subtly to the wait-staff, also attempting not to stare (and with one newer hire failing spectacularly, gone almost googly-eyed at Janet's antics), signals the request for the check. "We'll take the gelato back with us. Be a shame to pass on it."

He's also studiously ignoring the fact that the other restaurant patrons are studiously ignoring them in turn -- and that his ears are truly red now.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet isn't even making a pretense of sitting and waiting patiently. The waitstaff seems to realize it. The older fellow who owns the place is very pointedly doing everything *but* paying attention to the smouldeingly licentious antics of the billionaire, whose impatience seems to be creeping upwards by the second. As if sensing the tension, the check is rushed to Steve to sign, along with their coats, and with a great deal of bowing and scraping the staff escorts New York's power couple out the door to the waiting limosine that idles outside.

Self-preservation seems to dictate the order of the day: Never get between Janet and what she wants!