309/Time well spent at the DMV

Time well spent at the DMV
Date of Scene:	05 March 2020
Location:	Central Business District - New Troy
Synopsis:	Lois lane runs into Hank Pym at the DMV.
Cast of Characters:	Hank Pym, Lois Lane

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Hank Pym has posed:
The DMV in the Central Business District of Metropolis' New Troy is always extremely busy. Even at hours that aren't considered the 'main' ones, the place is crawling with humanity waiting in various queues.

There's a big central line at the front, where people are sorted by their DMV needs, and then sent to wait with a little ticket number in the groups of plastic chairs arranged all around the outside wall of the office. Monitors are here and there, depicting which alcoves are serving which numbers. Most of the chairs are full, though occasionally someone will get up to use a restroom, or their number will be called, and a seat will open up.

Hank Pym has suffered through the line on the way in, and described his issue to the front desk. A number ticket provided, he's waved blandly towards the seats, and heads that way, with an attempt at patience all over his face. It's a common look at the DMV: everyone knows they will wait, they expect to wait, yet waiting still sucks. Hank's dressed casually and has papers in one hand, a ticket in the other, blending in with everyone else, though he has a laptop bag over one shoulder as well. He scans the chairs, spotting one open up as the married couple near Lois get their number called, and moves to take over the seats: one for himself, the other for his laptop bag temporarily while he pulls the strap off over his shoulder, eyes on his ticket, not on Lois yet.

Lois Lane has posed:
No one is ever in the DMV because they want to be there, and Lois Lane is no exception. Renewing online isn't an option because it's been at least ten years since she's gotten her picture taken for it. That was a long time ago. Before Clark Kent. Before Superman. Before a lot of things.

She's pondering these things when she glances over next to her, almost doing a double take. Was that... Hank Pym? Well /crap/. That's a face she hadn't seen in some time, a face she hadn't hoped to see for some time more. She looks back down at her ticket, up to the monitor, then down to her ticket. Would he notice her? Would he /say/ anything?

She rips the band-aid off. Without looking up from her ticket, she says, "Hank." It's not a greeting, it's an acknowledgement that he exists in a nearby location.

Hank Pym has posed:
There aren't loads of people that call him Hank. It immediately sorts her into a particular bucket of people. It makes her somebody he's met outside of a professional situation. He immediately looks up and over to her, grey-blue eyes sharp and analytic. Hank's direct looks are often penetrating, particularly when he's alert. There's a sense of quick calculation, and he's identified her. "Lois, yes?" Hank asks, in a way that isn't a question. He knows she's Lois, but he's fully able to do social niceties when it suits him.

"Janet's friend; star reporter. How are you?" Hank asks, taking the pressure off by fishing in his bag. He's friendly in the same way a dentist is friendly. It isn't fake, but it isn't invested in her answer, either.

Lois Lane has posed:
"Yes," Lois agrees, once again acknowledging a fact. She is Lois Lane. "Janet's friend. The reporter. Lois." All facts. She straightens up, turning her gaze to the monitor. "Well, thank you." Should she say something else? Leaving it there was /awkward/. "How are you?" Her tone isn't unfriendly, just a little flat. Mostly because she's thinking of what she can say without engaging. That's a big elephant in the room and she's not sure how to edge by the thing.

Hank Pym has posed:
"Mm," Hank agrees when she confirms everything he already knew. Hank has a tendency to know a lot, and not hide it. It can be irritating to some people, but it isn't /fake/. "I'm fine now, aside from being in the DMV."

Not to worry, Hank is able to haul any elephant out into the middle of the room and shove other people's faces up against it. He doesn't let her down. "I'm sure Janet spewed vitriol all over my name to you," he observes, with a wry half-smile. It isn't aggrandizing: he's just facing the issue.

He finally checks his number, then looks up at the screen. This looks like hours. "/Nope/," Hank Pym snorts at the ticket, and fully draws his laptop out, setting it on his thighs and opening it.

Lois Lane has posed:
Lois doesn't mind the know-it-all-ness. She minds it from people who /don't/. Hank, at least, can back up his statements. That is something she respects, even if she might not necessarily like the guy. She shifts in her seat, crossing one leg over the other in an attempt to sit more comfortably.

"Of course she did. It's what happens in messy breakups. I'd be more worried if she didn't." She looks at the monitor, then back at Hank's laptop. "Ugh, I wish I had thought of that. I could be /working/ right now."

Hank Pym has posed:
"Entire waste of everyone's time. This whole process could be automated," Hank snorts in agreement, easily accepting the workaholic attitude. He himself is one, and then some. However, she'll recognize that he is NOT, in fact, working, after he brings up a few odd looking consoles in an operating system she'd never have seen before, enters some strings, and then suddenly he has a mini-window of a screen that looks exactly like the consoles the DMV officers in the main area are using.

Because, of course, Hank's not going to wait while he can in fact change his fate. And it will not include sitting there! "Some of what she's said is accurate," Hank shares evenly. "But not everything. I have since stopped eating babies," he says sarcastically as he flits through menus.

Lois Lane has posed:
Lois shrugs. "It's online if your issue is simple enough... which it never is. It would be great if you could just /call/, but that never works either they always want you to come in." Well, if there's anything they can agree on it's how ineffecient the DMV is.

"She never said anything about eating babies. It was more that you paint the side of a barn by launching them out of cannons." Did Janet ever say such a thing? Perhaps the equivalent. It's then that she pauses, noting the screens as he flips through them. She leans the tiniest bit closer. "Interesting trick you've got there."

Hank Pym has posed:
"Cannons are a Stark thing; everyone gets confused," Pym's deadpan but his expression betrays his sarcastic amusement. He's no actor at all, his pleasure at his own joke is apparent on his face. "Mine would be inside a particle collider tube." Right.

"Trick? More specifically that their technology is rudimentary and mine is not," Hank supplies evenly, flatly truthful and entirely tactless. He's navigated to control the queue system now. "I'm not going to change vehicle registration data myself. I'm not paid for that." Not his job.

"But if you're going to be weird about being here first before me, what's your ticket number?" He looks sideways at her promptingly, pausing in what he's doing.

Lois Lane has posed:
"Ah, I forgot that Tony Stark's the one with the baby cannon," Lois does sound slightly amused. "And I thought presidential candidates were supposed to be kissing babies." She does, however, glance over at his screen again. "I mean, you're proving the point about it needing to be automated. If the technology is that easy..." She shrugs. "But you're the expert, not I." She is at least aware of where her skills do and don't lie. But his mention of the ticket number gets her attention.

Lois looks skeptical for a second. "242. But if you somehow put me as the last person on that list, you're going to prove Janet's rants about your baby massacres are correct."

Hank Pym has posed:
"Don't even get me started on Tony Stark running for president," Hank Pym laughs, as if he were entertaining the idea of Fred Flintstone for president. It's possible Pym thinks it's /odd/, but he doesn't go into a tangent about it. "I prove many of my points, if anyone cares about evidence," says the scientist.

Hank Pym then fixes her with a /stare/ as she challenges him about the baby massacre, and taps a key. "242," the overhead automated voice declares, and Hank just continues to give her that mildly self-satisfied look. It proclaims, of course, that he did that. And there's no humility in it.

Lois Lane has posed:
Lois returns the look, begrudgingly letting a smile cross her lips. "Perhaps the rumors of dead babies have been slightly exaggerated," she offers as she gets up to her feet. "I'll be sure to remember to not mention you exist to her." Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she starts to head towards the counter.

"Thanks. I mean it."

Hank Pym has posed:
"Oh, she knows," Hank supplies, with a shrug of one shoulder, attention going back to his laptop. His number, 398, is read out, and he closes it and slips it away, getting to his feet. "We're maintaining a cease-fire." He follows her towards the counters. "No secret that we both made horrible mistakes." It isn't grudging, or angry: it's tired. And the man is including himself in the people that made mistakes. Perhaps he's capable of growth.

He lifts one hand in a strong semblance of a calm wave, as they part ways and she thanks him. "Sure."

Lois Lane has posed:
"Oh good, I can stop pretending you don't exist then," Lois comments, accompanied by a good-natured laugh. "It's good there's some sort of pause in that battle, if nothing else." She doesn't seem to have a problem with him if he's not actively in a fight with Janet. It's what you do when your friends need it.