3670/A Drink From Raphael's flask

A Drink From Raphael's flask
Date of Scene:	03 October 2020
Location:	Pym's Mobile Lab
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Hank Pym, Michael Hannigan

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Hank Pym has posed:
The security at Avengers' Mansion is tight, but polite. In a very period Mike Hannigan is scanned for weapons or metahuman energy signals, checked against a database of enemies, and passed as not overt threat. The staff seems to think the real problem is Dr. Pym.

"Hello Dr. Pym... Yessir... I know you're very busy... Yes sir. No sir. Yes I like working here sir... sorry sir." The guard holds the phone away from her ear. "He said you've met sir. Yessir, sending picture now... /OK/ sir!"

Loud click. The guard rubs her eyes. "OK, you're cleared. Still want to go in? He's in a mood. I don't know how he found not one but two wives." She belatedly makes sure the receiver is in the cradle and shudders.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike stands a bit wide eyed, not expecting the impromptu picture being taken. But hey, it was kind of an impulse thing. He was on that side of town and enough time has gone by that Pym was probably rested from the wrestling match incident. So why not?

Hearing the question, Mike blinks. "Probably because he's able to express emotion?" He answers the guard, giving a small smile to her. "Yeah I'll still go in. I have moods myself. It's alright." He pauses, glancing around, "So...which direction do I go?"

Hank Pym has posed:
Mike is told they keep Dr. Pym out in the yard. He is directed thusly. He finds Hank's mobile lab with the door open, invitingly. Infer what you want from the welcome mat replacing welcome with a computer key reading 'Return.' A few ants the size of Bernese Mountain dogs watch him curiously but don't come close. there's a faint tingle as of static as Mike passes through the open door. Hank is in the front room. Instead of civilian close or his Ant-Man or other costumes the Avenger wears a think cumbersome suit. Wires trail from it to a little cart he wheels with him. Hank has several days of stubble and he looks kind of sunken. No make that shrunken. Previously he was a few inches taller than Mike. Now he looks about 5' 7". He extends a hand to Mike and and smiles.

"Hi, sorry for the welcome. I-I've not been well and I'm trying to get right. It's not contagious."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
There's very few ways one can describe the expression Mike gives as he's told that Pym is kept IN THE YARD. But the smile he gave the guard goes away. The yard? But-. No. No one could be that mean. There's probably a good reason. Maybe he likes to be close to the Ants?

As he walks towards the indicated area of the yard, and he sees the pet ants looking right back at him, he tilts his head curiously. Ok yes. That appears to be EXACTLY the case. Even the mansion doesn't want ants.

He pauses long enough to look to the mat. A few clicks going by before it registers, bringing back the smile. As he walks in, he's conditioned to glance up but the change in height throws him off a bit. Mike looks down slightly, taking the hand to give it a shake. "Hey Hank." Mike greets, glancing to the attire. "It's alright. Caution's a thing nowadays. Annnnd I'm no stranger to moods either."

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym indicates a chair and takes a seat. The suit looks heavy. "It doesn't help I'm Bipolar and I have to avoid my meds... that is I am eliminating the possibility they are responsible for /this/ I'm kind of on my downward spiral right now. I keep a picture of my daughter around. It helps." He fumbles in the suit before extracting a cel phone and calls up a picture of a brown haired, impossibly happy young girl. He replaces the phone.

"So what brings you? Not that I'm not flattered one of my favorite artists is in my lab." He sits a little awkwardly and finally adjusts the seat down with a grumph.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike frowns, at the mention of having to be off the medicine. "That explains earlier...You're good with me. I'm used to it. As for the why well, I was in the area and thought I'd stop by to see how you were doing." Mike answers, still looking to the attire. "I'd have come sooner after the wrestling match but I have another friend who is going through some - stuff and his support group is not as large. Plus, I didn't want to get in the way." He holds out a hand, gesturing to the attire, "Is all 'this' just to tend to a height thing or is there something else going on?"

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym gives a nervous little chuckle. "Well I do size changes with these little particles I can control mentally. Something is interfering with that process. So you get things like this. There's other symptoms I won't bore you with, but it's sort of like the bends. Anyway, I'm running tests to determine what is causing it and then I'll see what I can do to stop it. Superheroing... hate that term... is not always about punching some guy in a costume."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike sits down in the other chair, posture leaning forward slightly as he listens to Hank's explanation. "So, shrinking and growing too fast causes stress on the body." He surmises, "And it's going a little haywire at the moment."

He pauses, "Have you ruled out fatigue as being a factor? Are you sleeping well?"

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym makes a little note. "I can check my blood for fatigue poisons and plot against these episodes. Some how I don't think so. When I've been fatigued I usually return to my normal size. I'm sleeping all right. I never sleep really soundly. I've seen too much. Oh, this is a personal matter. I would appreciate your discretion. No this is... like spasms. Like I'm a diver ascending too fast. Only, descending too fast causes distress as well. Then sometimes it's like I'm an elastic band and I've just been stretched too much and have trouble returning to my normal size. Excuse me..." Hank puts a hand to his mouth, stifles a sharp sigh as he seems to ripple and twitch and return to his normal size.

"Ah... sorry. This is encouraging. At least I tend to regain normal mass without effort. Let me get some bloodwork going. I'm sorry Mike. I need to do this immediately... give me a call or email me through the Mansion webpage if you like. I want to hear about your playing. Now you'll excuse me..." He gets up from the seat now too low for him and heads for a blood test kit, utterly engrossed in his work.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike nods as Hank points out that it's personal. "I won't bring it up with anyone else." He pauses, looking to Hank, "...Want my number? Just in case?"

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym looks over a moment and says, "Sure. I left my pad on the counter. Thanks. I just want to rule out your idea."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike nods, walking over to the counter Hank was at before, picking up the pen. "I gotcha." He glances down scrawling out his number. "I've had sleep problems before. Figured out a few tricks. If it turns out to be that, let me know."

The pen sets down and Mike makes his leave. "Take care, Hank."