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Date of Scene: 24 February 2021
Location: Maxima's Ship Orbiting Earth
Synopsis: A cultural exchange as Scott learns about Almeracian fashion and Maxima learns about Earth music.
Cast of Characters: Scott Lang, Maxima

Scott Lang has posed:
"Maxima? MAXIMA! I'm not sure I'm quite grasping this matter fabricator. If you'd just let me go home, ten, twenty minutes tops I could pack my own clothes. I won't run away, I promise!" Scott pleads as he steps out of the room containing what would be a world-changing invention on Earth. For Scott though right now it's just a way for Scott to get a set of clothes that wasn't the Ant-Man suit or a hospital gown.

Unfortunately it was not surprisingly set for Almeracian fashion. Even less fortunately Scott almost but didn't quite get the sizings right. As such the emerald green, trimmed in gold top seems to float on his upper body a bit, much of it solid rather than fabric, save for the half-cape that flutters over one shoulder. Despite being too large it still bares his hairy midriff and most of his arms. That wouldn't be so bad but the bottoms, well, at least he got matching colors but the problem seemed just the opposite, tight shorts that for some reason still came with a chunky metallic belt. If a girl wore them to high school there's a good chance she'd get sent home. As is Scott squirms and picks at them more than he should as he walks. All this capped with knee high boots, those at least he got the size right. But they came with a 1 inch heel and he still wasn't sure if that was male fashion or he'd picked women's footwear. He stumbles a bit now and then, not surprising perhaps, one hand frequently on a wall or whatever bit of furniture was nearby that offered a steady handhold.

Maxima has posed:
Maxima stands on the circular central raised dais of the control room from which the entire ship can be commanded. This Imperial Almeracian flagship, as Scott has learned during his stay so far, while it can be crewed by a full compliment of soldiers, due to extensive automation and a highly sophisticated onboard computer intelligence is capable of being operated by a single individual. Or two individuals, if Maxima is making use of a simulacrum.

When Scott enters the command deck, Maxima has her hands on her hips staring at the viewscreen of Earth like she is impatiently waiting for something, likely the other parties to the journey soon to be undertaken that are still preparing. Waiting is likely something Maxima has rarely ever had to do in her life and she doesn't seem to like it much.

"You look fine." She informs Scott when she turns her head in his direction. "Can't you just use your size manipulation powers to make the attire fit properly?" Of course she thinks he looks fine, Almeracian fashion sense is certainly... 'unique'.

Scott Lang has posed:
Scott pauses as he considers her words, still teetering a bit on the rather shallow heels. He swore the screen had been showing flats. Taking a few more steps he flops heavily into a seat, goosebumps on his legs. It wasn't cold on the ship, but it FELT cold, looking out at space and with shorts like this on. "The size manipulation relies on very specific...energies that I only have so much of and I can only get more on Earth. I don't want to waste any until we're ready to try and fix the city," he shares, about the most he's told her of Pym particles since this whole ordeal began.

Even now he looks at her somewhat warily despite agreeing to come with her, only to wince and lean to one side to adjust the bulky yet revealing top. "Ugh. I'm just going to make a bunch of robes. Can't go wrong with robes. Togas maybe. Sure I can figure out how to tie a toga before we reach Almerac," he concludes as he digs a hand into the 'fabulous' looking football pads he had as a top. Certainly those shorts had no pocket so he was happy to find the top had SOME functionality as he pulls out his phone.

It wasn't to try and call home this time though as he sets it on one of the warship's consoles. "Least I learned a few things to keep me occupied while you were off on your diplomatic missions or whatever you've been up to while leaving me here," he proudly states before flicking through the phone and calling out, "Computer, scan and play Enter Sandman!" The same limited access that let him use the fabricator let him at least pull that much off, even if she still refused to let him fly. For some reason. Over the ship's speakers the opening chords from Metallica's perhaps most famous tune begin to play out.

Maxima has posed:
"Oh?" Maxima cants her head, seemingly slightly intrigued by Scott's statement about unique energies only found on Earth being the source of his powers. She again regards the planet with an expression like maybe it is worth conquering after all. She doesn't say it out loud, but it is not hard to discern that look in her eyes.

"Computer, measure Scott Lang and create warrior attire 347-2B in his dimensions." Maxima instructs the ships onboard systems.

<<As you wish Lady Maxima. It will be waiting in the Matter Fabrication Unit.>>

"It would not do to have your resources run out before the task ahead is accomplished and my people are restored. Perhaps that will fit better. It was the preference of one of the few males I am acquainted with back on Almerac."

She watches Scott curiously when he takes out his phone and addresses the computer. At first she blinks in surprise when she strange Earth music begins flooding the command deck. It may be a warship but this advanced alien tech has one hell of a sound system. After a moment Maxima's head begins moving back and forth in rhythm with the music, "I do not hate this." Faint praise, perhaps understated, still better than being blasted out an airlock for displeasing her.

Scott Lang has posed:
"Wait it can just measure me? Why didn't...you know what nevermind," Scott mutters, just happy to learning something else about the vessel he might make use of. Rolling his ankles as best he can in the boots, he dares to actually stand up again and takes a few tottering steps towards Maxima, leaning as casually as he's able against a raised console. Thus far at least the ship's AI seemed well enough able to deal with him pushing any buttons accidentally without initiating a self-destruct or other dangerously comedic mishap thankfully.

"So why so few fellows? I'd think a warrior space princess would be having all the little space princes and space kings chasing her down. Fancy court dinners? Ballroom dances...do you have a throne? Oh my god I only just now realized Cassie is going to be mad I didn't introduce her to the one princess I know," Scott babbles on, sounding genuinely nervous about that last one. 'We're off to never never-land' rumbles over the speakers.

Maxima has posed:
Maxima glances over at Scott, "Of course it can measure you. It can detect in detail the specifications of an enemy starship. Something as simple as gauging the dimensions of your anatomy is a trivial task."

She continues to peer at him from atop her dais as he hobbles over to where she is. "The Almeracian empire does not produce men, they are inefficient for attaining maximum genetic potential. Females can be created from any viable genetic pairing whereas men can only be created from male and female genetic combinations or direct cloning. In order to attain the peak of excellence in specimens males were abandoned centuries ago, however exceptional specimens are still adopted from outside of the Empire." She just sort of peers at him when he starts talking about things like dances, "There is a throne, yes. I have not ascended to it yet."

Scott Lang has posed:
"Yea but that's...out there it's not...this thing isn't recording me all the time is it?" Scott asks, a bit of paranoia creeping in between the scanners and now the talk of men being obsolete. His brain mulling over the situation for a good few long seconds. "And I mean, I like to think we men have our uses. We're stro-" stopping short as he casts a look at Maxima's biceps, recalling how she can wreck a city street, or a rampaging bug monster. "Well, we can think differently. And having a dad help raise a kid is just as important as a mom, even if the courts don't always agree," a hint of bitterness seeping into his tone.

'Hush little baby, don't say a word'

Scott sucks in a deep breath when his eyes suddenly light up and he stares at Maxima with a possible dawning realization as to what her words might mean. "Wait. Wait hold the phone. Have you...have you even been on a date before? Hell have you even kissed someone? Or has it just been galactic conquest all this time?" One can almost sense...no she was psychic, she could certainly sense some growing feeling of his desire to tease her on this subject.

Maxima has posed:
"There are security systems which monitor this entire ship." Maxima answers ominously without directly answering Scott's question about being recorded. "You certainly do seem to think differently." She agrees, "I believe that was one of the reasons also, male specimens were considered too hot headed to make proper decisions in diplomacy and on the battlefield." It's like she hasn't even met herself, or maybe the Almeracian men were actually worse.

"What is a date?" She regards him curiously, "Based on what you are thinking it seems to be a courtship ritual among Earthlings. Frivilous." Her eyes narrow perhaps daring him to tease her.

Scott Lang has posed:
Scott's mouth opens, all set to indeed make some smart aleck comment about Maxima's lovelife or lack thereof, but he doesn't need be psychic to read that glare. His jaw clicks shut and while he doesn't have the Ant-Man suit on he seems to shrink a bit all the same as he breaks eye contact and looks out at the Earth instead.

"I'm not gonna deny I've made some dumb decisions in my life but I'm not sure those are just because I'm a guy. But, yeah, you know, courtship! I mean, do you just conquer? Is that all you want out of life? I guess it could be different with aliens. Here on Earth most of us want to find someone else to spend and share our lives with. So you date, get to know each other. Go out to dinner. Snuggle up watching movies. Last one I had was mini-golf, nothing to do with shrinking it's...not important right now. But finding someone you enjoy spending a lot of time with and share interests. Man I'm not selling this very well probably, look you're an alien warlord, this probably all does sound very silly to you just like not dating and having relationships sounds weird to me. No judging I swear!" Scott pleads as he raises his hands palms up as if in surrender of the topic as the final 'We're off to never neverland' plays out over the speakers.

Maxima has posed:
Maxima looks towards the image of Earth on the viewscreen and back to Scott again, perhaps debating what those other factors might be. "Eventually before I ascend the throne I will need to find one who is worthy to be combined with my genetic legacy and create the next generation of the Imperial Bloodhouse. It is a sacred duty to perpetuate the Empire and keep it growing ever stronger. There are no movies involved though only prowess on the battlefield and demonstration of other desirable qualities like diplomacy or strong psionic potential."

Scott Lang has posed:
Scott scratches just above his brow and turns his head away. This wasn't a conversation he'd been expecting to have, much less while wearing tight shorts and glittering hockey pads. "Right I get, you know, rah rah rah, warriors conquer all thing you've got going on but, do you all have...fun? Romance? Anything outside of the whole war against the universe thing? I mean I've got a job to but then I go home and spend time with my kid, listen to music. Oh and then I've got my magic! Hold on I don't have my cards but, hey now, watch this!"

From seemingly nowhere a red ball is in Scott's fingers. What follows is several seconds of him seemingly to switch hands only to have it reappear in his other hand, pulling it from his chestplate pocket that he never seemed to put it into, out of his mouth, making it vanish from both hands, and other sleights of hand. He's wearing a cocky grin on his face by the time he's done and raises a brow. "Pretty good huh?"

Maxima has posed:
Maxima's expression becomes puzzled like she doesn't quite understand what he means. "War is fun. The place a warrior feels truly alive is on the field of battle and the best death they can hope for is fighting for the Empire. Romance... notions similar to this are described in old books. I have heard it still exists among the lower castes but for the Warrior caste strength of genetic material is all. Certainly there are various forms of entertainment like gladiatorial matches or physical stimulation, however things similar to your Earth notion of romance were largely abandoned at the same time as traditional biological reproduction."

She watches his tricks with the ball seeming to keep up with its position a bit too well, damn telepathy. "I see you are proud of your reflex and manual dexterity training. Keep it up and it may prove of use to you on the battlefield." Faint if seemingly sincere praise.

Scott Lang has posed:
Scott's expression falls a bit as it becomes clear he hadn't really impressed Maxima much at all. "Yea I admit I can get a rush out of a fight now and then but, I'd much rather be relaxing at home with a videogame or playing with my daughter. Or just sitting outside with a beer on a warm Spring day. None of this, nothing getting through to you? Or like, you never find yourself alone on this ship up here wishing you had someone else with you while you're tearing through space all alone?" he questions, actually making the ball disappear into the chestplate pocket and pondering his next act. She'd seemingly liked the music at least, maybe some more of that. "Hey computer, why don't you play another song off my phone!" he calls out.

He'd never really considered what a wide variety of music he had on there. The strident tones of an accordion begin before Weird Al's high-pitched tones are added. "P-p-p-polka face!" Scott just looks straight ahead with a dead-eyed stare and a sigh.

Maxima has posed:
Maxima stops and considers this, "For this mission I was considered all that was necessary to send in order to deal with recovering the city from Brainiac. Strategic deployment of resources is very important to continued conquests. Company is not required, however, I was greatly helped in my mission by Supergirl and did come to greatly appreciate her friendship. She is powerful yet compassionate, and all too familiar with how strange this backwater rimworld is.

She studies Scott for a long moment again, "You are very peculiar among humans Scott Lang. More formidable than a mere pet. I do not mind your presence.." she starts to say only to be cut off by the new song. "What discordant madness is this?!"

Scott Lang has posed:
"Alright we're not that bad, I mean we have bacon cheesburgers. I doubt Almerac has those," Scott tries to defend his backwater rimworld. Much as he loves Weird Al though he realizes it's an acquired taste, squinting as Maxima lets her opinion be known. "Not sure, must be something wrong with your ship," he conjectures.

"Ship systems operating at 100% functionality," comes a digitized and yet still somehow annoyed sounding voice through the same speakers even as the music continues.

"Or my phone maybe..."

"Earth tech scanned and found to be operating at 100% functionality of its limited capabilities."

"Cassie must have put it on there."

"Purchasing records on phone indicate that..."

"THANK YOU COMPUTER, STOP MUSIC!" Scott hollers, the noise ceasing at last. One can almost sense the warship has a self-satisfied smirk about it. Scott jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm just gonna go get my phone and that new set of clothes you made me, get that all worked out. If you need me you know where I am Maxima," Scott following that up with an odd wave of his hands before he settles on a tentative fingerguns at her. After that he awkwardly prances over to the console, making steadier but no less awkward looking progress in the heeled boots, snatching his phone off the console before he makes his way back towards the fabricator.