625/I Guess We're Having a Discussion

I Guess We're Having a Discussion
Date of Scene:	19 March 2020
Location:	Avengers Mansion - Back Yard
Synopsis:	Steve and Tony talk politics and titles, Janet shares nigiri.
Cast of Characters:	Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Janet van Dyne

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Tony Stark has posed:
Tony hadn't left the mansion, but he was hidden away well enough that it was hard to track him down quickly. Not impossible, though. Even a house as big as the Avengers headquarters wasn't so big that you couldn't find someone in it. He'd turned out to be in the one of the rooms dedicated to unwinding and relaxation; lined with sofas, a bar, pinball tables, and arcade cabinets.

One of the pinball tables is an older 'Captain America' themed one, based more off the wartime propaganda comics than the actual man himself. Tony stands by it, staring into space. A hand is pressed to his cheek, and his mouth is slightly agape. He doesn't seem to be seething like he was in the kitchen, rather he seems entirely lost in thought. An unusual state of being for him.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve hadn't yet changed out of his suit by the time he'd done a good number of room checks. In the process, he'd been at the end of one hall to see Natasha exit from one of the leisure rooms scattered around the mansion. Pausing to watch her leave, he'd frowned and looked briefly at the other half of the T-junction before dismissing it.

Rogers might be the most experienced at waiting too long, but there had been signs of note to him between his teammates.

He appears in the doorway to the recreational room, a broad-shouldered blond presence as he always is, and after spotting Tony by the classical pinball table, he raps knuckles on the frame of the doorway itself a few times to announce himself.

"Hey Tony." His smile is polite, a little reticent, and almost a touch wary -- guilty? -- both perhaps. "Thought I'd check in on you." Rather than walk directly at Tony, he instead veers for the bar and stoops to rifle around behind it for what appears to be a can of ginger ale.

Tony Stark has posed:
It takes a second for Tony to respond, though it's clear he isn't ignoring Steve but rather he's thinking about something else. It takes the sound of the other man searching around behind the bar to draw him out of it, and he turns to finally spot him. The hand pressed against his cheek lowers quickly, jamming into the pocket of the blazer he wears. He turns a little, clearing his throat and brushing the flour marks from the front of the Black Widow t-shirt he wears.

"Huh," he says, as though still gathering enough words to form a full sentence, "Yeah ... "

Suddenly, a thought strikes him and he tilts his whole body to one side as though trying to look out the door. Not seeing anything, he takes a few furtive steps of his own towards the bar.

"Did you talk to Nat just now?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
While Tony struggles with words and tries to remove the flour upon his shirt, there comes the soft click-hiss of the can of soda being opened. His strength brought to careful check in this, Steve then sips at the drink while he remains standing behind the bar. His free palm rests on the bar's surface as he watches the genius-inventor turn about and then towards him.

The Captain's golden brows lift. "Nat? No, just saw her leave the room. Back of her head looked thoughtful," the man notes with a very casual if understated tease to his tone. "Is there a problem?" Blue eyes rest patiently upon Tony yet.

Tony Stark has posed:
"No problem," Tony says quickly - too quickly - before clearing his throat, "I thought I heard her walking around out there, that's all."

He glances down for a moment at the shirt he wears and the flour on it. He tugs at the hem, looking pensive, and then shakes it all off. The distraction, the distant look; all of it fades at once to be replaced with the standard Stark swagger. He takes a seat at the bar, folding his elbows on the counter.

"So," he begins, eyebrows raised, "King of Earth, huh? I'm pretty sure that's against the UCMJ."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Those eyebrows remain lifted in silent communication of how dubious the super-soldier is. Still, he deeply respects personal privacy given his wish for his own and when Tony doesn't elaborate, he doesn't hare further after the topic.

"Pretty sure it is too." Light gleams in matte silvery hues off the star on the man's chest as he shrugs agreement. "Everyone had good points -- 'nd it's not King of Earth, it's Lord of Midgard, for what the title's worth. Clarity's a little more important than normal here," Steve notes evenly. His eyes fall to his ginger ale and he slowly shakes his head. "Thought it was a ceremonial title only. If I'd known, I would've turned it all down as politely as I could. I went to see about acting as Ambassador."

When he looks up at his fellow Avenger, his expression is deeply sober. "That's within the realms of possiblity around here. A ruling title? Not what I intended. I trust Thor though, Tony. Don't like that his father is attempting to treat us all like we're under his rule still, but...if Thor thinks he can convince his father otherwise? Something to consider in the long run."

Tony Stark has posed:
"That's what I figured," Tony answers, turning his head to look back towards the pinball machine he had been standing by, "He can call you what he likes, but I hardly see you trying to take charge over a whole planet. Worse comes to worst, you'll have to answer for the bad attitude of everyone living here and I figure you're probably the type to do that whether some old alien from mythology gives you a title or not."

He shrugs his shoulders again, shaking his head and leaning both forearms on the bar.

"I should've probably prepared for this, huh? Things changing. This isn't the first thing that's going to happen when I'm not looking. If I win this thing, I'm not gonna be here ... "

Steve Rogers has posed:
A smile flits over the Captain's lips. Accurate, Tony's assumption, that he'd deal with dissent here upon the planet they call home whether he has a title or not. He follows the man's glance towards the gaming console out of social mirroring more than curiosity; he knows the machine well enough having spent a few hours each month putzing around on it.

"Dunno that anyone could've prepared for a teammate coming home accidentally granted the opportunity to be a peer of the realm." A long sigh leaves Steve, still standing behind the bar, as he looks at Tony.

"Read that interview with Lois Lane. It was good." One corner of the super-soldier's lips rises faintly. "Eight years without Iron Man's a long time, Tony. You sure you're not gonna get bored wheeling 'nd dealing with everybody wanting one thing while you're signing for another?"

Tony Stark has posed:
"How's that different from now?" Tony asks, raising his eyebrows, "Something tells me you aren't running a Fortune 500 company in your off-hours."

The interview prompts him to roll his eyes, drumming his fingers on the countertop: "I half-expected to get torpedoed, you know? I got an earful about it afterwards - I shouldn't be making interviews off the cuff without any preparation or talking points. But I think it got the point across."

"When you say eight years without Iron Man," he asks, turning to Steve, "Do you mean the Avengers or me? Because I am Iron Man, suit or no."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve shrugs, bringing the ginger ale up for a sip. "Not running anything like that last time I checked," he replies aimiably. The can makes a quiet clink-clunk on the pristine bar top's surface before he then shuffles in place, resettling feet in his boots and his arms loosely folded.

A small tilt of his head towards Tony is musing. "Being part of the Avengers. Never gonna think of anybody but you when Iron Man comes up. Thing is, you weren't wrong in the interview. You'd have to retire as a separate entity from us, know that we'll have your back as best we can while we stay out of the politics. You able to put that suit aside for the best chance at a clean run as president?" Steve lifts a hand off his bicep. "Acting as vigilante wouldn't bode well while you were in office -- 'nd I don't like using that word, but I suspect that's what the press would call it."

Tony Stark has posed:
"I didn't build the suit to have a good time," Tony explains, voice low, "I mean, I have a good time but that's more of a beneficial side effect than the goal. I built it to survive. It kept me alive when I was dying. Later, I realized I had that responsibility to others. To keep them alive. So, Iron Man became a 'superhero'. First by myself, then when you all came along ... "

He draws his lower lip between his teeth, looking thoughtful. His hand drifts up from the bar to rest over the red emblem emblazoned on the front of his t-shirt, behind white the blue glow of the reactor built into his chest can be seen.

"It isn't about the suit. It's about putting what I have to work to keep others alive. I took a look around and saw that we're in a place now where maybe instead of flying into battle in a suit of armor, I can do more good maybe making sure that battle never needs to be fought at all."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"'nd 'm behind you, Tony. You're better at that wheeling 'nd dealing than anybody I know. Be hard-pressed to name another person. Luthor doesn't know what he's going against." Steve pauses and unfolds his arms, lingers still before he stoops to fish out another ginger ale. This is offered towards Tony in silent commiseration, perhaps, for their troubles at hand.

"The suit's been your saving grace, I know, 'nd ours too more'n once. I can hazard how it might feel to step away from it." A half-gloved hand reaches up and bounces a fingernail off the vibranium shield still tucked to his ring. It rings quietly. "It'd take a helluva reason to make me put this aside. I respect your decision to approach the world's issues from another perspective. Might just be something the world needs, even if it doesn't know about it right now."

He briefly looks off to one side again. "Though, speaking of that...heard opposing arguments about this 'Lord of Midgard' title, wisdom about keeping it under wraps 'nd logic about being open about it. What're your thoughts?"

Tony Stark has posed:
"Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead," Tony offers, taking the ginger ale in hand but not opening it yet, "I don't rate our chances of keeping this to ourselves forever. Eventually it'll come out, and it's better to control the narrative than have some ass like Jonah Jameson ranting about it in the press."

"I tried the secret identity thing. It didn't work for me. That's the same reason I think you need to be upfront about this whole 'Captain Lord' thing. Let people know you speak for them. Though once they realize you're Odin's guy on Earth, you're probably going to need to start holding office hours. You wanted to keep clear of politics, but I get the feeling you might have ended up wading deeper into it than me."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Thought Steve's sigh was gusty before? This is decidedly long-suffering, from the depths of his chest. He briefly peers up at the ceiling as if asking for aid from on high before finishing his ginger ale in one sitting. The can ends up tossed with a muffled metallic clink into the recycle bin beneath the bar.

"Amazing how the stage comes back to haunt me," the man mutters to himself, brows knitted down at his hands pressed against the counter as if they had somehow done something wrong. "Alright, I don't think you're wrong. Need to put the proper spin on it though before it breaks beyond the walls 'nd hits the public. That, 'nd...Fury's gonna want a word with me if not the both of us about it. God, Nat too," he belatedly seems to note with a grimace.

Tony Stark has posed:
"Shit, I didn't even think of Fury," Tony says, but rather than look unnerved at the idea he laughs, "We should get Thor to take him to meet Odin. They'd probably get along. Are we sure they aren't even the same guy?" He lifts one hand to cover his eye, then moves it to cover the other.

"But, yeah, you need to let the cat out of the bag. We made the right call here, regardless of what other people might think. They may have viewed Asgard from afar, but you've been there. Thor's your buddy. You're qualified. More so than me, and I hope you understand just how gut-wrenchingly painful it is for me to admit that."

"You think Nat'll be okay?" he asks, uncharacteristically.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Even if the Captain tucks his chin against showcasing the flitter of amusement at Tony's very apt comparison to the All-Father and Fury, he can't keep it hidden. A glance up from beneath his brows leads his straightening in place, a hint of that smile remaining.

"I appreciate the compliment then as well as your support, Tony," Steve replies with a theatrically-mild tone of voice. "Not often I get it from a president-to-be." The brief front fades in light of the genius-inventor's question. More soberly, he continues, "I think so, but she probably won't get away without Fury talking to her. If SHIELD's going to take this as a breach of propriety, she's still got us here 'nd the mansion. I intend to be at the meeting she has with Fury, for what that's worth. Still considered a Senior Agent on-site." Fingertips drum in an ordered run against the surface of the counter as he looks properly rueful now.

Tony Stark has posed:
"Don't let him tear too much of a hole in her, will you?" Tony asks, leaning in to speak as though hatching a great conspiracy, "As much bad news as Fury is, I'm still reasonably sure you could keep him from getting out of hand. Nat, she - well, she doesn't deserve to get blasted by him, right?"

He straightens up a little, as though he's just revealed some great and terrible secret. He clears his throat and raises a hand, gesturing for Steve to keep that particular conversation quiet and to himself. That done, he pops the tab on his can and takes a sip.

"Bleh, non-alcoholic."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet's soft humming precedes her entry into the kitchen. The fashionista's dressed for the beach-- or something fashionable and proximate to it, anyway, with brief and flowing summer shorts of a pale cyan and a loose-fitting scoop-neck tea in pearlescent silk. High heels and an abundance of gold jewelry make it clear she's not out for a swim, either.

"Don't mind me, just putting dinner away since it's clear someone's going to be -late-," Janet remarks, pointedly, with a sweet smile for Tony and pointed lack-of-noticing Steve. There's a brown paper bag slung over her forearm and held diffidently aside; she opens the fridge, stoops, and starts putting the goods away.

With a smooth pirouette Janet turns and brushes past Tony to fish around in the utensil drawer for two pair of lacquered chopsticks. The little container in her hands is cracked open and the scent of fresh-caught fish wrapped in rice fills the room. All the while, she stares at Steve in a manner just shy of a glare.

"Here, Tony, have a bite," she suggests to the inventor, and deftly plucks a sample of nigiri off the container with the chopsticks and offers it to Tony, one hand cupping the air beneath. "It's Inoue's latest invention, /try/ it," she suggests with a wheedling tone.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"I'll do my best." Which, coming from the good Captain's mouth, is far more of a promise to Tony than an off-hand mollifier of a comment. "Fury might spin something positive out of it in the end rather than seeing it as trouble."

He straightens in place as no one other than Janet arrives looking glamorous in her lovely clothing and --

The man winces and sighs again. "...right." A single word of acknowledgement that, yes, he was, in fact, late. Very late. "Food looks good. I'll be in my room if folks need me further. Good talk, Tony." And with that, Steve dismisses himself to go and divest of his suit as he intended to do so many hours ago.