View source for 651/Hail to the King

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2020/03/20
|Location=Avengers Mansion - Empty Room
|Synopsis=Steve Rogers, newly appointed Lord of Midgard, informs Janet of the changes to the status quo.
|Cast of Characters=38,60
|pretty=yes
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{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:38|Steve Rogers (38)}} has posed:'''<br>There's been something in the back of Steve's eyes for about a day now. It's not precisely a shadow, but it is indeed a worry, and someone who knows him well enough will be able to pick it out despite his mask of business and the public face full of a friendly smile.<br><br>This evening, he's sprawled across his bed in what appears to be a starfish splay of appreciation of space. Or resigned acceptance of his circumstances. Or both. Either way, the man can be heard to blow a sigh and rub a hand down his face before spanning his eyes with fingers. Fingertips rub at his temples. He's changed to grey sweatpants and a t-shirt emblazoned with a bright golden "WASP" on a black background.<br><br>"This's a total cluster..." His voice fades out even as he murmurs to himself. It's pretty clear what he was going to say regardless.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:60|Janet van Dyne (60)}} has posed:'''<br> "Uh-huh," comes the vaguely unsympathetic response. Janet's curled up at Steve's desk with a vastly oversized drafting pad balanced against her bare thighs. Various colored pencils and charcoals are scattered nearby and the edge of the desk digs into dainty feet that are propped against the hardwood for purchase. <br><br> It's late enough that she's in her jammies, which consist of brief sleeping shorts in pink and a white camisole top. One of Steve's old sweatshirts is draped loosely over her shoulders as if she can't decide whether she's too warm or too cold. <br><br> "I mean, what? Yes," Janet corrects, when she realizes more input might be needed. The fashionista looks up at Steve and flashes a slightly vapid if distracted smile, then looks sidelong and scowls at her work as if it's personally offending her on some deep emotional level. <br><br> "I'm completely tuned out, darling. What did you say?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:38|Steve Rogers (38)}} has posed:'''<br>Steve lifts up his head once he can tell that Janet is back in the moment and not lost to her work. As a fellow artistic sort, he deeply respects the zone of zen in which the greatest creativity can flow from mind to hand, through pencil and ink to paper.<br><br>"I called a situation what it is," the man explains obliquely at first. A little grunt and he crunches up in order to sit with legs crossed on the bed. He's tempted to bury his face in his hands, but instead opts to anchor elbows to his knees and rest his chin in his hands. Janet gets a squint.<br><br>"'m currently the Lord of Midgard, Janet." He says this as if it were an everyday occurance: Thor burnt toast again -- the mail came -- Steve's shield bounces -- the sun rose -- Asgard currently claims that Captain America rules the world. No big. Admittedly, it's a bit of a test of her current attention level.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:60|Janet van Dyne (60)}} has posed:'''<br> Janet's nose wrinkles in slow confusion at Steve's words. "No I'm pretty sure they have a Parliament," Janet informs Steve with a hesitant deliberation. "Right? Or am I thinking of a Republic. Either way, you're not using that word right. Lord is a hereditary title," she says. The petite fashionista is making a game effort to ignore her work; it's a losing battle until she sighs, flips the sketchpad closed, and pivots in the chair to face Steve full on. Slender forearms wrap around her shins and she hugs her thighs to her chest, peering over her knees at Steve. <br><br> "Wait, who made you Lord of anything? Did you go on some adventure without me?" she inquires with a sudden mild petulance. "If I'd know we could ask for titles of marque, I'd have put the screws to a couple monarchies by now and get my Princess on. I'd settle for Duchess. Marquessa, even," she offers.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:38|Steve Rogers (38)}} has posed:'''<br>Despite himself, the Captain smirks just enough that the ghost of a dimple appears. He lifts those expressive brows while otherwise keeping up the benign moue upon his face. The disbelief is admittedly amusing.<br><br>"Asgard's a monarchy, Midgard is what they call Earth. We're one of the worlds on their World Tree. Thor's talked about it a few times, that's the only way I've known about it. All-Father proclaimed it in Court a day back," he explains, intent on getting through the story before anyone else influences opinions on matters. "Thor thought to himself, why not have an Ambassador to Asgard from Earth? He asks me to do it. I say, sure, glad to, happy to be a voice for those who can't speak, honored to be trusted. I was before the All-Father and he said, 'I name thee Lord of Midgard'. Thought it was a ceremonial title for the Court there. Turns out in Asgard, it's...pretty literal." Steve nods to himself, eyes fallen down to linger on Janet's toes. "Thor explained like I was the ruler of Earth. Or King. Lord of Midgard."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:60|Janet van Dyne (60)}} has posed:'''<br> Janet's brows both rise up towards her bangs. "Oh, uh... wow. Yeah," she says, and whistles soundlessly. She shifts around, crossing and recrossing her ankles, as she processes that information. One hand rises to tuck slightly over-long brunette curls behind her ear. <br><br> "Uh... well, okay, first, don't panic," she advises Steve, and sits upright with feet pointed at the ground and her back properly straight. "Just because Odin /says/ you're Lord of Midgard doesn't mean you get to order around, like, the President, or whomever," she advises him. <br><br> "I mean, Odin's Odin, he can say 'I'm the Ruler of the Nine Realms' all he wants, but that doesn't make Thor our boss," she adds. "And that doesn't mean you have to go have an awkward conversation with the United Nations tomorrow." <br><br> Green eyes dance. "Even if I would totally pay big bucks to see you break that news to them," she adds with an impish expression.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:38|Steve Rogers (38)}} has posed:'''<br>"'m in complete agreement," Janet's guy replies after giving a dubious arched brow. Of course she'd find amusement in such a thing. "This goes beyond all jurisdiction regardless of whether or not the United Nations finds out about it. Think all we can do is keep it under wraps until there's some solution for it."<br><br>He finally wipes a hand across half of his face and sits up, his smile pinched and more flat that anything else. "Fury's gonna pop a vein," he reminds her of his boss at SHIELD with an awkward shrug of those broad shoulders. "He's probably very aware that Nat 'nd I weren't on-world for a while. Gonna want an explanation. Figure if I keep a bland expression, he'll eventually run out of steam."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:60|Janet van Dyne (60)}} has posed:'''<br> Janet rises and moves to stand in front of Steve. She takes his blocky jaw in her hands and gently passes her palms along his cheekbones and brow as if trying to soothe away his apprehensions. "Look, you're way overthinking this," Janet informs him. "You're trying to be an interpreter and an ambassador. You're a great soldier, honey, but high society nuance isn't something you're great at," she says in a gently encouraging tone. <br><br> "Listen. Don't tell Fury anything," she advises him. "In fact, the first person you need to talk to is Thor, and do it over some ale. Have a few drinks with him, go... throw horseshoes across Long Island, I don't know. Get him relaxed. Then ask him what -he- expects you to do as Lord of Midgard," she says. Her lips curl around the words with wry amusement. "And then if there's really a miscommunication, you two go back to Odin and you tell him that..." Fingers gently scratch under Steve's jaw as she looks upwards for inspiration, exhaling a puft of air to make her bangs dance. "Tell him you've got oaths of loyalty to nations on Earth, and they would, uh... preclude you from being placed above those nations." <br><br> She looks down at him and her hands spread to go with an interrogative shrug. "But that's if the conversation even needs to go that far. Odin doesn't expect you to rule Earth. He expects you to make decisions on Earth's behalf at his court. If I'm remembering my Jane Austen right, anyway," she hedges. "In which case, just go do it, and don't worry about explaining it to anyone -here-. If it becomes a problem, then, burn that bridge when you come to it," she says with another and more pragmatic shrug.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:38|Steve Rogers (38)}} has posed:'''<br>The softness of her palms passing along his brows and across those proud cheekbones into his temples keeps the worst of the mild vexation at bay; he's convinced yet he can be an ambassador, but interpreter might be another thing entirely. Tension in the lines of his body lessen regardless. His lips pull to one side in rueful amusement yet at her suggestion as to avoiding Fury.<br><br>He simply can't be avoided, not if Steve wants to attempt to reach his office in the Triskelion.<br><br>"'m on-board with just about everything you've said." One of the Wasp's hands is collected up in his gentle grip in order to be held, an anchor and point of solace as he thinks, eyes on his thumb brushing over her knuckles back and forth. "I think you're right in Odin not expecting me to rule Earth. I do stand by that I accepted it as a ceremonial title as best; speaking for Earth 'nd making decisions is something 'm comfortable with."<br><br>He still gives the fashionista a thoughtful look from beneath his lashes. "Thinking of keeping it under wraps as much as we can?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:60|Janet van Dyne (60)}} has posed:'''<br> Janet sighs theatrically with a heavy slump of shoulders as Steve partially demures. "I guess even Mister Perfect isn't perfect, since he's passing on perfectly good advice," she says with a haughty diffidence. Janet steps forward and hugs Steve's forehead to her collarbone and rummages fingers through his hair. <br><br> "And yes. I wouldn't broadcast this, and I woudn't tell Fury. Why add to his workload?" she inquires with a rhetorical argumentative position. Her tone and touches are deliberately intended to help entice a bit of relaxation and distraction for the conflicted blonde soldier. <br><br> "Actually," she prefaces, hedging. Janet brushes against Steve a little indecently. "I'm thinking of how 'Lady van Dyne' would sound," she says, dreamily. "You /clearly/ need a little shoulder angel whispering in your ear," she says, and does just that with those words, then grazes the shell of Steve's ear with her teeth. <br><br> "I'm almost sure Odin wouldn't take you seriously without one," she admonishes Steve a second later and teasingly straightens again. Fingers hook loosely behind her neck and she sways at arm's length, looking down at him. "Unless you've got someone else in mind for the job?" Her voice is so sweetly persuasive that one might be hard pressed to find fault with her complete lack of sound argument.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:38|Steve Rogers (38)}} has posed:'''<br>Janet's perfume, as always, tends to both relax him and scatter his wits in appreciation. She's got him giving her that tilted look of fond rue, especially after the light ear nibble and the saccharine tone of voice.<br><br>"Look...I know you think it's gonna be me telling Fury. It's not. Man finds everything out one way or another. It'll be me explaining, not confessing. But...who knows? Could miss something for once since he's busy enough fielding Genosha material." Steve sits up more, hands now rested on his knees, and rolls his shoulders slowly a few times against a building kink in his neck.<br><br>"Don't have to convince me that you're 'Lady Van Dyne' anyways, &lt;&lt;seillean&gt;&gt;. Title of 'Lord of Midgard' is gonna get recinded at one point, but you're the other half. Means you're a lady after all," he teases, waggling his eyebrows and dimpling at her.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:60|Janet van Dyne (60)}} has posed:'''<br> Janet clambers on the bed and brushes past Steve to get behind him. The points of her knees rest behind his hips and she starts massaging the nexus of discomfort between Steve's trapezius and neck. "I know I don't have to convince /you/," she says, pointedly. "It's the principle of public appearances. /I/ like it when you walk around and tell everyone I'm your only lady, and how much you love me, and how important I am to you," she explains with vast patience. And perhaps working that pinched muscle a bit harder than is necessary. <br><br> "So it's not 'Steve Rogers, Lord of Midgard, and this chick he's got along for the ride'," she clarifies for him. "It's 'Lord Steve and his Lady Janet'," she prompts. "Don't ruin this for me with your pragmatism either; it's the dream of every young American socialite to be made a member of some peerage by hooking up with a hunky blonde dreamboat." <br><br> "And I know I'm a lady already, thank you. I am a /classy bitch/." She digs a pointy elbow into the over-tight bundle of muscle.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:38|Steve Rogers (38)}} has posed:'''<br>Steve allows himself more of a range of emotional display now that the Wasp's hands are working at what appears to be a tightening patch of muscle. Teeth embed at one corner of his mouth against what has to be a snicker lingering in his upper chest while she jams her elbow with precision -- either that, or a concealed wince.<br><br>"I intended to introduce you as 'Lady Janet Van Dyne' at the Court if things came to it, classy as you are. Your public appearance there is in my righteous hands, have no fear," he assures her, still with that wry little undertone of tease. On a more serious note, he glances over his shoulder at her. "Showed up in my suit last time since it seemed appropriate, but what'd'you think should be the rule? Think we need to be in gear every time or maybe fancier wear?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:60|Janet van Dyne (60)}} has posed:'''<br>The digging elbow slows, then withdraws, and Janet wriggles closer to Steve until she's pasted up against his back. Her delicate chin rests on his thick trapezius and out the corner of his eye she delivers him a fairly complex but overwhelmingly pleased expression. <br><br> The playful wriggling of fingers and thighs against him reinforces that perspective if there was any question in his mind. "You mean you need /court/ clothing?" she breathes, dreamily. "Something to wear to impress the Asgardians? Like a formal outfit for court, another for grand soirees, another for the royal hunt, something else for the meadery..." She rises to a high kneeling position behind Steve and is rubbing his shoulders with fitful distraction, belly pressed against his lower shoulderblades. <br><br> "I /guess/ I could come up with something for you," she concludes with a feigned weariness. "But what's in it for me?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:38|Steve Rogers (38)}} has posed:'''<br>Each location is echoed by a nod. Indeed, meadery and court and soirees and even hunting. He brings up his hands to land overtop her distractable fingers lightly, more as connecting touch than gesture to stop or anything of the like.<br><br>"What's in it for you? &lt;&lt;Seillean&gt;&gt;: just fishing for compliments." Steve again glances up and over his shoulder at her, eyes twinkling at her delight in things. "How about the potential for your work to expand beyond Earth itself? Impress a few people at Court 'nd just think: orders not only from Prague 'nd Tokyo, but Vanaheim 'nd other places. JVD fashions could be claimed literally to be 'out of this world'.<br><br>Of course, a grandly sweeping arced span of his hands to follow, thumbs and fingers at angle to frame the concept.<br><br>"That, 'nd we'll both make good impressions, which is never a bad thing."<br> <br>
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