6611/Londinium Calling

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Londinium Calling
Date of Scene: 18 June 2021
Location: London - England
Synopsis: Blackagar, King of the Inhumans, meets Jane Foster and discusses world history and other issues in London. Also starring Arthur, King of the Britons. Or maybe not.
Cast of Characters: Blackagar Boltagon, Jane Foster




Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The mist of the mid morning still lingers across the Thames as people and vehicles cross over the London bridge. The head down, earbud wearing populace carrying about their own affairs and having to side step around the figure that has stopped in the middle of the foot traffic to observe the outlook of London proper.

Blackagar Boltagon has dressed in the rather normal wardrobe of anyone that might be strolling through the streets of England this morning. Jeans, a T-shirt, nothing that truly stands out from him as he is looking out over the skyline of London with an observational look. So what could possibly be causing individuals to side step around him? It is the presence of a massive dog at his side. This is not the size of a great dane, no, Lockjaw is gigantic in every possible way and is just standing there with his tongue out hanging around.

Naturally people gawk, stop to take pictures, and then continue on their way.

Jane Foster has posed:
London Town is waking up and ferrying its usual cohort of millions through the Tube and overland on bikes, foot, and busses. Traffic calming hasn't done much for the living, beating heart of Great Britain. Stirred up whenever the lights change, a crawling line of cabs, lorries, and cars creeps forward, belching out their unwelcome fumes into the air. It only hangs thicker among the mists acquired on what promises to be a stifling day, the kind of weather that makes people strongly consider hopping a flight to Majorca or retreating to a cottage in one of the northerly counties.

The man and his giant dog both make enough of a stir in a city used to just about everything short of a kaiju. Jane definitely isn't the kind to cause heads to snap, at least not presently. She's acquired a decent sense of direction thanks to a map, the kind purchased with a discreet guidebook so as not to scream tourist. Given how little she references it, apparently she's familiar with this stretch of the city or happy to wander instead of stopping every few steps to check out landmarks or her position against a confusing medieval city reimagined after the Great Fire, and then occasionally studded with blocks of modern buildings.

She isn't killing for a coffee or a mad dash after a set of rare tickets to the V&A Museum or anything of the sort, instead sort of embracing the experience of being carried along, swept with the pedestrians going this way, that way, and every other way. It's a beautiful experience and harrowing in some senses, just giving herself up to whatever the mas feels like.

Which deposits her, ultimately, at an intersection perpendicular to Blackagar and his fine hound, a girl in jeans and an asymmetrical t-shirt, Nobel laureate looking completely chill. And very possibly inviting being trod over by paws, bus wheels, whatever, as she threads closer to the sidewalk.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
In a world where the abnormal so often becomes the normal, it's rather nice that Lockjaw can hang out, slobbering a bit, next to Blackagar as the man turns and starts to walk. As he does towards the intersection he reaches out and pats the 'animal' (who isn't really an animal) in a companion like way before Lockjaw just disappears, teleporting away.

The path Blackagar is taking continues until he finds himself almost ready to bump into Jane directly. Coincidence or not, he stops by the woman and tilts his head observing her. There is a moment of consideration before he lifts his hand and waves it as if to get her attention then from his side he pulls up an old style slate board that he writes on in neat handwriting.

~Pardon, would you be able to help me?~

Jane Foster has posed:
Let them wander how they will, the great dog with his happy jowls and bright eyes attracting a second look. No doubt astonished cries or double-takes accompany his abrupt disappearance. Traffic eventually will fill in the gap sooner than later, though partly thwarted by Jane gravitating into that hole in humanity.

Her startled look catches Lockjaw no longer being there. Mutants, mutants, and superheroes are still a thing, though concentrated in much higher numbers in the US than elsewhere sometimes. At least it's something that still takes her and other Londoners by surprise. Brows rise over those dark, thoughtful eyes, though any further consideration evaporates when she lifts her hand to her brow, pushing away the dark chestnut bangs away. A plain golden bangle slides across her wrist. That shading isn't really needed but it works to frame Blackagar. Stilling completely keeps her from running into him or vice versa, though they can't be protected from everyone else. The slate, though, that gives her pause and an act of reorienting to possibly stand in the way of anyone headed their way.

"Of course." Accent? American, Pacific Northwestern particularly. So decidedly not English. Her guidebook goes right into her back pocket, small enough to slip in. It's a tight fit. Looking from the slate to him, she offers a friendly enough smile. "What can I help you with?"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
With practiced movements, Blackagar erases over the slate board with a swipe of a cloth that gets tucked back into his jean's pocket and he begins to write once more in chalk, taking time to scribble before holding it out towards Jane.

~I am looking for a museum or library of history.~

He let's her read it while standing in the midst of the traffic in the road. At one point a cab driver seems to be rather disgruntled at his presence in the street, stopping to honk his horn and make a gesture towards them. Blackagar looks up, lifting his dark eyes and expression towards the driver and stares at him.

Possessed in that moment is the look. The look someone of authority can muster when needed, whether a parent to a child or royal to a subject, but that expression is laid upon the man who slinks back into his seat and simply waits for traffic to clear enough for him to go around.

Bringing his eyes back to Jane, there's an apologetic smile upon Blackagar's lips as he waits for her reply.

Jane Foster has posed:
The patience Jane holds for a blackboard or chalking up letters shows; she's the protege of no other than one of astronomy's great blackboard lovers. Erik Selveig wasn't exactly up for whiteboards and projectors, favouring the old way of doing things. Therefore, Blackagar can take all the time in the world. Only the irritated Londoners put any pressure on him and she isn't intending to hasten this along any on her part.

"You are in one of the best cities in the world for that," she adds, still interposing herself against the dangers of anyone running them down to the sidewalk. She gestures, guiding them to an island between the various sides of the narrow road. Boulevards are a Parisian thing, but London has its thin spots cut from cement where pedestrians can shelter. "Is there any specific historical period or field that interests you? Natural history, transport history? World? I ask only because London has at least ten major sites that could interest you, based on this."

The cabbie might be prepared to rush on but his awed and disgusted look is caught. These days, she's noticing more than a fair bit. "Sorry, it's easy to get wrapped up. The best museums around are the British Museum; that spans around two million years of human history; and the British Library, which hosts books on nearly every topic you can imagine. Their manuscripts department has a lot of useful documents, though you might need an appointment to see more of the specialty materials."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar has patience himself, even though he gave the stern look to the driver, the humans hold an amused look from him the rest of the time. With the guidance from Jane to the breakway in the traffic he settles in and starts to write once more in response to her questions.

~Imagine you have set foot on this world for the first time. Which would you choose?~

Turning to show her the slate, there's an odd twinkle in the man's eyes that perhaps his question is not that far from reality. He watches Jane for a moment then looks around them and makes a sweeping gesture before adding to his slate at an awkward angle.

~Would there perhaps be a better place to converse, unless you are on journey to something?~

Jane Foster has posed:
Stepping foot on this world for the first time.

A faint smile touches her lips. "I wouldn't pick New Mexico, that's for certain," she says in aside, rich with mirth that carries through those laughing chocolate-brown eyes. "The eternal conundrum, where to begin. There really isn't a question; the British Museum. Right now they have an exhibition on a notorious Roman emperor that might reset the whole way we view him, but beyond that, it carries a little bit of everything." Clearly the British Museum's treasures are familiar to her, a website or brochure greedily devoured for information. The warmth of the topic is there; an academic, then?

"It's over in Bloomsbury," she adds, gesturing to the street. "Fortunately not so far, though useful to take the subway to get there. Are you familiar with the Tube at all?" She's finding it far from difficult to converse, though quick reading and grasping the essentials clearly aren't hard when he holds out the slate. "I've been on a journey for a while. A pause will not change anything. I'm Jane, by the way. Jane Foster."

No point in adding doctor, expert on alien things, or anything of the sort. Either the name rings a bell or does not, and that will do. "Do you want me to show you the way? Nothing is bound to overshadow an adventure."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Lifting an eyebrow in curiousity with a small smile touching his lips, Blackagar writes over his slate once more, looking up at Jane occassionally as he does so. The motions she has made bring his attention to the directions. The 'tube', the streets, all of those statements do make his brow furrow a bit indicating without writing that there is a lack of familiarity for some of them. But when she finishes, he writes a bit more and then holds it towards her.

~Blackagar Boltagon.~

Letting her read the first part, he gestures to himself with that same small smile on his lips as he introduces himself. She doesn't mention she's a doctor, he has no reason to mention he's a King. Such titles mean so little unless you're in the right company.

~I believe this museum sounds like a good destination. I to am on a journey. I do not wish to keep you from other things but would enjoy the company. You have a kind presence.~

He waits an appropriate amount of time for Jane to read before he considers and sets the slate into his pocket. Maybe it's compulsion or suspicion, but his hands lift up and he signs in American Sign Language, ~Do you undrestand this language?~

Jane Foster has posed:
"Blackagar," she pronounces it in a wholly American way, blending the syllables a little bit to keep them a proper compound instead of Black Agar. He is not a biological compound like inert jello. "Mr. Boltagon. Which would you prefer I call you?" People can be sensitive about their names, and Jane fearlessly embarks on a tour of manners for that. "Jane's fine for me, if you need." The slate and its profoundly tidy handwriting clearly lays out those definitions of a social event.

Shouldering her bag a little, she gestures with a sweep of her hand. "No trouble at all to show you the way. I spent many hours in the British Museum when younger. The marble statues from Greece and Rome are particularly stunning." And a source of huge controversy, but why confound him with that? Her smile lifts when his hands move, and every articulated detail of his fingers forming circles or straightening earns a sharpened look.

<<What on Earth...>>

The surprise registers. He's probably far more aware of nuances that lie in the flesh, the unspoken angle of communication. Her posture shifts slightly, that initial blossoming understanding overrun by a tide of unexpected emotion. She's more than surprised. "I do. It saves you having to write, doesn't it?" A slow tremor rolls over her spine, settling somewhere deeper. "Shall we then? We want to turn north this way, and take a subway rail station. The trains here are underground." She points to a ubiquitous sign: a round red circle with a blue crossbar. "These signs show us the way to the train station. Here they call it the Tube. They get around faster than walking." Than flying, not so much. "The Northern Line is one of the paths we can take to the British Museum. We'll cross the river and come out on the north bank, where the museum is. It is very close to the station, so the walk is short. If you ever want to know a city, take public transportation. A bus or a train. You will learn more about the people than anything else."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
There is a small look of relief in Blackagar's eyes as he holds the slate out, points at his name then signs the way it would be indicated for a point of reference, indicating as well he prefers to simply be called simply. Whenever he comes across a word that is not a general one, he simply spells it out but with the slate tucked away his hands are free and Blackagar smiles.

~It is much easier, yes. It is still a bit more slow than what I am used to but I am glad you understand this.~

As she begins to explain the layout of London, the way things operate something the woman says causes him to stop and Blackagar looks at Jane, eyebrow lifting up and he motions around them to the people that are coming and going.

~That is why I am here. To observe the people, to learn about them and their worthiness. To see if they have changed enough.~

The sound of the approaching subway doesn't phase him, instead he looks at it then back to Jane. ~You say public transportation reveals them best?~

Jane Foster has posed:
Spelling out words in ASL is considerably faster than writing sometimes, or trying to figure out an option. Drawing a picture will work; playing Pictionary might not be the expected day's activity for Jane, but she is not going to shrug or give Blackagar a contemptuous look. "Take all the time you need. How long have you been in London?" It's a much politer question than 'Where are you from?' and that holds too much of a potential minefield to approach yet. Not when they can resort to other methods.

Her gaze widens again, imperceptible and utterly instinctive, when he explains himself. "Worthy?"

A golden bangle clamped to her wrist shrinks but an iota, but it too measures up that sort of thing. Alas, the runes and sigils demarcating its purpose rest against her skin and not outward, just a simple ring of gold of no particular importance. "Worthiness isn't easy to measure, when it comes to people. How do you measure it? By what rule? Does that measure change baed on place, culture, time?" Not a battery of questions, these are the eternal matters philosophers grapple with, churchmen grind over and a good heart asks itself.

"Though a subway line isn't where you judge worthiness, not most of the time. It is where you see people going about their lives. Not only in a building for tourists, for example. These are people who live here and worry about the very things you or I might. Their job, food, how to live well and take care of those they care about. They don't know what tomorrow brings, they have holiday plans and greater questions along with the lesser. You can see wealthy people, less wealthy ones, young and old, all trying to get to another point on their journey. It's more honest as a discovery than some places."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar walks alongside the woman, turning to sign to her as he listens to her thought process, the questions she ask illicting nods from him in consideration and agreement. Of course when she starts with how long he's been there it bring the first of a few grins.

~I have been here approximately 20 minutes,~ he explains through movement of his hands. That may make it even more confusing than the question of where he is from. However, he opts to put a bit of context. ~I am visiting the major cities of Earth to look at the people closely. New York, a place called Atlantic City, Beijing. It was mentioned to come to London by another.~

The questions she asks about worthiness do echo in his mind as he considers the people around them. Standing as tall as he does over many in the area it is an easier task before he smiles back to Jane. ~You speak very well of the word Worthy. It may not have been the correct one. I seek to know if the people of Earth have changed enough that engaging with them is productive. I have seen both good and bad. It troubles me. So seeing the people as they live their lives is important, but also studying the writings and the histories.~

He pauses and faces Jane then, looking at the woman and motions with his hands, ~Imagine that you stepped foot on this world and saw everything through fresh eyes. What would you infer of the people?~

Jane Foster has posed:
The path to the nearest station isn't far. The Jubilee Line takes a dog leg through the southern bank, and then jerks from the southwest to the north until it burrows through the bed of the Thames up to the north side. Black lettering and a deep streak whips across the maps painted or posted on the various signs around the city. Tube stations are a reality of life for city-dwellers here, though the far suburbs and flung towns not quite absorbed within the beltway enveloping the isle of London, too important to care about anywhere else in England. Or the UK.

"Twenty minutes in London. Have you ever been here before? Ah, you've been slowly making a tour?" she asks, trying to withhold the rampant curiosity that begs to leap from the lips. Such would be unbearably rude, though. As they approach the steps to the Tube, she gestures. "We need to purchase a ticket. I can cover you if you need. The grand tour would be unfair if you had to wait back there." Her footsteps patter a little as she inclines her head, slowing, turning to face Blackagar in full when he raises that essential question.

"Engaging with them. Would it be inappropriate of me to ask if you are from here, or have been hidden away waiting to emerge?" Hidden cities and hidden countries are not unfamiliar; Wakanda, Atlantis, Latveria... they're just elements of a whole. And the faint smile rising hasn't changed in its warmth.

"What I would infer, using this city as an example? I would see the need to connect. Streets, buildings, people everywhere: I would assume those who live here are eager to be bound together. They pass one another and stop, sharing in common goals. They speak and live in close confines. They have some kind of community, a structure, and clearly elements of shared identity they communicate with one another to achieve purposeful ends. What individuality we see is governed by an overarching purpose or resolution."

She inclines her head. "They have a bewildering diversity of food and clothing. See how few look identical? Even in appearance, they are diverse, with shared features. Hair colour and jeans are common but not enough to presume upon a uniform, for example."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~A sense of community, but a desire for individuality. Yet the way as a whole they treat those who are different from them, a sense of fear, makes me wonder as well,~ the man signs to Jane as she finishes her thoughts. When the approach the turn, he actually produces some British currency, a large amount of it in fact, to purchase tickets not just for himself but her as well.

Letting her lead him once more, enjoying the given tour rather than attempting to navigate it all himself, he is happy to be shown about. ~It would not be rude. I come from a place that was once a part of this world. But because our kind were persecuted and murdered, we left to safety. Every few decades we consider returning and making ourselves known. That is why I come. To determine if it is wise or not for this to happen.~

He again gestures to the people around him, ~I have met a mutant from New York. A woman from the stars, an evolved in a place called New Jersey. All share a similar story. Persecution despite attempts to help and aid those they can. So if these people dislike those so much, imagine what they would do to learn they are not the original inhabitants of this world?~

Jane Foster has posed:
"Community and individuality inhabit the same space. They ultimately have to coexist, though which dominates is entirely a matter of where and how. A large part of how you identify yourself includes where you belong, if you will," Jane explains in a quiet tone, not interested in drawing a crowd around herself and the king in mundane clothing. "A side effect of that can be affiliations with a tribe, if you will. You might see yourself as British, a Londoner, a white English-speaking dentist who has lived here for forty years and thinks of himself as a wealthy man and not part of Europe or anywhere else. Dividing yourself from others is a consequence, and that is where the common vision or identity must be greater than itself. Pure individuality is chaos. The other extreme is just as dangerous.

His inquiries are certainly heavy, something to consider. Her Oyster card is presented, slid over the turnstile to be admitted. Something beeps and complains, but she doesn't halt and the transit staff are much too busy to come out and complain. They're working hard enough.

"Persecution and identifying the other in a negative light has been part of the human condition for a long time, I fear. Yet every generation learns more," she explains further, her expression thoughtful. "Fifty years ago, the colour of your skin dictated so much on an assumption. In many places that has withdrawn. Now they look at the powers of empowered individuals with jealousy or concern, but there is no time in human history where envy wasn't present. Many faith systems suggests it is a sin for a reason, but also something to surpass and overcome, to be a better person and build a better society. Defusing the possibility of conflict is important. Beyond that, we are a people with a capacity to grow."

Her long hair flits and spills around her shoulders as she walks down one of the aisles for the platform, checking the overhead monitors to see which way they need to take. "I have seen many places, some recently and some from a time ago. I met another person from the stars, too, and he came to a place -- here -- that he thought was primitive, exciting, but certainly beneath him. And he learned what is amazing and multifaceted about it. You cannot apply a blanket statement to everyone. Nor can you say every nation would rise against someone beyond their borders, or the atmosphere at this point. But this is a different age, an emergent time when peoples and races unknown to use are coming forth after being a mystery. The further the boundary pushes, the more we come to learn -- and have to accept, and adapt to. Just as you must adapt and accept us. This is a communication process, and one that will not be resolved in a day. Coming out is not an easy choice, I will agree to that. But neither is the default position of 'they will hurt us, be prepared for it' the ideal footing."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar walks along with Jane, listening rather intently as she explains her thought process, the evaluation of mankind and the things they have done, the various political and religious contexts before coming back around. Individuality versus conformity does illicit a brief response from him.

~This is something we are dealing with at home as well. For millenia we have followed a process that I have decided is no longer the best process. A monarchy that needs to be more inclusive in its practices. So please understand I do not approach here in a manner of superiority. We have our own issues as well.~ There's an apologetic look on his face, as if worried that he had given the impression of superiority.

~As for the other, we are also not in a vaccuum of experience. You see my people existed alongside humans, until the humans attacked us for being different. This was many thousands of years ago. We have since then sometimes attempted to rejoin with them but would need to flee again. So as much as I appreciate your position and believe it to be correct in regards, would it not be unwise of me to value previous experience as well?~

Jane Foster has posed:
A monarchy. Oh, no pressure.

"Inclusiveness is the lesson we've been trying to wage here for my lifetime and beyond. But especially in the last twenty years," Jane says, wryly guiding Blackagar towards one of the trains pulling into the station and heading ultimately west and across the Thames. She knows her route even if he might not. Though she points it out: "See, we're here. The Jubilee Line there is the black one. The Northern Line is here. We're going to be paralleling the two for a bit, then the tracks take us west and north. It would be faster just to cross London Bridge but no trains, and a walk is close to an hour if the weather holds. This is half the time, plus the view."

See? Positive thinking while that gifted mind whirls. Apology is met with the light raise of her hand, a roll of her shoulder. "So your society faces the same instrinsic difficulty of defining itself in a period of change. Changes frighten some, here anyway. There are those who try to return to the old ways, traditions familiar to them, as a reaction to change. I do not judge if that's good or bad," it's bad, mkay? "but we are constantly tested by nature and circumstances to grow and evolve beyond what we have ever been. Who wants to be static? It is not a natural state, and at a more personal level, do you not wish to see more of the world? Experience more, come to know yourself?"

For a human, she's taking the news of an interterrestrial species hidden alongside humans and a source of their war well. Monarchy? Also well. Not saying he's a nutter? Fabulous. "You should value previous experience as a guidepost. I do not advocate absolute nonsense of throwing open the doors, inviting everyone in, and never questioning the motives or sincerity of others. That being said, Blackagar, what we were six thousand years ago is nothing like now. The world ended seven miles away from most settlements. Our settlements were small, save a few. The ocean was terrifying, the forests dark, the sands hungry. We've not only spread out to every continent, we have plumbed the stars and the oceans, and accomplished feats the ancients in Sumer or Egypt could not have imagined. Our towers reach for the moon. We have sent craft beyond the reaches of planets they couldn't see, and our ingenuity is great. The people of Ur aren't the people of New York. Jericho is not what Jerusalem or Beijing are today. Those perspectives must be tempered with a knowledge that your arrival would be a shock, but not the shock surely it would've been in an isolated kingdom with no knowledge of another continent on the other side of the ocean, let alone another species. It would't be a seamless transition. Change is not. The cosmic stew that made all this -seethes- with violence, it bubbles with challenge and conflict. We aren't any different as beings, at some level. You are coming out after an awful lot of others have, though, and the population isn't going to panic and grab every weapon they have to make you dinner."

A pause, and she adds, "You also look like us."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar considers the woman in silence for long moments before he wryly smirks and signs towards her, ~I may look like you. Not all of my people did. My friend, upon the bridge, he does not look like a human~ he must be referring to Lockjaw.

Through it all though, his dark eyes have stopped observing the surrounding people and instead he is studying Jane. There is a serious look to his features and he does seem to be gathering his thoughts before finally he starts signing towards her directly.

~I share with you that I am not human. That I am not from here. And you do not seem startled. You seem at comfort with this. This would lead me to question perhaps who you are as well. I believe the phrase of this world is I have shown you mine?~ He lifts an eyebrow up questioningly towards her.

Then he does smile at the woman, kindly so, going on in expressing his thoughts. ~As you said, I may look like you, but I am not like you for better or worst, none of my people are. The best would be to compare them to your mutants. Gifted individuals. I see how the world treats them. So your words are so strong and true but I also believe they are given from a position of great hope, which I must have as well for my people. Which I have for these people,~ he gestures around them. ~But it was how long ago that Mutants were slaughtered? Transitions and change can be disruptive. While I have not finished my survey, I am of the mind of late that it may be better for Earth to not know of us, that we may cause more harm to the people than our presence would aid. And this saddens me.~

Jane Foster has posed:
"Your friend?" That was the dog... right? The one who vanished is not lost on Jane, except that it causes her to pause with a hint of a smile. "I won't lie. Someone with skin of stone, extra arms, and a variety of different features can cause attention to turn. The Hulk is world-famous, but doesn't mean the big green man isn't cause for traffic stopping. A talking tree or a giant crab with seagull wings who sings sweetly would stop us, challenge our ideas. But this is a new age."

She brushes her fingers again along her brow, but the train is a more private location and, be as it may, their conversation isn't mostly in a vacuum. She herself is speaking in English, but quietly. Not that it makes a difference. If someone is speaking only in the stone tongue of High Mars, they'll understand her. Hala would know it. It's just one of those things.

"I'm an astrophysicist," she explains, "best known for theorising on fissures in space that would allow a particle up to a being to travel between two vast points by a very short bridge, if you will. A wormhole, if you will. In pursuing that study that could allow us to span thousands of light years in a light minute, perhaps, I've had to be open-minded. Cosmology and those sciences do not suffer fools or pedants gladly." He earns a soft laugh, and she settles into a seat. "In the process I met the crown prince of an entirely different realm. His people were worshipped here as gods once. Whether they are gods is indisputably an argument. But they looked like us, and were vastly different in many ways. Physical, social. They were one of the first debuts of another species in our modern time, and it was... obvious. Now he works with the Avengers. Superman, I've also worked with; another example of a person from outside our world who has done good. So experience by proxy since being a scientist sometimes open doors, though I will sorely disappoint you by telling you the only kind of heroics here are those involving asking questions, opening eyes and minds, and trying to be a better person."

He's not wrong when he speaks of mutants and their massacre. Nor the quiet regard she answers. "I cannot tell you if Genosha would have happened differently had the world taken an interest. I am a bit biased on the topic, actually, given I was there when the island fell." Just a little transactional history, an offering, for him. "But from the perspective of a bystander, not someone who crawled out from the wreckage, there is no excuse for what happened. No reasonable outcome for slaughtering others. Yet that was promulgated /ultimately/ by an alien, the one who bottled up the island and its survivors otherwise. The monstrosity of a Sentinel they made, if I remember right, was the work of a man. Not all of us. I caution against advising based on one person, one action. Human history is not compressed to a moment of dropping an atomic bomb. It is not defined and judged solely by an error, a perceived grim moment, an unthinkable act. I'm not a historian, mind you. More a doctor and definitely a stargazer. But if you will allow me? New historicity says to view everything in /context/. Behold what was around it. Sometimes that's very difficult to do. Take in account everything before trying to judge, and do not let all your critical biases of time and place in. Because we have the capacity and will for real good. Everyone who fights for a better place, to diminish needs and fears, has done so at cost and risk. They moved the needle. Who is to say you will not either? Maybe the gifted have already offered the momentum, and you only need to seize it to advance. For us all to advance.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~You speak words of poetry and wisdom,~ Blackagar signs to her slowly after having processed through her sharing. A lot of what she speaks seems to connect with him, none of it being 'over his head' but what she does say causes him to pause and grin a bit. ~You speak of Asgardians?~ he signs, spelling out the word. ~If so I have made friends with one. She has been a great joy to share stories with.~

Then she explains about Genosha, about the things witnessed and the background around it which leads him to nod. ~On Attilan, where I am from, we are close enough to recieve news of this world. Please know, I do not consider the acts of one person to be the acts of all. But there are some on this world, no matter my decision, I must meet with. I must meet these.~ He frowns, trying to figure out the right term. ~Justice League?~ That perhaps is correct. ~And I must deal with a group who have dealt great harm. I make no decisions until these things are concluded.~

He pauses for a moment once more, studying the doctor and tilts his head, ~Perhaps one day in return of gratitude for you showing me London, I shall show you Attilan. Such acts would be the dream I wish to achieve. To coexist.~

Jane Foster has posed:
"Poetry and wisdom? I'll accept that as a compliment." She doesn't complain to that, laughing softly. "I speak of Asgardians. Which one have you met, I wonder? Sif, Brunnhilde? Please don't say Amora, for if you have met Amora, you have... the most complex woman imaginable, and that is not even scraping the surface." Her shoulder aches at the thought.

Her gaze lifts and follows him as he thinks, always mindful of the signing. Even mistakes in it are interpreted pretty clearly, and the city flows by, its stations in tiles and dingy white flooding by until they are turning north, finding a path that leads directly to the heart of the cultural district. Away from the south side, to the true City of London, to the British Museum and beyond. "I am no monarch, not even a lady of any standing. Our society doesn't have such." Not quite the truth, but close enough. //What// is she now? No answer to be given. "You have greater concerns on your shoulders if you speak for a people and never would I even remotely consider that a light burden. I merely counsel... have faith in them. Your people. Yourself. Us. When failures happen, the collective hope can outrun the danger. But always wise to have a backup plan. Thor probably gave everyone an absolute terror the first few months, and I couldn't walk five steps without someone asking me if we were under invasion. Silly people."

The train lurches in. She gestures. "Time to climb. Back into the sunshine with you, enlightened scholar." It's meant kindly. She does not tease. "I have seen enough to know you ask the right questions." To have stood and died among his kind. Among so very damn many. "That's the most important part. And know unless it's at the bottom of an active volcano, that invitation I would be delighted to take you up on."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The man's lips curl, he looks as if he would laugh but he doesn't, no sound coming from him. Instead he simply inclines his head to Jane, ~Not at the bottom of a volcano, but among the stars~ he corrects with his words before nodding at one of the names, ~Yes the Lady Sif. A very humored woman, quite boastful and proud of her accomplishments.~ There is still humor in his eyes.

As the train lurches, Blackagar nods his head at the indication of the need to climb and steps free to begin said journey, turning to Jane before doing so. ~All societies have leaders, their means of selection being what differs. But _this_ conversation has brought an illumination to my mind, and for that, I truly thank you.~

Jane Foster has posed:
"Humoured. An excellent way of describing her. She suffers few fools and doesn't seem to know what fear is." His humour reflected in his gaze is met with appreciation from Jane's; they're clearly speaking of the same woman. "I find her one of the most unusual of her people, in a very good way. Fearless, that one. I hope you have enjoyed her company."

The path takes them and other visitors up to the sprawling campus of one of the world's great museums, on par with a university. Like an iceberg, most of the bulk lies hidden underground. Tottenham Court Station disgorges them into a busy shopping district with the buildings clustered close, opening up into the great Victorian spill of the museum. "I should warn you, we have done a lot in two million years. I can speak to one wing better than others, though you can absolutely wander to your heart's content and barely scratch the surface in a day."

That mild shake of her head is almost disbelieving. "I'm glad to have had the opportunity to stop and meet someone so unique. You are a gem, that is for certain. Thank //you//."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~A gem?~ Blackagar signs, head rolling back with the gesture of laughter once again; still no sound. ~That is never a word I have heard to describe me.~ The smile remains but he motions for her to lead on, adding in sign, ~Take me to the area you would speak better to and I will wander the others on my own.~

As they walk, Blackagar actually begins asking questions not about the Museum or the World in general but a bit more pointed towards Jane. ~Would you be willing to share stories of your life? Growing up? Your education? Your achievements or a struggle? I do not mean to seem to pry and if you do not wish to I understand. But the people. The individuals, these I care about.~

Jane Foster has posed:
"I don't think it's inaccurate. First time for everything, and in your case, there must be a laundry list as long as your arm for firsts." One can only guess. Silent laughter is salient, delightful entirely for someone is clearly enjoying himself. She doesn't castigate Blackagar in any way. "The area I would speak better to is unsurprisingly the stars. You say Attilan is in the stars. Now I wonder what you can compare of what we know to your own lore?"

Invitation? Totally. This will only be delightfully fair!

"I would be willing to tell you whatever you like. Just ask, and you can hear all you wish. You might find it fairly unremarkable until the Asgardians show up, all in all." The queue to get into the Museum is long; there is no way around this. Tourists, students, and regular everyday Britons stray through the switchbacks leading up to the doors. Until something happens.

A guard stares. Murmurs into a radio follow. The shuffle to the doors begins, and she is happy to fall in line. "Education may be an easy start. It's common for us, in this country and in mine, to start being formally educated at three or four. Simple things: learning to play, read, write, be social with one another. Less little terrors. Do you have children? Is it similar? We are constantly maturing until about eighteen to twenty-one, when most leave their homes. The stages of schooling vary; primary or elementary teaches basics until about age twelve. Then more focused courses begin in high school, secondary school by another word. After that, it is optional to pursue a field of study at a university, college or trade school. I was a good student, and I chased a career as a doctor or astronomer. The stars beckon. Not everyone is like this; few know young what they want to do as their profession and pursue it into adulthood, but I did. You see, my mother was a doctor. She loved to help people who were ailing and ill, finding a way to treat them if she could not cure them. My father worked a good deal with his hands. We were a small family but very happy, and they set excellent examples for me."

"Doctor Foster!" becomes a harried call, naming her as they keep creeping forward, a divider opened, a man in a black suit waving a manila envelope. "//Doctor Foster//?" He sounds like he's seen a ghost. "It's Doctor-- I'm David Scott, the vice-chair. The director had no idea. Is that your guest? Oh, hello, sir. You both need to come this way." He gestures for the entrance, because that is that. "Please, no need to stay in this line!"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar seems rather content to wait in a line, there is an actual subtle peace and joy that comes with not being treated special or different. The experience. Further it would seem he is a patient man. He listens to Jane explain about things and smiles while she does so.

~When I say that our city is among the stars it is a bit misleading. For millenia it was here on Earth. We have the ability to move it and so we did to various locations whenever the need arose. The need usually from threat of humans. Until finally in your year 1913, seeing the horizon of war coming, we finally left to a place the humans would not follow.~ Blackagar glances upwards towards the sky, lifting his eyebrows to emphasize then looks back down to Jane. The he falls a bit downcrest.

~Our society is unfortunately a caste system. Part of what I seek to break. There is the Royal Family and those of the Ruling Class and then the Worker Class and finally...~ Blackagar frowns further, but presses on, ~And finally those who are neither. The closest term would be perhaps indentured.~ He looks around but then continues.

~The children of the upper classes are given full educations much the way you describe on Earth. Those of the indentured classes are educated as well but more specifically in dedicated trades rather than a liberal education. Among my people we believe each of us is born for a specific purpose that is revealed as we grow. Some purposes are more noteworthy than others but all purposes are of importance.~

About to continue on, the doctor approaches calling to Jane, Blackagar looks up and his eyebrow quirks just slightly first to the Doctor Scott and then in turn to Jane.

Jane Foster has posed:
Alas for the sabotage of being not treated specially. Jane herself might smile with a pained aspect herself, being singled out by the waving academic trustee practically toppling over himself to guide them away from the hoi polloi. Embarrassing as it might be for them both, she says quietly to Blackagar, "Academic awe." As if that explains everything. Some things can be universal across cultures, the way that certain professions or individuals accord a certain wonder towards others in a higher position. Or maybe David Scott, trustee and vice-chair of the British Museum's board, is just a damn brown-noser. It takes a certain kind to reach those heights.

"Pardon, did you say you can //move// it?" Surprise colours her features, even as they are being waved through the doors adjacent to the entry, normally roped off or locked. One of the nicely employed guards nods as they go past, murmuring, "Good day" to both.

Jane really might want to break free, but it's not a choice. So she stoically adopts that timeless expression needed in seminars, endless educational jousts, and being among peers who tend to discount her for youth, sex, or the dead obvious: human. Asgardians can be like that. She carefully positions herself beside Blackagar, saying a few choice words: Thank you, here as a visitor, quiet, fine after Orkney, just looking. The usual platitudes. "This is a friend of mine," she introduces Blackagar and leaves it at that. "First time visiting the museum, and I'm trying to take it in with fresh eyes again. But I will be certain to stop in with you before we leave? Can I put word in at the desk?"

That alone might be the very clear message to extricate themselves. Children of Earth are what they are, and that hand-wringing excitement to escort a tiny celebrity around will hopefully diminish. And once more leave them, though not before Mr. Scott enthusiastically greets Blackagar -- probably clings to his British upper statesman or gentry upbringing when he realizes he's dealing with someone functionally mute or deaf -- and issues a few recommendations before hastening away to warn people on Edu-Twitter or whatever he SPOTTED someone.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar slips into the public setting alongside of Jane rather smoothly when she does, adopting those postures and mannerisms. A man who does not speak learns to communicate without verbal language, instead using body language to do the talking. So he takes a position of less importance to Jane but his posture also one of saying that he holds a position of significance himself even if it is unknown what it is.

Through all the pleasantries he remains stoic, offering polite nods and the smallest hints of lifting of his lips in acknowleding smiles until it is all done and once more they are standing there without the surrounding people. Looking at Jane he signs slowly, ~Yes, it moves.~ Once again he looks to be silently chuckling before he gestures around them.

~I believe you may have understated your position within the Earth Academic society based upon that reception, perhaps understated some other things as well. You are intriguing Jane Foster.~

Jane Foster has posed:
Less importance would sting; but that requires her to notice Blackagar is doing it at all. In the meantime, the negotiation between a well-meaning shill and the astrophysicist stretches out enough until they can break free and fly off wherever they will. Even if it means getting a brochure and some glossy maps on where to go, exposing a guest to the lurching push and pull of multiple different fascinating exhibits. What might most appeal to the Inhuman king?

It will first be escaping the biomass of interested parties, which means a sweep through the security machines -- and Scott flapping his arms again to one of the security guards when it tries to squall madly around Jane. Looking for any kind of trouble, weapon or otherwise, nets just a bright, resounding snap from the machine. They're waved through, apologies offered in the soft-spoken, downplayed way of British.

A whole chain of events begins with something so small. Once they can walk through the huge mezzanine and divert into the historical wings of the Enlightenment's slope to modernism, the conversation may resume.

"We're very different here. The idea that education would be open for everyone began two hundred years ago, generally and the implications that your birth class did not prohibit you from literacy are immense. Participation in public life, engagement with the governing parties, acquiring a business were just a start. From that, we have branched out into unimaginable developments. Children raised by farmers became astronauts. A nurse's son might become a revolutionary engineer; fishermen might end up becoming accountants, inventing a solar-degradable plastic that harmlessly breaks down in the sea. How you were born is no longer a shackle for where you go. Not as strong of one." A correction that's essential given his own revelations about Attilan's society, and so she peels back the layers of her own. "That's the ideal, of course. In reality, access to resources controls how far you might go, though protections and efforts to expand the reach of education beyond an elite have become profoundly strengthened by a digital network of communications at a global level too. The children of the upper classes have all the benefits for accessing power. Those in the lower classes should have the same. Indentured positions -- a caste system -- are very much... uncommon nowadays. We've eradicated them in large part because they equate to a persistent poverty, locking people in not by their actions or choices, but because of predetermined factors possibly before they were born. It's viewed very negatively, as a whole. That may be something to grapple with; you will not see outright treatment like that, save maybe the incarcerated population. And that is a volatile subject." Though she makes it sound very much not the case from her tone, it's not hard to imagine it is.

"My position," she says, "is being a little bit more known for being on a screen or a computer. People hear me talk about science -- astronomy mostly -- and explaining in ways they understand. I told you about the Asgardians, being the first modern person to contact them. And admit to it, anyway." There's always room for that. The Asgardians come and go as they please. Who is to say they haven't interacted all along? Not on the same scale as the brunette astrophysicist. "It affords a little fame. If you meet the real scientists or entrepreneurs they care about, they'd shut the entire place. Tony Stark, Reed Richards? I count maybe for a jot of that, though Reed and I have had pleasant interactions before. But education, since you asked. I did well in physics, and astrophysics. I started asking questions and trying to prove objects in the cosmos behaved in certain ways with theoretical principles. It drew attention from another expert and I was mentored well through upper education. It gave me important chances to pursue my research -- and before I could build any of those wormholes for a single particle, spanning perhaps a few kilometers, the Asgardians came. Everything changed. I'm

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane adds, because the buffer: "Everything changed. I'm a case of being an expert in one little field, being in the right place at the right time. Perhaps you've had that happen?"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar walks along with her, and when they arrive at the Enlightenment into modernism, he looks at some of the artifacts and displays while Jane speaks. He spends relatively equal time looking between the two fascinating items. The woman and the history.

Slowly his hands move as she finishes, ~Our people have followed a very specific tradition for a very long time for reasons of health. There are specific genetic mutations that lead to massive deformaties and death in our people if certain combinations of the genes come together. This is where the origin of the structure of our society began. And while I do not like the fact that it has limited access to some, it is in many ways a necessary step to prevent death.~ He doesn't seem like he's overly thrilled with the concept that he is explaining, but it is what it is. ~I believe the term in your people is arranged pairings or marriages? But we do this on a societal level. So often the ideal does not align with the realities.~

He finds her personal story interesting however, tilting his head when she talks about herself and making eye contact. When she asks the last his lips curl into a smile and he signals to her, ~Many times. For example standing in the middle of a street to find the correct person to spend the morning with to learn? Do not mistake luck however. The more you prepare, the luckier you become. Your story does not speak of luck, it speaks of preparation to take advantage of the situation when it was presented.~

Jane Foster has posed:
The displays crackle with human ingenuity and breaking the mold. That's the point. The Enlightenment birthed on these shores, on this isle, teemed with possibilities and wonder. They crackled with the explosion of ideas, tearing down the old and ushering in the new age not with a desire to remake all that had gone before, but to deal with the problems of the time and place.

It's in fact to a display for sailing that she takes him, threading through various other exhibitions, though stopping to admire any of them is perfectly acceptable. Mariner's tools lie there: sextant, astrolabe, old maps, carefully laid out and placed in context against etched glass models of the globe. Rapidly changing at that.

"This," she explains softly, "is where it all begins, isn't it? Borders fall and man looks upward to find his answers in the stars. Did your people? We peered into the heavens in the 18th century, as we measured it, to find our place and take more accurate measurements of the sky and Venus itself to know about our world. Ostensibly to make it safe for navigation, which opened up shores and islands, foreign cities and resources of fabled forests and mountains little known. Terra incognita ended. The question of where became broadened: not only where is that, where did we come from?"

She leaves it at that when he resumes, when he dares to crack open the curtain further to explain the concepts. "Arrangements for health are not unknown. It's been used in the past. When technology did not exist in the past to understand why children of different blood types died or suffered sickness, marriages between those with the incompatible types were discouraged or not permitted. That's changed as technology moved forward. It could be said too for a famous royal family line: a hereditary condition that caused uncontrollable bleeding and hemorrhaging to death was cause not to marry certain members. But at a societal level, are you all so bound because you have sequenced your genetic codes to avoid carriers for these destabilizing illnesses? And have you been pressed into that too, or is this another reason to question stepping out into the world?"

Ah, if only it were so simple. The smile she wears is forgiving, anyway. "Preparation wasn't really part of the educational path I took. Hitting on a wormhole unlike any other during fieldwork was, I think. Nothing really predicted it would be there. Nothing suggested..." She shakes her head a little. "I never knew what that would bring. Or brought again. This has echoes, though different in many ways. It's not unwelcome. I am grateful you choose to share as you do."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~There are few to share with,~ Blackagar admits through sign and follows immediately, ~That is not to dismiss this time, it has been enjoyable. I think many here would immediately look and perhaps judge what we have done the same way I am judging what goes on here. It is afterall a two way street of evaluation.~

He doesn't sign for a few moments, instead examining the sailing display before looking towards Jane, ~We were still here during this time. Our records read of the arrival of the humans who had learned to sail, of greeting them, and of deciding the need to go further into hiding to avoid them more. Our genetic alignments have been successful now for millenia. We have had no accidents and have been able to achieve goals but I do not know if the price paid for those is correct. The sins of the father as it were?~

A sad smile touches his lips and he motions Jane to follow him now, walking towards a map of the time period as it was drawn then. He points to a place in the middle of the pacific where a small island is. ~We were there, and that was not hidden enough for my forefathers tastes. Fifty years before my birth we left this world.~ Silent observation continues and then he nods slowly, ~I do not believe I am opposed to my people coming here, learning and being among these slowly. But I am hesitant to bring others to our home, and if that is such, it does not seem right to hide ourselves and expose your people instead.~

Jane Foster has posed:
"Evaluation is never a singular process, but the perception is ultimately personal. I can say it's all fabulous or horrible, and you can walk away without carrying any of those judgements on your shoulders. Privilege of mutual interactions," Jane adds mildly. She executes a quarter-turn, facing him slightly more directly and casting less of a shadow over the implements of La Perouse's great voyage and those taken by Cook, Vancouver, the other British navigators who peered deeply into the grey parts of the map and proved existence or none at all of certain lands ranging from Australia to the Pacific coast of her birthplace.

"They watched the transit of Venus to determine accurate readings for longitude, witnessed all throughout the world in 1769. A high-water mark, though they didn't know it then. All of that was started by almost fifteen hundred men dying a half-century before, ships sinking because they misgauged how to enter a strait safely. A prize worth something like ten million dollars -- a lot -- was set up for anyone who could find out how to turn the heavens into a timepiece, and ascertain exactly where someone was. For sailors it was life or death. For us," she gestures, drawing a circle, "it's about where we are in the world. Where we belong further within it all. Humanity wants to find its place in the stars, among the others there. So long we had the question, is there life other than ours? And we have an answer. Maybe you have known it all along, but we only had confirmation, truly, in the past few years. That being said..."

His concerns aren't forgotten and they are part of this whole lesson, for she isn't all about talking about herself. Though /eager/ to talk? Yes. For reasons that won't reveal themselves, not entirely, unless the broken social media trail is any explanation. Or if he uses Wikipedia. Either way.

"You don't have to open yourself up to others coming in, you know that? Sovereignty rules need to be laid out by an actual lawyer -- someone who practices law. But you can refuse to let others in. It won't make you popular, I assure you, but you can claim as businesses do that you need time to adjust. Or those lands are sacred to your people, or you can't even be sure that communicable diseases would destroy your people. /That/ is an argument no one can contest," she adds softly, darkly. Memories of Indigeneous suffering are clear and sharp. "Why is it not right to ask for your own time to enter theworld? It's quite reasonable to put your toe in the water, isn't it?"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~Because time is, unfortunately, running out~ Blackagar explains to Jane when she asks about taking time. ~When we left this world, not all of our people chose to come with. Some stayed behind. Those that did have begun to experience the changes that those of us that leave undergo through planning, these through accident. Even though they do not know it, they are of my people and need to know they are not alone. Worst, they are being hunted and killed.~

When he signs that, his eyes become very hard, very angry but he takes a moment to calm himself and continues on. ~The longer I wait to decide, the more I risk them suffering. Should I decide to reveal the presence of the Inhuman to the world, my brothers and sisters already here will know they are not alone. But that brings risk with it, risk to them and risk to us. All of these layers weigh upon me Jane.~

He has named himself, Inhuman. Instead of skirting around the title putting it out and bare. Looking at the explorers, the coursing with the stars he shakes his head, ~I do not have the luxury of offering a bounty for an answer, the decision in the end falls heavily upon my shoulders.~

Jane Foster has posed:
A look of concern slips across her face. Real worry; not the artificial 'oh dear' effect that comes and goes, but a much clearer response drawn up from the core. The gold bracelet against her wrist dully gleams when she pushes her hair away. "Let me see I have the facts correct. You have been in isolation long enough that your people's diaspora could carry potential genetic mutations or variations dangerous to them or others under specific conditions, and they would have no way to identify that, much less find help. Further, they could be targeted for whatever reasons, as part of a limited genocide." Those are hard words, but spoken with a level clarity as she focuses only on Blackagar and not the maps, the crude maps or the lighthouses pinpointed on the sweep of coastline painted against a wall, where the world shrank to a knowable globe out of misty uncertainty. "Who would hunt them? Is that appropriate to ask? Are they hunted because they chose not to go into isolation or descended from those who did, or is it some other cause?"

Anger is clear enough, and poking the patient bear capable of devastating planets proves an unwise decision. Simple compassion guides her around the potential hazards, just as those aforementioned sailors threaded through hazard reefs blindly. Pray not to hit a rock and sink, or worse.

She raises her hand to him, an offering that doesn't connect. Some things aren't done with strangers. "If I have that right, I'm terribly sorry. For one person to decide that... You may make the decision but others live with it. Can I put a thought to you? What happens if someone else finds out about yor people and talks of them? Or one of these unwitting distant kin of yours flares up -- survives an attack and talks to the media, somehow goes... anomalous genetically? There is always the chance that your people will be found out. Right now, your decision gives you control with the message."

"So far, you haven't made you or your people sound at all odd. In fact, drawing many parallels has been easy. Net positive?" She smiles again, briefly, but meant to convey it's not merely a throwaway comment. "What do you have instead? You can frame your people. Showing up saying 'We'd like to see a library and reach out to know you, as a foreign culture' looks very different than someone rampaging through a hospital out of control or taking over a state. Consider the impact of outreach, an open hand and a curious mind, is powerful, Blackagar. What would you think if I brushed past you or stopped to keep someone from hitting you, or bandaged your wounds taken from a fight? Three scenarios. Three different impressions, all formative."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~My people are already known on this planet, if subtlely. They are seen in sources and often mistaken for mutants,~ he explains to Jane. A moment later he motions for her to follow him as he walks. ~We are powered. Those that hunt my brethren do so for that power. They believe it is something they can emulate perhaps? To capture for themselves? I do not know, and I do not care. They have killed and harmed those I call kin.~

The patience is over him again as he explains this, walking to the display of the indigenous people being conquered. ~What is unknown, correct? The reason we have always hidden. Two branches, one branch that fled and perfected our process to reduce mishaps. The other free here on the planet but not exposed to the process that changes us very often. In the end we are brought back together.~

He steps then towards Jane and lifts an eyebrow, the signing he does emphasized some with the expression. ~There is no mercy for those that have done this harm. I am not certain but your people call them Hydra I believe. I will not take their actions lightly. But once that is settled. That is my struggle. I am sorry if I misled you with my intentions, for they are in fact two fold.~

Jane Foster has posed:
She follows Blackagar. Into the dark, through a shadowy transept, into whatever stands next on the ongoing tale of humanity's achievements. Will there be such a museum for empowered people? Who is to know. "I see. Fear and jealousy are powerful motivators, as is profit. Regardless, you feel an obligation to them, then? Protecting them, even if they don't know that you hold out a shield against an unseen threat." Poetry, maybe. Yet purposeful, digging back at layers, seeking what mysteries are hidden therein. A glimpse of how Jane's mind works, a reasoning that hasn't been used in too long, aching to come forth.

"Inevitable perhaps that you would come back. Either by necessity or default. I would like to think it will be a happy meeting. Not without bumps and shocks, but still happy overall. Finding that you have extended family, a place, a way to belong? That is powerful. Look at how many today don't feel they belong to the world, and they wish they had a haven where they were best understood." In that, there is a face, a name, carefully laced by caution. Unshared thoughts slip to the wayside, to be recalled later. She pauses for a long moment when he mentions what otherwise happens to be an ancient Greek monster lurking off Sicily to eat sailors. Or a D&D monster.

<<Shit.>> Swearing in Latin doesn't do a darned thing. He'll understand. She could be arguing in Sumerian, they would understand. Or Kree? Still audible. "I'm down the garden path too far to turn back. Let's have it, then. You're a damned good storyteller and I am going to remind you that you have a career in writing if this whole monarch thing doesn't pan out. Though if you think I can possibly cause HYDRA any concern, I will sadly need to remind you my skills point to the stars. Astronomer, reading possibilities in dark energy and dust clouds, not much otherwise." Sort of. SHIELD has a file, after all, in varying degrees.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
When she speaks, Blackagar doesn't make eye contact until finally he does and there's emotion present in them. A boiling swirl of anger, of pain, frustration. For a man that to this point has been completely passive and patient, absent of reflection or impassioned it is a pivot.

~How do you tell a people that you stood aside while they were slaughtered? That you could have stopped it, but were too distracted with internal politics to intervene and save them.~ He looks steadily at Jane, ~Like a father who is never their for their children. Leaving them until things are desperate and only then peeking my head in. That is what I am.~ Those emotions are directed outwards it would see, but rather internally.

~They are not alone in the world, but the only reason they warrant my attention now is because they are a risk to my intersts? It is disgusting. It is shameful.~ Those last two are emphasized with his hands slapping together in claps when he finishes their signs. For a few moments he gathers himself and then adopts a calm demanor.

~I apologize. I do not express myself often, much less in such ways. It is unbecoming. But while you are right in your assessment, there are still deeper layers present.~

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane's hand drops away, no contact made. Whatever there remains is a storm surge she has to weather, and the habit of digging her heels in to endure the worst is well-suited to something quite unknown. But what mariner hasn't set to the seas without knowledge of the dangers that lie beneath eddying waves, and when a current shows itself far rougher? Tack carefully.

"Don't speak of it as unbecoming. Things must be rather different as a monarch and, frankly, among a people who withdrew from the world. You aren't exactly a father shutting the door on his children, but more like the faerie godfather or... an uncle, maybe, they never knew they had. A significant difference. Yes, some will ask where you were all their lives," she quietly notes, "but others will be so astonished to have that, they may be intrigued rather than angry. Some may show no interest at all. Your wayward children, as they were, have had at least fifty years to accustom themselves to independence. It isn't disgusting. That you grapple with these things -are- significant, and doubly when one of the greater known agencies of terrible consequence shows up. You can also make a compelling statement you acted when you found out the information. //You// came out of hiding. You. Not sending forth agents of no real consequence, but the father of the nation or the city-state or island, wherever, took it upon himself to inform himself and act correctly based on the best information he had at the time. Is that not worth something?"

Her head tilted a degree, she meets his gaze with those calm brown eyes, clear and seeking understanding instead of blathering on. "You said two-fold. Is there more you were seeking to know? I mean, they have been a cause for terrible things in the past. I don't blame you for wanting to learn what you could."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~The two. To learn of the people of this world to see if they are to be rejoined. The second to address those who have harmed my people.~ Blackagar signs far more calmly now, slow to emotion, but quick to calm. ~You are quite wise Jane Foster~ he signs managing to find his smile once again. ~You have great insight for someone who claims to be an astrophysicist. I do believe you are right, it does not change how I feel regarding such things, but my own feelings are of less consequence then those who have suffered.~

Considering her, he signs something further, ~You have answered so many of my questions, provided much insight with free offer. Is there anything you wish to ask of me? I believe you have more than earned such.~

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane shakes her head slightly. "Astrophysicists, like our cousins in physics, have open minds and silly senses of humour. Look at the name of particles, like quarks, with their flavours like up and down, strange, bottom? Goodness. Or what we call serious telescopes. Faust? Leviathan of Parsonstown, Massive Monolithic Telescope. We even name astronomical objects we don't know about things like GMOs, great mysterious objects, or TBT, that blinking thing. People take it seriously." And why! Who can possibly understand? They spend a lot of time staring in the dark. "This only goes to point out I've had the chance for some rare encounters in life. This one. Others. People who were kind enough to let me learn a little, and see the world beyond my own backyard. Is that not worth celebrating with gratitude to you?"

Oh, but then there's the rub of it all, the offer that she turns back with a soft shake of her head. "I could ask so many things, but it's not appropriate. You listened, that is fair enough. A hidden society has its reasons. Asking you about those developments that pertain to what interests me is selfish and a distraction from how you want to find your people, and protect them." Her frown is subtle, a softened rose line, worry creasing her brow. "The journey's not done then. This will sound crazy -- it already does to me -- but there is a purpose sometimes for things. I don't believe in predestination or anything remotely like that. But if I can be of help to you... here I am. Here I might be again."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~My people believe the opposite. That things happen for a reason. That each of us have a purpose, that our lives hold purpose. That our genetics guide us to that purpose. So I do believe I was on that bridge today, at that time, when you were where you were.~ Blackagar smiles to Jane as he signs that and then follows it up with, ~So no, I do not believe this is the end of the journey. Merely a step of it and that our paths will cross again. Your offer of help is appreciated, and it will be accepted when it comes time to.~

It is then Blackagar actually glances around them and flashes a small smile back towards the woman, ~I have kept you quite long today. I cannot express my gratitude except to share the same with you. Should you ever have need of my assistance in any capacity, let me know, and I will come without hesitation. Agreed?~

Jane Foster has posed:
Worth weighed in gold. Worth weighed in nameless coin.

"There was a time when I might have wondered if things were written in the stars." She chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Then, Blackagar Boltagon, I learned that the great majority of starlight we will ever see is unreachable. We are nearing the end of the lengthy Stelliferous Era, and when the stars are gone, it will be the time of the black holes. After unfathomable time, even those mighty beasts will evaporate and the universe will truly beign. So I had to reframe my reference points a little." She could be forgiven for that wry humour, perhaps, regarding him evenly. "I would be glad to get a coffee or tea with you one day. I haven't had the pleasure in months."

A truth that stands like a signpost, marking where treachery lies. "Or outfox the worst bringers of pain and suffering in our time or those before, if that's even possible. I am still out of my depths here, but I can try."

She offers a gesture, sketched gracefully enough. "Likewise. If you need me... call my name, or me." Which registers that she doesn't have a phone. Again. Well, months without. "We can figure that out. I also invite you to have a walk around _my_ museum where we can properly look at the stars. Hayden Planetarium, New York."