6780/Asking Why Isn't Just For Toddlers

Asking Why Isn't Just For Toddlers
Date of Scene:	03 July 2021
Location:	Midtown
Synopsis:	But is cereal a soup or not? A pressing question for the times.
Cast of Characters:	Kelda Stormrider, Steve Rogers

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Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Time spent in Asgard recently has Kelda wishing for a change of scenery. The Court always has opinions and a black hole's worth of interest in gossip and frankly? It's tiring after several days, not to mention several //hundred years//. This time, she's gone out of her way to try and blend in better with her surroundings, as it were. Her cardigan hangs loosely on her athletic frame in a creamy-white, this overtop a light-weight sleeveless long-shirt in powder-blue. Khaki leggings tucked into knee-high boots complete the look. Those boots were made for walking and Kelda finds herself drawn to the ice rink. Summer is putting stress on its presence, but it hasn't been dismantled yet given its staple place in the city.

It's impossible to miss her, height and striking features aside; her carriage hasn't changed over the decades, the cool and composed straightness of spine in combination with pressing palms together before her torso. Whatever she's contemplating has her looking at no one in particular as they circle around the rink.

That is, until a recognizable reflection in the nearby ground-floor tinted windows of the nearest building. Kelda squints at the reflection. ...is that...?

Steve Rogers has posed:
"You know, in three years, I never once thought to ask why you never looked like you were getting heatstroke." Steve steps up next to Kelda, resting his palms on the railing with his arms locked out for support. His hips shift his weight backwards and one boot rests on the low concrete shelf that supports the barrier under him. Dark jeans, a plaid short-sleeved shirt worn lazily untucked; like any of the suburban soccer dads watching their kids fumbling across the ice, willing to trade sore knees and rears for some cool air.

"Is it an Asgardian thing, or your own special trick?" He looks sidelong at Kelda, and a somewhat mischevious grin works across his face.

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Ah-hah, it is the personage in the reflection after all, no misidentification after all. It clicks in her mind and this soothes Kelda personally as she watches the reflection step up beside her. At first, Steve gets an oblique glance from the Asgardian, glacial-blues taking him in.

"Captain Rogers," she greets him quietly, perfectly aware of how it would be easy to bring down the fans and paparazzi with too loud a volume. "It has been said that I have ice in my veins, so at risk of giving my secrets away, let it be this," the Mage then adds almost slyly, her own smile appearing in a fondness reserved but no less true as she better turns to face the super-soldier. "Though if memory serves me well, you have no great love for being overly cold yourself. You seem well, Captain?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve turns to face Kelda when she pivots, and with a proper grin and laughing appreciation for her aplomb, steps forward with a warmly sincere embrace.

"I'm good. I'm real good," he assures her, and holds her shoulders briefly at arm's length to look her up and down. "Wow, you are a sharp dresser," he compliments her, and gives one last squeeze before dropping his hands. "I was just thinking to myself, I'm due another trip to Asgard soon, and I could pay you a visit. Glad you saved me the trouble of walking all that distance." His clear blue eyes dance with a merry mirth at the lame joke.

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Pleasantly surprised at the effusive greeting, Kelda returns it with her own sincerity in turn. Through the valor displayed so many decades ago, the super-soldier has earned himself a permanent place in the Asgardian Mage's heart.

"I thank you kindly for your compliment, Captain, I do hope I appear to...fit in with the occupants of the city." Her eyes twinkle at the man. "I imagine you would wear larger holes in your boots than was even possible in the last march I accompanied you upon," she replies lightly of walking to the fabled world, her smile growing by a minute amount. "It is quite a ways to Asgard. But a visit to the Golden City? You honor us all, Captain. I would not mind acting liaison in the least should you choose to visit. Whatever for? A matter of diplomacy?" Of course a jewel of the Court would be curious about such a visitation.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve nods. "Yep. Keeping the American end of things up," he says. Steve turns to rest his hips on the rail, arms folding loosely on his chest. "I still don't totally understand how the 'Duke of Earth' thing works, but at least I'm a familiar face and I'm smart enough to not go round for round with Volstagg at the ale cask. I'll let Sif win that round," he says, and grins broadly again.

"Plus, Janet wakes up once in a while and reminds me that Thor owes her a royal wedding. I think she's still a little salty that the whole thing got called off. She's got a book of sketches that's like..." He purses his lips, holding thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart and squinting at it speculatively. "that thick. That's a lot of repressed creative energy bound up in a book."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
"I imagine the book might contain a good number of designs the Court would be pleased to see on display." Kelda can't help her smile intensifying for a split second of coy amusement. Her expression then settles into the usual pleasant neutrality with quiet, close-lipped smile remaining.

"And while I do not doubt you might hold your own for some time at the keg, it is perhaps wiser to let the Warriors Three tend to their own both during and after such affairs. Your Duchy provides us with enough entertainment. You need not become it yourself." A squealing pair of teenages swish past and give the Mage reason to glance after them.

Back her attention slides to Steve. "When do you think to attend upon the Golden City then?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
"In the next month or two," Steve assures Kelda. "Might be longer. There's some things happening that need me here. Bucky," he clarifies. Both of them had stories to tell when they'd reunited after Steve's Big Thaw. "He's... struggling a bit, still. Trying to get his head right. And Peg's sick, she's trapped in this thing that's keeping her asleep, and we're..." Lips thin. "You know what I mean, when I say, it's not all good, but it's also not an immediate catastrophe?" he hedges. "It's about like that. Just enough stress that I'm glad I don't need much sleep," he says, and he chuckles at himself. "But hey, no one's shot at me today and my boots are on the right side of the soil, so-- optimism," he concludes, and flashes a slightly weary but resolute thumbs up.

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Kelda's pale brows pinch along with her mouth before she can stop the emotion from showing on her face. A long sigh as the Mage then tilts her head and brings up a quiet, somewhat rueful smile again.

"Diplomacy can wait for the healing of your friends. It is difficult to enjoy the distance from home when things are unsettled at home itself. Your optimism, however, is unchanged and for this, I am most grateful. Come," and the Asgardian gracefully gestures for Steve to accompany her as she makes to walk along the length of the skating rink. "Perhaps I might borrow your knowledge of your world. I have encountered several things recently which I believe require answers from a local, as the saying goes."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve grins at the preemptory gesture from the magess. Already rising thanks to manners hammered into him eighty years prior, he acknowledges the command with a little duck of his head that nearly obsequious enough to be mocking.

But only gently so.

"Only if you promise me you're actually carrying Earth currency these days," he tells her. Eyes narrow in competition with a grin he can't quite keep down. "Pain in the ass Austrian tailor saw you coming a mile away. Two week's pay for that scarf you ordered." The derisive sigh sounds laced with more good humor than any sincere discontent.

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
For all intents and purposes, Kelda seems the part of near-royalty, swanning along the railing of the ice rink in an invisible froth of fabric. Another oblique glance for the Captain nonetheless and what appears to be a faint, purely amused smile. One can almost read her silent thoughts: ah, Midgardians.

"Of course, Captain. Whyever would I not carry proper currency? It would be foolhardy otherwise unless I found my plans uniquely diverted from a preordained path. Perhaps not terribly unlike Norway and its sudden earning of my interest? And truly, Captain, the scarf was to better allow your men focus." Steve gets a dry, nearly smirking look...nearly. "You must admit, their accuracy with their weaponry increased once I began wearing it."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve coughs and stumbles slightly over something that wasn't actually there. "Okay, yes, but--," he says, stalling in minor protest. His ears are turning faintly pink at the tips. "In fairness, a slip is not really appropriate wear for wartime theater," he objects. "In Norway. In winter."

He looks over at Kelda's cool and amused grin, reading the amusement that is otherwise hard to spot in her glacial features. He sighs in resignation. "You and Diana," Steve mutters, and moves to open the door to the commissary for Kelda to precede him inside. "Single-handedly the cause of half the discipline cases in Europe in '44," he adds, following. "You know-- nowadays, we've got lady soldiers. And they wear /trousers/ in combat zones. Not skirts."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
A door opened is worthy of gratitude for good manners: "Thank you, Captain." As Kelda enters the commisary, she leaves in her wake the faintest whift of frozen petrichor and wintersweet blossoms, light and almost lemony. Once within, she side-steps to be certain she's still alongside the super-soldier as they continue on.

"I would gladly wear trousers if they were the more pragmatic option for wear, but I find robes to be far more appropriate for my particular magics. This, and those trained in the arts of war in Asgard are taught to fight in all manner of garmentry, not only that which best suits their form or figure," the battle-Mage explains with another small smile at Steve. "How is Princess Diana? Is she still taking you to task for running at the...hmm. Tanks, yes, the Panzers without her?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
"That sounds like 'I don't wanna'," Steve points out. "Except the long way around on it. Diana's good," he reassures Kelda. "She's out fighting the good fight. We see each other pretty regularly, she's living out of the embassy in New York. Which I don't know if you've heard, actually, Themyscira's apparently going public," Steve tells Kelda. "I guess Queen Hippolyta was even here in New York a month or two back for some kind of initiation ceremony." He shakes his head, then laughs. "I remember when it was queer enough I was running with a god, an alien, and a princess. Now Jor-El's entire family is living here, Thor's moved half of Asgard to Earth and now it looks like the Amazons are taking over New York. Oh, /and/ T'chaka's kids are living here. You should meet Princess Shuri," he advises Kelda. "I've only met her in passing but Tony talks about her like she's the next best thing to sliced bread."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Kelda's demurral of the affair of clothing is accompanied by a slight deepening of her smile. As they walk further into the commisary, she listens, glacial-blues upon the blond super-soldier.

Pale brows lift. "I did hear of the initiation ceremony, yes, from a most favored friend," she confirms of Themyscira. Her eyes light up to hear of one of the original Defenders. "Oh, the children of T'Chaka! Yes, I will need to step into the Wakandan Embassy and see of speaking with her if not her sibling as well. Yes, this Embassy and the Themysciran Embassy and goodness. My schedule is filling up quickly as I consider it." She peals a soft laugh. "And Tony, yes, how is the resident inventor?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
"He's Howard's kid, y'know?" Steve says with a grin. "But he's doing well enough. I don't understand a lot of what he makes, but the eggheads on the team do, so I just nod and sound like I'm impressed."

They reach the commissary counter and Steve flashes a smile at the cashier. She looks at them with the blank stare of someone zoning through customer security before she blinks and realizes who's standing there.

"Cup of coffee and a danish for me," Steve says before the younger woman starts stammering, and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. A $5 is put in the tip jar while he speaks and he starts pulling a few other bills as well. "And whatever the lady likes," he adds, and tilts head towards Kelda to direct the cashier's attention at the towering blonde Asgardian.

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
"Ah, yes, Howard." More than once, Kelda had dealt with the older inventor and his attempt to charm. She seems to hold no ill will whatsoever. "If Tony is as clever as Howard or more, it bodes well for your team and the technology to bring to bear against your troubles. I was always impressed with what Howard was able to create from so little."

Putting on a polite mask, the Asgardian speaks up after Steve: "I would like the same, please, this cup of coffee and what I presume to be a pastry. Do note of my intent to pay for the food next we gather, Captain," she adds to Steve with a warmer little smile for him. There's the impression of a question on the tip of her tongue, but she visibly elects to hold onto it for the moment. It probably isn't for the cashier to hear, much less the general public.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Huh?" Steve looks at Kelda, then down at his wallet, and grimaces apologetically. "Oh, right," he tells her. "Sorry, just... habit," he says, and shrugs apologetically.

It doesn't take long to get served up and Steve uplifts his chin at a table once they've got drinks in hand. It's tucked against a wall where there's at least a modicum of privacy so they're not in everyone's immediate line of sight, and he pulls out Kelda's seat before taking his own in turn.

"You've got that look on your face," Steve tells Kelda, and starts tearing his danish into more reasonably-sized chunks on his napkin. "Like there's something you're looking at and it's making less sense the longer you're looking at it. What's on your mind?"

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
"I will not sneer at kindness, merely return it," Kelda reassures the super-soldier, her lips tilting further up at their corners. In the interim of their food and drink being gathered, she watches the cashier in quiet amusement and some part relief at her relative anonymity. A mental note is made to ask the Captain of how he deals with the never-ending publicity beyond a baseball cap.

When they have their food and Kelda's seat is pulled out for her, she seats herself with a straight-spined grace better suited for flowing robes of general wear. A sip of the coffee and she frowns thoughtfully down at it as she licks her lips. A glance up at Steve. "Oh, yes, you are perceptive. I was firstly wondering of James and how he fares. It then occurred to me that Midgardians do not consider cereal to be a soup and I was musing as to why."

Despite her courtly poise, there's still humor lurking at the corners of the Mage's eyes and mouth as she sips again at the coffee testingly.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Soup is meant to be hot," Steve says, without missing a beat. This is a conversation he's had before. "And Buck's, uh... he's dealing," he says, a little evasively. "I don't know how much you've seen him lately, I mean-- I'm sure he'd like to say hi, if you don't mind me telling him," the soldier adds, hastily. "But he's struggling still to kinda get back into step with the rest of us. You might take him out for a drink or a good meal or something," he suggests. "I wouldn't ask him too much how the last ... eighty years have been, but I bet he'd enjoy reminiscing a bit over the good ol' days. Aside from our friend Sam he does seem to reconnect best with the people he knew during the War."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
There's a twitch at the corners of Kelda's glacial-blues which gives away her internal tittering at the man's split-second response. The joviality dims into sobriety as she gets the response she wishes, information as to the Captain's flanking shadow so many decades back.

"I would not mind in the least if you conveyed my greetings and well-wishes to James. He may rest assured of his privacy as well; if there is one thing I have learnt well of the Court, it is how privacy is to be cherished. I count few things more important. I am glad to hear he has found companionship in these current times. So few of us remain from those days you speak of and we are to be treasured all the more for it. I..."

She pauses in lifting a bite of danish to her mouth. Well-manicured nails dimple into the pastry. "I have a memory of defiant dancing to music playing on one of the radios. It is a fond one," she smiles to herself. "I still never did learn this...Jitterbug, yes, the dance."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Have you tried asking Peggy for lessons?" Steve suggests. "I'm sure she could teach you a step or two. I don't know if her husband Dan is much of a dancer, I've never really seen them cutting a rug at a formal event," he reflects.

"See you really need to come 'round more often, I don't even know if you've /met/ Dan," Steve tells Kelda. "There's some hinkery with that whole situation. She met him after the War, they got married... Sousa-- er, Dan-- he put hands on some kind of machine that propelled him sixty years into the future. It's been a little adjustment for him and Peg figuring things out again, but they're a pretty happy couple all the same."

He looks left and right. "What were we talking about? Dancing?"

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
"Her husband Dan?" Kelda finds herself blinking. She sips her coffee again and tries to put faces to names. Peggy, she remembers; this Dan Sousa isn't ringing a bell.

Still, she's quick enough to pick up the redirect. "Yes, we were discussing dancing and my memory of it, a fond one, wherein the radio was found in an enemy encampment within an abandoned...warehouse, I believe it is called. There was jazz on the radio, if my mind serves me well. I was told I had two left feet and needed a pair of boots against the cold," she says, laughing softly. "But you still speak truly, Captain: I //should// come 'round more often. Too much time passes and so too do many important things I might share with my friends."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Maybe we need to have a reunion," Steve suggests. "The Defenders, the Howling Commandos-- not a whole lot of the old 107th guys left, but I'm friends with the guys who with us in Europe. We play Hearts down at the VFW lodge on Wednesday nights."

"I guess in eighty years, there isn't a whole lot of the Defenders left either," he admits wryly. "Most of the old Great Lakes crew is gone now. The Halls, Torch, Al..." A little melancholy appears on his features. He looks into his coffee cup, drains it, and sits back with arms loosely hugging his chest so he can look out the window. "I guess it's something Asgardians get used to, but it's weird to think how many of my friends these days are either grandkids or immortal."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Steve is given a quiet, knowing look. The Asgardian across the table from him doesn't respond right away; instead, she too looks out the window to see what's drawn attention. Sunlight coming out from behind the clouds brightens everything and brings better contrast to the interior seating area.

"I do not think anyone gets used to loss, Asgardian or Midgardian alike. We all must grace the Great Halls one day. One can only hope it is with a life lived and bettered as it is lived. Those who linger on are surely glad to count you as acquaintance or companion, Captain, and those grandchildren you speak of must look to you with wonder for what their grandparents told them. I think a reunion would be a marvelous thing, to bring everyone together as family -- for what is a family but those you hold dearest? They need not be blood," Kelda observes before she hides part of her smile behind another sip of coffee.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"I guess that's true," Steve says, and looks back at Kelda with an apologetic smile. "No point in complaining about it and can't argue with it, so why question it, right?"

"Anyway, I'm being a downer, and you're here visiting. Why'd you ask about soup, anyway? Can't imagine that it was just a sidebar to asking about Buck."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
"You might question to the content of your heart, Captain. I hope you find your answers, though it may take time as such. However, the question about soup was not a sidebar, no, it was an honest question in regards to the culture of Midgard," Kelda replies, now smiling enough to flash a thin line of her quite-white teeth. "For one might claim soup must be served warm or hot, but what of cold soups like bisque? Or those which might contain fruits but are somehow not considered to be smoothies. I have also been told of your tomato soup being considered a fruit soup as tomatoes are fruit." Following her observation with another sip of coffee, the Asgardian gives Steve her continuing thin grin.

"I was truly curious in regards to James, but the conundrum of what constitutes a soup is one I find amusing to reflect upon. But this question, surely, you will have an answer for, given you were born and raised in this city: a hotdog is a sandwich, yes...?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
"I am pretty sure we've had this conversation before," Steve reminds Kelda with an upticked finger, grinning. "And if I remember right, the Allspeak allows you to understand me perfectly no matter what I say. Right?"

"If I say 'tomato soup', you know exactly what I mean," he observes. "And if someone's weird enough to try and call 'tomato soup' a 'fruit smoothie', that's someone who is either way too obsessed with linguistics, or they're the kind of peculiar person who'll drink tomato soup cold. And I can't help anyone who's crazy enough to do that voluntarily."

"Maybe we could use that Allspeak thing as a crazy meter. Or lie detector. See, I've gotten just a /bit/ smarter over the last couple years," he tells her, and taps the side of his temple with two fingers.

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
It is with overt amusement that Kelda affirms, "Yes, I would understand you perfectly." Thankfully, she's got enough sense of composure to not laugh into her coffee. Dignified, she nods further agreement with Steve's observation, even if the corners of her mouth are now puckish little dimples.

"Just a little more intelligent, yes, and the world should shiver in its boots for it. I remember the tales James told of you in your childhood. You were what we might call an imp," the Mage notes. "Though I find it intriguing that you might consider Allspeak as a method of discovering the truth when the younger Prince is quite eloquent in his ability to make words gleam to his fancies." Kelda lifts impressionable brows; God of Mischief and all.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"No, I've got an easy solution for figuring out Loki's lying," Steve says. He spreads his hands as if bracketing an important object and makes eye contact with Kelda. "You can tell, because his lips are moving."

He holds eye contact a beat before grinning at his joke, and gives Kelda a few moments to decide on his reaction before he sits back again. "And I don't know what an imp is, unless it's a short guy with a bad instinct for picking fights," Steve tells Kelda. "I kept my nose clean, didn't get in dutch with the law. Even did OK in school, I mean, what we had for school back then. We had Latin class. I've never once had to speak Latin in my daily life. Kids these days, they get to learn how rocket ships work and they do art classes where they just... make stuff. No guidance, no 'history' to it. Just sitting around, being creative for its own sake." He shakes his head with a smile of wonderment.

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Kelda waits for this easy solution. Once presented? The Goddess of Blizzards appears to be resigned. Her lift of brows this time is droll from behind a sip of coffee and lack of commentary is surely commentary in itself. Loki isn't the God of Mischief for nothing.

"You might find the lessons in Latin come in very usefully one day. I suppose it might be like my own lessons in the art of the axe. I have not once brought an axe to bear, but," and she spreads her hands briefly. "It is a boon to be familiar with its use. I do believe in your claim to have never been in trouble with Midgardian authorities as a child, though...yes. A shorter individual with a penchant for physical conflicts is a definition of an imp," Kelda teases in a friendly manner. "Do you still sketch, speaking of the art lessons?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Not enough," Steve admits, ruefully. "I was never really great at it. It was a way to blow off steam in our downtime, sometimes make a buck doing a sketch for the Bugle or something. Political cartoons or illustrations," he clarifies.

"But it's never been a, uh... calling?" he hedges. "Not something I'd do as a career. That's a fast way to lose the love of doing something for its own sake. Still..." He considers something in the middle distance over Kelda's left shoulder, then looks back at the tall Asgardian with a flickering refocus. "I should probably take a class or two, brush up on my old skills a bit. It's as perishable as any other ability," he points out.

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Kelda nods over the still-rising steam of her cup of coffee, this held by fingertips of both hands before her chest. "This is very true, its perishable state, though muscle memory might stand in for what time may have softened or erased. Muscle and mind memory," she adds with another twitch of her lips. Her eyes rest on Steve with the ease of familiarity and by now, what thin veneer of cooler courtliness has melted by a good amount.

"A class would benefit all. Even if you may claim otherwise, your very presence sometimes inspires, Captain. To see you with your sketching might be to move another burgeoning artist to try the harder and thus become successful. I say 'sometimes' because inspiration may also be imminently distracting." Her smile hides in another sip of her drink and shows in her glacial-blues upon him instead.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"I don't know about all that," Steve chuckles modestly. "Maybe the distracting bit. Soldiers on a battlefield, they need motivation and a little push. I think that any art class I tried to teach would just end up with a lot of people either frustrated with their skills, or realizing that I'm just a lousy sketch artist with a good name," he says, grin spreading.

"There's a big difference between being competent at something, and being good at something. And teaching someone how to do it is a different set of talents completely. I should -take- a few classes before trying to teach them. Or at least spend some time sitting in studio drawing live rather than just... freehanding doodles."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
"I did mean attending a class rather than teaching one just yet, yes, given your thoughts on your current level of mastery," Kelda agrees. "I am uncertain if I could teach another of the art of the war-axe, for example, but my own mastery of the art of elemental ice would be easy enough to tutor, I suppose. However, I should not invite Fate to consider such a thing." She laughs in the quietly chiming manner of her habits.

"I can still imagine you sitting in a class before an easel in one of your...disguises and attempting to perhaps slouch," the Mage companionably teases. "Do you still attempt the...baseball cap approach?"

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Y'know, they call that 'tradecraft' around here," Steve tells Kelda conspiratorially. "Blending in. I'm not that terrible at it," he says as if that might surprise her. "Peggy taught me some back in the day, and my friend Natasha showed me some more tricks."

"It's not just wearing a cap and glasses, I mean-- those help," he clarifies. "But if you hunch your shoulders, change your stride, use an accent, it can make people overlook you. If you really get into it the other trick is to play to expectations. People expect, y'know, 'Captain America', so they don't look at the guy who's mumbling to himself and stinks of cheap wine."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
"Tradecraft," the Asgardian repeats quietly to herself with a nod. Her little smile grows as she listens and commits what she hears to memory.

"I agree entirely. No one in your realm would suspect their Duke of losing rigidity of spine and imbibing to the point of intoxication...or even of the latter being possible." Now her lips contain a subtle, sharp playfulness in their curve. "I think, perhaps, for the sake of my own edification and perhaps to aid in your own mastery, we should test our relative abilities to enact this tradecraft. I am not of this world and it is..." Weaving her head back and forth, the pale-blonde Mage sighs. "It is painfully obvious when it should not be in critical times. I can think of no better judge than someone who is familiar with my form and poise -- in a companionable manner," Kelda clarifies airily.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve starts laughing at that prospect. "I don't know, Kelda," he hedges. "I can fake a couple accents pretty well and I know a few languages, at least well enough to pass as an out-of-towner. Asgardians all sound the same. I've heard Thor trying to sound familiar and it still comes out with that, uh..." he gestures, trying to think of the word. "There's a certain formality to it, the cadence. I used to think that was just you being, well, you. Very formal and polite. Talking to the other Asgardians a bit, I hear it from all of them now."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
It's impossible to resist joining in with the super-soldier's chortling. He so rarely laughs as is. Kelda covers her mouth against the volume of her own laughter, courtly comportment taking precedence still.

"You are not incorrect, Captain. It is true, we have our etiquette and it is difficult to place aside in most circumstances. But we of the Court are studied in the art of accents, the better to hear the truth of what is being said by those visiting."

Steve gets a sudden bright grin from the Mage, one as glittering as diamonds and dramatically counter to her generally reserved airs. "G'day, Cap'n, what's the John Dory? Visiting Midgahd's a right bonza 'nd 's'noice to see 'em all feelin' like no worries, she'll be right." Then clearing her throat, Kelda drops the Australian accent to add, "I was quite fond of listening to Private Taylor when he was in his cups between the raids."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Slow clap, three hollow reports of Steve's palms slapping together. "I'm pretty sure even you have no idea what you just said," Steve says, "but A+ for effort. I'm sure a couple hours in Taylor's company again, you'd pick it right up."

"Though, come to think of it-- minus the slang and the heavy drawl, Thor does sound a little like that," Steve reflects. "Y'know. It's not, uh, posh English like Peggy does. Hits the ear weird. Like an Australian trying to speak up in a fancy way. Maybe it's just me," he admits.

"Back to hobbies-- why the curiousity in art?" he asks Kelda. "You thinking of picking it up? It's really not hard to learn the basics of outline and shadow, and from there it's just practice practice practice."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
An incline of head and spread of an elegant hand off to one side stands in for a curtsey from Kelda. Her smile is both smug and the tiniest bit sheepish. It's a good start, but as Steve rightly surmised, she knows the slang but not necessarily its clearest meaning.

"Your ear would pick up similarities rooted in your own world. It is not so odd," she notes of his observations of Thor's accent. Another sip of coffee, the danish long-gone at this point and just crumbs remaining on her plate. "I have a vested interest in art, yes, and of Midgard. All of the Court is offered training in this in our youth and some choose it while others choose the arts of war or mystical power or other pursuits. I am not untutored in the basics of light and shadow, as you spoke of, but rusty, as the word may go? Yes. It might behoove me to also take a class to remind myself of the finer details."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"I'm sure I could arrange something as a... Hmm. Cultural exchange?" Steve hedges. He makes a gesture of uncertainty with his left hand. "There are some pretty good colleges in the area with decent arts programs. If you have a medium you enjoy, I can make some calls and see if anyone would be willing to let you quietly audit the class. No roll calls, no grades or anything. Just sitting in and learning how it's done."

"I make no promises though," he amends quickly. "I can make some phone calls but it's not like I have the Arts Department at Columbia on my speed dial. But if you think it'd be educational--" his hands spread. "I'm happy to at least try to get you in a position to learn something new."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
"It would be kind of you, Captain, thank you." Having attempted her tradecraft, Kelda returns to her state of reserved little smiles and muted amusement. "I agree that no guarantees should be given and I would prefer //not// to cause a stir. Certainly, you understand. It would also give me a chance to...practice my skills at blending in to Midgardian society. I know not what the younger of this current generation wears, but surely I might research and learn easily enough."

Leaned back in her chair, still with coffee held by fingertips before her chest, the Asgardian then looks out across the courtyard. Skaters continue their cavorting on the rink and tourists take pictures left and right. "It is a blessing to have peace and time to indulge in these things... I would be fain to miss the opportunity," she says more quietly, now giving Steve another soft smile.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"You're welcome to as much peace and quiet as you can wrangle," Steve says with a dimple-cheeked grin. "For as long as it lasts, any way. I don't know if it's because villains known I'm on vacation, or if I just get twitchy if I'm down for too long, but it never seems to last. There's always something on fire, blown up, or under siege. I think the longest we've gone without a disaster in the last year was a two-month stretch. And that's just, you know. The Avengers as a team. I think Tony was trapped in limbo for a while there. I mean, he wasn't in mortal peril, but..." The edges of Steve's hands thump the table, bracketing the issue. "It'd be nice if things could just /stay saved/ once we set them straight. Just for a day or two!"

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Kelda nods with pale brows quirked in sympathy. Two months? It seems like enough time to begin to think the peace might hold and the dashing of things to be extremely rude in turn.

"It is the...hmm, not curse, but...result of a higher form of existence, as we would say in Asgard. You did not ask for it, of course, I would never suspect you or your ilk or your team to welcome a terrible challenge with open arms. Your world is blessed to have the Avengers as well as others to stand against those who would otherwise cause suffering. Perhaps peace is to be enjoyed by the mouthful rather than by the plate and each sampling to be relished rather than taken for granted."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Well art or not, you've always had a poetic way with words," Steve compliments Kelda. "But like I said, I think I'd go a little crazy if I actually had that much downtime at hand."

He glances at his watch, then starts gathering their cups and plates onto one tray so it can be walked over and disposed of. "I hate to cut it short, but I do need to be getting going," he apologizes. "But while I've got you here-- I'm talking to some folks about throwing a military ball for the 107th. It'll mostly be guys from the old unit, but also some of the Commandos and the Defenders. Maybe some other mutual friends. I can hold some seats for you and a friend if you want to bring a date," he offers. "It'll be a few weeks out yet, but I'm hoping it will bring everyone together for the first time in a long while. Interested?"

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Kelda dimples slightly. "Thank you kindly," she demurs, pleased nonetheless for the compliment as to her Courtly manners.

Somehow, without making a deal of it, she manages to drain her cup of coffee once she realizes the collecting of plates means departure. Mad Asgardian skills. Steve puts forth his thoughts for future plans. "Ah, absolutely, Captain. Please, do assume I will be attending unless dire circumstances come forth. I cannot confirm whether or not I might bring a companion, but do save one seat unless I contact you otherwise? I do have a cell phone despite the thoughts of my fellow Asgardians on such things. Do allow me to give you my number in case you've need to contact me in a manner other than sending a raven."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve's brows go upwards in surprise. "A cell phone? Wonders never cease," he marvels. His own phone is produced and turned back on; he holds up his hand for a moment's pause, and it starts chiming noisily with backed-up messages he had been ignoring.

The dance of numbers is done quickly. Steve sends a text to someone and tucks his phone safely away again. "Not that a raven wouldn't be neat, but I think it'd make Sam jealous," Steve says with a wry grin.

Once they're out of the commissary, Steve turns to Kelda. "Let's not wait so long until the next time, okay?" he says, arms partially extended in an offer of a hug. "And I will let Buck know you'd like to say hi to him. He's in a rough spot lately but I'm sure he'll appreciate the chance to catch up a bit."

Kelda Stormrider has posed:
Steve briefly gets a droll, semi-flat squint from the Asgardian. She's still fully aware of the potential rarity of such a state. Observe, the little smirk to one corner of her plush mouth. Numbers exchanged, Kelda then rises and attends upon the super-soldier out of the commissary and into the brighter light of the afternoon.

Now, Kelda smiles and it's a truly pleased expression, not muted in the least. It twinkles along with her eyes. The offered hug is taken and returned with moderate, honest strength and sincerity. She still scents of winter-blooming flowers and petrichor. "Please do. I do not wish to force his presence in any manner, but to see him again, even if shortly, would be delightful." Taking a step back, the Mage's hands end up pressed palms together before her stomach out of long habit. "If it is best we speak at the ball you intend to plan, then let it be so," she tells Steve. "Do carry my greetings to the others of your team, the Princess Diana -- all who might smile to hear them."