7207/The Inconvenience of Mortal Life

The Inconvenience of Mortal Life
Date of Scene:	03 August 2021
Location:	Dakota Apartment 1
Synopsis:	Catching up about blowing up death gods, chasing Inhuman nightmares of cosmic power, and debating the finer points of secrecy from your friends.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Blackagar Boltagon

---

Jane Foster has posed:
New York doesn't lack for restaurants aplenty. In fact, it probably boasts far more restaurants than any one person could eat at in a lifetime, assuming they were the very bog-standard human civilians that Latverian dictators and certain inhumane kings profess not to give a damn about. Jane could bother with takeaway, and really, there are so many reasons to explore. She, however, has opted for an actual proper meal involving using a kitchen that is comparably larger than some two-bedroom apartments. At least it feels so.

An invitation via phone to Blackagar promises a meal, company, good music at least. The address given is one she meets him at, a block away from the Dakota, and walks him to. Partly because the lack of herbs means hopping down to said bodega, and one doesn't make a proper Italian pasta without fresh basil or oregano. It's as good an opportunity as any to go hand-in-hand back to the first luxury apartment the city ever had.

"I'm still unpacking a lot. I hope you'll mind the boxes. They came out of storage and I cannot ask an intern to decide where anything but the books go." For obvious reasons, the warning was given on coming in. And quite frankly, this could be an embassy for science or random Asgardians for the floorplan of disused bedrooms, other rooms, and even a damn drawing room home to a reasonably nice television.

The kitchen, that's snug and cozy by a window, and thus the salad stuck on the table with a bottle of wine, a few parmesan-crisp crackers, does not feel like living in something utterly palatial. She prods at the mound of noodles in the strainer, swirling them around with a sprinkle of olive oil. Mundane things everyday people do, they cook for their important others. Personages of interest. Objet d'amo-- them. The sauce for the pasta simmers away happily, seasoned to like, a splash of red wine hidden in there. She's distracted by anything but stirring and draining in the simplest means, in part due to the simple fact it's Blackagar and they are not, in fact, in a London street.

Or imagination. This is real.

So, fine, she's sneaking looks at him, in part because it's so damn appealing to do so.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
It had been a few days. Blackagar had certainly /felt/ it. The morning a week ago when he informed Jane he needed to return to Attilan for a time, to attend to affairs. It had all been taken in stride, even when Lockjaw had appeared all happy and escorted his friend via teleportation back to the Moon City. But, like he had promised, he had returned a week later.

He had arrived in New York City, had stopped to get a coffee and then seen news of some kind of event taking place. He had gone. He had battled skeleton warriors, some kind of skeleton beast. He had been hurt, he had been exhausted and for once, Blackagar actually felt like he needed to rest. When the message had come from Jane inquiring about dinner it was what had stirred him from his sleep. A swift response, an eagerness in it and that is what has brought him to this point in time now. Standing watching her cook and stealing his own glances.

His thoughts have been relatively quiet. His body is exhausted, his mind is as well while it works through details. But whenever he glances at Jane there is that soft sensation of comfort, of affection.

<<I am not certain which of us should begin. I suspect we both have much that has occurred.>>

He could make it without talking about events at all, simply being with her, enjoying a meal, would be sufficient but there is this inkling that something more lies under the surface. He knows for himself it is a fact.

Jane Foster has posed:
Maybe Hinduism has it right, most of reality being an illusion. Time sure seems to operate on rules entirely up to its own whims. A few days apart feels like a month. Time flies while engaged in work, though, days crushed into a curious blur. Thus turning to gainful pursuits to catch up on a backlog convulsed Jane then, the better to deliberately not notice what life looks like in the quiet hours after dark. In the many moments when her shattered soul goes swandiving into the ether, escorting the lost, the dead, to a broken realm.

"Go sit down first if you want," Jane points a slotted straining spoon intended for whipping pasta into twisted golden mountains. At least the longer pastas, spaghetti and fettucini. "You are my guest, Blackagar, and my expectation is that you feel comfortable. I can manage a plate of garlic bread and the chicken out of the oven."

Chicken parmigiana is a simple dish but happily herbed, mozzarella disks melted in for additional flavour. When the timer bleats, she ducks to open the overly fancy oven and plucks out the dish. Sorting out the noodles to two plates really is a fine art, and the parmigiana laid out atop it with fringing roasted vegetables finishes off the culinary art. She brings that over to put in front of him, going back for her own portion with lyrical ease.

<<We can go back and forth, if you like. Agent Johnson and Doctor Simmons brought me back to their current headquarters.>> The not-Triskelion one stirs in her mind. <<Happy reunion with an expected prank pulled on me. They decided to show me the cryogenic tube they claimed to hold me in, but there wasn't anything there. Nothing I could touch and see, and I laid in in the thing to satisfy their curiosity. They both claimed to interact with me -- my body.>> Nothing is ironic anymore, but it's not comfortable. <<Even took a photo, but there wasn't anything there. I can't define if they have gone mad or I did, but two witnesses versus one?>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<I will be seeking to meet with Daisy in the coming days.>> Blackagar thinks softly as he hesitates, it is not often he gets ordered around and the upturn of his eyebrow is humored, pleased, but he actually does as instructed and goes to sit himself down after moving the chair. <<When I do, I will go an see myself. I suspect they are not playing a prank on you, but perhaps the fact that /you/ cannot see your body while others can would present a clue to the situation. I have put some thought into it, I will admit, I have shared some thoughts over it with my others in Attilan. Something that was voiced was that perhaps you are out of phase with yourself.>> The thought is floated out and he folds his hands on the table.

<<Like an image, over the top of another image but just slightly off. That is why you could not see yourself because you are close enough to the original image that it appears to be the same. But to the rest, the images are different enough that there appears to be two.>> His shoulders lift in a shrug.

He looks at the brown haired woman, watching her go about her tasks and idly rubbing his shoulder while doing it. <<What you are preparing smells amazing.>>

Jane Foster has posed:
Yes, even an astrophysicist will tell a king what to do. Galileo and the Pope established a fascinating precedent and they remain throughout history: Keppler, Copernicus, infamously Tycho Brahe. Alas, Jane has a golden bracelet, not a nose, and no moose companion. Boo about the moose, he might be the best drinking companion on the moon! Instead she has a pegasus who loves mead.

She leans over the table in defiance of the wine glasses and endangering the bowl of salad to blow him a kiss with a laugh. <<Daisy would pull a prank, but Jemma is rarely the sort. Or hers would be a great deal more subtle. For them to pull me into a vault... But I cannot discount that nothing was there, and how that applies. Illusions exist. Loki famously uses them, though he was there when I tried to show him that the afterlife is distorting and broken. Why would he betray me for that?>> The question of Amora isn't even touched. There are usual suspects.

Settling back into the seat beside him, so they face one another, she reaches for her fork. Smart to start on the pasta while it steams in a bath of pure happiness. <<I made it a lot during university and the field. That's a seasoned chicken tenderloin and the handmade noodles were fresh. They're fun to watch off the rollers. Bon appetit.>>

A wiggle of her fork offers welcome. <<You look a bit careworn. Did something bite you in Attilan?>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
His own fork is lifted, examined thoughtfully before he begins to eat. For Blackagar the concept of pulling a prank of any regard exists, but one of this nature and magnitude where it would truly inflict emotional harm, it just seems <<childish>> is the thought that floats across his mind. Looking up, blue eyes blink and he blushes some. <<Apologies. There is a gap between playfulness and childishness, and if this is some kind of grand prank or illusion, I find it to be the latter. And that would be necessary to address.>> Oh yes, the King would have conversations which would be most unpleasant.

He settles into the food, capable of thought conversation and eating at the same time. Although he does savor the dish before diving in. <<When I returned, the incident in the city which was on the news? It was near where I returned, so I went to assist. The creatures were formidable and I am loathe to say it, I was unexpecting of their capabilities. A few were able to strike me when I was distracted and they packed quite the force.>> Blackagar? Hurting? Apparently it can happen.

He considers the food as he is clearly devouring it at this point, pausing to pace himself a bit having not realized his hunger prior. <<It is quite good. You should prepare such more often. So what else has transpired while I was gone?>>

Jane Foster has posed:
Hey, if he's not had Italian food homemade for him before, new experiences await. Jane actually can cook. Not necessarily perfectly but messing up a proper sauce is hard to do, especially when Babish and other YouTube experts help her sidestep the most pertinent risks. She doesn't even bother to do more than nibble on a sliver of chicken in its golden crumbles of happiness when he blushes. <<Hey.>> An affirmative nudge flows right back, and she even manages a little hand gesture for "Good" with a bit of finesse. <<No apologies. I approached the situation as a bad one because my brushes with court magicians went fairly badly. They were callous to mortals. Loki may not be the same now. He was once. He tried to make a city bow and steal a throne. I was there, it wasn't exactly a happy time. He may have changed. It might have been Amora, but why would she enspell me viciously after I got in the way? My money's on the draugr.>>

His willingness to come to her defense warms that link, but she still tries to allay that blush. It's a very effective blush. A lilt of mixed spices for a Tuscan sunset warrant a certain easing back. <<I haven't forgotten you asked about it in Attilan. Thank you.>> Her turn to look down, smiling a little too deeply. A scrunch of her fingers around the napkin in her lap transpires. Yes, you win a point, o Blackagar Boltagon.

<<You were anywhere near that building fire? It wasn't just a fire. The call was a single, loud howl.>> Her shoulder rolls at the weight. <<Are you going to be okay? I know how to manage stitches, assuming a needle won't break on your skin. Or the SHIELD gel that seals things up. I promise you can have all the tiramisu I've got in the fridge. And you can come by for dinner whenever you like.>> The idea of him sneaking through the window to scarf a sandwich forms, and she raises her eyebrows. <<If you don't mind sharing a space with a magic horse. He wants to meet you properly, by the way. Bit mad at me for not doing so sooner, missing that whole 'It's a secret' bit.>>

He can help himself to as much as he likes. The point of a meal is just that, satisfaction. <<What else? HYDRA decided to stage an attack on civilians. They let me come along and I made a few spatial rifts to exit terrigen gas onto the Moon.>> You know, just like that. <<We attempted to secure those crystals, but it didn't turn out as intended. Few rogue elements from your people wanted to drop a skyscraper and apparently unleash the gas for expected negative consequences, I think. We couldn't dissuade them. One of yours had a fair bit to say when I escorted him out. I'm sorry I couldn't do more.>> Guilt is a sparkling shard there, the rue that comes with a job done but not enough done. <<Though that's between the King of the Inhumans and me. My superiors there don't know. It's not their business. It is yours to know I made sure they reached where they needed to be. One didn't. A former king of Attilan is behind some of these terrorist attacks, in a marriage of convenience with HYDRA. I think we witnessed the end of that relationship a couple nights ago, but he's been damn hard to track down. He transforms at the drop of a hat.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar is thoughtful as Jane brings him the information. Inhuman King, immediately he pictures The Unpsoken and the description she provides fits the expectation. His hands are slow as he moves them instincitively in conversation even though it isn't necessary. <<It would fit the profile and what happened in Metropolis. I suspect there is more going on however. When I returned to Attilan things were stable, too stable for my liking considering the underlying currents not long ago. Like a calm before a storm. I suspect that there is coordination between him and my brother to try and overthrow the structure.>> Thoughtfulness comes.

<<They do not like the changes I bring about. The caste system we used was done because of resource management, logistics. We did not have the means to support a population without a strict structure. Necessity. They view it as a means to maintain their own power. So this conflict brews. Authoritarianism would fit with what I know of Hydra's goals as well. Thus, partners they would make.>>

The offer of coming in for food as he sees fit, meeting Mr. Horse, all those items come back to him and he smiles. Although there is joy in those thoughts, his mind is fully activated now regarding the threats. <<I will be blunt with you Jane. I do not fully trust this... SHIELD. Those among them that are Inhuman I know not well enough. But I do not suspect our paths align well beyond mutual enemies and threats. And such alliances do not tend to last.>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<<I'm sorry>> coexists with leaden sentiments, acceptance for a death at a perfect shot, a fierce and churning current welling up from somewhere deep awash in protectiveness. The pictured image of James, Inferno at last chance, is so crystal-clear in the mind it would put a photograph to shame, rendered as surely as staring in a mirror. The man's own confirmation that the Unspoken went about his actions for sheer pleasure of doing so, using HYDRA as a means to an end haunts the bond they share in his voice; not Jane's, not Blackagar's. An intrusion clearly that she doesn't like, palm to the tabletop, but an essential requirement all the same.

For a bit after that, she is quiet to let him sort the results of the unwelcome delivery. Another point; not shooting the messenger. It still remains to be seen. He could always do that after dinner. <<HYDRA wants to exert total control. We foiled their plans to cast themselves as heroes in a public light, a rescue during an attack on American soil. They will be on the defensive. I'm more concerned about the consequences of a change in tactics. Wherever he went, this is someone clearly willing to mastermind attacks to suit his agenda. Collateral damage or losing his own associates didn't seem to trouble him in the least. He went dark and retreated immediately. It might fit the opposition to your planned changes, or an effort to undermine your authority.>> It would be nice if it only were that.

Her fingers slip across the table, the gold bracelet slinking up her forearm. <<But the Unspoken takes this personally. He wants you gone. Not likely satisfied with an abdication. Whatever your society looks like, reshaped in his image, more than likely. I haven't caught the full pattern, but I want you to be on guard for him. Whatever it means. I'll be at your back, for what that's worth.>> A bit of a sad smile rises for a little. Not long, but a bit. <<You are a king. They are a spy organization. The Inhumans within are a bit different, aren't they? It may be a rocky road ahead. They will choose where they stand, and when they do, there you go. What plans did you have in mind?>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Slow thoughts mingle, serious topics and considerations especially when his own plans are questioned, inferring he has any. The course of simply /being/ and learning of Earth. Of keeping things seperate begins to dissolve in front of him but there are still avenues. <<Many who do not know me have never known my mind,>> Bolt begins as he looks at Jane. <<One who cannot speak is often dismissed. This is common even among my people. So it I am often underestimated.>> He smiles a bit, <<My own brother thinks I am but a simpleton.>> There's humor there, ironic humor.

<<The Unspoken does not care about collateral damage because every human is unimportant in his eyes. I'm not sure what his end game is, but believe me, he does not care how many are killed because in his mind why should he care about the death of a lesser species?>> Blue eyes pierce then, there's a distinct difference between Blackagar and the others in that regard. <<A simple abdication would not be enough, because my presence alone is a reminder to them all of their place.>> He has never bragged, he's not boastful. But Jane needs to know.

In his mind, he let's her /see/ for a moment. To see the raw power he keeps restrained. She can see back to the time he spoke and shattered so much of Attilan. Of the time he went out into the middle of nowhere on the moon and whispered creating a crater a mile wide. <<It is not the throne alone they fear, it is the power as well. The Unspoken, My Brother, the others. They know a hint of what I am, and even that hint scares them.>>

<<I believe dealing with SHIELD however is the first step of my path. Their leadership is free from this construct they were in. I have only dealt with the Inhumans of the group, but it is time to stand on footing with them. I fear they as well do not fully grasp the tides, nor the reality of things.>> What reality is that?

Jane Foster has posed:
<I like this mind. Most pretty and deep.> Imperfect gestures encapulsate the sentiment in the end, but Blackagar hasn't used the sign for expansive or vibrant for her to quite pick up. Jane's fluency may already be on the cutting edge, but she shakes her head a little at the clipped words of a seven-year-old. <<Your brother's missing out.>> Not underestimated, but an idiot, a sentimental reflexive response delivered with characteristic bluntness because a telepath who hears into her mind isn't going to overlook her saying something nice and kicking the statement in denial. <<We've had exceptional conversations.>>

Slender noodles spun around her fork end up sliced by her knife, rather than chopped sideways with a fork going back and forth. Knives should not be so appealing, and so she sets it aside while the bracelet laughs in its silent crackle of spellbound purpose. It has an opinion. <<I know he wants you dead. Damnatio memoriae, completely forgotten, would be helpful. Unfortunately this Unspoken and I will forever disagree on that.>>

The veil drops. So does the fork.

She may well wield a great artifact on her wrist, but it doesn't do a damn thing to encapulsate making craters that require actual bombardment. Cracks that perforate the mantle. Things that an astronomer understands intimately in terms of force and energy. The numbers are spinning, projecting through an equation, out of pure habit. <<Their emotions aren't wrong. They simply are. But acting off them presents the obvious problem.>> Judicious words. She'd still kick his brother for being unkind.

Dinner is a bit forgotten. Ooh, that degree of acceleration by a radius of 1.6 km, presuming the basalt density of... Her hand reaches for his arm. Just a touch to say she is there. Or that she is not going out the window screaming any moment. <<Their leadership has a lot of independence, but the director is his own man. I didn't have a fun time dealing with him but I hope you do better. I'd recommend Phil Coulson, but he may not be in a state to do much yet. He was hurt during the fight with the Unspoken.>> A glimmer of light, a sweeping strike to send a blade straight through living flesh of his arm. Poison writhing out from a stone in his hand transmutes him bit by bit, stealing his life, until meeting that cosmic wave of fire. His destroyed hand falling away like stone settles on a wave of internalized grief. <<I couldn't think of anything else to do to spare him.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<That is what I have observed as well, their leadership seems a bit spread about. Arranging a meeting with one is not the same as speaking to another. They are insular, they are secretive. Much like my own people naturally. But with that said /conversations/ need to be held.>> Blackagar has also momentarily forgotten the food, but then he returns to it although a bit more slowly than before. <<I simply wish you to be aware that I am not entering the situation with them in a means that would scream immediate cooperation. I have much skepticism.>>

He twirls the noodles over his fork and takes a few bites more, chicken, all of it is a glorious blend of herbs and textures. <<If I must leave for a week in order to get a meal this good, I believe we may have a problem, for I do not think I want to leave for weeks at a time.>> The smile on his lips does hint playfully.

He had noticed her drop her fork when she shared his visions of his past. He had set it aside. It is a shame for him in many ways because of that moment without control, the great price and devestating cost that happened. Even Blackagar does not know truly what he could do, he will always have restraint because of that one moment.

Jane Foster has posed:
<<Meeting the other members of your people within SHIELD is probably similar to establishing an employee resource network. Instead of Asian or Pacific Islanders, it's merely a hidden race.>> Right, that sounds so easy. Jane actually chuckles at herself, only mildly disreputable for downplaying some of the seriousness in the matter. <<Conversations need to happen. They may have unwittingly fought against other Inhumans, or their enemies. They might need to know what's happened to bring them here, to this moment in history, at least to make informed decisions.>>

Doctor Foster right know a thing or two about informed decisions when it comes to things rapidly changing. <<Blackagar, I do appreciate your candor. It's rather a stunning feature when the world is full of secrets and mysteries. Terribly infectious, too, which might have its own consequences. Though I'm not violating my obligations or yours by putting us in a compromising position if I can help it.>> Spooks and kings, strangest of bedmates, sometimes have to make adjustments to get through the world or just dinner. It's a companionable matter, though, as she nudges his foot with her own. Blackagar will fine a piece of garlic bread on his plate, at the edge, when she divvies out one of her own. "Try that with a bite of the chicken. Kind of a magical experience."

As if sitting in a tiny palace of literary intelligentsia and cultural elegance isn't a bit magical, at least in a shared situation. She takes a breath, looking back at him across the table for a small while. And in that moment, there is nothing daunting; no sight of truth, no disruption of illusions or pattern-scouring that owes its insight to some divine trinket. It's just them. <<Don't be ashamed of who you are. I care for you as you are, and that means everything. Even if you like to eat pickle sandwiches or dance to... no, actually, you can dance to whatever you like, I enjoyed it. Putting aside the scientist side of me astonished at what you can do, you don't have to be anyone else with me other than yourself. You extended me a grace I had no right to expect, but beyond that, you went through an incredibly difficult and challenging ordeal. Pretty much the definition thereof. It shaped you, but it isn't only you. I hope I didn't offend you in any way.>> A scrape of the fork across the plate marks leaving the flatware as it is. <<Because I think pretty highly of you, Your Majesty, and it wouldn't be something to leave unaddressed if you thought otherwise.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
He nods slowly, <<Like we have talked about, I do view them as a responsibility. But like any child, at a certain age they are free to reject their parents, to strike out on their own.>> Yes, Blackagar compared them to children. But well, he is a King. A little bit of that Father mentality persists. <<The bread and the chicken?>> He inquires while putting those two together and setting about to eat it. While doing so he is considering softly.

<<The reason I am hesitant to ask this, Jane, is because it may put you in a precarious situation. One that is at least questionable for others. But. You understand me. You know what I am communicating. Would you be willing to translate for me if the need arises?>> Blackagar lifts an eyebrow at her when he asks it. <<In the court, I have someone translate for me. No one holds respect for a man scribbling on a slate as much as they do one that has others speak for him in his presence. Even that is considered a weakness. But when it comes to dealing with SHIELD, I will be coming from a position of strength. Thus... this request.>>

He looks at her and actually rolls his eyes softly, <<Offend me?>> he considers at her. <<You do not offend me. Do not worry of such things. Feel, Jane. Do I /feel/ offended?>> he asks with an expression to match the bemused tone of his thoughts. <<None of the Majesty, none of that business. Here, I would much rather attempt to be as normal, as informal as possible.>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<<We've already crossed the Rubicon. The Unspoken nearly caused a mass casualty event, and I cannot overlook that. With things already so unstable, a sudden influx could prove catastrophic. Not only for the city, for every last person who lives and breathes.>> Jane looks down at her hands, and she is so not commenting on the patriarchal behaviour. Not entirely out of keeping for the role, but there's a feisty old All-Father who is a right bastard. <<I don't even know where your people would normally go, but it should not be where they are. I can tell you that much. That puts you and I in a professional obligation to one another already, because you worry about their wellbeing as their king in life and I concerned myself with their wellbeing otherwise.>> Slowly her gaze lifts again, since it's hard not to take pleasure in having the same sight lasting for more than a few minutes. For it not being blackened around the edges, blurry or filmed by the failing vision of a dying mind. Always appreciate those moments as they exist, drink them down. <<You don't have to ask me twice about acting as your translator. They are going to ask me some interesting questions but I'm prepared to answer them as I have to. Unless you have already considered that angle.>> Half-truths, half-lifes.

The bemused tone earns a small smile, but it's almost sad for a moment. <<You're right. Blackagar.>> Just that, a murmur in the mind, and repeated again on her lips. "What ever am I going to do with you? Other than ask if you're still hurting from those injuries, or comfortable enough to maybe take a walk around the neighbourhood, curl up on the couch? Get lost in these rooms?" A wrinkle of her nose shaves a decade off her age. <<I had to put up Post-It notes to label what each room is. I don't even know where they all go. I'm still holding out hope for a secret door behind a fireplace, and some little private space hidden there for my lab. Or just a really ugly, comfy chair to read in.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar tilts his head at her and the humor rolls off of him in her direction, <<What about instead I get you very comfy, not necessarily ugly, reading chair?>> He considers at her with that patient smile and then he reaches out to take her hand into his. <<What you are going to do with me? Let's take a walk. Then come back and, what was it you were saying? Curl up on the couch?>> He smiles to her.

The hand is given a squeeze and he tilts his head. <<Of course, that's if you want to take a walk. If not, then I can be convinced in almost anything. But we should perhaps seize these moments before everything comes about for us.>>

All other thoughts start to filter away. He can feel there's more going on, he even asks softly <<Is there anything more?>> It makes him wonder if he's probing, pressing to much. But he asks anyway. He needs to make sure that if they seize the night for one another, that they aren't neglecting any responsibilities.

Jane Foster has posed:
He wants to be normal, Blackagar shall have it. The Inhuman king wandering different neighbourhoods and exploring new lives wants insight, experience will grant it. In fairness, Jane wants the same thing, a thrumming chord plucked in an identical key harboured between them. <<That's the best way to spend a night. A good dinner, some exercise, and being delightfully companionable all night. Good to be us, isn't it?>> She laces her fingers around his and squeezes, just for a moment steeping in the present. Closing her eyes still opens the window to the mind.

An abiding sense of amused contentment dazzles the sea of her thoughts. Deeper things stir, a reflection peered down to even while leaving him room to see what he will from her on some level. Her teeth sink into her lower lip.

<<I'm not sure what I have forgotten. If SHIELD needs me, they'll be clear. The interim director and board at the Hayden Planetarium are still pissed about me going AWOL. Some gods are at war with one another.>> She opens her eyes and considers him. <<That's why I had to escort your people myself, so I could stow them away and they weren't immediately snatched up by someone who had no right to them. That has been going since I di..sappeared.>> That's not the word. <<But that's behind the scenes. I feel like I should be asking you about giant skeletons again, but is there something missing? Other than I know you have to go to Attilan and other places, but it felt like half of me was hanging from a branch again?>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<Giant skeletons aside. I'm pretty sure I can think of nothing out of place beyond the things in front of us.>> Hand in hers, Blackagar slowly starts to get up. <<Come, let's take a walk.>> Considering the woman, he adds in an almost amused moment. <<IF you want, I can speak with the directors of the Planetarium. Although that may not be as productive as one might want.>> That slow smile, slow expression of warmth grows. <<Well, for taking care of my people, I owe you a great debt of gratitude.>> When he says the word, the deeper things stir within him as well.

<<Yes, a walk. Dessert?>> he inquires and then smiles. So many ways to interpret that.

Jane Foster has posed:
<<I've seriously considered drawing in SHIELD, though my rapport with them has been a secret since the beginning. 'Our spy agency stole her' doesn't really broker trust with the academic community. You might have more success long-term.>> Like having no more work frenemies or opposition. Still, that's a position she worked hard to achieve from the wreckage of another time, and losing it as a sacrifice to Yggdrasil stings. It may be fair, but it still hurts. <<Let me see what I can manage. It proves too tough a nut to crack, I'll bring in the best nutcrackers I know. You and Jemma can put them straight. Never anger a quiet man or undercut a British woman.>>

That fondness blossoms all the same and she slides out of her seat almost too quickly, knocking her knees on the table. Jane will suffer that. Blackagar is already on his feet, but she glances at the food. <<We ought to put the food away, but walks have a way of restoring appetites. You might want more later. Don't think I failed to notice how hungry you looked.>> Her smile breaks the shadows and sends them scattering for now. She can hold at bay the night for now.

<<Of course dessert. I promised, didn't I? Can't have you faulting my hospitality or being left wanting.>> It's the small things in life that matter, dancing under the streetlights or debating that syzygy is absolutely a word in a Pictionary or Scrabble game.

She stands on tiptoe. "Besides, I got you something." Because the fact she -can- is just so damn fun.