7910/No Karaoke, Please

No Karaoke, Please
Date of Scene:	21 September 2021
Location:	Harlem's Speakeasy
Synopsis:	The Furiae and the king assemble!
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Jemma Simmons, Blackagar Boltagon, Daisy Johnson

---

Jane Foster has posed:
Some people work too much. Some people need to forget the things they research. And some people just want to watch the world burn.

When a Venn diagram overlaps these qualities, fun will surely follow, right?

Jane Foster is not exactly the least known SHIELD agent. On a public stage, she is sort of a household name in the same way that brilliant scientists can be. Not an everyday topic like, say, Tony Stark. But say 'stars' meaning burning things, and the explicit connection goes to her. She wears sparkly comet earrings and carries a drink back from the bar. The speakeasy is all about conversation and positive dialogue, not the 90s-era rave experience or lolling sick over a red Solo cup. Drinks have prices to match, of course.

"Jemma, do you want a Pimms cup? They do one with a blackberry infusion," she offers warmly over her shoulder, teasing.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Hmm, if you truly think that is best..."

Tease? What tease? Jemma is completely oblivious to said teasing.

No, now, Jemma is just taking in the surroundings. She was told to dress for the occasion, and so dusted off the green dress she had worn to that other hideaway location. The one where she had entirely too much fun, if that is what it would be called? Yes, another 20's era locale...and this one even more so in the whole vibe. It...is a rather interesting experience, to say the least.

A faux bob allows earrings to be displayed, but only barely. They add a glint of sparkle as Jemma takes in the surroundings. "This is rather elaborate." What does she mean? The environment? The secret code needed to get in? The whole character given to her at the door?

For Jemma, she probably means all of it. And she would not be wrong.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The text message that he got was ignored for some time, not because Blackbolt wanted to ignore it, but because these damned phones still confused him. The primitive technology is finally noticed however and he reads the message with a consideration. Finally, he finishes the current task he was working on and then makes his way to the address provided. The fact that no one told him it was a /costume/ party surprises the man as his eyes widen slowly upon entering the speakeasy themed location.

Striding in among the other patrons, the dark haired Inhuman surveys the crowds until he spots familiar faces and begins to weave his way towards the first one that catches his sight, which in this case is actually Jemma, despite the bob and the dress. Approaching, he reaches up and gently taps her on the shoulder.

Jane Foster has posed:
What she thinks is best? Blackberry, black currant, black liquorice in a Pimms cup all sound tolerable, if not together. Jane murmurs an additional order to the patient bartender, taking up the blackberry-studded alcohol with anything else that certain persons in the speakeasy might like. It's only fair where she has opted to brave wading through the dusky space rippling with slinky, swanky music and general bonhomie. Someone else needs to capture a table and seats or a booth.

Jemma's green dress makes her harder to spot than not, given the darkness within the place. A lone cool spotlight highlights the stage. The torch singer purring into a microphone gives the live musical ambiance a more thrilling, smoky feel. It's all intended to be remarkably engaging and friendly.

Rushing her way back to a table isn't possible yet because Jane has -three- glasses to worry about, not two. Carefully gathering them up, she says, "Add them to my tab, please. Thanks!" to a guy in spats and braces with the tattooed forearms of a committed hipster who keeps slinging them cocktails. Then years of carrying her own very delicately engineered materials proves useful as she sashays in silk Cuban stockings and equally suitable dancing shoes with a curvy, suitable heel through the speakeasy.

Where oh where are her people? Oh Furiae! Oh WAND! Oh King? <<Hello!>>

Jemma Simmons has posed:
To the green-clad brunette's credit, Jemma does not leap in surprise when she experiences a tap on her shoulder. There is enough people here to make casual contact such as that a possibility, certainly, if not an eventuality. And, there might be just a smidge of anxious expectation as she turns to regard who it is, expecting to have to play her assigned role. And, when those brown eyes alight upon the visage of Blackagar, the relief in Jemma's expression is so very visible...and possibly just a bit amusing.

Yes, Jemma was considering herself fortunate to not having to make her stage acting debut.

"Oh, hello!" A smile breaks out, bright and inviting. "I didn't expect to see you here, your Ma, err, Blackagar, but I should have suspected. Looking for Jane?" There isn't a wait for an answer. Instead, a tilt of the head towards the bar. "She was fetching drinks. Oh...and...I think she is going to need some help."

A turn back towards Blackagar. "Shall we?" It makes no matter if he wants to or not, as Jemma is already shifting to make her way to meet Jane halfway. Let someone else worry about seating. Jemma is perfect content to stand.

Jane Foster has posed:
Man waylaid by technology or song? Other guest working their way through the club? Sooner or later they will find their way to sanctuary, an atoll set against the wall where several chairs provide a deep well to linger within. Glass candle-holders remember a time when electrified houses and cities were a rarity instead of commonplace, and the LED votives emulate open flame with a hazy flutter.

Jane adjusts somewhat to the dark, but she still picks her path accordingly with a wide berth to other diners and definitely avoiding the dance floor. Easier to get closer to Jemma, using the English brunette as a point to navigate to. No doubt their geneticist would oppose being considered a lighthouse, but any port in a admittedly mild storm.

"Here we are. Fresh blackberries and happiness all around," she tells Jemma with a laugh. "Hello, Blackagar." Mischief leaves a dimple in her cheek, dark eyes crackling with brightness. "I'm pleased you made it. We can hope that we see Daisy soon, but something about work and 'last report today' may have waylaid her. I had hoped for Lara too. Have you seen her recently, Jem? Or Hellboy? It's been an age. But I promise no work talk, so there we are. Maybe next time we can hobnob at the Swordfish, it's a little easier to get the turnout."

Because it's not like SHIELD isn't full of consummate spies and socializers. Really. Drinking on Madison Avenue may have vanished, but not in the Triskelion, right? She teases all the same, holding the trio of drinks squeezed together. They prove easy to take, either way.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Jemma Simmons as a beacon? Grail-shaped or no, this probably would not have been given any consolation verbally, but only because Jemma is certainly not the sort to disagree publicly. Still, as a navigation point, Jemma has no outward qualms. If Blackagar can use Jemma as a harbor in the sea of flappers and fellas, then Jane can certain use Jemma as a marker in which to brave that same sea. A hand takes one of the drinks, freeing Jane to be a little more loose as a nod is given back to the kingly (and mundanely dressed) Blackagar. "He found me. Considered it only proper to lead him to you."

A glance is cast sideways towards the singer, but no step is taken towards the dancefloor. Perhaps Jemma has learned her lesson from previous forays. In any case, she remains close by Jane and Blackagar as she catches mention of Daisy. "Oh? Daisy let work slow her? Are you sure that it is still our Daisy?" For...yes, usually it is Jemma that allows for that sort of distraction. "But, yes. I do apologize. No more mention of what lies outside."

Jane Foster has posed:
One sort of beacon, tall and bright, as opposed to the lantern that burns in the night or suggests the presence of a certain castle named for a deadly compound. Gliding in, Jane pauses for the glass to be taken and holds the other two far more securely in hand. That makes for a fine way to toast herself or the Inhuman king in their presence. "Here you are, if you like." She holds up the drink in her right hand to Blackagar, countenancing a brighter smile that softens but a touch. "You do not have to lead anyone to me, Jems, but I appreciate it all the same."

The sonnet of piano and winding, shimmying brass from up on the stage isn't loud, a muted melody that rolls around the body and resonates from the stone walls. Brick has a way of warming up a sound. "Daisy will be here whenever she can, I'm sure. It may be 'work given to Daisy' that we have to worry about," she adds, amused.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Well, considering you were the mastermind behind this particular excursion, I thought it only proper."

Heaven knows that Jemma certainly didn't think to go to an immersive theatrical performance set in the 1920's with a bunch of friends. And, if various people arrive, with a single person as the common vector, then it is only appropriate for those people to converge on said vector.

Yes, Jemma has been studying contact spreading much too much as of late. Probably the very reason that Jane invited her out in the first place.

"Daisy would adore this. If her other choices are any indication." The British accent cuts through the music clearly, causing some of the patrons to turn and regard the scientist in an appraising fashion. Or...are they actors? Does it matter? Clearly, it does not. "Even being assigned a role. I do think she would find it extremely fascinating."

What role does Jemma have in this experience? It seems she isn't saying. Though, with the way she does keep an eye out for possible interactions, it is apparent that Jemma is trying to do what she does best.

Prepare.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar, who had gone quiet -- get it?! -- for a few moments lifts his drink as he receives it from Jane, tipping it to her in thanks as he takes a sip. There is an evaluatory look given the beverage before he nods in approval. ~This is rather good,~ he compliments while setting the glass down ,hands moving in slow fashion to communicate to them both. ~I will admit, I was hesitant to come out because public. But it is an interesting environment. This is a replica of a previous time?~ He asks to the others.

Blue eyes drift casually over Jemma, and over Jane, then around the crowd in general, letting his wandering look drift before settling back to the two women. ~Is this a normal tradition? To step out for a night of drinks? I am not intruding, am I?~

Jane Foster has posed:
"A mastermind? Next you will have me arrested or detained for some nefarious purpose. A cabal of wickedness, a coterie of intellectual deviousness that involves dark matter," Jane intones with all the proper solemnity that the declaration demands. "I just need a five-year-old advisor for my plans."

Immersive theatrical fun is one thing, but at the end of the day, the speakeasy still caters to drinking and not men with tommy guns breaking in like a Michael Jackson revamp of Bandwagon or other notorious noir films set for reasons unclear in Los Angeles of all places. Why L.A.? Why has sunshine become a byward for crime? Mysteries abound that she cannot answer.

"Daisy has been here at least once, I thought, maybe twice. Didn't we go dancing the time before..." Hold that thought. Perhaps memory is better served by not bringing up the topic. "She got the password, at any rate." Giving her head a soft shake throws her dark hair into a shining wave, though she clearly drew the line at cloche hat when setting out. No thanks.

Her hand movements have a sharp precision even when abbreviated, and fluidity when not, her Negroni off to the side. Mm, Negroni. The happiest aperitif bears its swirl of Valencia orange peel to taunt the senses. ~Back at the turn of the last century, after the Great War. The Twenties were a time of excess and elegance in many places.~ No need to explain the fall of the stock market immediately, though her fingertips dance across a merry span of ideas. ~We must put It's A Wonderful Life on our watch list. But that is one for the winter season, not now.~

For Jemma's benefit, since not everyone has utterly fluency in all the things ever, she says, "Blackagar asks if this is a historical replica. I was confirming it's straight out of the Roaring Twenties after the War." One war, not another. Pretty clear, all in all, as she nudges him gently with her elbow and drifts in beside him. "Yes, this is a typical evening for most. Going for drinks, music, and conversation is the ideal for many adults who don't have family, work, or financial concerns filling out their time. Or breathtakingly busy schedules." A rueful smile widens. "You are wonderfully polite for asking if you are welcome, but I invited you and Jemma. And Daisy. It's meant to be a light social event." All the while, her hands move to sign through the words, relaying the same message with a little more nuance.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The scientist watches the conversation with the fingers while sipping her own drink. "Oh, yes. I did try to forget that little foray, didn't I? I must try to keep myself in my proper senses." Oh, look, she does acknowledge that it is the same place...and not just some act in trying to forget. "Though, if rumour was to be believed, that was not entirely all of my volition, either." A tip of the wink. Yes, Jemma fully remembers what happened.

Which is why she might be sipping that drink really really slowly.

Fingers noted with words. As Jane speaks, Jemma does betray that she knows perhaps enough of the sign language to know that it isn't an exact translation...though, admittedly, some of the details do elude her. However, there is one that she catches. "Oh, Jimmy Stewart was always a delight. Though I fear that I may have worn out Fitz with my insistence on watching that movie one too many times, at least in his view. Though...that was back in the Academy. We might be able to talk him into it now."

It has only been 9 years. That has to be the minimum limit threshold for such things, yes?

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Fashionably late is the name of the game for Daisy these days. Because certain words like RESPONSIBILITY and REPORTS have entered Daisy's world with the creation of the Secret Warriors and the return to normalcy for SHIELD. Well, 'normalcy'. Others words *have* come into her world too. Like DELEGATE. Which she did. Part of why she is late. But better delegate than someone getting quaked if she had to write up one more report.

So through the door comes Daisy, dressed up in a sparkly cocktail dress that goes down to just above her knees. Scandalous! (If we were in the 20s). Hair is up in a bun and she is carrying a small purse with her, high heels turning her here and there until she finds the table she is looking for. Ahah! Eyes glint in recognition and she starts her way over.

"Alright, no talk of work or people will get shot." That's one way to start the night for her! It's followed by a grin at least. "Good to see you all here, and you have got the achievement of dragging Blackagar over, Jane. Congratulations are in order." though she does nod in a respectful manner at the Inhuman King.

"Now we only need a vampire or two for dancing purposes. But if one is lacking then I can surely dance, Jemms." she offers.

Jane Foster has posed:
SECRETS, Miss Daisy? Welcome to Jemma's special hell, where things in triplicate scratch only the surface of the spy game. Wait until you start getting boxes assigned with their own guardians and a stamp from the Chief! Mostly because the Chief is quite awesome. Responsibility is anoither matter entirely.

Fashionably late was probably invented long before 1926 but no French king or Italian grand duke is around to argue, so to Daisy's victory, the spoils of ordering her own darn drink. Jane salutes their wayward Furiae -- not her for once -- with the Negroni. Neither she, Blackagar or Jemma sit like squares, at least not when chatting and taking in the ambiance. "Turn it on yourself first, we were already abiding by that rule, doll," she warns over the rim of her glass.

Citrus and Campari are nearly as good as other things herself. "Was it an achievement to draw you out?" Her gaze shifts to Blackagar, her brows lifted slightly. "I must add this to my small but esteemed list of lifetime accolades." The tone is light, but she sounds serious enough. How Blackagar and Alfred Nobel share a ranking on her mantel, matters remain to be seen. "A celebration's in order, then. To us. La!" A sip, and a toast. Or the other way around?

"Jimmy Stewart is excellent and that's one of my favourite old movies. Though in my esteemed companion's case, we may need to find all the worst movies possible too. You rather have a habit of finding truly appalling and delightful cinema." Poor Blackagar. But she draws Daisy in with an open arm for a hug, and Jemma's not forgotten on that. "You have any recommendations, I want to hear them."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Well...were we sure that last singer was indeed a member of the undead?" The voice is low. Jemma doesn't really remember much of that, short of having to take the lead in the handling of the situation. Such is the way of a poor ensorcelled dame from England. "I will not be dancing tonight." That...is a firm voice.

But, knowing Jemma's weaknesses, will that affirmation prove valid?

"Congratulations on making it out alive, dear Daisy." A grin, just for her friend, is given. Yes, Jemma knows the beast of responsibility well. Having just escaped its clattering claws itself, Jemma has no intention of speaking its name here.

Instead, a toast, then a sip. The proper way around, this...

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Oh, we are pretty sure, Jemms." About vampires, that is. Really, it was quite the night! Daisy finds a chair to settle down near the others, purse to one side and then a look at the drinks chart. "Mmmm, I am feeling like a hanky panky tonight..." she states with a teasing wink, then flags over a waiter to get the order done before her attention turns back to the others, "We sort of beat the heck out of one too. Or at least one ..."

With the drinks now served she lifts her own hanky panky to toast, "To the bucket list!" she adds to the toast before chuckling, head back as she takes in some of her gin.

"Are we talking about old movies then? How far back? Not sure my movie-fu is good enough to go that far. But hey, go with Nosferatu since it will fit the theme!"

Last words go to Jemma though, a brow arching in doubt at her statement that she won't be dancing tonight. "Yes, I am sure you won't." Translation: Damn right you will.

Jane Foster has posed:
No doubt any vampiric coterie that runs the place may be thoroughly disconcerted a victim came back. With friends. With friends who were also impacted, at least in lesser degrees. Jane might be a touch unworried about such things, clearly, to be happy with that Negroni. "No dancing? You're certain?"

No, Daisy, that is not an open challenge for engaging Jemma in a dance off. They do not have David Bowie, blessed be his memory. The weaknesses for good music and good drink will possibly call for involvement. "Clearly we don't lure out our dearest Simmons."

No gauntlet throwing! "I might be in the mood for my own Hanky-Panky now that you mention it, but it's far better than a Dirty Shirley or half the things we could order before being promptly thrown out for acting like 19-year-olds crossing the border to drink earlier." No, wouldn't know anything about that, would she? Waving off the tease with a perfectly warm smile, she swirls around the ice cubes in her drink. "Old movies for Christmas, actually, since we were talking briefly about the stock market crash that ended the Twenties. But bad movies are acceptable, too. Cinema about the Twenties always hits the Great Gatsby, but the book is better than the film. For a given value of good."

Fighting words? Better believe it.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Quite certain."

Famous last words. There was a rather confident Simmons on that day, too, describing the secret of not succumbing to alcohol's influences was patience and timing. And, yet, intoxicated, at least for a moment. No, Jemma plans on keeping her wits fully about her.

It is of no coincidence that she decided to find a seat the furthest away from the dancefloor as possible, with her fellow Furiae and a monarch between her and there. Yes, preparedness is more than just a word with Jemma. It is her mantra.

"I am intending on staying right here, sipping this drink, and doing nothing that may very well be remotely construed as an official action from any sort of government agency." No, she has no intention on leading an impromptu SHIELD op, or showing off her moves. This is not the lab. People are watching.

Nope, not gonna happen. Until it does.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Well, we *do* have our ways of luring out dear Simmons here..." See? Now they are talking as if Jemma wasn't there! That's what you get for being so adamant on not dancing. It means planning has to be done. Or rather, planning to counter Jemma's planning about not dancing. It's all very intricate but what matters is that in the end there will be dancing. The means to get there? Irrelevant! "Even if my plan A was getting Fitz out here too so they could do a little dance off." Alas, it was not to be. And is she implying Fitz is the one that could easily convince her? Maaaaybbeeeee.

Jane's talk about slinking off to get some drinks while 19 does catch the attention of Daisy though. Never one to overlook talks about rebellious youth. "Now now, what is this about sneaking out to go get drinks, Jane? Is there a story behind this? Is it a story that Blackagar should hear? I have so many questions about this, I did not think you were much of a rule breaker. Well, not like Jemma of course but .., you know." a grin shared between the Furiae. "Well, cinema ..., there's the Untouchables but .., that's more early 30s isn't it?" historic cinema isn't Daisy's thing!

Jane Foster has posed:
A girl could look totally innocent when it comes to fabricating openly the plot to get another on the dance floor. There could be ways of achieving that without actually tipping Jemma off to how they're going to do that. Well, it's certainly not the way Daisy has intended. Intricate or not, Jane's sipping that Negroni and considering a second drink afterward. "Fitz leaivng his tent would be an act of rare form. Actually getting him to come out and dance here? I'd believe that when I saw it. Other than one time at the Swordfish, I do not think he has been outside the office when I have." True fact. He never leaves. Ever. Not once. "If you can prove it, then I may be willing to buy another round."

She smiles at Jemma, who is planning on taking no such action hiding away where she is, practically inviting trouble to break out. Famous last words indeed.

Her shoulder rolls lightly. "Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. We all grew up a train or bus ride away from one of the great international centres for... a lot of things, but sushi and good liquor was up there. Of course we went up and roamed around eating all the Asian food we could, basking on the beach, and drinking where it was utterly legal and respectable. If we weren't legal in this country, we certainly were in that. Besides, it was much better than going from Boston to Montreal, which was what happened at MIT. Trust me, Bermuda looked closer from that side of the country. Not that Montreal isn't magnificent. It truly is. Blackagar knows my dirty little secret, doesn't he?"

The teen rebel? The one who works within the status quo to squash it? Yes, maybe? She breaks into a bright smile. "You don't know me well enough to realize I subvert rather than shatter, and create new apparatuses by example. Jems and I have had to shatter our fair share of glass ceilings in the past. What's another?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Oh, Fitz would never dream of actually coming *here*." How does Jemma know the mind of one Leopold Fitz so well? "I mean, this involves dressing up, socializing, and actually pretending to be someone else, if only for a few hours. He would say 'Wot, two hours without mah smartphone? Thanks, but no thanks.' Sorry...never going to get him here."

The Fitz impression....was nearly spot-on. Almost uncannily so. And, yet, Jemma sees nothing wrong with this. It is almost second nature at this point now, for her. As far as proving that Fitz actually leaves? Yeah, Jemma is not going to take that bet. After all, this was a man that slept in the lab because it was easier. No way is she going to be able to prove that Leo doesn't live there.

Also, Jemma learns...rather quickly. It is her own special power. And, she has learned that, to keep attention off of her, to let Daisy and Jane just speak. So, that glass stays in her hand, as Jemma watches the exchange in amusement. Go on and speak as if Jemma isn't there. That suits her just fine, when it comes to embarrassment prevention.

Jane Foster has posed:
'Wot' is echoed by Jane, who can't help but to shake her head. "You can live life a little more than Fitz. Come on, let's go out there." She holds out her hand to Jemma, probably because the uncanny Fitz valley is something she cares not to explore overly much. It's like Death Valley; do not go into that dry gulch, there may be skeletons and she is not nostalgic.

"A turn around the dance floor means no one else suffers through it, and we can be the first to smile benignly at our friends when they ask why we haven't yet. Come, I'm probably not quite as terrible I as remember and certainly not as good as Daisybean over there." Dark eyes spark with amusement. "Catch me up on your latest non-work project, why don't you, while we take a turn? This is all easy, too, shimmying more than anything."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Oh....the two of them are in cahoots now. The offer to go on the floor is met with an inevitable shake of the head. "Oh, no. If I remember correctly, that is how it happened last time. I was encouraged to go on the floor...and then the next moment I find myself lost in a trance. I do hate to disappoint you. However, I am not about to repeat that again." There is amusement in that voice...but also a rather firm tone. Oh no, you are not about to catch little Miss Simmons going out there. Why, that is just asking for temptation.

And....a laugh! An honest laugh from Jemma. "Jane! Really...a non-work project? You do forget who you are talking to. All my projects relate to work, in some fashion or another." Another laugh, this one smaller, escapes her throat. "I mean...maybe I should, if I had any real time"

Jane Foster has posed:
Totally in kahoots. Can't trust either of your fellow Furiae, they're both dangerously friendly and amused. "I believe second time is the charm. Do you really believe something terrible will happen twice?" What indeed are the chances? "So be it, if you want to stay back with Daisy, then that's entirely your choice. Unless Daisy is braver than you?"

Blackagar, being his majestic self, will have a few moments to flee. She is generous that way.

Li'l Miss Simmons, being all boring and shy! That is acceptable; her friends love her however she is. "A non-work project can exist. Maybe you painted your walls a daring shade of blue. We've been having the hardest time deciding on what to replace a flocked and utterly magnificent bit of wallpaper with, in fairness. I may have to donate it to somewhere."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"A warning.." Daisy's tone somber, "Talk of work shall be punished, as I mentioned when I arrived." non-work projects are all fine and dandy though! "Speaking of non-work projects..., you can stay sitting here without going to dance, sure. Because I am curious on how things are going with McLaren. You know, the one leaving little Tardis on your desk? And I saw his gift up at the suite!" busted!

"Ooooor, you can go dance and save yourself the embarassment of having to answer all our questions!" It's a pincer attack apparently. The Furiae are merciless!

Daisy then grins at Jane, "And I am all out for dancing, but first things first. Maybe in a couple of hanky pankys or so..." a beat, "Perhaps three."

Jane Foster has posed:
A warning indeed. One already vocalized by Jane and reinforced by Daisy, who mentioned work twice in her goal to not mention work! Behold!

A low laugh trembles at Jane's lips. "You must know there are other things going on than that. I even suggested something about home decor. Did you -- McLaren /still/? I thought he'd passed on piling your desk in toys in hopes of realizing that your true love will never be earned solely through gifts, but acts. It's like a penguin bringing you a charming little pebble. Did you know they roll them along as love gifts to one another?"

Cue note to self -- and Mr. Horse. Go to the Antarctic Territory and find a penguin rookery, then acquire rock. Squee copiously. Freeze because it's bloody early spring in Antarctica. Also utter squee! again.

"/Three/? Daisy, you're going to get yourself arrested for indecent behaviour by the fun police," she warns with a laugh.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Honestly, Daisy. You speak as if Mark is a lovelorn fool. It was only the one little bauble, I have you know. A fact you know perfectly well." Considering that Daisy has occasionally roomed with Jemma, of course Daisy knows that fact. It is also the fact that Jemma still has it that Daisy knows all too well.

And...well...

"Oh bloody hell. Fine, you two win. I will go out on the floor." The fact that Jemma actually agreed to go out on the floor speaks to things. Perhaps it is that she does not want any more questions. Though, more to the fact that she is just not going to be bothered to field any more of those silly questions. Because there is nothing to there. Really!

Really??

In any case, the glass is already being set down. Once Jemma agrees to something, she is going to go through it. And no, not one breath about McLaren. Because...that's *work*. And they must not talk of work...

Jane Foster has posed:
"He's a perfectly nice man. I will not hear anything negative about McLaren except that he should come round more often." Jane, the utterly lovely and innocent soul that she is, having witnessed countless scores of life and death and all between, innocently sips her Negroni. What's left of it, anyway.

It really has a lovely quality to it, doesn't it? The flavour pools on her palate, saucy and sweet, a bit like her companions. And with a playful sign over her shoulder to Blackagar, it's out to the dance floor. "You better not kill the mood, Daisybell. Has McLaren had the pleasure of meeting your better half yet? I feel like a picnic is called for." Her smile is wide.

Light upon her feet, she maneuvers to the dance floor. Surely that.