9018/Ziggy Moondust

Ziggy Moondust
Date of Scene:	09 December 2021
Location:	The Moon
Synopsis:	Fly me to the Moon, let me play among the stars... let me be a philanthropist to Matt Murdock.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Blackagar Boltagon

Jane Foster has posed:
<<Take me home?>>

When they're out, that can mean many things. Or generally all signs point to one thing, notably their blessed sprawl of an expansive home in the Dakota building. Jane has come to associate 'home' with tossed, tousled down comforters and the proper cooking of someone addicted to those television shows. But that truly might not be home as one of them knows it.

A question raised, just the once, while wandering through Chelsea Market in search of proper food. The Met Gala has been consuming her time more than it should for a non-fashionista, but that's how things roll sometimes. Having that time set aside strictly for Blackagar is well worth it, even when eyeing up the endless sea of hothouse flowers or boughs of greenery, fa la la la la.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Home could have so many possible connotations, but hearing it in that way considering where they are at present does get a blue eyed gaze to fall on Jane with a questioning look. <<Home?>> he asks back towards her. Considering they've only been in the market for a short time, the request to simply slip back from where they just came from had a bubbling of questions pop to his mind. <<If everything alright?>> being the most predominant of them.

Time had been a bit loose lately, her preparations for the gala, his amusement at them and then Blackagar's own occupied time investigating various smuggling of people through the world, having grown convinced that there was some group seeking to kidnap or capture Inhumans but using the normal human trafficking methods to do it. Rushing to solutions was not feasible, it was a slow methodical process which allowed for a break for such interdictions such as these. <<Are you feeling ill?>>

Jane Foster has posed:
In a sea of people, swirling with humanity and clashing colours, Jane turns slightly to look over her shoulder up at Blackagar. Her gaze meets his, locked in the frozen crystal. She tips her head, and hums audibly to match some distant sound system just barely audible through the din. Strumming through the crackle of strings, there's a lyric or two:

Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah
Don't fake it, baby! Lay the real thing on me!

Her mouth lifts in a bit of a quirked smile, just like that. <<Earth is feeling a bit stifled. Too close to when... it happened, maybe, and I'm feeling in need of a distraction. Mm, is that sandwich guy still doing pastrami over there?>> The lightning quick changes in her thoughts can be measured with ease before she turns her attention back to the surrounding market, looking for her bearings. <<Restless, mostly. How and why, I am unsure yet. You would think being free to walk around is enough.>> The wry mischief in so odd a statement would hopefully be accepted as her coping mechanism, though she takes in a deep breath to ground herself in the fragrances of flowers, wood, perfume, and everything else found under the Chelsea Market rooftop.

His hunting of human traffickers is not unnoticed, either. Something for her to triangulate with Daisy on, since it should not be his resources alone that mark that.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<Earth is stifling?>> Blackagar considers back thoughtfully, a tinge of curious humor present and the contemplative expression floats before his shoulders lift in a small shrug, <<Well if Earth is stifling what do you have in mind? A visit to a different world? I unfortunately do not know if I have the means to make that happen.>> Whether he is being intentionally obtuse or not is carefully hidden. But it is clear he's prodding gently for her to be a bit direct with her request.

<<When the world itself is your oyster... is that the phrase? Perhaps it can have a tendency to end up feeling a bit small. However, name your destination and if it is within my power, I shall grant it. Much like the blue character from the movie with the rug.>>

Jane Foster has posed:
The girl in her might blush, mentally, but the woman who stares into the stars for a living and asks great questions of the unknown never doubts for a moment. <> The thoughts linger in place as she looks over a table with the usual winter root suspects, turnips and rutabagas. Easy for her to thumb through them with a pile of heirloom carrots on sale, of course more expensive for being in the middle of New York. Why have those great wages without the great markups? <<I don't entirely know. An adventure without the risk of life or death. Thirty-seven people surrounding us are on borrowed time, and they don't know it. One over there probably won't see the end of the holidays. I am trying not to think too deeply about it.>>

Her thumb runs across the edge of the table as she turns back, and lets the world flow around them both, a current that would push her into Blackagar if given the chance. <<The genie, from Aladdin. Voiced by a great comedian, one of my favourites. I have such good memories thinking about Robin Williams.>> Her smile lifts, bright as any to grace her lips. <>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Pondering momentarily, Blackagar considers then slowly nods, <> A glance is given around the market and then, reaching to take Jane's hand, he starts to lead her towards the sandwich place she had mentioned. <<Let us gather a few items for a lunch and then we can go. Someplace away from all of this, as isolated as you can be while still being in sight of Earth.>>

The steps to the sandwich market have a winding path, meant to avoid some stalls but guide instead by others. He stops at one which is selling simple blankets for which he purchases and then carries the bag it is placed into under his arm while continuing to the shop. <>

Jane Foster has posed:
<> A wan smile of honesty is given thus. <<You learned that when we danced in the clouds of a gas giant, love.>> Is it them, is it her? Twinned voices linger in her mind, one slightly different from the other, aspects of a self overlapped. <<I am going to bring a camera one day, one at least that can resist the lack of atmosphere. Capture photographs we can put in the planetarium, and for one show -- a surprise, they can see the world as it is, beyond our borders and that tenuous shell of air. Not this time, but soon.>>

Her idea is laid out with a certain ease as they winnow through hawkers of all sorts of things. A loaf of brioche will be quickly purchased, at least, her fingers swiping over a screen rather than exchanging cash. <> Her smile brightens as she watches him navigate. <<You act like I'm afraid of moon dust getting everywhere. Were you not also clear it's a bad idea to dress for it?>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<You realize that the environment itself is... a bit of a nebulous concept to me,>> he responds thoughtfully with a humored look. <<I do not feel it when I do not wish to. But I will keep it in mind, to bring a sweater if and when we go to Neptune. As for the asteroid, I only have faint memories of that time. Much of it is lost to the fever, leaving little there to recall.>> That admission, annoyance present in his mind, is only mild as the bread is purchased, selections of meats and cheese, condiments added until they have been all put together. <<Still, eating in a vacuum is not as easy as one might imagine. The atmosphere at least would be a peaceful location. It is a small watch station we have set up overlooking the valley Attilan is within. A sort of retreat in some ways for when wanting to get out of the city for those that cannot survive in the absence of atmosphere. A moon garden of sorts?>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<> Wry humour is met in kind, riposted. <> Lips curve the warmer, her dimpled cheek carrying the weight of it, and she looks up at the befuddled vendor selling her bread and the start for a sandwich. "My boyfriend has excellent humour. Inside joke, I'm afraid."

On that note, she steps away, and hastens after Blackagar with their purchases tucked to her side in a cloth bag. <<As for a good many things, we have time to make more memories. Promise. Eating in a vacuum sounds absolutely wonderful. Should I bring along astronaut ice cream?>> No one should eat that stuff, it's dull as can be! Ice cream should be creamy, not settled into a block. Her slender fingers wrap around his hand if he allows, binding them together.

<> The wisp of delight is checked, though it's rather like staring into a bonfire with him. He need only look sideways in thought and know the whole bubbling bit is there. <<A moon garden sounds phenomenal. I don't even need sunglasses.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<> Blackagar considers with a humored sensation. <<Someone being hot, being cool, all the different idioms that frankly are contradictory are this never ending circle of potential confusion. Were it not for Netflix I fear I would be permanently lost. And I still am grateful you told me that Mean Girls was a fiction.>> It had been a rather tragic moment, but also one with relief.

<<What is astronaut ice cream?>> he inquires back, confusion present and there's a small amount of skepticism because ice cream is one of his favorites and the thought that there is a type that he is missing out on is concerning. His hand wraps around hers in turn as he ponders then tilts his head, angling it upwards, <<Then when you are ready, we shall go. I do not know if you need... well, anything in particular before that. I'm still uncertain about your ... other you.>>

Jane Foster has posed:
"You think this is unique, realize people speak about a hundred and seventy languages in Manhattan alone. All of them possess nuances and idioms that make very little sense in English." Jane speaks softly while they negotiate the depths of the Chelsea Market, perhaps for the occasional exercise to her vocal chords. She might take up singing in the shower merely to get the practice of warming up. <<We should expand your viewing offerings to HBO and Hulu, though you can avoid anything by Margaret Atwood or you will feel the urge to shout at the screen. We all know where that ends.>> Lindsay Lohan's unfortunate career has no doubt been a source of amused sorrow and comfort within the circle of her arms, but not even an Inhuman king can save all gingers from their soulless selves. Or most of them. He's got a track record with redheads, at least.

<<You haven't had astronaut ice cream yet? Then you are in for an experience. It's a freeze-dried product that removes the moisture to be fit for space missions. Instead of being creamy and sweet, the ice cream gains a crunchy texture.>> She stands on tiptoe to brush her knuckles against his jaw in passing, giving Blackagar a smile as they navigate out further. <<You can come to the gift shop at the planetarium. We sell seven flavours of it. Maybe we need to do a space food night and teach people about other culinary options.>> That very notion tickles her mind into delighted laughter, and she presses into his arm. <<What part of the other me are you uncertain about? Not all of that lies out of bounds. If you mean being ready to get there, I can shift mid-orbit or... it's going to be a rather bright flash. Maybe a carpark.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<> he offers thoughtfully back. The steps they take lead into an alleyway and turning, he steps into Jane's arms, sliding his own around her. Being able to hold her such, and look down at the woman, blue eyes drift into her own. Anyone passing by would see two people, looking at one another silently, unaware of the flows of the conversation taking place. <>

Even as the first lyrics of it float in his mind, he starts to lift them with their bags in hand, the drift upwards lazy, almost in a casual reversed Mary Poppins float that continues to climb. When he reaches the lyric of 'Baby kiss me', his eyebrow lifts up almost expectantly. <>

Jane Foster has posed:
Holding her to him must be satisfying in some respect. Jane nestles into Blackagar's arms, setting her chin against his shoulder. The bags squish to her side while she scoots her arm in turn around his waist, balancing carefully to make as narrow a profile as she can, the better for him to loft them up with almost ridiculous necessity. <> While he starts to sing, she breaks into a wide smile, catching some of Sinatra's enticing groove that begs a swaying wiggle. None too happen.

<<In other words, hold my hand.>> A swift succession of images answers the question he had belatedly, forming a neatly compartmentalized understanding. The willingness to accept what she is shifts her, the majority of the time. The bracelet's own will sometimes removes that option; a certain magnitude of threat does it. One prickly awareness, coming back from unconsciousness, awakening to a circle of damage and a disir lunging at her with a necrotic-tipped spear.

<<I'll save that suggestion for Jemma or Darcy. Find someone who considers you the way I look at the stars.>> A laugh tumbles between them, softly audible. <<Have you met Daisy's boyfriend?>> They need to venture past the upper atmosphere before she dares to crack open the vaults and their worlds collide. Maybe it can wait until the moon. Being snuggled this close is far too valuable to interrupt.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<Over London? I remember this flight over the ocean to London. Then again coming back from the moon when you called for help.>> Those thoughts linger, neither having been particularly joyous moments but rather following crisis. Perhaps why the punctuate so thoroughly into the mind. The interjection breaks the music, it drifting back to just the melody in his mind. A reflection of the recording that is being 'hummed' as it were.

The bounding shield around them crackles at the first bump against the atmosphere, so lifted off the ground in the casual loft that steadily picks up speed. Safe in the small shelter he creates the glow of heat outside of it begins to develop. <<Once. The island with Diego. Nothing so much as to truly have met or know, but a crossing of paths.>> The lifting continues, but his attention is on her. <<Why, is there something I should observe?>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<<Do you regret me calling?>> An honest question if one broached carefully when Blackagar turns his thoughts in that direction. <> A squeeze will always add to the beat, her gaze lifting to his face. Jane never tires of the view, nor watching his expressions take shape. <<He is a very good person. Strongly focused on helping those who have been overlooked or underserved by society. I thought I might make an anonymous donation to his law firm, so they can better focus on their work instead of keeping the lights on. Taking on worthy causes has a depressing way of not earning much money.>> She leans into him a little, the glimmer of sparks around the heat shield keeping them safe reason to stare with great interest. Beautiful, something that she never tires of seeing, even as she nuzzles into him. The distance to the Moon isn't short, but once free of the atmosphere, they can truly rush at speeds that might be staggering. <<We could always consider dinner, if you like. They know an excellent Chinese restaurant with mouth-watering dumplings.>>

Shrinking landmarks of Manhattan spread out below them, Long Island a stretched barrier against the city's flank. Clouds swirl and the freedom of being aloft is dizzying, cause for laughter even though she holds tight to the king.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
That question actually pulls a narrowing of his eyes, <> The mere thought that he would be upset about needing to be called upon for help? A slow shake of his head follows and he pulls his face back just enough so that she can see his eyes. <<There is never a wrong time to call on me. But the moment you were in danger you should have beckoned. It may have been easier.>> The one arm around her remains, the one in her hand breaks free momentarily to brush a hand over her cheek during their ascent.

<<If you wish for them to be funded, it is a simple manner of asking. While I try not to use the resources of the Inhumans too much as to not draw attention to them, if it is for a cause you think worthy we can make it happen.>> He does pause then, <<But sometimes people do not wish for gifts. They see them as having strings attached or expectations associated with them. Some prefer the hard labor and work itself. It is for example why I do not always use my strengths, sometimes the challenge is the reward.>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<<I'll have you know, Blackagar, I am well and used to being out there on my own. Self-sufficiency was hammered into me. But we can and do grow. Now my thoughts turn to us more than they do I, and reflexively consider us when there's a decision to be made or danger. See, I think we're officially serious when that happens. Been a hell of a year.>> The press of Jane's cheek to his is meant to be consolation and apology to match the honest response out of him. Blackagar's knuckles carry a hint of warmth and she chases them with a flicker of a smile. <<As long as you don't hesitate to call on me to be of some help, even if it's a quick lift from Mr. Horse, it's a promise.>>

The blue faded orb around them thins to the black of space, various other junk zipping by as proof of humanity's skill to pollute just about every environment they can find. If the Soviet drilling project had succeeded, no doubt the inner mantle would be full of trash, too. <<Considering I have a job -- two of them -- we can probably look at my assets as an option and not yours. I am, however, asking your opinion and if you'd be comfortable if I did. Our bills get paid, after that everything's a choice.>> The notion is still an oddity, but such is life. She dips her head in a mild nod; considering the nature of the spacebound ride, movements need to be minimal to not be jettisoned in a freefall until he scoops her up again. <<They might. That's where a second opinion is necessary. I have considered asking Daisy too for her opinions; she knows Matt better than we do. Maybe set up as a trust for them to draw on as they need? It's the time of year when I reflect on what has happened in past months and while that has been immense, I also want to ensure good people don't struggle.>>

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
<<Is that the definition of serious?>> He inquires back, bemusement in his tone at the terminology but he certainly can concede that it fits a definition nicely. <<When considerations of consequences extend beyond self sufficiency and become inclusive of a partner? Is that what we are then? Serious?>> There is no hint of disagreement with the terminology but to hear it expressed in such a way does put a finer point on the matter. Her cheek's warm is reflected with his own leaning gently back. <<The year has been most intriguing, particularly the fact that we are perhaps approaching a marked time of six months since walking upon a specific bridge.>>

Six months since that meeting, a spiraling turn of events that have disrupted a rather straight forward if Kingly life. <<Seeking opinion is good. My initial instinct is that rather than perhaps a monetary endowment, something tangible and less fungible may be useful. Equipment. Resources. A gift of money can often be seen as non specific, one of material can demonstrate understanding the specific needs and addressing those, rather than a wide net approach.>> Space is cold, dark, empty, cold. Not at this moment. <<And I believe the correct term for me than would be... a mooch?>>

Jane Foster has posed:
<<This is why I treasure that mind of yours, in that you observe the practicalities that could be meaningful. Equipment or hired resources may be useful. I worry that selecting the wrong thing would be problematic for them, whereas having money can be appointed in different ways; defense funds, keeping the lights on, another intern. Law offices don't run themselves. It would be the same as the Hayden; sometimes, we get gifts that we can put to research or other financial bequests that must be used to acquire programming. They come with parameters limiting us as opposed to a $5,000 gift to do as we see fit.>> Jane's thoughts warm to the notion while the increasing chill of interplanetary space reaches out. No threat of space junk hitting them, she can hope, though even granular particles present a real and present risk. Even one of them punching through Blackagar's shield would presumably hurt, if not completely punch through the limb or body part it encountered. Not ideal, though she has yet to feel a need to shelter herself against the risk. Bags crinkle when she adjusts her embrace to him, protectively nestled in for the long haul. The Moon's not exactly close, after all. Space is dark, empty, and terribly vast. He is none of those former two, though vast in mind is another matter. Her gaze lifts to his, and she smiles even wider. A tender press of her cheek to his follows a faint sigh, using up a little of the oxygen around them. How long until /that/ forces the shift?

<<It doesn't feel like that long, but then time for me changed. My perception turned the past year into a month of Blursdays, and the year feels like twenty-six, somehow. I feel like we've spent years together, not only half.>> The skewed perceptions being a function of hanging from a branch of the World Tree will do that, especially when the lingering effects sometimes crop up. <<It would be something worth calling serious, yes. When your fundamental thinking shifts to accommodate a different role in life. Parents have it the same, when they start thinking in multiples. Not just 'me' but 'me and the child' becomes the baseline. My default is no longer assuming I have to work on my own. Instead, you're in my thoughts and I contemplate about how my actions could affect you, or your concerns too. It's actually quite powerful and soothing in a way. I rather love it, to be honest. Call it odd, maybe?>> She isn't quite shy about the admission, though certainly open to dodging away to another subject if he prefers.

9018/Ziggy Moondust

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