974/The Art and Balance of Peace

The Art and Balance of Peace
Date of Scene:	04 April 2020
Location:	Avengers Mansion - Back Yard
Synopsis:	An evening of meditative Tai Chi and art alike is good for the soul.
Cast of Characters:	Steve Rogers, Janet van Dyne

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Steve Rogers has posed:
A more mild spring evening brings a promise of warmer weather in the future. The air is soft, for once, if not overly warm, and the way the sunlight falls across the backyard of the Avengers mansion is far too tempting. Steve knows that if he sets up out of the wind, the ambient light will keep him warm -- at least, that's how his brain meandered during his lidded consideration out of his on-site office window as he chewed on yet another pencil eraser, this doomed to mangling.

Now, his shadow moves slowly along the lawn in tandem with the graceful lines of what must be some manner of Tai Chi if not Qigong. Dressed in a dark fitted long-sleeved theral and black running pants, he moves through a series of forms dedicated to testing one's balance while shifting weight over the hips and through the center of the body.

Well, he was moving. Now he's paused in something akin to 'Snake Creeps Through the Grass', wearing a smile just a touch chagrined. "<<Seillean>>, this's an active process, can't hold still for it." The chiding towards the Wasp is familiar and gentle.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Poor baby, no core strength?" Janet challenges Steve. One hand is tracing over the lines on the paper in front of her, and her eyes are ... tracing over the lines of Steve's musculature as he goes through the slow motions of each pose.

"You're a lousy model," she informs the Captain. It's an utter lie, because his physique could be used as a reference manual for an anatomy textbook.

Janet's sunbathing under a tri-fold mirror set up nearby, and a little ceramic heater is set up on the patio under her lounge chair. Nestled in the sunlight from two angles and protected from the wind, she's comfortably warm enough during the spring day to catch some natural sunlight. Her single-piece bikini is a shiny gold color, a halter top with a gold ring under her sternum that exposes a lot of her abdomen and decolletage.

"There, that one, just hold that for like... three or four minutes," she prompts Steve, and marginally increases the speed at which she transfers lines onto her sketchpad.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"You're fulla bunk..." grouses the man as the challenge is leveled. He squints at the fashionista in her sunlit bower and her swimming suit as she retorts about how awful he must be at holding still.

If pressed, the Captain would argue that there's only one person better at being motionless than he on this planet and it's Barnes.

Janet will no doubt hear the windy sigh that leaves her proposed model as he settles into the paused form, his balance centered with an anchoring of muscle tension hovering over his back heel, this leg bent and the other outstretched in a long point of heavily-soled sock. On the diagonal, the line of paused motion, extending from a under-turned hand lifted back and above his head down through his shoulders to the hand left upturned and ready to clutch into whatever shape might benefit.

"Dunno what you're fitting on this particular pose." He eyes her with his smile undimmed, possibly more puckish now. "Spandex?"

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Hmm? Oh." Janet's wrist moves around and she shifts in the lounge chair, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. The sling straps under her form a stirrup for her bare heel to press into to lever her thigh up for the sketchpad to rest against. It's a large artist's sketchpad, and the charcoals at her side (a gift from Steve, in fact) are of the same professional caliber.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," she reassures him a few moments later. The sunglasses on her face drop low so she can look at him over the rims. One long-lashed eyelid dips in a saucy wink and she replaces her glasses, then purses her lips and tries to look like sketching Steve is Srs Bizness as he holds the dynamic pose in a single held position.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Granted, that whole affair of Janet resettling herself is a sight in itself. Two years have long educated the Captain that he can indeed appreciate the view rather than politely averting his eyes, though he does faithfully pink at the ears. The wink does him in: he laughs and drops his chin, shaking his head as if the whole affair were an utter travesty.

"You brazen little thing," he murmurs to himself as he then lifts his face and attempts to appear the paramount of inner peace. It does grant his expression a youthful innocence in the angled fall of setting sunlight. "On a serious note, this'd be a good instance for spandex. Or maybe premise for testing one of the team's mission-suits? 'm not the most flexible, but this's a good fabric tension test?"

Janet van Dyne has posed:
" 'Brazen little thing?' " Janet tilts her sketchpad aside and gives Steve a severe look. "You've been hanging out with Vision too much." She clucks her tongue. "You sound like Basil Fawlty. Stop taking everything so seriously," Janet concludes, and goes back to her sketchpad.

"And will you hold still? This is going to take forever if you keep dancing around and breaking frame," she tells Steve with an expression of vast patience tempering a feigned irritation.

In all liklihood, the sketchpad is merely a polite excuse for sitting back and ogling Steve while he goes through his evening ritual of exercise.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"'m not wigglin', cool your toes, toots," the super-soldier fires back lazily with an equally languid smile, letting the full wash of a heavy Brooklyn accent in to directly counter her claim about such a high and mighty twist of tongue. "Somebody's gotta be serious around here. There'd be parties twenty-four-seven if nobody shook fingers 'nd kept to a schedule." A grand claim to make given how busy the entire team has been at late, and as such, a jest at it.

Regardless, Steve looks the Wasp dead in the face and adds still teasingly, "Got about fifty-three seconds to finish up that sketch before I change form. You did say four minutes, just about that time."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Did I? I meant six," Janet responds, with lazy indifference. "Or, whatever. You can hold that pose, you're a big boy."

The charcoals are working at least, and she twists in place to shift position again on the lounge chair; laying on her side with the sketchpad partially propped up against the chair's arm.

"Parties 24/7 sounds like my kind of jam, honey," Janet informs Steve. "It's not like we /need/ to keep a schedule. This isn't the Army. Or SHIELD," she reminds him. She spins the charcoal around so it's away from her face, and carefully scratches a stray eyelash away with her thumbnail. "No one's going to show up and wag their finger at you for not being at dinner at 6 PM sharp. /I/ think you just like a schedule for the sake of schedules," she accuses Steve. "What's the big rush?" The sketchpad drops flat and she props her head on the heel of her hand, elbow resting on the lounge chair's frame.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"For you, <<Seillean>>, I will hold the pose." And such a concession to make apparently, by the lofty arch of a single blond brow. Steve then lets out another long sigh and lets his eyes lose focus somewhere off towards one of the rose beds. Janet's voice brings him back from his temporary zen and meandering into acutely-vivid memory. His eyes return to her and go keen.

He does think while she leans. It shows in the faint pensive furrow between his brows to appear and melt away just as quickly. "Nothing's a big rush right now. Things're relatively under control. Just...there's always something to do 'nd the team should be prepared for it. Schedules keep things organized, temper expectations, remove uncertainties." Maintaining the form frozen, he still manages a subtle shifting about to loose tension grown in his joints. "Don't mind parties, don't get me wrong. You know that." Janet gets a half-smile and dimple.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"I know you well enough to know when you're lying to yourself," Janet teases, and returns that dimple with a fond smile that blossoms over her face. "You hate parties. You're happiest at home with a book and a good beer. If it wasn't for work making you deal with people and me making you put real clothes on to go to charity events, you'd never leave the home. Or you'd get some job working with your hands, where you don't actually have to talk to anyone. Construction worker," she guesses. "Y'know, hauling lumber, hammering nails, maybe up in a tower welding things, all... exercised, and sweaty..." She sighs, langorously, and her hand curls inwards to shift her swimsuit strap higher onto her collarbone. If she's made any progress on the sketch in the last minute, it doesn't show.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Granted, there are some points when Steve laughs aloud. He drops his face again and some of his form melts in the moments of shoulder-shaking chuckles. "You'd want me to go into carpentry just for the view," he claims, giving her a knowing grin now with TWO dimples on display. "Wouldn't matter what I ended up making, lawn chair or something more ornate like a rose trellis -- 'nd I like parties well enough!" It has the claim of an old, well-worn argument no longer really an argument at all. Grinning continues as he does so speaking.

"People're good things. Still, all good things in moderation, isn't that how it goes? 'sides, how'm I supposed to do my own sketching? Or jog down to the river-front for those chocolates you like so much? Or make my monthly guest appearance at Veterans Affairs one borough over? 'nd before you make some claim, I was there last month 'nd they expect me again next Thursday, so can't claim I'd never leave the house."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Okay, so that's a fair compromise," Janet offers. "You retire from heroing, and dedicate yourself to being my aesthetic muse and personal servant," she suggests. "All you need to do is stand around looking beautiful, give me footrubs, and bring me snacks from the chocolaterie."

The charcoal pencil twiddles lazy circles around Janet's thumb, the sketch wholly forgotten. "You know, the old wartime posters never did you justice," she says with an appreciative exhalation. "You just looked... so goofy in them. Terrible artwork." Her nose wrinkles. "You were wasted in portraiture. We could have funded the entire war effort by using you as a model for all the single girls in art class in college." She drums the charcoal's blunt end against her sketchpad. "And then some."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve's expression takes on a cast of long-suffering amusment, vague and distracted as he lets his eyes rove away from the Wasp and back to the rosebushes. "Nobody was focused on art classes, not with most of 'em worried about their beaus overseas 'nd the efforts to support the troops. That, 'nd you have Jonathan 'nd your other assistants to get you snacks 'nd other things," he notes pragmatically.

Lapsing back into silence, the man can be seen to relax back into the poise of the form. Sunlight catches in his lashes, half-fallen as they are across his eyes, and it appears this has turned into a practice of holding still indeed upon the green of the lawn.

"You finished sketching yet?" He shoots her a sly look.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
"Hmm?" Janet's on her back, face aimed skywards, hands tucked behind her head and her thighs twisted atop one another. "Oh, I've been done for ages. I'm just enjoying the view. You can relax, honey, also can you move the mirror to my left side? I don't want my tan to come out unevenly," she tells him.

"First tan of the year is very important, if you don't get a good base tan then you'll just get bad skin the rest of the year. I despise salons," she says, exhaling with a dreary weariness. "There's just no substitute for soaking up some Vitamin D from the real thing," she informs him.

Janet takes a deep breath, then exhales with an arch of her back and a long, langorous exhalation of cozy relaxation under the warmth of the sunshine over-head. Probably something to do with Steve's reassuring proximity, too.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Upon confirmation that the sketch is complete (if it exists at all), the man begins to move, blending into the next form. The relief of pent-up energy being put to use is apparent on his face as he does so, straightening as he brings his back foot forward. Muscles tense or flex in opposition to the hold. A spark of impulse strikes and silently, in a flurry of kicks and angled punches, Steve briefly fights an invisible foe across the lawn. It's a joyous display of vigor long-dreamt of in his younger days and when he lands after a high and arcing whip-kick, he's lightly panting.

"Sure, <<Seillean>>." Meandering back over, the man does shift the mirror to the left side. He also takes a moment to lean in, hands rested on the chair's arms, and kiss the Wasp lightly on her lips. "Hate to have you looking like a half-baked lobster." Smiling to himself, he then boops the end of her nose before straightening in place.

Leaving a smudge of charcoal from where he'd pinch-rubbed the charcoal pencil's tip between thumb and forefinger in a smooth sleight of hand.

Hands immediately folded away beneath his armpits in a loose crossing hide the evidence. "You out here for much longer? Sun'll set in about fifteen, it looks like."

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet's eyes were shut when Steve bends over for the kiss; his presence is felt as a warm shadow that provokes a smile before she returns the touch. He straightens up and she presses a palm to his cheekbones with an expression of lazy adoration for his affection.

"I just want to get the last rays," she promises him. "Few more minutes. Here, take a look, I'm all done with the sketch," Janet says, closing her eyes. The sketchbook's uplifted and waved in the air until Steve takes it from her fingers. It's a rendering of Steve mid-pose, albeit in a state of more ... undress than he'd sport in the Avenger's back yard.

"I had to do some parts of it from memory," she says, and a touch of smugness resides in the sunny smile that curls her lips.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve's air of expectation upon taking the sketchbook morphs quickly to a cough of a laugh. There go his ears again, brilliantly as the dawn, and he gives the spiraled paper-book back to her with a grin only somewhat sheepish. Again, time together is eroding the worst of the initial shellshocking at some of her usual fond if unexpected antics.

"'m impressed, I admit it. Still...your memory's a little hazy, I think," he says even as he turns to pad away across the mild warmth of the patio towards the doors to the manor. "Might need a reminder of a few things." Such a saintly cast to his features greets her as he glances over his shoulder to tell her as such. "Happy to help if you're in need of a refresher. You know where to find me."

Then shows the smirk, sly as a fox, rare as a hen's tooth, and wickledly dimpled.

Janet van Dyne has posed:
Janet waves an airy hand about as Steve slips away. Her smile turns into a grin, though, at his saucy rejoinder. "Gotta finish tanning, honey," she reminds him. "You can't rush a good tan. It takes precisely as long as it requires," she informs him, and rolls onto her stomach on the lounge chair. Her glasses lift away so she can consider the perspective on American's Posterior as Steve heads back into the Avenger's mansion.

"You know. It's on 'the schedule'," she calls after him, raising her voice to chase him along with her teasing rejoinder.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"You know me, 'm all about taking my time," floats the man's retort. He even sticks his head back out of back door to gesture in a circling manner at his own face. "Got a little...something on your face there. Check the mirror, maybe."

And then the door shuts with a quiet snap.

It only half-cuts his chortle.