Owner	Pose
Jane Foster	... Busy tonight? The number actually comes through instead of a cryptic unlisted jumble of data that pings. Sometime before dinner, where the weekday deepens into a long, golden hour of April, the message pops up. 'Ever seen the gargoyles by candlelight?' Because that's what everyone needs in their life, a relic case and a concert performed in front of the famed Cloisters gargoyles. Probably fake candles, the electric kind, but the place is rather beautiful. With that goes a certain degree of risk, socializing and being spotted by other socialites. Jane waits on the response. It's not so far from the Hayden Planetarium to Cloisters, that strip of the Met's art collection express transported from Europe.
Dane Whitman	Did Jane Foster just...kind of ask him on a date? No, no...that's ridiculous. A date would be more...pre arranged. This is just a...get together! Right, a get-together. Totally informal, nothing to get worked up about. Anyway, the answer is "Not at all." regardless of whether there actually was anything not-quite that important going on. And thus Dane Whitman finds himself at the Met. Is he too early? Is he late? He doesn't think he's late. Wait..informal get together. Relax...you survived the Crusades, you can manage not to make a fool of yourself. Right? Somewhere the specter of Sir Percy laughs.
Jane Foster	... //Typing//... Jane is absolutely not checking her phone to buzz back at her, partly because the social media feeds carefully pruned and selectively notifying her are having a field day with information. Neither is she quite beyond checking as she takes the benighted subway up to Washington Heights, flicking past a few media requests filtered by way of her agent into territory. Darcy's panic-button OMG OMG OMG and 'Do you /own/ Versace?! Wear Versace!' messages are swiped aside, discreetly nudged off the screen that displays a model of a collapsing star reacting in the Carinae dust cloud. One of the great watchcandles of the 19th century wears a double-belled hourglass of massive dust, illuminated within by the throes of a hypermassive star prepared for one last show before exploding. "Isn't that the greatest harbinger," she murmurs to her reflection inked against the dark line of the Hudson River. One way or another she's making it to Cloisters. Whether or not anyone else achieves this in her company is another matter. Running her hand over her bangle straightens the bracelet on her wrist, where it forms an innocuous golden loop sealed and signed by the writ of a power so much greater than her own. Then it's forth to the station and up to ground level, then hailing some kind of Uber or Lyft to get her the rest of the way to the four-acre estate. Acre again; words dancing in her mind as she pauses to check her reflection again and frowns at her appearance in the screen hidden from the driver's view. He is already chattering on and on about aliens landing somewhere in Yonkers, and that Loki guy being a -dick- in his YouTube appearance, and have you ever seen Tony Stark? He's starkers, stark raving maaad, ever been to London? "Thanks," she says, and steps out to hustle her way inside. April is still too early for it to be warm, even as the sun is sinking down. And so they are in Cloisters, trying to find one another. Fortunately she is the more readily capable of hiding in plain sight of the two. Dane stands taller, he can get the attention. He might spot her in the smart leather coat, gold earrings dusting her lobes and dangling with fleur-de-lis.
Dane Whitman	Dane does in fact manage to be fortunate enough to spot Jane (it really does rhyme!) He makes his way over, dressed in a medium-gray suit, but let it seem overly formal he's got a dark turtleneck underneath the coat, left unfastened. The Met is classy, after all. And after only a bit of awkward weaving between the crowds, Dane manages to arrive by Jane's side, or at least he almost does because: "Doctor Foster! I'm your biggest fan." Says the ever-so-slightly overweight, middle-aged man with thinning hair, a pair of glasses that really don't suit his face, and a hideous yellow short-sleeve button-up shirt with a brown-and-yellow striped necktie. No coat. Brown dress pants. "I'd love to discuss your theory on interspatial convection." He smiles the oily smile of a man who is...delusionally confident. Not threatening, really...at least not intentionally, but maaaaybe not so great with social cues. And Dane appears just behind him, looking somewhat bemused, but not immediately interrupting.
Jane Foster	Dane and Jane find their way across the plain to engage the game! They could well write children's books in this fashion, the tale of the Black Knight and Swan Maiden. Albeit she is far from an actual swan maiden, the representation comes close enough. Her high-collared white sweater has elements of the 70s to it, though the sleek lines are anything but. Starry chips suspended on a nearly invisible necklace mark a constellation, while the fleurs-de-lis at her ears are a nod to the French stylings of the architecture. Most of it, anyway. Her distraction with a coat check tag is purely an opportunity to be mobbed by-- Never the ones you expect. Her chin lifts slightly, the surprise widening her eyes naturally. Go with the natural response, and her laugh is soft, startled. "Pardon me?" A hand lifts, touching her throat, the instinctive response protectively crossing her arm over her chest. Nothing to be overly afraid of, but the golden bangle gleams from under the flowing cuff dragged back. "As exciting as that would be, sir, and I am entirely flattered, I am attending a private event." A slight adjustment of her posture is surprisingly well-centered, focused by withdrawing into a broader circle of personal space. Of course, with Dane being right there, it stops her from going any further. "Drawing focus from the performers here tonight would discredit their hard work and rehearsals. I am sure you can understand. Ah, Mr. Whitman, is it time for us to take our seats already?" She offers her hand to him, entirely courtly. Entirely flaming obvious about the connection, the sunny smile brightening. "I hope you can forgive me for being a bit late."
Dane Whitman	Dane smiles and takes Jane's hand, in mirrored courtly fashion, "Indeed it is, Doctor Foster, and it's no trouble. I've only barely arrived myself." Is he putting on airs? Maybe just a bit, and the playful gleam in his dark eyes gives up the game, but thankfully "biggest fan" isn't so good with social cues. But he's not -that- bad, and so his half-open-to-say-something mouth closes and a frown cross his face, making him seem uncertain as to what to do next, but then again, it's not really Dane and Jane's problem! "I don't remember Interspatial Convection in your books." Dane says more discretely to Jane, as the move to find their appointed seats.
Jane Foster	"Cosmological principles built on the first law of thermodynamics have serious issues with temporal travel and carbon copy transfers from one universe to another. I had enough problems dissuading my last intern from pursuing super-string theory so deeply. Points of dark energy welling up without substantive cause starts breaking down the ideas of classical cosmology," murmurs Jane with a certain bracing presence to that bad idea. "Opposite charged particles give us reason for an expanding universe but the idea of an interspatial column exchanged between different 'layers' of the universe stacked up like millefeuille cake is just breaking down reality much unless you believe there really is a great big ash tree connecting the nine physically. To say nothing of the fact we have more than nine states to speak of." Ooh, he wanted a conversation, Dane is going ot get one. Biggest fan can deal with that gentle dismissal if he wants to drop in on the conversation. Still, she slips in beside Dane and allows him direct them through the main gallery northward into one of the quieter corners where an arrangement of chairs fills the medieval Spanish cloister. "We can walk if we like. An escape that proves helpful. I always forget how much smaller this is than the Met itself."
Dane Whitman	"I think I understood most of that. Just be warned I had to fight to keep from bringing books to autograph. Thankfully my pockets didn't have room for hardbacks." Dane replies with a bit of a grin. As they reach the chairs, Dane looks about, "Seems like we have a few minutes before the show starts, at least, wouldn't mind taking a bit of a look around." He does manage to take his eyes off Jane long enough to admire the surroundings, "They've done a really nice job with this place. For all the memories it spurs, it's...comfortable."
Jane Foster	Jane shakes her head, the loose sweep of her chignon lasting very little time under the circumstances. The knot won't be intact by the evening's end. "Now, now. Everyone wants digital copies. Save a tree, remember?" she enthusiastically supplies. The quartet on stage under candles have a harp, cello, violin; instruments with strings to resonate off the stone walls. They are arranged in the small space reserved for devotionals. "Anything that captivates ou here? A desire to fight our way to the Unicorn Tapestries or would you rather float among armour and weaponry less pretty than your own collection? They made a point, when they built this, not to be an actual monastery. It's intended to show multiple different stages of history."
Dane Whitman	"Unicorn tapestries?" Weapons and armor may be a specialty but the lure of the yet-unseen seems to draw his attention just as fervently, if not more, "Tapestries it is." As they saunter in that direction, Dane notes, "Would you believe me if I told you that "Would you like to view my tapestries?" really was a pick-up line for more noblemen than I care to remember?" One thing Dane isn't having any problem remembering is his Middle English, though, since that line actually comes out in that particular vernacular. He doesn't seem to notice it. "Weapons and Armor I've pretty much seen it all. Might be amusing if I recognize a specific piece but avoid one mace trying to bash your brains in and you're not always so keen on seeing them up close."
Jane Foster	"Unicorn Tapestries. You can't tell me you have never seen them. Oh!" Jane's expression changes, illuminated by pure excitement that probably comes to tweens too cool for school meandering through the Cosmic Walk at the Hayden, or children tossed into the depths of Animal Crossing: Superman Edition. She takes his hand and pulls him along, lengthening her gait just enough to make their imminent arrival in the gallery with their cherished hangings -- the Cloisters' most valuable entity, collectively -- that much swifter. Not running, per se. But excited, for certain. "Someone possessing any kind of tapestry from Bruges was at the height of style, power, and money. Rather like flashing your Visa Black card, or some kind of overpriced credit card. Very Lex Luthor of them." Jane is unimpressed by such things, even as she curls her fingers around his arm and slips down to Dane's wrist to secure him. "Quick, turn here. We will get there faster cutting through the solarium and the herbal garden. Indeed, the many gardens are laid out in different medieval styles, opening them to the starry night. "Wouldst thou endeavour to behold mine wunderkabinett?" she tosses back, littering German in there. "Or mayst thou lay thine head in mine lap, and forget all thine cares in the sweet repose of morn? God, listen to me." She's already infected by Asgard. Undrjarn gloats.
Dane Whitman	"Can't say that I have. Might have been after my time. Late 1187 to early 1198. I've only had a bit over a year to refocus my interests in history beyond that, and that was on top of a whole lot of other things. I have a good feel for cultures...maybe a real look at some historical figures...Saladin -was- quite urbane, sorry I forgot to answer that the other day. A very interesting, and honorable in his own way, man. Richard exiled me from the Crusader Camps for refusing to kill him." He tilts a brow and looks entirely amused at Jane's commentary, "Oh believe me, I am." He teases in regards to listening to her, but while it's not exactly a -new- light the interest that might be gleaned from his expression is perhaps more apparent now, "And with an invitation like that I'd feel awfully obligated to show you my tapestries later. They're in Virginia, though." He waggles his brows in an exaggerated manner and adds, "Etchings, too." He can barely keep a semi-straight face for more than five seconds at that before he laughs, shaking his head at his own silliness.
Jane Foster	"Saladin strikes me as a man of culture and war. Very much like the samurai, and many of the Native American tribes." Jane sketches a path through the stepping stones laid out on the grass, though it's still wet and rather muddy out there where the many visitors don't trek. She certainly knows how to find her way by waning light, exploring a route to the other well-lit side of the Cloisters. That one might have a later medieval feel than some, the Gothic and Late Gothic stylings mingled around the older Romanesque. "A tapestry collection of your own? That is patently /unfair/, Dane. You and your horse and the tapestries. Did he pose for them?" Don't yell at her.
Jane Foster	"Etchings," adds the woman blithely. She shakes her head. "I insist if you are willing to show me, then we're going to have to make that drive. I can put up with the distance, most certainly."
Dane Whitman	"That was my read on him. Circumstances didn't exactly allow for me getting to know him too well. Richard, on the other hand well..." There's a bit of a pained expression, "Well the timeline seems to have a way of making sure it asserts itself. He was...complicated. Great warrior and battle-leader. Really knew how to make people WANT to fight for him. We were friends, for a while. He wasn't the monster some make him out to be, but I think there's some truth to the idea that the Crusade was his way of avoiding having to be King back home. Not because he didn't -want- to be a good King, but because I think he knew he /wasn't/ going to be a good peacetime King." Dane glances towards Jane with a wry expression, "Strider may be a bit of a ham at times, but I don't know that he'd have the patience to pose." He adds after a moment, "And speaking of Strider, who said anything about driving?"
Jane Foster	Jane listens with interest, guiding them through a doorway into a much more populated part of The Cloisters. The Unicorn Tapestries are to it as the Mona Lisa is to the Louvre; the evening affair doesn't stop visitors from tramping over to the tapestries to admire them and forget the whole prospect of hearing a cellist dueting with a harpist. Not when they can admire a unicorn laying its head into the lap of a maiden in her finely worked gown. "Richard in history was lionised, but between his stormy relationship with his father and his brothers, I can only imagine how he really was. He seemed to succeed very well on the field, but much less about acts of leadership. Too many demands on the Crusader kings. The idea of trying to cross Europe to the Holy Land cannot have had an easy time of it when half the countries had no roads to speak of, and you're certainly troubled by bandits, mercenaries, or a lack of facilities to speak of. How do you move an army in those conditions?" Her brow is delicately creased; measured thought colours the seashell-pale hue of her complexion. "Having a talent of inspiring others, though, is a quality of leadership. Everyone talks about Captain America that way, though I can tell you it's found elsewhere. The Asgardians have it in Thor, believe it or not, but I could see commonality. A desire to pursue a goal of noble purpose rather than being stymied by bureaucracy. Saladin had a better balance between the two, given he had the advantage of a court and be where he needs to be. In peace and in war, different aspects come to the fore. Would you find it to be a benefit to lead in peace, or are you happiest in the conflict?" He has her pausing, hand still around his wrist or creeping into his fingers. However it shapes up, they are still together, surely. "You named your horse for /Aragorn?/"
Dane Whitman	Dane studies the tapestries, not at all opposed to the intertwining of fingers as he does so, studying them intently for several moments before musing aloud, "I wonder if the artist had actually seen one. A lot of the details are right...." "Richard loved to fight. No doubt about that. But there were times where he was...weaker of character than I would have hoped. Inclined to let others press him into actions he otherwise might have avoided. Especially if he was ambivalent on a subject. As you might have guessed, Acre was where it fell apart for us." There's a grim expression, "He broke his word to me, I chose not to kill Saladin for him, not that I seriously considered it to begin with. I guess I was naive to hope that giving him the impression I was going to try might stay his hand, but he let the other nobles influence him into...what he did. Like I said...time seems to have a way of asserting itself. That was the last time I tried to change history from what I remembered." Dane adds after a moment, "Don't take that as me excusing him of any blame. It was his call to make, and no matter how much I liked the guy personally, it was a horrible, stupid, and needless mistake." A bit of a shrug, "But enough about that." He muses on her first question, clearly giving it some thought, "I'm comfortable in combat but I don't really enjoy it. But pretty much all my leadership experience came from the battlefield, so I have no idea how well I'd lead in peace. I think I'd probably prefer it though. Better the complexities of dealing with your garden variety corruption and graft and balancing a thousand competing interests than having to decide life and death on a regular basis. It may seem simpler, but it weighs heavier. At least in my opinion." At the last, he reaches up to rub the back of his neck a bit self-conciously, grinning a touch sheepishly, "It just seemed to fit. But also I was a huge geek when I was a teenager."
Jane Foster	Jane glances to the tapestries over the heads of too many people, though they're a fraction of the crowd gathered by daylight. Breaks for being a card-carrying member of the Met, like a tenth of New York, it often feels like. She isn't rushing to get close, though there might be some who recognize her with that cowled sweater and chignon tumbling out. "They wove them backwards, you know. The finished effect would only become visible once they were done, and not before. Imagine working in reverse for all your life, and being so certain of the outcomes. I am not sure I could have excelled in such a craft. Count me more as a simple coin-counter in Amsterdam for the period. Though the name suggests I'd be in a family of foresters, doesn't it?" She listens with interest to Dane's telling, her verdict given quietly by patient regard. Broken words and broken oaths bring a line to her brows, pinched close. "Acre was one of those strange turning points of history. The Latin forces had so many opportunities, and they didn't seem to seize on them. Thinking of all the names there; Philip of Flanders, Guy of Lusignan, Leopold of Austria, the Dorias. Conrad and Sibylla were alive, William of Sicily. It's a moment in history that you were present for, and saw. From the ramparts, from the ground? The battle I have heard was... disjointed, to say the least, and the reserves were thrown back during a plundering by Saladin. He was tactically wise, wasn't he?" No telling that she's stayed up late re-reading takes on the Siege, probably. 'Acre' means something when your coworker was there, and not seven hundred years ago. "Philip in France, and Richard in England. To think, they achieved what had been a twinkling of their fathers' eyes. I can only imagine how different it might have been, at those cruxes. With the prisoners, with Leopold of Austria treated as a peer and not a subordinate. We must look back at El-Alamein, Midway, and Stalingrad with similar eyes. Or our descendants will, wondering at the points when history swiveled on a dime, a battle, a conversation in a tent or on a muddy field." She goes quiet, contemplative of the assertions laid out and the philosophical mood descending upon her. A bit of a smile still touches her lips, no more than that. "Preferences aside, you have a point laid down. Long term ruling isn't easy. At least we have the benefit of a democratic system to take care of that need to have the same person in power continuously until they shuffle off."
Dane Whitman	"That was part of what was most difficult for me when I first arrived, adjusting to...the sociopolitical system I found myself in. It was strange...I sort-of had access to Sir Eobar's memories but it was...hazy. Like just enough to function without attracting too many weird looks. But I've often wondered if he had some influence on me at the same time. I certainly took to battle a lot more readily than I would have expected. And when I returned there was a sort of sense that...well, not that anything was missing but that some...extra was gone." He frowns a bit, "It was...complicated. I don't like feeling like I stole ten years of someone else's life. But I also get the feeling that Sir Eobar might have succumbed to the curse quickly otherwise. There was a sense that he was...eager for the Crusades." He shudders a bit, then adds, "And then there was a wife and two kids back home in England. I never met them in person, and Eobar died at the end of my journey...that was what sent me back. But I felt like I had to send what messages I could, rare though they might have been. Maintaining appearances. Only received a handful in return, though from those letters it seems like several were sent that never made it, and a few of mine in return never did, either. Still, I'd like to hope that Eobar, whatever happened to him when I took up residence, somehow saw the contents, so he could know Lady Anne and his children were all safe and healthy back home." Is he rambling? Definitely a bit, but there's a bit of a sense that he hasn't talked about most of this stuff with much of anyone, and given Jane hasn't dismissed it all as absurdity, likely given her own extraordinary experiences. "Anyway...can't say I miss feudalism much. It was all I could do to try to maintain some degree of actually walking the walk where chivalry was concerned. Try to inspire. But believe me any illusions about how widespread those kinds of notions were were quickly dispelled. I think Sir Percy would have been disappointed how little of Camelot's example survived, even if it was a few centuries apart from it."
Jane Foster	For her part, Jane enjoys listening. The sound of Dane's tale blends with the soft Gregorian music piped through the gallery. The tapestries muffle some of the sound, placed in an arrangement of colour and jeweled threads meant to scintillate in the low-light conditions. Murmuring and whispering between the people with their heads together turn appreciative, interested, bothered and intrigued. "The chances were good that any messages sent to you or to Lady Anne," says the astronomer thoughtfully, "may have been lost because of trials on the road, lost at sea, couriers who never made it. You would not be alone. Hold not too much despair in your heart. It was an era when travel had great difficulties at the very outset, and you cannot possibly have anticipated what happened there." A sorrowful gleam of her voice colours the air. "I do not think you could be blamed for taking his life. 'Life' as you shared together was a treasured thing, and you gained experience while serving him in a sense. Take pride in what you have managed. Few would have tolerated the experiences you went through." She smiles to him and then nods as the different parts of the crowd shift around. "Do you want to go through and take a look," she asks, "or hang back? Chivalrous viewpoints aside, I can at least share this time with you and let you admire a wistful, romantic view of the past. Or a message of how a woman ought to remain pure in her garden until marriage."
Dane Whitman	"Sure, a closer look sounds good. Probably just enough time for that before we should head back to our seats." Dane smiles, hand-in-hand with Jane, letting her lead him towards the core of the exhibit. Up close of course, the tapestries are even more spectacular. Clearly they're the centerpiece of this museum for a reason. Dane himself seems to take Jane's words to heart, or at least doesn't feel the need to offer any contradictory viewpoint. He does seem to be listening, at least. At the last bit Dane gives a chuckle, "Maybe that was the idea by the 1600's, not that there wasn't a fair bit of it in the late-1100's where I was. But we weren't so far removed from Richard's mother that it was so deeply rooted. Certainly a bit less so than a lot of folks seem to think, though that did also vary by social class." He adds, "At the very least, I met a fair share of ladies that certainly weren't the stereotype."
Jane Foster	Their stories entwine upon a midnight clear, with the sunset leaking over the hills to the west and the sullen Hudson River pouring down for the Atlantic. They are too far to hear the string performance, but the Gregorian music here is soothing and spiritual, as clearly the docents intended it to be. Shaded lighting with a low angle gives the drama of the unicorn entering the garden, fierce and pure, approaching the maiden, a sense of pageantry. For someone who has seen the smoky castles warmed by such things, perhaps the setting is less dramatic than some. Still, Jane contemplates them as they shuffle forward, a few steps at a time. The crowds tend to knot up in the front, admiring the work, until nudged along by pressure from those behind or a word from one of the attendants forever standing at attention like soldiers at a tomb. There lies a certain beauty in the fundamental act of creation, a stunning notion that something so old could be so preserved. Faded, some, but rich with iconography and the faces of those caught in a selfie of sorts with a mythical beast. "At least in part, I would assume the ladies of Venice were more jealously guarded than those, say, of certain English houses. I don't profess to be an expert on that. Keeping it to the stars, and what hasn't been passed down to me in one too many fancy novels," she adds with a merry grin. "It certainly sounds like a thrilling time to have explored. Count yourself fortunate for a bird's eye view and stay away from any historian. They would chain you up, pump you for information, and never let you go."
Dane Whitman	"Am I terrible for suddenly wishing you were a historian, then?" Dane replies, perhaps a bit more quietly, or at least "for her ears only" with an only mildly wicked grin. He only flicks his dark eyes towards her briefly when he says it, but otherwise seems to nonchalantly be examining the tapestries. With interest, it might be noted, but nonchalant nonetheless."They mostly get things right, or close enough that I feel like jumping in and mucking up their own learning process...assuming they believed me to begin with in the absence of empirical evidence of my story...which would probably be irresponsible of them if they did."
Jane Foster	The swift look to the side is met with a faint spreading blush over her cheeks, though Jane's fair colouration doesn't support too much of a flush. Brunette status protects her from that. She tucks a strand of hair come free from the knot at her nape, the smooth vertical roll already coming undone. "I may be at best an amateur historian, though you make a compelling case. Firsthand, primary sources for something like this? It's like talking with Einstein. Or Maxwell." She tilts her head towards him all the same, glancing at the unicorn and clearing her throat. Twice. "That horse would run me through right now," she adds, apropos of nothing. The opportunity to view is limited, but the low cords strung between balustrades keep the public away from the priceless medieval artifacts and moving along. Stickers on the floor correspond to the audio guide for those interested in hearing more, but few people do. "Do they ever take you seriously? You could moonlight as a writer if your job doesn't turn out. The high school gig pays about as well as a novelist of any credibility, though an actual bestseller..." She tips her head. "I have an agent, of course. Different field, but I bet someone writing gritty, deep battle scenes would go over really well in this particular market. Just steer clear of Hollywood unless you like chorus lines and Roman costumes on people from a thousand years after the height of the Republic." With a wink, she sashays a few steps away, as far as their arm's length allows. He's going to test that, Dane is going to find she can tease right back.
Dane Whitman	"I haven't exactly sought many historians out to put it to the test. Though a big part of that is kind of researching the history myself to make sure it wasn't all some kind of illusion or dream. But the tidbits I could find on Eobar line up closely with what I experienced. Lacking in detail and nuance at times, but the basics are accurate." He chuckles, "As for Einstein, I don't know if I'd go //that// far. Sure I'm arguably a primary source, but while I saw a lot, it's a somewhat narrow field of experience, especially if you cut out some of the more...fantastic aspects. While I fought a lot of ordinary people, I mostly spent the time trying to prevent various sorcerers and medieval supervillains and things that go bump in the night from diverting the course of history themselves." At the suggestion of writing, Dane nods, "Maybe someday, just to have a record of it all somewhere besides my head." Perhaps a positive sign that despite the curse the Ebony Blade bears he conceives of a future for himself. "For now, though, money isn't really a problem. Even setting aside the salary from the teaching position, I inherited a fair bit along with the castle. A lot of it goes into repairs, restoration, renovation but it's still enough that as long as I don't get too crazy, I'll be all right. Could always actually live in the castle if I wanted. But instead it's wrapped up in that whole side-project."
Jane Foster	"Bit of a litmus test. Besides, the new employer is very thorough on its background checks." A compliment to SHIELD? Jane isn't one to hold grudges, after all. "I bet in no time, you'll have someone from the directorate assigning another to plumb the depths of your experiences in kind, trying to decipher whether they should be alarmed about anything. Whether Saladin had a time capsule or interactions with illicit figures. Smugglers, for example, who showed up far too early with interesting technology not known outside their empire. Like the story of how the Byzantine side of the Empire got Chinese silk." Jane stifles a laugh under her breath, since the last thing she wants is for someone too interested in her or Dane to pull too close, overhearing what they might be talking about. "Certain things can't be a dream. Certain facts are too real, experiences too known. Recipes I would think, the food you ate. Bits about buildings and who was in them that might not be determined by anyone else other than a member of the academic community. Pinpoint those small details, that's how you decipher a fake from the real thing. I imagine that's how you make the most of it in art forgeries or book forgeries too." She swivels again to avoid another person trying to hasten back to a seat or a bench somewhere, their face buried in their phone to admire the images of the tapestries their eyes would have gathered just as well. Beauteous and wondrous things go passed by every day; that's probably how the villainous and mystical superheroes get by. "Things that go bump in the night. I remind myself I signed up for this. I could have left that site, I could have just phoned in to the FBI I saw a rainbow and walked away." She's chuffed, all the same. "Nothing halted me from saying 'nope, boring!' I suspect that is the same for you. Might have been that engineer, taking a role somewhere else. What makes us so odd that we thought the better?" It's a question Dane has to answer on his own as they filter through the people toward the back of the gallery, beautiful constructions of swirling lintels and neat tympanums on display. Another area of the world. "Renovating a castle in Virginia sounds like you're a tobacco baron out of Scotland. People forget this country has castles. Not the kind mailed over from Europe on a barge, but real ones. How did you end up putting it here, anyway?"
Dane Whitman	"Actually uh...it //was// floated over from England. Back in the 1800's. Stayed in the family after that. I inherited it when my Uncle died." Dane smiles a bit wistfully and a bit sadly (though really doesn't wistful sometimes carry a note of that anyway?) "Which plays into how I got involved in all this business to begin with. He helped raise me after my parents died...nothing illicit, just rainy night and a drunk driver veering into their lane. Uncle Nathan was a brilliant engineer...encouraged my talents in that direction. Taught me a lot." He frowns, waiting until they're a bit more private before adding, "But he wasn't worthy of the Blade. He tried, and failed, to draw it...I think it might have driven him a little nuts, because he began dressing up like a "Black Knight" and just invented his own weaponry...and horse. Fought Iron Man a couple or three times trying to steal Stark Tech for the Chinese, of all people. Ended up taking some fatal injuries, but before he died, he revealed it all to me and told me not to follow his path. I guess he regretted what he'd become in the end." He definitely seems conflicted on his uncle's legacy, but he shakes his head slightly banishing those complicated feelings for now. "So when I show up to the castle...I draw the blade like it's no big deal. Next thing I know I'm having a two minute conversation with my ancestor, and then suddenly I'm living at the dawn of the Third Crusade." Dane shakes his head, almost as though he still has trouble believing it all himself. "When I finally got back it had been a year. Was a little upset nobody seemed to think to come looking for me, but magic was involved so...I dunno, maybe it never occurred to them. And I guess I didn't have that many folks I was close to by that point." Save one off the top of his head but she doesn't get mentioned, mostly because he can't really blame her for moving on if she thought he ghosted her. That and it hadn't been so serious that (for him) ten years apart didn't cool that particular fire right down.
Jane Foster	"Pardon me, your uncle invented a /horse/." Jane clicks onto that and she cannot help but to raise her brows. "Were you already working for Stark by that point when it happened?" So she might sound a little perplexed by this notion of a horse theft, or maybe horse tipping is how it's done in ancestral Arthurian families. Cattle raids happened enough, surely? "I am sorry about his loss. Even under circumstances that spoke to his desperation and state of mind. Being overlooked for a legacy causes no end of hardship for some people. I know a man who fell into dire straits when he didn't receive a portion of a legacy he thought was his, and the entitlement suddenly rejected in his face turned him for the worst. He made decisions, regrettable ones, and I imagine to some degree he wishes he could take it back. The outcome wasn't quite so severe as your uncle's, though in part Iron Man had a hand in that, too. It seems we both have our interactions with him, and odd ways turning out." She seems to grasp the conflict well, but then she's been front and center to a Shakespearean drama of the highest water. Though she startles again. "Dane, you mean the minute you drew the blade you were transported back? It wasn't even a transition period of months or years?" That does halt her, stumbling step caught before she careens into a statue in wood of Jesus riding a donkey. But not quite, because that means they would both collide with it. "Ten years gone. I'm so sorry. To have to come back and pick up your life... and to think, you might have been declared missing, legally dead? In default to the IRS for property taxes on a Virginian castle floated by barge?"
Dane Whitman	"Yeah, Uncle Nathan was the real deal. Electronics, mechanics, materials, and genetics. Probably not quite on Stark's level but he was still pretty well-regarded in Engineering circles, still is, really, but he never had his own PR department." Dane's grin is entirely humored, not showing any real trace of resentment or bitterness at it all. "I was let go from Stark Industries right about the time he became Iron Man. Had a couple years floating from contractor to contractor, doing some consulting work, before it all happened." A beat, "But yeah, he genetically engineered his own flying horse. Not quite as uh...full-featured as Strider is, but still a horse that flies. Honestly not sure what became of it after his last fight with Iron Man. For all I know it's still out there frolicking someplace. Or I like to think maybe it's secretly hidden away on some farm with a kid who's his best friend or something equally sappy. The Horse didn't do anything wrong." "AlsoitmayhavebeennamedAragorn." He clears his throat, lightly tugging Jane when she nearly collides with that statue, and if it has the added effect of getting her a little closer, well...he's certainly not complaining at this point. "I guess I got lucky...because nobody really looked, nobody had me declared dead. There were definitely some hurdles to overcome, but yeah...mostly the IRS. Half surprised they didn't send an auditor back to Jaffa or something to find me. But it's all cleared up now, though I imagine I'll get audited for good measure next time I file. Lucky I can afford a good accountant who also happens to be an attorney. Though my case definitely was a bit unusual. I imagine that might've been what put me on SHIELD's radar. Well...that and my Uncle being a Supervillain."
Jane Foster	None of these facts are lost. None at all. Jane makes it as far as the other side of the doorway into the other gallery and drags Dane that way, further from the offending unicorn tapestries that set an impossible standard of beauty for the aspiring young maiden. How can they try to be that slender with a forehead that barren of hair short of plucking it? Where can you find a hennin of such quality, or a chaplet of flowers? Ugh, perfectionism on the loom is impossible. Yet still. "Is Strider Aragorn's colt?" she has to ask. "If so, was there a mare named Arwen? Or is Strider in love with a mare named Arwen? Wouldn't you want to know where a horse named Aragorn that your uncle invented, because it's a genetically modified steed, could be? I mean, what if he's out there winning the Triple Crown. Someone could be suspicious." She is going to milk this, because she can, or because she has real questions for Dane than end and center on this family's horsey obsession with Lord of the Rings. Also because bursting out with laughter, however silenced behind her hand, would attract attention. "Fringe benefits, I assume, of the role. Occasional need to decimate cities, slick insurance plan through work, and a house, of course. Getting all this privileges named and laid out, I think you have a fairly sweet deal. Almost a Cadillac." She shakes her head, smothering some of that light under the more serious, appropriate aspect. The one who is happy to keep fighting another day for what's right. One who should advocate, and isn't.
Dane Whitman	"No...no, only in spirit, maybe. As far as I know Strider was born and raised on Avalon. He's magical, I mean...actually magical, as opposed to just generally being awesome." Dane chuckles, "As for Aragorn, I keep an eye out for winged horse sightings. But if he showed up at the Kentucky Derby I'm pretty sure the big wings would give him away." "Believe me, I hope all this doesn't sound like complaining. There's been bad with the good, but I've seen and done some pretty amazing things, and I'm privileged for having had the opportunity. Even in the times it was difficult or when the curveballs got thrown. I try not to let it all go to my head. Corny as it may sound I feel like I should at least //try// to live up to the ideals of Camelot...tweaked a bit for a modern age, of course...and humility is supposed to be a big part of being a Knight."
Dane Whitman	Dane pauses a moment, rubbing at his chin as a sudden thought strikes him, "Huh, never thought of it before but maybe Strider is descended from Asgardian stock that somehow got left behind on Earth? They have flying horses, don't they?"
Jane Foster	Jane shakes her head, smiling all the same. The various saints and unbridled glorious of the stained glass dimmed to ashen shadow while night falls forming a space sanctified in a sense. They're headed for the southern side of the Cloisters, whereas the concert was to the northeast closer to the entrance. She isn't rushed in this. "No, you do not complain. You have made a point there are consequences for what you inherited, and you are trying to follow a path avoiding the worst. You had powerful lessons in what happens when slipping from grace, as it were. That all speaks to me of a rational mind and good moral compass under there. You also have friends and companions, not all of whom Ar eghosts, to keep you there. I imagine being surrounded by students and bureaucrats helps." She smiles brightly when he mentions corny. "Mr. Whitman, I will have you know I live by the idea of those ideals. For the most part, that is. Protecting those who are vulnerable, searching for social and legal justice, and doing the right thing. Else why would I have this job? Inspiring someone to reach for the stars, whether that is by setting a good example or lighting the lamp and holding it high, I see nothing but timeless value in those aims and goals. Humility isn't always found, but service and the notion we can serve others often is. Something you do not have to be an Avenger or a god from ancient mythology can achieve." She looks away for a moment to one of the saints with limpid eyes and a long face, ancient and measured. Back then to Dane. "Only one way to find out. If he shows up, I can always ask."
Dane Whitman	Dane's smile is a warm one at that, "See? I knew I liked you for more than some fascinating books and an amazing smile." He chuckles, ambling along and no longer particularly mindful of the concert they might be missing most of."Hm. Strider doesn't talk, at least not directly. There's a...link though. Somewhere in that hazy middle ground between empathy and telepathy." Dane chuckles, "Definitely has a mind of his own, though. Not that he's difficult, but sometimes he takes action without any urging...usually though, it was the right thing to do, regardless. He'd probably like you. He's quite a gentleman around the ladies."
Jane Foster	"He doesn't necessarily have to talk. Though Asgardian horses, as a rule, do. At least they seem to, though in my experience, that can be complicated. I mean, since we are being frank, I do not know how much you can take dreams as certain gospel. But I know a bit more than I ever expected about stables I've never seen." Jane's mouth lifts in a light smile, vaguely askew, not quite suggesting she knows what to make of herself. She glances back to Dane and blows out a breath, drawing it back in a bit audibly. "Do you want to make a full lap around the museum and head back, or keep going? I imagine most of the gardens aren't ideal at this time of year. In the summer, though, they're absolutely beautiful. Starlight up there, light on the river, and all the forests and hedges around us like so." She gestures lightly to the windows in their thin lancet profiles, one arch after another. "A gentleman with the ladies could very well describe you. Don't sell yourself short, though by being a gentleman, I suppose you would be unlikely to bring that information to the forefront. Whatever shall I do? I knew I liked you for more than a deep command of Crusader army tactics and reading classic fantasy literature or being as rapturous about a jump-drive equipped ship as I am. "
Dane Whitman	"At this point I'm fine with whatever you'd prefer." Dane replies, "All this is beautiful and interesting...but only about half as much as the company." He does let his gaze roam over the stained glass windows, and some of the various articles on display though. He's not lying when he says it's interesting, and the place does give him plenty of ideas for that "side project" he's mentioned here and there. "Don't they have some illuminated manuscripts here? I don't mind passing through the gardens in early spring to get there. Probably not too crowded, and you can appreciate something in full bloom more when you've seen it just sprouting." "I kind of hope I never hit the point of being jaded enough to see things like that as everyday occurrences. But as crazy as things get sometimes...who knows? One week Ice Giants from Jotunheim stalking down Wall Street. Next week some intergalactic war lands on our doorstep or something. Week after that some colorful Nazis by any other name dig up some the Spear of Destiny and get delusions of world domination. But on the good days, we get this..." He gestures, generally indicating their surroundings. "Or really cool aerospace craft to help pick apart."
Jane Foster	"My coat's in the coat check, if you want to go outside. Just keep in mind it gets cold quickly, so I might want it." She can't help but smile to that. "They have illuminated manuscripts in one of the other cloisters. How about we cut through the lawns and go in the door closest? The best part of having a monastic feel is the inner courtyard actually has some protection." Jane smiles despite herself, harbouring an appreciation for those images of devotion and icons of hope scattered all around in rainbows bedimmed, but still beautiful. How can she not appreciate them? She taps her heels against the ground, stretching out her steps. "Don't hope the jotunn come through. They are massive, and the damage to civilians and buildings would be enormous. I fear the toll of it, and pray that Asgard won't ever let that happen. Naturally you would see warfare on a scale unimagined in human terms. They would have things beyond our ken; I rather dread to imagine. Let's never make it part of the regular rotation." She nods in agreement to that. Red Nazis and purple Hydra monsters are beyond the need of human. Still, though, Dane has a point. "I am happy to have a front row seat to the events that won't kill me. If I can protect everyone from the rest, I'm doing the job I signed up for." Some part of her resonates with a certain acceptance, the other harbouring a hint of sorrow. Poignant, maybe. She leads him towards the starry night.
Dane Whitman	"You're my tour guide." Dane replies, smiling once more, "It's good to know that with as much as you've seen yourself, it hasn't dimmed the wonder of a lot of it. I don't know how exactly I would describe the era I was in, as far as strange happenings...there was plenty of it, from all different varieties, and I did my part to keep it tamped down to the point that I guess most of it didn't end up in the history books. Though some of it I question whether it maybe -should- be if just as a cautionary tale." Yes, Dane -has- already put a few things on record as potential "time capsule" problems for SHIELD to maybe keep an eye out for, and probably has a few more that he'll add as they come to mind. Some of them are time capsules that have already been opened in the span of centuries between, no doubt, but others remain. And Dane feels no obligation to keep them hidden...the future is unwritten, and forewarned is forearmed. Even if in a few cases the answer to such an event would be "Call the Avengers." "So how often do you come here, anyway?" Obviously enough to be quite familiar with its' environs and holdings. "You mentioned this and the Hayden Planetarium."
Jane Foster	Jane shakes her head, finally the weight of her hair falling free of the few bobbypins used to keep it up. The curtain of mahogany crashes down around her shoulders, spilling down her back to a considerably longer length than would normally be found in her habitual French braid or ponytail for work. Sighing, she pushes her loose bangs aside. "I try," she says, "but sometimes the world can feel a bit dark or tarnished. Places like this, the AMNH, and the streets of less discovered neighbourhoods in New York remind me why everything is so precious. Just stroll through a city full of people trying to live their lives. See what moves them on a main street, the shops and the glimpses into lives that aren't my own." The door rests ahead and she glances to the exit sign, then checks it won't trigger some kind of fire alarm. A small plaque on the wall indicates directions for those in need, but clearly she doesn't. Leading Dane out into the night again, she faces the bracing press of the cool night air. The cowled sweater helps for that. "We are so many stars in the sky. Every one of those lights represents a possible world. Yet there are countless people on Earth, and every one of them has a story. Imagine worlds as populated among the two hundred billion stars in our galaxy. Multiply that by the span of fifteen billion light years or so. Everyone has a story and a contribution, no matter how small. No matter how great. All of them are worth consideration and admiration. So no, I won't ever lose my wonder in this lifetime for what is around us and the fact I get to be part of it now, and here. I had a chance to see something so much bigger than I ever expected, and the immense beauty and perhaps even pain of that moment defined everything to come before and after. I am grateful. Humbled, in my way, but grateful." She stops to stare up at the sky, the omnipresent light glow of New York making it hard to spot much of anything. "A bit like how Armstrong and Aldrin probably felt standing on a dusty grey rock looking at the sapphire gem in the sky. To be there is to know you have something precious and special in your arms, and once that happens, you never let it go. It needs space to flourish and grow, but you always carry that sense of the profound wherever you go. I think you have had your experience discovering that, right? Listen to me wax so ridiculously poetic." She looks back, just a normal girl and a smile worn for him while she releases that instant of revelation. "I have a membership. Not as often as I'd like, enough to make it worthwhile. The Hayden's easy; I work there, handling the oversight of the space programming. The AMNH isn't a singular organism but more like a colony. I get one space of many, pardon the awful pun. But the rest of it is really good, too. I've had a picnic after midnight under the blue whale, and /that/ is an experience everyone should try."
Dane Whitman	Dane listens, rapt, to the dazzling explanation of motive and one's ability to find wonder in the small things after having been exposed to some very, very big things. "I don't know that I get to judge anybody on waxing poetic." Dane chuckles, "But that's a fantastic perspective to have on...all of it. I can see why you're so good at your job. You know, aside from being brilliant." "It's funny...and places like this really remind me of it...I was pretty much tossed into the fire right from the get-go. For a long time I was so focused on just getting by and surviving that it kind of overwhelmed me. But one day about a year in, I'm fighting assassins in Constantinople. I fight them off, and I'm standing in this room, where there's only one torch left burning, and it's sort of half-illuminating this beautiful fresco. Empress Theodora addressing Justinian and his advisers, during the Nika Riots. I realized I'd never seen the image before. Not that I was some great scholar of Byzantine artwork, but you know, people recognize the famous ones. And I realized there was so much that I was seeing that just...didn't exist in the time I'd come from. Looting, sackings, archaeological malfeasance, or just plain ravages of time.... Dane shrugs a shoulder, "I started paying a lot more attention to the little things after that. I wish I could just...download all of it out of my head so people could see. Even in just the ten years I was there...so much lost."
Jane Foster	Her turn to be rapt, even if it's not a period she knows as well as she should. Digital reconstructions and movies make up for a lot, but nothing matches standing in the Hagia Sophia. It doesn't match seeing the Hippodrome with your own eyes and the Porphyry Court in a time when it still commanded power and majesty, even if the empire fell apart at the seams and the relentless Ottoman pressure in the east eclipsed the old man of ancient Europe. Nova Roma, Roma. A court of emperors proud of their thousand year history. "When you talk about it, a light comes into your eyes," Jane replies softly. "I haven't the words to describe it. But those memories must be real." Or his insanity is complete and might as well be real. "Your stories come to life in a way that shines and enlivens them, though they happened so long ago. Not so long ago. Ten years, but centuries." She gestures at the green space ahead of them, the doorway to the illuminated manuscripts with a famous book of hours owned by a French duchess, the miniatures embellished by gemstone paints and faith. "Don't laugh at me but you are very transporting. I almost fear to unleash you back on the concert. A few words and you'll have us all in the palm of your hand."
Dane Whitman	"I got a "B" in my European History class at MIT." Dane admits with a bit of a laugh, "Maybe it's self-absorbed of me, but my interest for it didn't /really/ spark until I was there. I've been pretty voracious since I got back, trying to track down the scattered branches of my family tree to see if I can put a good, solid timeline for the lineage of the Black Knights, and just have...absorbed a lot more in that pursuit. But yes...my little side project? I'm trying to turn Garrett Castle, or part of it anyway, into a museum. Mostly centered on the Black Knights, to try to honor their memory, but also show some of the times they lived through." He walks along with Jane through the doorway, still having a hold of her hand. Neither seem to keen on letting that go, do they? "Don't worry, I try not to upstage. I'm not secretive about what I've been through or what I can do...I don't really have much to protect on a personal level. But that doesn't mean I advertise it either. There have been a couple news stories here and there about the Black Knight, but I've mostly flown under the radar for the last year or so."
Jane Foster	"Upstage? You think I'm ever worried about that? Not a chance. Not often, anyway. I had to sit beside Reed Richards while a scientific journalist who had been rejected for a project by the Future Foundation took him to task. Trust me, it comes with the territory that dealing with vast scales gives you a sense of your own place in the world." Jane can't help but to laugh, though she squeezes Dane's hand. "It's the particle theorists who get the big heads." Bad science joke, ouch. "We are both MIT alumni then, but I gather your graduating class came a bit before mine." Not likely by much, but it still constitutes something as they pad over the stepping stones to another shaded place. The door isn't that far beyond, and if they reach it, then she will more than happily give assistance for him to walk through. "Trust me, my five minutes in the sun came and went fairly fast, much to Darcy's horror. Right now, I give the face to science and do my best o pay attention to improving scientific literacy and celestial phenomena. I mean, it gets me a good seat when people recognize me! But you'd be surprised how many restaurants insist I am just like everyone else, the American way." Bubbling with a laugh, she guides them both back into the light. "Having some kind of secret identity is something I will keep in mind. Should I start riding flying horses, I will be sure to bring a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses. Standard fare for blending in, right? You at least have the benefits of a quick getaway. They just hit my Twitter account until I answer. Or Miguel or Lily do."
Dane Whitman	"Never quite got into twitter. Which is a bit odd since I'm usually on the edge of the technology curve, but for whatever reason that platform...or really most social media...never really appealed all that much. Though I guess it's different when you don't have a lot of close family to interact with. Mostly a bunch of college friends who occasionally say hi." Dane smiles, "But I guess I know a little bit of what fame is like. Though in my case it was a double-edged sword, no pun intended. Sometimes I'd get the cheering masses, and sometimes I'd get people vacating entire towns and villages on the mere word I was on my way." A rueful smirk there, "Propaganda was very much a thing. So one side had a...very skewed view of who I was and what I was capable of." Dane looks thoughtful for a moment, "Not among the leadership though. Saladin and a few of his officers were very respectful, but not really afraid."
Jane Foster	Her words are few, terribly few. Stroking her thumb around Dane's in a circle comes almost unconsciously for Jane while he speaks, though the melody of a chuckle interrupts the sound of the cellist and harpist having a duel over the finer points of an allegro performance. The violin is silent, the occasional murmur of the piano used to support the pair of string instruments. It's a long way off where the concert plays, or perhaps they now pipe it throughout The Cloisters to allow everyone to enjoy the moment together no matter where they stand. Glass cases and protective equipment secure the manuscripts, parchment and vellum, that reside beyond. "Twitter is an essential way to grab attention fora few moments. I personally prefer longer form methods, but not everyone has Starkchat, Instagram, and other variations to engage. They need something smart, short, and to the point. I'll take it if it means it pries their minds open or they stay informed, which sometimes is all we can do. University friends definitely don't bother waving at me that way. They usually end up smack dab in the middle of my agent or publicist's email. I had to keep it mostly offline since the Battle of New York. Got blamed by a few people there for letting it all come down, like I somehow should have left well enough alone." She gestures ahead, letting Dane move before her. "Your calfskin kingdom awaits you. The leadership often knows more than the masses, but it's the masses that make life difficult, is that it?"
Dane Whitman	"Sometimes. Not really their fault, though. You can only work with the information you have, and well...even today, with all the means we have to share it..." Dane chuckles, "It's strange...in some ways it's easier to find truth than it's ever been, and at the same time it's never been more difficult. Even if the only problem was separating the chaff." Ah yes, the illuminated manuscripts, and it really is rather light on the crowd. "I guess I could see blame being misdirected. Never seems to be any shortage of that going around when things like that happen. I'd imagine a lot of people forgot it as Asgard coming to us that set you on the journey, and if it hadn't have been you, it'd have been someone else. Maybe someone that wouldn't have ultimately impressed them so much."
Jane Foster	With a soft word of approval, the dark-haired physicist squeezes his hand. "No, no one's fault." The soft-spoken agreement melts into silence again while they slip through another gallery of the building. A place where time is suspended, where moments melt away into very little more than shadows between the pages. "Asgard is part of our world, for better or for worse. Much as some would say this is a terrible idea, time has changed and we change with it. I am not certain I /impressed/ the Asgardians. Perhaps found a common willingness to show them our world and drink with them, as much as I could. To not judge." She doesn't have more to say there, drawn into a dreamy state of solitude beside him. Light on the crowd, and she squeezes his hand again. Palm to palm, fingers entwined. She glances down and then back up again, leaning against him slowly until there's no space at all.
Dane Whitman	"Well, you must have impressed /someone/. Not trying to pry, but that bangle you've got on your wrist...even for Asgard, though I may be off base, it doesn't seem like a trinket." He cants his head, keeping his voice fairly low, so as not to be overheard. "I know enough runic to catch a word or two in passing.
Jane Foster	Silence. For a few long moments, only silence. The quiet regard of a tiny figure plowing under a serene sky with sparkling stars, with tiny frames surrounded by ivy and vines thick with grapes. "I don't know. Repayment, thanks, a gift," she says with a soft, quiet cadence. "It showed up at Genosha. Delayed gratification, maybe."
Dane Whitman	"I'm sorry. Don't mean to dredge up bad memories or unpleasant associations. But that sounds like something with a purpose." A smile, a not-entirely-diffident shrug, "But you know them a lot better than I do. Still, from all the descriptions and what I've seen they seem very...human, if in a heightened, larger-than-life sort of way." He nudges her lightly with an elbow and grins, "I won't make you play "I showed you mine, now you show me yours.""
Jane Foster	"I don't mind, not really. You were honest and open with me, so I will not complain that you are inquiring. The truth is, I have little knowledge of what it entails and what it comes to mean. That would be why I am headed to Asgard." Jane quietly turns her gaze to the window, rather than focusing. Dane gets that presence allt he same. "A mortal standing before Odin or asking at the Halls of Freyja. If she deigns to answer, though I suspect that the All-Father will brave answering me. It is a gift." A flip of her wrist reveals the bangle, smooth and golden. "Why. How. What. These are questions I have without any answers. But I have dreamt of Asgard for a long, long time."
Dane Whitman	"Okay, yeah...that definitely sounds like signs and portents to me. I don't get hit with those sorts of things /too/ often, but every so often...nd almost always in dreams." Dane notes, nodding to her resolve to visit Asgard, "Sounds like the way to go if you're looking for answers. I'd ask if you want company, but I don't think you'd likely need an escort there, and I'll admit it's at least half self-interest. I'd love to see Asgardian swordplay at work." He chuckles, "Maybe someday."
Jane Foster	"I can't promise anything, Dane. They so rarely let mortals in that I might be the first one in centuries, though possibly not." Jane gives a warm look back, her shoulders dropping a bit. "The offer was made so freely I think it means I am about to be conscripted into a war or a propaganda campaign. Kings and power of media, right? It might be part of their needs to stretch their influence into a world that forgot they existed for a long time. Though the other half of self-interest intrigues me. If half of it is needing an escort and seeing swordplay, the other half must be the stables, right?" Her eyes glitter with amusement even as she turns to him. "Let me suss out whether that's possible. Their customs are familiar until they aren't and I have somehow broken a ten century old edict against mortals wearing orange or something. Though we can go for a walk in the gardens and you can ask me whatever you like about it."