Owner Pose
Jane Foster London, the capital over a faded empire, gleams under the springtime sunshine. Light breezes fan the Regent's Canal buried in the heart of the city, a former waterway of some economic importance turned into a meandering route for amblers, kayakers, and business people getting a bite of lunch and bit of fresh air. Birds skim the waves the way pedestrians skim the walking path, in no real hurry unless it means pouncing on a free bench. Bridges arch their path north and south, and not too far off is The Bridge.

That one.

Jane has tea and a decadent chocolate-filled croissant from an overpriced but respectable bakery, the last horn of the crescent wrapped in crinkly paper. Here, they blend into the light crowds and can stop wherever they choose.

"The world's finest collection of looted treasures has tickets in two hours if you like," she adds with a dimpled grin. <<Fancy looking at looted marbles and pointing out all the treasures your people mastered four millennia before the rest of us?>> The teasing tone is warm, the acute clarity of her thoughts something a magnitude beyond what it usually is. Was.
Blackagar Boltagon The escape to London, Blackagar knew was most likely two fold as he was not unaware of the work Jane had been doing, but he was far from going to turn down the excuse to return to the city where so much had started. He is actually sitting with a cup of tea and a scone as is a bit more traditional for the area. Although the tea is rich and an acquired taste, it is one he has in fact come to like. The traffic of cars and foot leave much to watch but it is the woman he is having breakfast with that pulls the vast quantity of his attention.

At the offer of the tour, he nods his head with an appreciative little smile, hands signing as he sets down his tea. ~It could be interesting to walk through. We can observe how terribly wrong the history around many of the objects truly is.~

He then grins a bit more fully at Jane as he considers at her, <<Remember, much of what we have was not learned, but inherited.>>
Jane Foster Jane's work runs in parallel lives. The obligations to the scientific community and SHIELD often cross, but she can still carve out moments for herself. For themselves, since her life hasn't been a singularity for quite some time. Theirs is a duet, and casting looks back over her shoulder or holding the Midnight King's hand is a renewed privilege every time.

Her tea is classically black, shot by bergamot, a good Earl Grey with a dousing of cream and sugar. Honey? Plebeians, please. She takes it as easily as coffee; one doesn't stay around Jemma Simmons without knowing her teas. Much less Fitz or Peggy Carter, both of whom have corrupted an American spy agency and its innocent agents. Still, watching Blackagar drink it amuses her at some level, a mutual chord of appreciation playing out together. <<The historical authenticity of a few remains dubious, but the provenance of several of those pieces is still fascinating. The very old Mesopotamian tablets, and anything from the Babylonians should be of interest. The last time I was there, it didn't register I could try to look closer at the cuneiform. Perhaps we can find receipts from irate traders who weren't paid on time being hawked as great mysteries. Is it fair to look at the untranslated items and tell them exactly what some lost language says? I suppose not.>>

Discretion is the soul of wit. Her smile grows wider and she avoids an excitable mallard waddling past to find some weeds in the canal to sit with him. <<Very true, that fact. Debts owed to past generations and the whims of luck.>>
Blackagar Boltagon <<Or more accurately in our case, the remnants of the Kree which we inherited, mastered, claimed as our own but without the requisite preamble of work to get there.>> Blackagar considers as he sips his own tea once again. <<I do not know, if it would be ethical to reveal the writings based upon the insights you have. I would venture it would be prudent were there lives in danger or course, but aside from that? For example, is it ethical if I were to give some advanced technology? Or as the television show I had watched, the one with the man with the ears. To not interfere with civilizations that are not ready?>>

He ponders his scone for a moment before taking a bite, <<But those mysteries being solved is a different sort of topic all together I imagine. Were it I? I would not provide the answers, but perhaps a clue.>>
Jane Foster <<If it's a hazard, yes. For the most part, it's not my mission to return every artifact to their respective country or unearth every mystery. I'm not like some tyrants from Eastern Europe, needing to get my fingerprints on everything.>> Jane breaks into another smile. <<Though when it comes to Minoan language, if they are close enough for a breakthrough, a nudge in the right direction to interpret some of their star charts isn't entirely unfair. The group of students plugging away on it tried machine learning to help decipher the tablets, and no luck there. A machine thinks differently from humans in a given time and place.>>

Her gaze lifts to his, brown to blue, and Jane tucks herself in closer to the table. <<Clues seem appropriate, fair game. Many of the thrills of mysteries solved cool down soon enough. When you realize that long string of characters is just another copy of the Iliad, or someone's formula for a long kingship.>> The smile never left, but it brightens substantially. <<The world is your oyster. The full experience today, whatever you want to do, however much you want to pack in or take it slow. Whatever would you like to try or see?>>
Blackagar Boltagon <<Oh do not put the full day on me. I am more intrigued by the company that I carry than any specific outcome within that.>> Blackagar replies, his own smile dancing some. <<I would be as content sitting here all day people watching as I would be walking through the museum or floating down the river on a tour. I much prefer the who over the what.>>

Sentimentality for its own sake holds no value, but a genuine reflection on what he enjoys and why is never undue. <<I would go so far as to say that if I had the choice, anything that doesn't have a distraction from said company would be preferred. So perhaps we avoid the areas where your collection of groupies would find you?>>
Jane Foster <<We'd have to paddle ourselves down the canal, though that has its charms. Are you skilled with a paddle?>> The canoes and kayaks are a world away from the houseboats also loitering on Regent's Canal, which are motorized homes for the water-loving souls. Jane breaks into an audible laugh to go with the mental one about groupies. <<Love... I don't have /groupies/, do I? I'm not Tony Stark or a rock star. We can dine without half the city showing up to watch.>> Still, she reaches out to grasp his hand with her own, a squeeze affirming the desire all the same. <<The whole point of being here, other than dropping off some paperwork to a colleague, is spending time together. That takes many forms, but spending a day watching the world go by is utterly acceptable. You could read a book and your proximity would be enough.>> She nods to the slivers of blue sky, the occasional whoosh of a train departing the station.

Contemplation for options comes forth. <<I'd like to see you row, honestly. It could be fun or horrible for the both of us. Shall we go merrily float along and moor up wherever it entertains us to do so? There are docks along the way. And our bridge.>>
Blackagar Boltagon <<Am I skilled with a paddle?>> The question itself raises so many humorous connotations that it causes Blackagar to struggle with the smirk that wants to break wider. <<Yes, on the oh so many lakes on the Moon I have often found myself relaxing in such a boat.>> Oh, Sarcasm. It fits so poorly on him. <<I would be more prone to just propel it with energy than with any actual effort of that regard.>>

He then considers and shrugs some, does he tell her? Of course he must. <<You should do more research upon yourself on The Google. If you did, you'd discover the Fantasy Fans of Foster website.>> Surely he jests?! Of course he does not. Anyone with a bit of fame at this phase has the groupie fan base. <<Fortunately none have apparently caught on to the fact that you are currently seeing some unknown man, for they are rather adamant about your availability and their desires to 'meet' you.>>

<<But if you do wish to see me row a boat, gently down the sea perhaps? Merrily even?>>
Jane Foster Sarcasm befits a stoic king but not when she can read his thoughts; not when he is privy to Jane's, in kind. The toss of her hair and flickers of laughter blossom up. <<You've been down upon Earth long enough. For what I know, you had your island kingdom and a simulator to offer the experience. Shall I remind you of your charming affinity for Mauritius?>>

Yes, take /that/, Blackagar. Her smile lifts widely and she gestures to the canal. <<We could simply propel everyone along that way. End up floating down under Tower Bridge, to the bewilderment of all the yacht captains.>> London has its share of docks and quays, mostly converted to fancy little marinas with very posh housing, so rowing up could be eyebrow raising. <<I see a learning opportunity, sweetheart. You can master a paddle and not row us in hopeless circles. Unlike any sort of scientific groupies.>>

She points, so very damn American, at a jogger and a few people recording the antics of a swan glaring down a crow. "See? They aren't obsessed with filming me. You forget, too, that others actually have caught onto you. Maybe I should invite you to the next gala as my plus one."

He can jest, and she does it right back, squeezing his arm. A little levity is a good thing. <<Yes, I want you to row until we reach the Thames.>>
Blackagar Boltagon <<I think you want to watch the manual labor>> Blackagar points out still humored a bit, although cutting to it with a soft tilt of his head and levelling of blue gaze. <<It is ok to admit it, of course next you'll be asking me to take off my shirt because you're worried I'll get to warm or some such. I have seen enough of the media shows to know how this goes.>> Through it all, the playful humor remains.

The pointing pulls his attention, the jogger and the people watching the swan action causes him to shake his head slowly, hands moving to respond in a more public display of talking. ~Do not underestimate the adoring fans.~ Looking back after a moment to Jane he adds, <<And who are these others catching on to me? I should be more careful in that case, since I do not exist. I have actually wondered what will happen when someone figures out there is no record anywhere on this planet of my existence, will I be considered an alien? An alternate reality being? I suppose at that point I may well need to reveal the truth.>>
Jane Foster Jane guides them back to the path on Regent's Canal, the walkway well travelled by guests on foot and the occasional cyclist showing a lifetime of proper queueing. There are flat spots to moor up boats and at least three floats where a few quid net someone a rental for an hour or more. <<You enter a room and heads turn, Blackagar. I've watched it happen many times. Not just the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing you have going on. Though certainly that helps. You carry yourself with the knowledge of who you are, and I suspect that translates in a way that turns heads, drawing attention.>> He might be amused and possibly not, but that fact is laid bare with no need for her to embellish things for the Midnight King's sake. He isn't quite that kind of man. <<You don't have to exist in a given sense for that impact to happen. Some people -- Superman is very much the same way -- carry that presence with them. You have it. Not that it's a bad thing, love, though I /will/ accede to hiding from cameras and keeping you off stages. Your life and mine are entwined, but neither of us are particularly required to advance an agenda in the public eye yet if we don't need to.>>

Her shoulders lift as she reaches for her wallet from her bag. Plucking out a credit card is easy enough; unlike tablets, it functions perfectly happily around her, displaced or not. Arranging for a rental of a boat requires some degree of speaking, dispensed in neat form while pointing to a sleek green model and considering the life jackets thoughtfully. <<I'm not actually sure /you/ can drown. Let's not find out.>>

While waiting on the transaction, she looks out over the water and then back to him. The signing comes as swift as anything, not quite distracted so much as comfortably fluid. ~I would never complain about enjoying the sight of you. I do very much. Sharing that sight with the birds is one thing, but every admiring or envious set of eyes from here to Westminster /is/ trying my good nature and my patience.~ A grin, then. <<All this hard labour I'm inflicting on you. Such utter cruelty on my part, isn't it?>> Then she does laugh aloud, without hesitation.
Blackagar Boltagon There's a smirk on Blackagar's lips at Jane's words, he considers them but then shrugs his shoulders a bit, <<Only when I wish to. You also forget the times I seemingly disappear and simply blend in if I want. It is in carrying yourself how you want others to see you. I was taught how to carry myself amongst politicians, but also how to simply linger among and blend. You just always think of the standing out times I suspect. Not that you have any bias.>> The last part is accompanied by a squeeze of his hand.

He considers though for a time before adding, <<It may be the subtle knowledge within as well. Very few things truly frighten me and none of them individually. Collectively yes I worry, but for myself? No.>> He pauses in the walk, glancing at his side, <<I suspect it is the calming reality some of us with power endure. That knowledge. One can go two paths with it, arrogance or humility. I was taught humility in most cases, but to allow a bit of arrogance out, others notice that quickly. That is the trick. At least for me.>>

<<Hard labor, oh yes, I do not know how I shall ever survive. I may require hours upon hours of massage in order to compensate my soreness.>>
Jane Foster <<Maybe I'm biased. Most certainly. You always have stood out, even when I did not know you. On the bridge; that Irish pub in Staten Island.>> A mental note is made to return there at some point. <<Maybe you need to carry around paddles to disappear from view. Worth a try?>> Jane isn't deterred. The smirk gets a smile in kind, but she happily drops the conversation point to let him seek peace elsewhere. The reality of the situation behind the teasing and the gentle humour is inevitably more serious.

~When I was in school,~ she signs back as her card is returned and slipped into her wallet. ~I had to fix my own van, gather firewood, carry heavy gear. That's what taught me to make it smaller.~ Those little devices that open pinprick holes. ~Most jobs, science included, require a lot of labour before seeing results. Those small lessons of humility are fundamental to who we become.~

The life jackets are handed out, a waterproof map that folds, and a pair of oars to go with the sleek green boat moored up. She's the smaller of the two, so it makes sense to carefully pick her way in and try not to tumble over. No drowning in the Thames! ~I promise your tired arms and weary back will be cared for commensurate to the effort you expend, and then some. I'm not blind, love.>>
Blackagar Boltagon <<I believe I would like to have seen that>> Blackagar says with humor as he moves to take the oars, then slides rather gracefully in after she does. <<Not to see you struggle, but just the process of self discovery and developing. Although from the stories you tell, this college period of life is something I missed. What do you think? Should I enroll myself into a university? Take some courses?>>

Looking at the oars in his hands, there's a moment of familiarizing before he begins the process of getting them underway. <<I am looking forward to said considerations of aches and pains. But beyond such, do you truly wish to go all the way to the River? Or are you hoping I get tired halfway there, insist on a gelato break and a walk to the hotel?>>
Jane Foster An image in the mind forms as bright and pure as a photograph. A digital one, though absent of much noise. The sprawl of the path ahead, winding up into the chaparral scrub surrounding the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, boots mired in dust and a streak of dirt matching the bloody, thin laceration from a demanding little branch that probably swiped her in passing. Gear spread out in a broad circle by the waning light of the sun painting everything in shades of copper and ruddy flame, the hues of the desert and the bleeding mountains aptly named. She throws herself to the ground, sprawling out on the rock, aches echoed in every bone. A younger self, skinnier, probably a touch fitter just by sheer rigours of the work. Muscle, whip cord lean, slimmer and hair coming loose from its braid, that younger self in echo stares over her forearm at the telescope and clunky, heavy bits placed with far more care than her tent. And Darcy ought to be around there somewhere, but she isn't, and so much is whittled down to the weary, startled triumph of hauling up 250 kilograms of stuff to catch an alignment, and maybe evidence of spatial warping if--

Another few years, another part of New Mexico, that innocence would be destroyed by a rainbow and a burning suit of armour.

<<University classes are never a waste, and I'm the worst person to ask. Jemma and I were in an arms race with ourselves to get degrees piled up by the time we were twenty. PhDs in that period aren't natural. Take it at a better pace, you might be happier.>> She sinks down a little into the boat, feeling the canal smooth and placid under her. Nothing like the Thames. It barely has a current and no demands, the lightest stirring tug. Birds skim and dance nearby. Above, trains headed for Manchester, the back end of Wimbledon, and nearer afield rumble by, fading into obscurity. <<The hotel was practically on the Thames. You could get out at Traitor's Gate by the Tower, but bad if you want to be anonymous.>> Her grin widens again as she looks over her shoulder at Blackagar. "Dad taught me a rowing song when I was little. It helps keep the rhythm, once you figure it out.>> Demonstrating, she carefully draws a J. Quietly, the song murmured matches that thought: "My paddle's keen and bright, flashing like silver! Follow the wild goose flight; dip, dip, and swing." The next round is nearly the same, albeit, "Follow the pale moonlight, dip, dip, and swing" changes up the rotation.