Owner	Pose
Jane Foster	Sunday is for fun days! It means escaping the usual routine, starting with a tasty savory waffle put together with the aid of a good griddle, a lot of patience, and a few distasters with eggs that crack awry and leave chips of shell in them to dig out. Reasonable to go for a quick run afterward, and that run turns into a much lengthier exploration of the unfamiliar coast. It's cool enough to require a light jacket unless someone intends on galloping fullbore down the street or path until boiling hot. And that is generally not Jane's scene, not entirely. Running without headphones or some kind of treadmill in place is a welcome factor, and simply watching Dane jog on ahead or halt and admire the view leaves her smiling with inexplicable delight. Or very explicable; it's something they can do together, though she slows in that bouncing stride to sip water from a bottle with a big bright picture of Pegasus the constellation.
Dane Whitman	Thankfully there's a good stretch of beach available, and better yet one Dane hasn't had a lot of time to explore just yet. So there are slowdowns and pauses (even if jog-in-place pauses) to admire the scenery or the atmosphere. And while under other circumstances Dane might be inclined to push himself as hard as he's able, it's Sunday...It's OK to be not quite so driven. This is as much about recreation as maintenance. Dane noticed the water bottle with amusement, though the closest he came to comment was simply a raised brow and an expression that matched that emotion. His own is unadorned, and little-touched so far. That might be coming to an end soon, though, as after several miles of coarse-sanded beach, it looks like up ahead it gets cut off by a spur of rock that juts into the ocean. "Well..." Dane states, expression mildly wry, and voice only a bit winded, "I guess it's a better roadblock than a "Private Beach" sign."
Jane Foster	The beach's beauty, even in this unfamiliar season of grey skies and grey water, holds a soothing quality. Water crashes onto the shore and draws back in a steady symphonic purr, a musical dance swallowing any sense of time or place beyond the littoral zone. Wiggling her toes in her shoes, Jane is tempted to come just down to the surf line where an angry crab takes notice of these two-legged things, and runs out from its protective barrier. Claws in the air, snip-snip, it threatens to run them off its little patch of rock. Who is fool enough to contend with the might of a tiny crab? Not Jane, who stifles a laugh. The brunette swivels, and heads back towards Dane, dashing up to him with a few steps. "I daresay you will have to defend me against this terror below. He has made his whims known! We might need to stand on the driftwood there and pray he will not chase us off his beach." The block of stone rearing up earns an appraising look. She wipes the back of her hand over her brow. "I wonder if we could scale it."
Dane Whitman	"Hark! Begone, vile mollusk, lest I be forced to render you into Chowder!" Dane explains, voice laced with laughter, before he studies the rocky outcrop. Scaling it is likely not beyond either of their capability. It's not terribly high. Going around is not out of the question either, albeit inland, though that may stretch things out to private property, as many lots do come right to the edge of the beach, if not to the beach themselves. "Well, if nothing else, we can get a closer look. Not a fan of trying to get handholds full of barnacles." Then again, as callused as his hands tend to be that might not be much of a problem.
Jane Foster	"I would not rather encounter any barnacles or a tumble. If this extends past the park, then no need for us to intrude upon their lands. I don't exactly know how New York handles beachfront properties, but having someone scaling up there could upset a local landowner and the next thing you know, we might face some harsh statements or shaken fists. Not the way to spend a Sunday." Jane shakes her head, though she follows him towards the outcropping, raising her hand to her brow to shade her eyes. It might be grey out, but that is a bright grey. It beckons a kind of care. "Fie, I have already disturbed our crustacean guardian. No need to shout at that defender." Rubbing her fingertip against the curve of her lashes, she brushes one away and then grins. "I would rather watch you lean against a rock in a lovely sight I'm not growing tired of. You are easy to admire, and even better to while away a few hours with. Or days. Fancy Italian tonight?"
Dane Whitman	"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the park does end here. Though I guess I'll double check once we're home and maybe next time we can bring gloves." Dane comments, studying the rock face. "I guess I could lean a little bit. Since you asked so nicely. Should I stare off towards the horizon, then? Forlorn or resolute? Arms behind back, or folded across chest?" He teases, but does lean against said rock, lifting a foot to place it against the rock. "Or I could just be scanning..." He shield his eyes, looking off towards the sea. At the next question, he chuckles, "Yeah, Italian sounds good. Got a particular place in mind or do we go searching once we get home?" He tilts his head, and adds, "You're quite a lovely sight yourself, Doctor."
Jane Foster	The rocky arch upward doesn't prove overly dominating, still rendered as a rather impressive sweep of detail against the surrounding landscape. Jane laughs as he starts to offer different possibilities, and then steps back. "Oh no. You offer this, I'm taking advantage of it!" Dropping the bottle to the sand at her feet, she feels around for the phone on her neoprene and elastic armband. Pulling it out gives her a chance to check the unread messages -- complete with Darcy going "Are you there //again//?" -- and a reminder to turn off location tracking. It was smart when she might disappear to Asgard. Not so much now. "Resolute, and you decide the rest of it. Let's get a few shots, shall we?" The phone app obliges and turns on easily enough, and she centers the screen on Dane with a wide smile blossoming on her lips, brightening the whole of her countenance. "Crook your leg a little more, there. It's a perfect angle. Now, we want the contemplative angles to go with it. As for Italian, I can make a pretty mean chicken parmigiana if you like it."
Dane Whitman	Dane is an obliging model, at least for a few minutes, folding his arms over his chest, affecting the look of countless explorers wondering what lay over the horizon, determined to one day discover it. He can only hold it a few moments before he breaks into laughter though, which might be a picture in and of itself. Either way, he's game for a few pictures, managing to maintain a straight face for a few moments on most poses, at least. "Oh, home cooked, is that it? That's going to be hard to turn down. Might have to make a quick trip to the store, but we'll check when we get back." Still, fair is fair, and after a few poses, Dane extracts his own phone, grinning, "All right, your turn."
Jane Foster	The phone doesn't exactly whirl or hiss. It doesn't click. Rather, the succession of snaps taken on the phone produce a fluttering whirlwind of Dane against the sea, then the stone, and ultimately the beach with her adjusting a few features. "I can promise these are any good. I never was much for photographing anything less than heavenly bodies." The deadly brilliance of her smile increases all the more, and the mischief dancing in cinnamon eyes crinkles them at the corners. "Just like that. Rotate a bit for me, and..." Then she cannot help but laugh too, moving forward and offering her phone. "You can look through the gallery and decide what you don't like though. Care to shoot a few photos or admire?" If he will be willing, she wraps her arm around Dane's waist and pulls herself to a light hug. Doesn't matter the two of them have been running. "Is it fair to do a selfie or two together? I don't think the crab can take a photo of us."
Dane Whitman	Dane takes the phone, scrolling through it a bit, but not really deleting anything, "I trust your judgment. And thank you." He notes of the complimentary innuendo with another wry smile. "I suppose I'd call it fair." He notes on the subject of selfies, taking the phone and switching the camera into selfie-mode. "Do you want to do the honors, or should I?" He adds after a moment, "You know I think this probably makes things kind of officially official. Are we sure we're ready for that?" His tone is //quite// teasing on that, given that well...even if it hadn't been outright stated, it already seemed pretty official, at least to him. Though now perhaps Darcy might find the reasons for Jane's excursions far more understandable, with photographic evidence. Dane does, after the brief embrace, the final picture sealed with a kiss, Dane does flip the camera back to normal mode and take a couple pictures of the Great Crustacean Menace before returning the phone to Jane. "I promise I won't post any of them to my very sparsely-followed StarkBook page without your permission."
Jane Foster	As a photographer, she isn't /terrible/. Jane isn't going to win awards for composition, but with so many of her posts on Instagram and social media her own work, she clearly has a decent eye. Dane features in those images, and if he scrolls too far, there are snaps of Darcy squinting under her knit hat and one very, very droopy puppy face with Darcy losing her mind at the wrinkly baby basset hound comfortably drooling on his own floppy ears. "You already claimed it was time to photograph me. Unfair of me to flip the sequence. I'm fine if we want to begin." The wrinkle of her nose smooths out and she takes to the teasing with a fair ribbing, all said and done. Standing on tiptoe, she squeezes in beside him, beaming. "Though your arms are longer." Jane appraises Dane's length of arm and holds up her own in comparison, then nods sagely. "Less likely to get that unflattering lensing effect for bad angles?" Well, be that as it is, she laughs all the way up to the kiss and that's one where her eyes shine -rather- brightly. StarkBook posting will not cause her any concern. "You get rights to have a life, Mr. Whitman. If we are an item, as the kids say, then we might as well be upfront about it unless you fear the torrent of surprise from school."
Dane Whitman	"Less worried about me, even if I feel you're well worth bragging over." Dane replies with a chuckle, "You've got a much bigger profile than I do, and I could understand if you'd want to keep things private as much as you're able." He gives a shrug, and a grin, "But I won't start promising autographs at the school, at least. Just sell them on LexBay." A mischievous gleam touches his eyes, but it's entirely in jest, of course. He leans in briefly for another kiss and gestures back down the beach, "So....what do you figure...about three miles back?" It's a good ways until dinner, but that doesn't preclude the jog back, a shower, and a bit of relaxing in the interim. To wit, Dane finally does take a few swallows from his water bottle at this point. "Unless you just want to hop offshore and get a ride, of course." Mostly teasing at that, neither of them are inclined to take the easiest path. "Or do we want to get a -real- workout and race back?"
Jane Foster	"Braggart, you? I find this hard to believe," Jane says. She raises her hand to her brow and turns her face away. "I am not ready for my close up, Mr. Whitman! Never will anyone get to enjoy my features on their glossy photos and I refuse to sign anything for them! Never!" Arms frame the wide arc of the rock blocking their path, demanding as ever. "Or you might ask nicely and..." Oh, hello kiss. That silences her parade of lightheartedness, simmering back to a grin and tasting Dane's mouth against her own. Mischief in his eyes promises much, but she puts her hand on his arm. "Let me get my water bottle and we can start back. We need to pick up the fixings for a meal. How far is that grocery store? If you mean this is where I need to sprint for my life, I am going to demand you carry me inside because my legs are going to be jello."
Dane Whitman	"Well, maybe /not/ a race back then." Dane laughs, "Wouldn't want jello legs...you know, too soon, anyway." Yep, there's a wicked little smile that accompanies that one, "The store's just a couple blocks away from the house, and as it so happens, more or less on the way back. Doubt they'll mind if we're fresh from a run as long as we don't linger too long." And with that, Dane waits for Jane to reclaim her water bottle, before starting back at a brisk but not brutal pace. It's pretty much the same scenery they saw on the way out here, just in the opposite direction, but by the last mile the clouds break a bit and some sunlight shines through, so that's a plus. Groceries on the way back? As advertised, a modestly-sized grocery store is less than half a block off their path on the way back to the house.
Jane Foster	"Jello legs are a hazard in our profession, especially if the bosses call us up to take advantage of something," notes Jane very seriously, which isn't much. She bends to pick up her water bottle, hefting it a bit, and then takes a good dash after Dane when he starts to move. Her legs are going to burn after this, but it's all good for since. Sitting in a gym trying to pound out another mile while sweating and surrounded by dozens of other people sweating is not her favourite idea, thank you. This at least gives fresh air, no quarantine, and the cool air helping. "All-Father's beard, you're going to kill me" will only be heard towards the end when the lactic acid kicks in, and causes no amount of discomfort for her. She shakes her head sharply, suffering too much as she zigzags her path over the sand. Lots of resistance against her feet, which counts for something. Trailing after him is at least easier this way. She nonetheless might be pleased to see the supermarket, though not while entirely hot and flushed cheeks.