Owner	Pose
Jane Foster	Another day, another dime. Seeing that Pop's has a healthy supply of Italian food, only fair that Jane collect a few victuals to make an evening meal. It isn't a Sunday, though. What happened? A text message talks about a night off, allowing for an evening of marking or mapping out confluences of quantum particles and raw matter in Einstein-Rosen Bridges. She only needs to bring a laptop to manage that, if Dane is fair game for it. Perhaps there might be something gained in a bottle of wine, which even Happy Harbour surely has. Besides, the weather's nice enough and not quite breezy, allowing for a ride of one of those rental bikes popping up even in sleepy places like here. A basket on the front can hold a variety of groceries, assuming she doesn't go hog wild. Just a normal early evening out for a pair of totally normal individuals and not those cursed and blessed by ancient realms or long-lost ancestors.
Dane Whitman	Yep, perfectly normal folks, that's right. Nothing at all unusual about this couple out and about for the purchasing of groceries and the like. Dane being fair game is hardly a question. It's a nice change of pace, once he's back from his teacher-ly duties a few miles away. Not to mention some fine company for the grading of papers while marking and mapping occurs. The perils of being busy adults with many important things to do! Dane does have a motorcycle in his garage, but it's a lot noisier than the bicycle that was hanging on a rack overhead. And really it's not THAT far so why waste the gas? "I'm just saying...I'm not really a local yet. Not until Pop is greeting you by name. I've heard it on good authority from more than a few folks in the neighborhood. I figure only three, four more years to go..." Dane jokes shortly before they step in to the small grocery store.
Jane Foster	Perfectly regular, really. Just going out for a good bike ride, waving at the locals, being the subject of a doubletake that a famed scientist or a well-known high school teacher are on their bikes, getting exercise, like absolutely mundane folks. Happy Harbour isn't so far from New York to be immune to the "Connecticut" effect, but it still might jar teenaged minds to know humans have normal lives. The kinds of lives that involve pedalling faster to try to stay ahead of someone infinitely stronger, or to brave that slight hill and show up in triumph. Why waste the gas totally? "Pop greeting you by name is a rite of passage, is it? Do all the kids get called 'Eileen's boy' or 'John's youngest?' I can only imagine. I must have grown up in too big a city. I was lucky if I got the same cashier twice anywhere." Her smile wide, Jane leaves her bike in place beside Dane's and trots in behind him. Unlike before, she isn't wearing a yoga jogging outfit and exhausted from a rush on the shore. This time, perfectly sedate and hip, but not too formal. The sort of person stopping by for their dinner, rather than crashing atoms into other atoms and creating dark matter. "We need chicken, probably a pound and a half. The noodles are the most important, so find whatever you like. Bowtie, rotini, penne; the choice is yours. It should be small, though," she suggests to him while they take in the shop and there's a basket picked up, slid over her arm. "I will need, let's see... Do you have cream? Parmesan cheese?"
Dane Whitman	"Dunno about the kids, but it sounds about right." Dane notes, listening to Jane list off the ingredients and nodding, "I have the canned parm-that-isn't-quite-parm. If we want fresh-grated we'll need to get a block. And I doubt half-and-half is gonna cut it for the cream so we'll need that too." Set to the mission of pasta-acquisition, Dane nods and grins, "Guess we'll see what they have. A bit partial to Penne though, I suppose." He gives a wave to the proprietor, along with a smile, "Evening, Pop." Nope, just a nod and an Evening. Johnny-come-lately status: Still in effect. But hey, at least he's not a weekender!
Jane Foster	A chuckle dances on her lips, a bit flat compared to usual, but those bruises on her shoulders and the nasty, vicious violet one on her elbow might attest to it. Still, Jane's rather determined when she wants to be. "Parmesan-like product works, because this is a soup rather than true chicken Parmigiana. You can use either, so the choice is up to you. Cream, however, is the important element. I need to find a few tomatoes, and we will be cooking with fire. Mm. Roasted tomatoes might be just the trick. Also, how old are your spices? Pasta sprinkles and bay leaves need to be fresh." She speaks as she weaves her way into one of the aisles, the kind bound to contain baking supplies, hopeful perhaps they have stock more fresh than ten years ago. Can never be sure. She wiggles her fingers Pop's way. She /is/ a weekender, and that's that. But maybe that can be forgiven, all in all, if she has carte blanche from one of the locals.
Dane Whitman	Those bruises may well engender some questioning later on, should they become apparent, but for now, Dane remains mostly unaware, moving briefly to tread down the pasta aisle, just a couple over from Jane's baking goods, to retrieve the box of Cavatappi, returning to her side after a few moments. "Spices were mostly replaced when I moved in. So thankfully just a few weeks. Probably need Bay Leaves though, I didn't get /everything/." He notes smirking a bit as Pop gives Jane a smile with her "Evening, Miss." Well, regardless of how often she's around, a pretty smile goes a long way. "Anything else we need?" Dane queries after a soft chuckle.
Jane Foster	They probably are apparent enough in the way she holds herself and favours the basket on her left arm, not her right, despite being a total dexter in every way. She plucks up a few packages of spice, dropping the bay leaves in and choosing the ever intriguing 'Sunrise in Paris' option. That goes to the side along with a small bagged mix for lemon lavender scones, because every day deserves a scone, thank you. Anyone who says otherwise probably hurls their tea into the harbour just because they can. The flavourful prospects are just too good to pass up. Her meandering alongside Dane is purposeful, eventually, though she will totally hand him the basket if he needs a gallon of milk. "Mm, let's see. Chicken, still. Cream. Good choice for the pasta. All this sits together, does it magical thing, and you walk away looking like you prepared something for a fancy restaurant. It reheats beautifully too. Dessert on the menu? I bet they have some kind of tiny tiramisu in the freezer?" If they /have/ a freezer section here? Surely they do, and the dessert section can't be so small as to lack that. She hums to herself while they move, her stiffness prevalent enough to slow her down some. "Barring that, a bottle of wine. Red, not white. The white is too light, and we need something with real body and a delicious mouth feel. Have a favourite, or are you more of a beer or liquor man?" she asks Dane.
Dane Whitman	"You OK?" Dane queries, taking up the basket and giving her a brief once-over as they stroll towards the small dessert case. "You've kinda been favoring one side all afternoon...rough workout?" There's a glimmer of concern, albeit not overwhelmingly so. She's obviously in one piece, after all! Huh, looks like they're fresh out of tiramisu. Might have to settle for cheesecake."
Jane Foster	"Bit of an unhappy incident. Spider-Man rescued me, along with a vampire," Jane says in a low voice, her arm brushing gently against Dane's. A wince shows. "Nothing a lot of cream and time won't patch up. I have been thrown worse than this, sort of." She glances at the case and beams down once she can actually find something. Cheesecake earns a grin. "Let's do that. A bit of cinnamon and nutmeg on top, a sprinkle, will be lovely. We're a bit too early for berries." She isn't avoiding the opic, but here might not be entirely the place. "I'm not in Valhalla yet, you know?"
Dane Whitman	"Well, thank Odin for that." Dane plucks up the two slices of cheesecake and places them in the basket. He seems to take the notion that the topic is shelved for the time being, but he doesn't forget about it! "Spider-Man and a Vampire. That's a real New York story if ever I've heard one." He adds after a moment, "Cinnamon and Nutmeg I have." He checks the contents of their basket and looks back to Jane, "Anything else we need or want? I probably have a good wine for it."
Jane Foster	"Thank Odin for many things. Ooh, and thank you. Cheesecake is a blessing, especially with someone as sweet as you." Her smile shows as a keen curve, brightened all the same by proximity and cake. Because it's cheesecake and no one should deny that. "He waits. I know he waits, though, there on his throne and in his palace. Either I say yes or I say no, but the waiting game cannot last forever. Maybe my lifespan." There's a cool edge to the mirth, hard enough. "More about that on a bike, when we can see the ocean. When we aren't possibly thinking about dicing up chicken." She looks over and kisses his cheek, prompted by nothing more than want. "Serious talk for a light moment. Sorry, Dane. I didn't mean to let that intrude. Usually it's a bad lecture schedule getting in the way."
Dane Whitman	That certainly earns a look of curiosity, given the oddly fatalistic candor. But he hears the "We'll talk about this later" and accepts it. After the groceries are paid for, and carefully secured in the basket of Jane's borrowed bike, they set on their way back towards the House. They're well clear of the store before Dane brings his bike within easy earshot and notes, "We can talk in the Sunroom. After dinner."
Jane Foster	The shift of a smile is brought up and then there's a bike ride home through Happy Harbour. Yay bike rentals! She needs to get her own, for that matter, and it's particularly exciting to have the wind in her air, the sun on her skin, the weight threatening to bounce her over the curb. But must preserve the cheesecake! They are too precious to leave battered and crumbled. When Dane mentions talking, she smiles. "Only if you promise not to be too alarmed. It looks worse than it is, but I would like to hold your hand."
Dane Whitman	"I promise not to freak out too much. I mean...obviously you're still here, right?" Odds are likely good Jane might well find a bike here for her use the next time she shows up. But as groceries are being arranged for the preparation of dinner, Dane grins, "Hold your hand? I dunno Doctor Foster, that might be a step too far." He teases, while perusing the handful of wine bottles here in the kitchen to see which one is coming along for dinner.
Jane Foster	Odds are he might have someone curled up watching movies on a rainy night and helping him mark. "I dare to say I want my hand held. And all the ridiculous sweetness that goes with it, like a terrible Lifetime movie or some show of a photo album when you were small and painstakingly adorable. I refuse to believe you were anything other than a total charmer as a child." Jane's threats are hardly troubling. Red wine goes with the chicken parmigiana soup she's making, and that all comes together easily once they are there. First is the easy dumping of the chicken into a pot, along with a handsome amount of broth, pureed tomatoes, leisurely handfuls of spices and a bit of salt. Tomatoes plied more, and she sets aside the cavatappi pasta and the cream in the fridge for later. Won't be a while until she needs the parmesan cheese, either. "I was attacked last night, close to Rockefeller Square. Leaving a taping with Mr. Colbert," she warms to the name, otherwise dealing by stating the facts, "and turned for the station. I was grabbed and knocked off balance, then pulled into an alley. Alley about the width of your arm next to a building under construction. Why that stands out so jarringly compared to the people, I don't know. Three of them, by the way, but they're all in police custody thanks to Spider-Man." She pauses there, shaking her head. "Seriously, I didn't expect to be saved by Spider-Man, but I was. They weren't interested in taking things. They were interested in blood. A lot of it."
Dane Whitman	"Yow. Sounds like it was rough, yeah. You OK? Aside from the physical, I mean?" There is indeed handholding, and a sunset tableau for the ocean view. No Lifetime movies though. That might be a dealbreaker. "Also doesn't sound like typical mugger behavior, that's for sure." There's a hint of something troubled at that, but it passes. New York City being New York City, it could just as easily be isolated as a sign of anything bigger. "You said there was a...Vampire...with Spider-Man?" There's a definite bit of curiosity there. One that might almost seem more...professional?
Jane Foster	"I'm feeling like half of me was run over by a truck and the other half met the brick wall, but they didn't have time to really hurt me. Not much." A shake of her head throws that soft curtain of chestnut hair around Jane's shoulders. "I put an elbow into one's face. I thought I had enough strength to break free, maybe break a bone. Getting free was my only thought." She wanly smiles over at him. No Lifetime movies; she can't stand them. Dane and she stand in the same frame of reference there. "A mugger usually isn't bold enough to hold someone up in Rockefeller Center. Not with the Fantastic Four headquartered there, and the police, and the transit police. Doesn't add up." Her fingers curl; she forces them open. "They told me they would let me live if I was good. That was a lie. They never do." There, the cool, grave tone slinks over her voice, a pallor usually absent. Logical, analytical: it dissects that statement in two while making it. "They kill their victims. I know that may sound hysterical, the rantings of a frightened person. But it was a stamp on them clear as day." Her eyes narrow a fraction, and the soft cadence of her voice evens out a little while she starts preparing dinner, starting with the chicken and then the broth. Arranging them in a stockpot becomes a necessity unless he's got an Instant Pot or the like. "The vampire... Spider-Man knows her. They seem to be old acquaintances, enough to /joke/ anyway. A woman I met earlier in a bar, never would have pegged her for it but..." Her throat closes a moment, clenched. "But she came out of nowhere and threatened them saucily so I could get away. She didn't intend to bite them, it was all posturing. I swear this sounds rational when I'm thinking it." When she is not a scion of death and life dealing literally with the undead.
Dane Whitman	"It's New York City. It may not add up but there's a lot of things in the world that don't make a whole lot of sense. Sometimes bloodlust outweighs logic, I guess." There's a half-shrug, and Dane considers a few moments "Huh, Spider-Man being chummy with a Vampire. Better hope the Bugle doesn't catch wind of that. I've heard stories of "good" vampires and I'm willing to grant it's possible, but never managed to meet any of them that qualified." He moves over and encircles Jane around the waist, from behind, "Sounds like it shook you up a bit. Anything I can do?" He adds after a moment, "Besides fetching ingredients...that one's a given."
Jane Foster	Jane shakes her head as she peels the lid off a can of tinned tomatoes. "I'm exactly the last person anywhere who knows anything useful about vampires unless they are Asgardian, and Asgardian or Norse myths about vampires are completely different. The idea of draugr was made popular by that one video game, and I swear that ended any interest I had in meeting someone dessicated and strong enough to wield a battle axe. And the spiders!" Letting out a shudder hurts her shoulder muscles a little bit, but it's still perishingly better than dealing with the other problems. "Spider-Man saved my phone. He webbed it and then... unwebbed it. The webs melted and no harm, no foul. I took it to SHIELD anyway because I had to run the wipe settings just in case. I expect to have it forensically dissected for months. So be glad no nudes, yeah?" She says that while pouring out the tomatoes into the pot, and then adding another blitz of spice. It brings memories of comfort, standing in a kitchen with Dane behind her. She leans back against him, ginger about it. "You know, I'm just happy to be alive. That guy for the Bugle is always tooting on about how bad Spider-Man is, but he honestly saved my life. Wanted nothing more than me to help someone in need, too, if I could. So I will be on the lookout for a grand act of charity. That I can focus on. As for anything you can do... mostly I stick this cream that smells like liquorice or something all over the bruises and hope they ease up. Ever tried icing an elbow?" Her expression is a grimace for a moment. "Just being here. Being normal, treating me like a person and not a problem or a thing to be studied? It helps."
Dane Whitman	"I know a good bit. And I know I've destroyed a...well, more than several, maybe less than "a lot" depending on how you look at things. Heard stories about a guy that practically wages a one-man war on them. Not a job I'd be keen on applying for." Dane notes, then smiles at the latter bits, "Icing elbow? Yes. Not a lot of fun. And there goes my plans for an evening of extensive and exhaustive scientific evaluation, and "normal" might be a stretch when it comes to me. Whatever will I do now?" He chuckles, kissing the back of Jane's head and then moving to grab one of the necessary ingredients to hand to Jane. "But if there's any other aspect of it you want to talk about, you know I'm here."
Jane Foster	A lot. Jane pinches out another bit of oregano and the mixed Italian spice packet in, adding another cup of tomato sauce. Soon enough all they need is a lid and time to let the chicken parmigiana soup simmer away richly and warmly away. "Don't apply for hunting the undead. I would hate to see you with bone fragments in your hair and ancient ichor staining your shirt. There is no way for me to get that stain out of your shirts. You might smell like grave dust." Her nose wrinkled, Jane leans back against him. "Exhaustive scientific evaluations are still on the table. My mind isn't broken, and I have an exciting collection of ideas simmering away." Her thumb trails down over his arm, and she takes the lid from him, putting it on the pot and turning the element or flame on. Then it's safe to turn in his arms and give a gentle hug in return. "The ice sounds nice, rather than a vice. Odin's teeth, I'm rhyming. A bad sign. We have at least forty minutes before dinner is ready so start your evaluation top to bottom. I can set that off to the side if we need more time."
Dane Whitman	"Oh yeah, ruined so many tabards that way...." Dane quips, grinning. Though at the mention of evaluation, he smiles, "Not treating you like a test subject, remember? Aside from icing and whatever it was you're putting on 'em, I think you seem to know how to handle bruises." He kisses her forehead, "So we'll have a nice relaxing evening of soup, icing you up, and whatever work it was you brought with you while I grade papers." He chuckles, releasing the embrace after a few more moments, though not before stealing a brief, gentle kiss. "You know...normal."
Jane Foster	"With no lye or bleach to speak of back in the day," Jane retorts, gathering up a few of the cans with a sweep of her arm but not breaking that hug until she has to. Then it's a case of rinsing them in the sink to be prepared for recycling. "Icing me, and grading papers. Not exactly the norm, since I would normally be poking around through a few papers myself. I have a batch from NYU and Empire State I want to check out, and see what sort of research they are up to. MIT was easy, that was last week. Reason I brought my laptop, though. You can work, I can work, and we can sit beside one another doing it." She slants a look up at Dane through her lashes, trying not to laugh too hard. The brightness in her eyes is bruised but there, the smile vindicated after the kiss. "Us, totally boring. Nobel Prize girl and brave knight of the realms, talking about high school students and when to add the pasta to the soup. You know, I rather like it. It's the sort of life one aspires to have, when touched by the strangeness in life. Imagine being committed to hunting nothing but vampires. Or fighting the great wars. I don't envy the Avengers. They have... well, it's a hard lot. Admirable, hard. Not a lot of time for life in there."
Dane Whitman	"Everybody's got to be normal sometime. I bet even the Avengers have their moments, even if they might not succeed at it as often as they like." Dane pauses, "Well, and some of them might have different standards of "normal" than we do. Armwrestling in Valhalla, doing whatever billionaires do, that kind of thing...." Dane chuckles, "Or in our case, mapping Space and grading papers." He pauses, "Admittedly, might be less time for this kind of normal once I'm fully on active agent status."
Jane Foster	"Let's have a good combination of normal and our normal, which we know isn't the case for most." The corner of her mouth still lifted, Jane lightly squeezes Dane with one arm. "Mapping space, grading papers. The occasional visit from a winged horse. I don't think we can arm wrestle anyone from Asgard, or would you want to? No. But we have our friends, and we have people who are great to know in a pinch. Maybe not so much when we worry about grocery shopping and they have butlers or the Triskelion. Mind you..." Her chin lifts, and she pauses on that note in kind, grinning warmly. "I know this guy who has a castle. In Virginia. Brought over stone by stone, like some eccentric billionaire would do. So I don't think we can claim to be purely 'normal.' Though when you are an active agent, we still can have dinner at whatever hour and date, mm? Or is that the warning that you need much more time to do many more hazardous things?" Valhalla murmurs.
Dane Whitman	"Sounds like a plan." Dane replies to the idea of blending truly normal and the type of normal unique to them. He laughs at the latter bit, "No, not interested in arm wrestling Asgardians. MAYBE sparring with them. But pretty sure I know where I stand on arm-wrestling." After a few moments he adds, "I dunno, Doctor Hastings might be a great grocery getter, but I kinda think he'd feel like that's a waste of his abilities on a few different levels." "Hey, /I/ didn't bring the castle over." He says mock-defensively, "Which reminds me...maybe we'll go visit Sunday if nothing else comes up." At the last, a bit of contemplation, "I don't think I read anything about fraternization in the various manuals and memos they made me read, so I'm assuming dinners and dating are still on the table. I'm just assuming there might be travel involved...though that's not a huge obstacle when supersonic speeds are involved."
Jane Foster	"Sparring with them differs from arm-wrestling? Presumably the benefit of having a heck of a sword helps a great deal?" Jane wiggles her fingers in a friendly fashion, nothing too troubled by the consequence of being neither a teleporter or worthy of fetching magical shoes in another dimension. Those magical shoes come with a price tag! Her back leans lightly against the counter while they wait on dinner or wherever they plan to dance. "I'm sure Doctor Hastings has very important research to do and being a Lyft driver is not one of those things, unless called on by a mission. I wouldn't put it past work to require anything of us." She nods as they bustle around the kitchen, in their way. "Though for me, it's the thrill of reading. Or playing perhaps with technology I shouldn't, though that seems more up your alley than mine." The pensive press of her lips has its own quality of changing her features, and she arches her brows thoughtfully. Until she grins. "Oh good. I was just starting to think maybe I have a normal dating life ahead of me like other people sometimes get. Rather spoils a good thing if work gets in the way. Though the best part about travel matters is that you'll generally be back at the office when called on. Though forward missions have a thrill. Nothing different there for me. Friends with rainbow bridges, off into battle, while the rest of us read the signatures of said rainbow bridge. Darcy thought it was the coolest thing ever, and then had to ask if they threw up whenever they landed. Seriously. Better she doesn't necessarily know about us and Strider."
Dane Whitman	"Arm Wrestling is just brute force against brute force." Dane replies, "I'm not talking about fistfighting them...With swordplay skill can give you an edge over someone that's physically superior. That and there's the challenge of trying to make sure you don't take the full force of their strikes if you can avoid it." Dane notes, then grins sheepishly, "Sorry? Only a slice of normal, can't manage the whole pie." He grins, "You wouldn't want it anyway. If you weren't drawn to the extraordinary, you wouldn't have gone to work for SHIELD at all." "One of these days I suppose I'm going to have to meet Darcy. Not quite so sure about Strider, though..."