Owner	Pose
Jane Foster	A bridge in London would be impossible, even in the dead of night. That particular bridge never lacks for people even when the rest of the country sleeps under the thinnest smudge of a moon headed into its blackest new phase. A woman pauses on it to leave a small chalked symbol there, and smiles. Then she turns to melt into the crowd of pedestrians moving over the Thames. Another choice then. The preferred destination took the Apollo missions nearly three days to reach. She can manage that faster than a Saturn V rocket, propelled by hurling a piece of metal in a circle and pointing it skyward. Beyond the atmosphere, freed from gravitational drag, sent arrowing straight for the Mare Serenitatis. Who knows what may be detected in the Blue Zone of that vast sea full of ruins and grey dust, hidden cities and lost empires contained in an artificial oxygen barrier. Another space rock falling in at gasping speeds, a cyclone whirled around where air doesn't exist, and a single figure approaching an empire on foot. She pauses in sight of the towers, if she's not blasted off the lunar soil first, and deigns to sit on a shattered bit of wall. To wait.
Blackagar Boltagon	There is not much of a hunt that is to take place, it is rather quite easy to find someone when you can feel their presence as tangibly as he can feel hers. The arrival in the vicinity of the Moon itself sets off an abrupt alert accompanied with a small smile. Lifting a hand, Blackagar cuts off something being said and signs quickly about needing to step away to gather his thoughts, that they will reconvene this meeting at another time. No one would argue that, even if the advisor does give a furrow of brow. It is ignored, for Blackagar is already striding out of the room. His arrival is quick, a beeline towards the presence he knows well and the descent through the air comes with that soft landing of his feet on the dusted ground beneath. <<You came here. I thought we were meeting at home for dinner tonight.>>
Jane Foster	Being considerably taller than most humans helps distinguish her from the perennially grey skyline, the luminous blue ornament of Earth hung on the inky bough of Yggdrasil in the distance. Though Earthrise may be the second best event of the hour, whatever time Attilan measures things by. She perches there in peculiar black and silver armour, lacking the usual blue highlights. A red cloak waves around in the dervish still playing around her, fanning her heavy blonde hair. The paper bag sitting at her feet has its handles looped around a precocious hammer lying perfectly innocently on the ground, jauntily tilted. <<After the second draconic murder attempt of the week, I opted for delivery.>> Her voice is still projected as mostly her own, overlaid by the Asgardian timbre. For all she's actively a blonde. <<You would never believe the exorbitant fee those malingerers dare to charge for express service. Nonsensical.>> She taps the bundle at her side. <<Is this not home of a sort?>>
Blackagar Boltagon	Is it not a home? Blackagar tilts his head thoughtfully when she says that before nodding, <<It is. I have had no intent to infer such a thought on you though. It has always been a fluid situation. Especially with ..>> He stops, there's a hesitation that sits before it is wiped away with a smile. <<I suspect that continual draconic murders will eventually lead to consequences of both applied and natural sources. Which are you considering at present?>> The change of topic is clearly a bit of a dodge as is the somewhat distracted thoughts in his mind. Naturally, gaze drifts lazily towards the bag as it is rather out of place, amongst other items.
Jane Foster	<<You are my home, Blackagar, no matter the outcomes that the Norns weave for me upon their loom.>> The sigh from Jane in that yet altered form ought to be familiar, two parts amused to one prickled by being caught endlessly in the Fates' sight. It cannot be helped as she holds out her gloved hand to him. Articulated metal bits gleam in the wan light as the tempest settles, leaving a gauzy cloak of fine dust settling around the partly tumble-down wall and surroundings. Not much for privacy but at least a start. The gelato can wait for a few moments, since the ambient temperature isn't conducive to immediate melting. Its little trip soaring through the chilly depths of space buys time. <<The dragons came with a tantrum by a puissant sorcerer in his attempts at establishing a beachhead for conquest,>> she warns of dragons, fishing out a spoon with her free hand and setting it jauntily onto the wall. <<The same who orchestrated the disappearance of the Thunderer.>> She doesn't name him. Ill luck under the circumstances, a grievous sting of losing a friend in violent circumstances hidden under the lightning-licked roil of her thoughts. Loudly wrought, too, as the hammer at her feet knocks into her boot. <<I am not disposed to cordial diplomacy on my next social call. Mjolnir deigned me its temporary caretaker and, if you accept, our temporary roommate. In its own room. We have enough it doesn't need to be at the foot of the couch like Lockjaw.>> A hesitation on her part there, as she looks up through the fringe of gilded bangs, and tugs on them. Not quite measured up to the brunette look. <<This isn't permanent. It cannot be.>>
Blackagar Boltagon	<<You should not lament the fates course too much, for if it weren't for their intervention in your life what other paths would you have gone down?>> The response comes when he takes that gloved hand, pulling her close in a sweeping motion in abrupt fashion. As she explains the situation, the wry smirk on his lips peeks forth once again, <<I will admit, it is different. Not entirely unpleasant although there is the consideration of perhaps asking for a reprieve from obligation is needed.>> The next words are unapologetically directed towards the hammer, <<Particularly for a guest to be staying with us.>>
Jane Foster	Jane breaks into a smile, though it sits a little differently in immortal flesh clearly influenced on a heroic Aesir model. Blackagar's sweep draws them together and she meets the audacious with a telling broadness to the grin kindled out of the ashes of a serious matter. <<A clever proposal to fix something backfired, as verily as planning a picnic and spotting rain.>> Even now, her thoughts sort themselves into patterns more familiar in cadence to addressing the halls of Asgard than the astrophysicist's typical speech. It's infectious! Next up, Blackagar signing in great Shakespearean soliloquys. <<Mjolnir has been a fine companion. One free to pursue individual aims.>> A tilt of her head meaningfully nods at the city. <<We won't come in like this without your leave, so thank you for coming out. It makes delivery that much easier.>> A nudge of the bag of gelato his way invites him to pick the preferred flavour. <<You had a thought you were considering, and it seemed to leave you discomfitted. Am I reading wrongly into it?>>
Blackagar Boltagon	There's the moment of hesitation again before he shakes his head, <<First as much as I dislike saying such, it is perhaps easier to meet outside of the city like this. For avoiding questions that I do not have answers to provide may not be an ill stepped idea. Explaining to the Genetic Council all the strange women I bring back to Attilan with me could eventually lead to some concerns.>> He has humor when he says it, the strange women in each case being a variation of Jane. <<As for what sits on my mind. It is not so much discomforted, as it is perhaps just pondering that same question. Working on how to navigate the changes that take place. Obviously in your current state we cannot endeavor on some other tasks. Which is fine, a necessity of ... work, as it were. But even then, I do work in my mind at times how to handle that time when it comes.>>
Jane Foster	Strange women and their peculiar pets. Horses, hammers. Surely a king with a teleporting dog is infinitely more sane and acceptable in a society populated by highly unique individuals with rarely reoccurring abilities. <<They best not think you have a harem of some manner.>> She pushes back her helm and nudges the hammer again, and the armour evaporates in melting silver tendrils and revealing the brunette in winter attire; jeans, boots, a sweater. Not quite so bad as Undrjarn's effect, but not at all subtle as the glamour slips down into the glowing thing. <<This circumstance does not change the prospect of recovery. We do not need to set aside your work, and if /that/ is to be the consequence for...>> A knitted frown forms and vanishes, such as she touches the side of his face. <<I cannot put my needs before another's. Not when the need is so dire. But we might consider the risk of staying as I am, given that your own brother's talents are something I cannot martial a defense against. Nor against a sorcerer who can perform acts of black necromancy and use undead dragons whose very breath would boil my soul away. That presents a rather nasty risk to you.>>
Blackagar Boltagon	<<I have dealt with those risks for quite some time. I love the concern, you know this. But in the end...>> He pauses, thoughtful, <<In the end I wonder if one, or both of us for that matter, are not simply... afraid. Allow me to correct that.>> Blackagar bites his lip, a rare admission coming from him. <<I am afraid.>> Swallow. Gather thoughts. Press on. <<If one thing changes, others may as well. I have wondered if somehow you awake from a dream and like that dream, just drift away from what is right here. Yes, it is a selfish thought, but it is one I have regardless.>>
Jane Foster	<<Blackagar.>> Tenderness rings his name, praise and an oath sung into the same three syllables. She breathes it out, shivering in the cool air and the emotion that bites harder into her soul-wrought flesh. "I'm afraid too." Saying that mirrors his own statement, as easily as his hand matches up to hers, thumb to thumb, palm pressed to palm, fingers aligned to his longer digits. She touches her brow to his, meeting his eyes by looking up. <<But not so afraid that I won't try.>> A tap of her index finger supplements the point, catching the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat and her constructed echo. <<Have you considered how many ways we are tethered? No path exists where you could not find me or I to you. Nor will taking an honest breath and feeling the aches in my ankle or the indignities of gnawing hunger at two in the morning change us.>> Is it wrong to miss midnight snacking? Quaver. Smile. And then squeezing his hand, she kisses his knuckles. <<The sum of who we are resides beyond the flesh. We are our minds, and who we are grows but encompasses so much more. You are graven on the very essence of me. Is that not plain as soon as you open your eyes? This is to me as the study of the stars. I don't expect to lose the aspect. >>
Blackagar Boltagon	<<That is not a sentiment I question,>> Blackagar affirms quietly back. Thoughtful and considerate as he attempts to explain. <<It is perhaps a bit more than just that tension of change. But also the tension of the future.>> He tilts his head, the awkward; almost shy? smile on his expression. <<We have been in a familiar situation since we've been together. Adding this entirety of new, different, there is some anxiety there. So while it is not enough to stop things, I do have it on mind. More often as the potential approaches.>> His hand squeezes hers, pulls her closer as she kisses his. <<Possibilities are there.>>
Jane Foster	<<I feel it. I know it. Inheriting the legacy even for a short time -- one I pray is a short time -- carries with it ghastly burdens.>> Jane isn't blind to that, for all that she puts a pretty face on it, though the quiet, profound determination to see everything through to their proper ends remains in the background. She can't help herself, brushing her fingers down Blackagar's cheek. <<Possibilities are there, and you dangle them like a string in front of a cat. I want very much to just spend a weekend of doing utterly nothing save whatever we like here, with no greater concern than recuperating. I have to imagine that any solution requires a substantial recovery period.>>