Owner	Pose
Janet van Dyne	For New York's most recent, wee-est heroine, there's a price to burgeoning frame. It's not a matter so much of being small, or even having powers. The issue emerged when some savvy social media types tagged her in some speculative Instagram posts, and for lack of a better nom-de-guerre, tagged her as 'Dragonfly'. Speculation ran rampant as to her affiliation or association with a variety of more well-established heroes: most notably, Janet van Dyne. AKA, the Wasp. For some people, locating a single six-inch heroine in a major city would be a nigh impossible task. For a billionaire, a few thousand dollars to hire every street performer and sign-tosser in the borough was the easiest solution. All of them sharing one message: 'The Fairy Heroine: JVD Fashion House, 11PM Saturday'. However long it took is how long it takes, but the vendors are motivated by a promise of a hefty cash bounty for the one who shows up with Glamour in their company. And so, eventually, Glamour ended up at JVD Fashion House, and was escorted with all dignity into Janet's office. It takes up the entire upper floor of a renovated warehouse, and is split between a tidy, rigidly organized office of white, gold, and cyan, facing an explosive riot of cloth and fashion supples. Color and textures fill the remainder of the huge room, turning her office space into a little bastion of organized clarity. Janet sits at her desk; she's dressed in a dress the color of fresh oranges, worn off the shoulder and with rippling layers of fabric overlapping down to her knees. When her assistant knocks, Janet looks up, and beckons her assistant-- and her guest-- into the office. "Please come in," Janet says. There's a set of furniture set up on Janet's desk. Office chair, low desk, two chairs across from it. Even a pen set. It'd look like doll furniture except it's very clearly all functional and not merely something cobbled together out of carboard and paint. In fact, it looks like a scaled down miniature of her office furniture. "Have a seat," she invites, and gestures at the tiny furnishings.
Glamour	There's a lot of things that Glamour did not give any forethought to. Things like 'is she connected to the Wasp' becoming a possible point of speculation is one of them. In fact, given her general inability to use computers much of the time at this point, she is completely unaware of the nature of this speculation. Thus, all of this is coming as something of a surprise to her. The invitation that she nearly missed, the appointment that she nearly didn't see it was time to get to, and almost slept through in fact. But there she is, at the JVD fashion place, suppressing her natural glow and sneaking in and then appearing more or less out of nowhere in an illusory, very blue spandex costume and mask, as she's been wont to be seen in. Hey, it's hard to get functional clothing when you're six inches tall that's actually comfortable and usable, okay? Barbie stuff is itchy. Thus, she's shown in, wings a fluttering, and she's more than a bit confused to be in the same room as *THE* Janet Van Dyne. Is this it? Has she drawn the attention of the Avengers or something?! HAS SHE MADE IT? She has a careful seat, making a point of folding her wings so as to not be clipping them on the back of the chair. Plumes of fairy dust accompany her every movement, a trail of sparkles left behind her. It's a neat effect. It's also getting glitter everywhere.
Janet van Dyne	Janet sets her pen down and there's a little surge of rushing air as she sort of... condenses down to something on Glamour's scale. In the same heartbeat, wings emerge from her shoulderblades and buzz mightily; a true entomologist would cringe at any attempt to categorize them as being akin to any true hymenopterae. "I'm glad you were able to join me," Janet says, once she's within conversational distance. Heels click oddly against the now supersized desk surface, and she takes a seat in her own office chair. Like Glamour's, it's clearly meant to accomodate someonew with wings. "Before we start, would you like something to eat? A drink?" she offers. "I didn't bring the whole liquor cabinet but I can have something brought in if you'd like." Her demeanour is cool, but piercing; jewelry leaves its own glittering reflection on her ears and wrists, along with a tiny, patriotic pendant in the hollow of her throat. Her makeup's lush and a little severe all at once, with candy-apple lipgloss and dark eyeliner.
Glamour	"Oh! Yes! A snack would be lovely," replies Glamour, hesitantly. Not over the food. She definitely wants that. And she is, in fact, fairly immediately distracted by the thought of it. "Soooo," she says, "What can I help you with?" She's aware she's on a limited time frame here, herself, and she wants to get to the point as quickly as possible. Even aware of Janet's predilection for shrinking as she is, she hasn't put two and two together just yet and, what's more, she doesn't want to suddenly pop down to six inches and glowy in front of her. It's flustering, okay? She blinks her big eyes at her curiously, pointed ears kept carefully covered in lengthy hair.
Janet van Dyne	Janet gets to her feet and moves to a miniaturized wetbar. There are even ice cubes to scale. Her office setup, perfectly duplicated in miniature. The words 'help you' earn Glamour an approving sidelong; Janet mixes herself a drink and one for her guest, and loads a few snacks onto a serving tray. It's all brought over and set down at Glamour's elbow. "I'm glad you're taking a positive approach," Janet tells Glamour. Instead of returning to her chair she rests her hips against the edge of her desk with her legs neatly settled atop one another. It's a glam sort of pose that anticipates miniature papprazi materializing out of nowhere, and it looks habitual. "First, I want to get it straight-- it's not 'Dragonfly', is it?" Janet inquires. "Someone said 'Glamour', I like that. Glamourous." She misses the etymology of that word by a bit, but pushes onwards. "Second, I'm not a miserly person. But I know the value of branding," she explains to the fae girl. A hand gestures. "My brand *is* 'The Wasp'. I get a cut of sales anytime someone buys one of my T-shirts. When the Wasp shows up at a charity even, donations go up 20. Brand awarness is something a lot of capes overlook, but it's what keeps the lights on at the Avenger's mansion. And it pays for my ... public service hours," she says. Janet reaches for her drink, takes a sip, and curls the cuba libre against her shoulder while looking down at Glamour. "So I think you could understand how I'd be a little ... disturbed, hearing that someone named 'Dragonfly' is being affiliated with my brand. That's why I asked you to come in."
Glamour	"...ah." Glamour is st arting to understand, of course. 'Dragonfly'. She sees how that could be a problem. But it's not going to bea problem, right? Right! So, deep breath. Big old deep breath. "Yeah! Definitely Glamour, haha, totally not dragonfly. I mean, some one might call me that, because of the winbgs, but I definitely had nothing to do with that one!" When a very rich person talks to you about the value of their branding and how you could totally be infringing on that, it is time to be a little worried, food bribe or no food brride. She She reaches for a snack. More plumes of dust. Her eyes are locked on her. "Yes. Absolutely understandable!" Nope, totally not going to get into a branding fight in any way with an extremely rich preson of extreme richness.
Janet van Dyne	"See, they told me you were smart," Janet says, with a sudden and enthusiastic smile. Fingers flutter through the air and she looks away, shaking her head. "Don't worry about it. I had a feeling this was just a silly misunderstanding. I'm not trying to discourage you from doing your hero thing," Janet assures her, quickly. Her entire demeanour has shifted a bit with the fae's apparent willingness to cooperate, and some of that brittle politeness melts off into something almost charming. Though even a fae might have trouble getting a read on how much of it is sincerity versus being Perfectly Polite. "So tell me about yourself. You're new to the capes and tights game, right? Where are you from? I can't really place your accent," she inquires. The socialite looks over her drink, sipping steadily and evaluating Glamour with a very carefully discerning gaze.
Glamour	Janet is wholley believable so far as Glamour is concerned. She can barely read people as it is. The nuance is utterly lost on her. She knows she *should* be wary, but she can't see much to be wary about. "Whew," she laughs. "You had me worried there for a minute!" She combs her fingerws through her hair, briefly the tip of a pointed ear becoming visible before its lost in the lenghty locks. "Oh, I was born right here In New York," she explains. It's not a lie. In a sense, that was true, even if her very melodious and bellish voice doesn't carry a New York accent at any point in the conversation.
Janet van Dyne	"Oh no, no no," Janet soothes. "Y'know, it's business, and I never go full cutthroat on someone just for a little misstep. You start offering branded clothing, call yourself 'Waspette', that's why I cut the lawyers off their lead line and sic 'em on you." She winks floridly and moves back to her chair, sitting comfortably into it and crossing her legs to the side. Her drink lingers in her hand, fingers scraping a low sussurance over the cooling glass. "Okay, so you're from New York," Janet agrees. Allows. "So tell me about yourself a bit. You're small, but small isn't the same as incognito. What was it? Metagene development? Are you a mutant? Fell asleep in a dryer while you were a little damp, forgot to set the timer?" She makes a shrinking gesture with her hand.
Glamour	Snappoint! "That last one," she says, "And to be fair I'm only small some of the time." Most of the time, but she isn't going to admit that! She takes a careful, measured drink! Doesn't wanna outpace the host, you know. "I'm just, you know, trying to get by and do the right thing. It's always harder than it looks but I guess I don't need to tell you that! Hahaha!" Nervous laughter ABOUNDS. "It's good to have a theme but I'm definitely not waspette and have no intention of being! Where the heck are you getting 'dragonfly' from exactly?"
Janet van Dyne	Janet smiles and laughs, because any sociopath can tell you that it puts people at ease when you smile and laugh. And Glamour's clearly a little uncomfortable, nervous and tittering, and Janet's whole demeanour just exudes a sense of compassion and confidance. "Oh I know, I never do the right thing unless someone's watching," Janet says with a conspiratorially hand to the side of her mouth. She sips her drink and regards Glamour steadily, waiting for the laughs to vanish into distant echoes and cease entirely. "Dragonfly I got off Instagram. I pay people to keep an eye out for that sort of thing. Had to sue a 'Beegirl' into oblivion once, she was absolutely ripping my shtick off. Tried hard to play nice, but y'know-- branding," she says, again. "You didn't really answer my question though." Still smiling! "The shrinking thing. Or... embiggening. No Pym radiation coming off of you. So you're a mutant with a really unique talent, or..." fingers spread at Glamour, inviting her to fill in the gap. Janet's chair doesn't so much as creak as she lazily pivots it from side to side. "Feel free to fill in the blanks. I'm just going to assume that you're not stealing Pym tech, because that-- /that/, would probably make me angry," she says, nodding. Smile. Winkies! Just to show she's kidding. But she doesn't let that steady stare off of Glamour one iota.
Glamour	"Ooooh, the Insta! Yeah, okay. I can't really control what people dub me oin insta, so yeah, we're good." She gives Janet a little thumbs up, of course, then she adds, "I can imagine it gets really hectic, right? Running this whole thing and you've gotta delegate and so on," she agrees. "Definitely not stealing tech of any kind. But, yeah, it's an... inborn talent. Maybe I was born with it, maybe it's maybeline? No, I was definitely born with it." Not a lie, of course. " "If I was stealing tech, I'd probably very much not have shown up here with a big smile on my face and feeling like a total dork in your presence. Like, HOW do you make your look work that well?!" She points a finger at her. Ah, Glamour. Who knows how far flattery will get you? "But, yeah. Some kind of... thingy."
Janet van Dyne	"A thingy! Wonderful," Janet says, drawing the word out. "A thingy. I love it. Just a little..." Fingers wiggle vaguely in the air. "Just like that, hey presto, chang-o, huh?" She smiles. It's a Perfectly Polite smile and she tosses a stress ball from hand to hand, with lazy indifference. "Of course you wouldn't just 'show up' here," Janet soothes, and laughs once. "I mean, it is hectic, and there's a lot going on, and you're right-- can't control what... 'people' say about you on Instagram," she says, and smiles with benign amusement up at the world around them with a flick of her fingers appealing to the heavens. "But you *are* here now, which I do appreciate," Janet says, and smoothly rises again. She walks around the desk in no hurry. "And at this scale, I'm pretty sure only the flies are going to overhear us." She rests her hips on the desk and leans forward to rest her palms on her thighs. Shoulders rise in a friendly shrug to go with that vaguely predatory Perfectly Polite smile. "But since it's just us girls and the dust motes, why don't we put the cards on the table. Hmm?" she invites, brows bobbing encouragingly. "Because, like I said. I've got a brand to look after. Unless I can say definitively you're not stealing my thunder--" hands curl inwards to point at her upper chest-- "Then I can't say for sure that you're not cribbing off my work. I really just want us to have an understanding. Okay? C'mon," she nudges with a conspiratorial tone. "Did you run afoul of a pissy leprechaun or something?"
Glamour	"A thingy!" agrees Glamour, hopefully that Janet will take the hint and not press her too hard. Unfortunately, Janet not only blew past the hint but applied continued pressure that is making her squirm. SQUIRM. Her wings flutter. Buzz. Buzz. This shows that they're definitely not just an attachment of some kind, they're part of her and respond to her emotional distress. % r "It's not..." She lets out a sigh. "Okay, okay. Obviously, if you can't trust one of the Avengers, who can you trust, right? Nobody." She so shouldn't trust Janet, like at all, but hey. "Yeaaah, so. Something like that. Look," she leans forward, "You've got nothing to worry about. It's not science. It's maaaagiiiic," she wiggles her fingers in the air, making trcers of sparkles appear as she does. "Don't make me bust out into Freddy Mercury here. It's a kind of magic, yooo. I'm magical."
Janet van Dyne	"Weren't we just talking about brand awareness? You bust out a lyric to 'Love of My Life' and you're going to owe Queen five bucks," Janet tells Glamour. But the admission is met with a flickering up-and-down, and then a little conciliatory nod. The admission cost Glamour something, and Janet's body language lets up a lot of invisible pressure she'd been putting on the girl. "Eat up, you're skinny even by model standards," she nudges her, and tosses the ball vaguely behind her shoulder without paying much attention to where it lands. "I'm friends with Stephen Strange, against all odds and reason," Janet informs Glamour. That last part probably should have been muttered, but instead it's a conspiratorial sotto voce. "He's a nerd, but he's an OK guy when you get down to it. I don't know what your uh, whole--" she gestures up-and-down-- "situation is, but if you end up getting turned into a mouse or something, he's someone you can talk to in a crisis." "Meanwhile, though, I'm going to give you some free advice. Get ahead of your own image," Janet urges her. And the advice actually sounds heartfelt and sincere. "It's not just about money. It's about social capital. If you've got a name, you've got cache. If you've got cache, people are more likely to help you and trust you. Make a mistake, you're more likely to be forgiven. But the name, the look, the *brand*, it's a whole thing. You can't just let someone slap an image on you, because you'll get stuck with something stupid." She's scribbling on a notepad while she talks; the little yellow sheet's folded in half and handed to the fae girl. "I'm still dealing with the fallout from this Warworld situation. Thank god Steve and I were on holiday. Next week, week after, you *call* me, make an appointment, and let's do something about your look. Because this--" she gestures with fingertips splayed in an S-shape at Glamour-- "isn't quite there yet. Let's get you in something that will actually pop on camera."
Glamour	"...well I guess if anyone could make a proper costume for me, it would be you," says Glamour, eyes blinking owlishly at Janet. She has no idea what to say to that. Gosh, isn't Janet the neatest? Her eyes are so big right now, and she's nodding up and down. "That sounds pretty right. I have a lot of work cut out for me if I want to do that. Social media is hard to navigate, though, el-oh-el," she adds. "...also, I'm pretty sure I'll be meeting him soon enough from the sounds of things." she rubs the back of her head, ruffling her hair. "Definitely don't need anti-fans." She starts to glow. She just couldn't handle holding it back anymore. She sighs. A nimbus of soft, pulsing blue light that's suffused with SPARKLES.
Janet van Dyne	"You're, uh." A finger wiggles at Glamour. "Glowing. No, wait, there's a technical word for it. Luminent?" Janet's mouth quirks into a frustrated moue and she squints skywards. "Whatever. It'll occur to me at three AM, I'm sure." "Cool power. Not super ... ninja-tactical, but then again, Steve wears a big white star and carries the world's most visible frisbee. I'm gonna err on the side of being small," Janet says. Unknowingly she's playing with the pendant at her throat, but folds both hands on her desk a second later and leans forward with a more serious expression. "Look, I don't want to be an Avenger indefinitely," Janet informs Glamour. "Superman tried it, and that got him killed. Almost killed," she amends, quickly. "If you want some help getting a leg up into the arena, then... offer stands. If not, all I'm asking is that you strike out on your own two feet. Go by Tinkerbelle or something," she suggests. "But whatever you come up with, make it your own. Okay?" She smiles beatifically and gets to her feet. "I've got to get back to the nine to five grind. Thanks for coming in, sweetie," she says, and offers a polite handshake to Glamour. "Good luck out there. Okay?"
Glamour	"...Augh!" Glamour flails a bit when she realizes that she is, in fact, glowing. Her face scrunches up. "Sorry. It just happens sometimes." All the time, actually, but she's not about to admit. She takes a deep breath, centers herself, and it dissipates. This seems to take more effort than it should if it 'just happens sometimes'. "Yeah, okay. I get you. Uhm... yeah! Okay. Sure." She's up on her feet. "You... keep being the amazing person you are because holy crap I just met you and I can't stop gawking. I'm gonna get outta here before I lodge my foot firmly in my throat and you have to perform a heimlich maneuever to save my life. That'd just be terrible." She's slinking back, now, after that delicate handshake because she's terrified of doing something wrong. "I'll take that offer maybe when I've got somethings figured out."