1964-07-08 - Chocolate Milk and Fruit
Summary: Scarlett and Cap talk about a mystery King.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
steve-rogers rogue 

The Avengers Mansion is coming along with one of the most coveted views in New York. Next thing you know, they'll have a personal skyscraper with a big A on it hanging somewhere over the Financial District. It's a well-appointed place nevertheless, something Scarlett never ceases to marvel at. For all she is a fixture of Greenwich Village, she has lived in mansions most of her living memory.

Mind you, she's about four by that scale, so this does not encompass much time.

Her green coat, gloves, and raised hood do not exactly match au courant fashion in summery New York. Her habitual braids bear flowers not found in the gardens, disregarding Brooklyn Botanic. If anything, she looks like someone running about Reykjavik or Antarctica. And her delicate stride measures her whereabouts as she searches the common areas of the house, humming in French.

"Hey Scarlett," Steve Rogers says as he's walking down one of the long hallways. You know the kind, the wood underneath with the carpeted runner down the middle. He's wearing a pay of comfortable looking navy sweatpants. But not those baggy sweat pants that everyone hates, but the more tailored sort. His t-shirt is a plain white one. "Haven't seen you in a bit. Things are well?"

A curl of her fingertips signals a greeting. Tugging at the windblown hood, she pushes it back to look less chic nouveau It Girl and more like herself, resident bohemian on her way to becoming a hippie. Just ahead of the curve. Her head given a good shake pushes her braids free of her collar, more casual. "They're kicking back up again, for sure. Never a dull moment." Her vertebrae pop as she rolls her shoulders in a circle, shaking off her insulation given the much warmer ambient temperature, even with air conditioning. "Hello there, Steve. Fancy catching up, or were you planning somewhere I can tag along?"

"I have nothing but time," Steve says with a smile. "Was just going to head to get a post workout snack. Do you like fruit salad?" He gives a head tilt towards the kitchen. "Maybe some milk." His eyebrows flash, "Exciting, I know. I'm thinking of sneaking some of the chocolate to mix it in. Going to spice it up."

"Spoken like a true hero." The promise of laughter dawns throughout Scarlett's expression, her glimmering emerald eyes kicked up to a surreal notch. "Do I? As flowers adore the rain. Something like that sounds wholesome." She unbuttons the coat and slides out of it, tossing the green leather over her shoulder to free up her arms. "Now we're getting crazy with chocolate. We might even need a swirly straw on that."

"Yeah, even I'm not that wild," Steve shoots back as he leads her to the kitchen. He tugs on the fridge, opening it rather easily and begins pulling out an aqua colored bowl and a bottle of milk. "You live in the city, right? Near where all the artsy kids live, I think. Can't remember." This salad is heavy on the strawberries and Steve slides it down the counter towards her before he makes for the glasses.

"Crazy straws have a particular danger, that's true. We do not want anyone assuming we are reckless with other's lives and resources," Scarlett muses after the fact, her bedimmed gaze lost under the downcast sweep of her flame-bright eyelashes. Still, the dance of her shoulders hum with the silent tension not to laugh. Habit, of course. "Greenwich Village, yes, that's my home. Give me the music, creativity, and spirit. I fit right in." Her gaze locks on the strawberries, and without restraint, she picks a red gem up to her lips. One bite follows, then another. "This suits you well? No haven somewhere in Brooklyn?" Such knowledge locked in her head belongs to a beloved war veteran and friend, though it's not supplying much insight in quiescence now. "This is a far cry from my apartment, that's for sure. I wonder how it feels when someone is raised to that sort of wealth."

"Actually," Steve says as the spoon begins to clink on the edges of the glass as he mixes her chocolate milk. Rather than risk sliding it, he brings it over to her. "My old girlfriend and I had a place in Brooklyn. It was nice. Homey. Up until an assassin broke in and almost killed us." He shrugs his shoulders and chuckles, "Since then I've gone with more protection. That's the pain of not having a secret identity."

"Assassins do seem to be a danger in your line of business." Helping out by finding the cutlery, Scarlett seeks out a fork at the very least. She needs only to check a few drawers to do that. "Thank you." Raising the glass, she makes a salute if not an actual toast. "To thriving and being just the right side of crazy." A sip follows, the flavour new enough for someone who isn't commonly drinking chocolate milk to experience a thrill. "Protection." Her lips blotted, she glances up at Steve and nods slightly. "I understand that well. My identity is… odd. More aliens and hidden people seem to know about me than actual people. Which leads to confession time. I may be affiliated with the exiled monarch of a hidden people related to Crystal, and you deserve to know that. Even meet him, if you wish. He would like that."

"Wait, what?" Steve shakes his head in confusion as he's not sure he heard her right. He doesn't know a ton about Crystal to be honest, other than that he has a lot of trust in her. She seems to be one of the good ones. "If you think it's a good idea, I wouldn't be adverse to it. Why does he want to meet /me/? I figure a King would want to meet with the President or…I dunno, a Governor or someone."

Why indeed? What could possibly be the reason? Scarlett is quiet for a few moments, reflecting and sipping her chocolate milk. She says, contemplative, "Because you represent the best of our country's ethics and virtues." Her fingers span the glass, metal clinking from a band around her fingers. "You would guard someone in the street you've never met from harm because that is the right thing to do. Because governors and presidents or UN leaders don't always tell someone about people so much as those who do their best to be good."

Steve chuckles and shakes his head, "I'm not so sure about that. Textbooks aren't always right about everything." He fixes himself some chocolate milk, now, and takes a seat at one of the barstools. "There are a lot of us who would guard someone in the street. A whole mansion of us, really." He samples the fruit salad and twists his mouth. "What's your read on this guy?"

"Everyone has shades and variations. You are not spotless, but you are respected for your honesty, fairness, and leadership. I've seen firsthand how you go," Scarlett points out, reaching for a melon cube. "It stands to reason you would be modest. Good people rarely stand on their accolades." He gains a quick laugh as she turns, floating up onto the seat without obvious signs of doing it. "My read? He has an incredibly heavy burden on his shoulders, a lifetime of preparation through possibly the most turbulent period of the modern age, and he's trying to do all that while saying not a word." Her elbow rests on the counter and supports her weight easily enough. "Crystal is a good example of his people. Able but restrained, social but very savvy and often not letting the rest of us on to what she thinks. Diplomacy by any other name. He is related, her cousin. And his people have remained in seclusion for so long, coming out is… well, troubling. I don't think they want a repeat of Asgard." She sighs. "I was there for that, too."

"Yeah," Steve says quietly. "Asgard was sort of a train off the rails." He stabs some blueberries in his bowl before he munches on them thoughtfully. "If you're on board, and if this guy is a cousin to my friend, I think I should probably meet with him. I owe it to the both of you at the very least. I don't really think I'll be much help to him, but if it would put him a bit more at ease or if he thinks he'll get something out of it, then it would be worth it." He chuckles, "Besides, things have been pretty quiet lately for me. A field trip would be good."

Her fingers draw a lazy circle. "Hubris and performance bound to spectacle, timing, and awe. Alas, that nearly sent us careening over an edge." Scarlett shakes her head slightly. "The main goal here is mostly making friends and easing his way into society without causing mass hysteria. The world balances precariously enough as it is, believing there are aliens out to meddle in our affairs and mutants, gods from another realm, and now this? Hello, hidden peoples abound. I am more a diplomat and builder of bridges than I am anything else, Steve, and this is what I know best to do. Find patient, thoughtful people and put them together. Besides…" Her smile is faint, quickly flowered and gone. "His brother's out meddling in the world. Might as well ensure we have an eye on all factors. Besides. I think you can appreciate what it's like diving into the public spotlight. I'm not sure anyone really does when the world's spotlight turns."

Steve nods a few times as he pushes some of the fruit around in the bowl. "So, the basic idea is if I think he's a good guy, when the fan comes I can be someone who can stick up for him. Vouch for him." He nods, "It makes pretty good sense, when you think about it. Does he like beer? I'll take him down to Frank's Tavern."

"I think so." Her head tips. "You know, I am not sure I've asked. Beer sounds about right. And…" A shudder passes over Scarlett's shoulders. "Hot dogs. Why anyone likes the taste of a Nathan's famous is clearly outside my understanding of the world whatsoever. I figure the basic idea is that, yes. Emphasis on sound him out," the world is not kind for puns, "and see how it goes. Bridge building. I would rather all those various pieces of the world work together."

"Hot dogs are an American delicacy," Steve says. "Tell you what. You tell me the time, I'll pick the place, and we'll both meet with him."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License