1964-09-06 - A Royal Welcome
Summary: Greenwich Village is far more hospitable to Blackagar Boltagon than Svalbard.
Related: Kingsey Plot
Theme Song: None
blackagar rogue 


As lovely as the land of the midnight sun is, the nature preserve of Nordauslandet is truly terrible for long-term habitation. Especially when its one seasonal inhabitant kept whittling away the coastline. With the remainder of the Royal Court installed comfortably back in New York pursuing their own embarrassment of riches, there remains one matter to contend with.

Home for Blackagar Boltagon.

The means don't matter so much as the ends. Lockjaw or flown back at dizzying speeds, either way it ends in a garden on a rooftop high over Greenwich Village. Plants in their abundance give a higher oxygen content to the air. Scarlett practically tosses her coat aside, the heavier weight unnecessary given the warmer autumn.

*

A few extra days on the island were almost too much, but were necessary for Blackagar to bring himself into a sense of control and learning how to use the Kree artifact that had been reforged for him; allowing his immense power to direct into it rather than outwards. As the hours passed so did the waves of energy emanating from him until he felt comfortable in returning to a populated area. A long bath, shave, some fresh clothes; all the necessary things were taken and now he strode to the rooftop garden from the stairs below. Dressed in a pair of pants that are loose fitting, the artifact hanging from a chain about his neck to rest on his chest.

*

Whatever energies he pours into that reinforced metal amalgam, it somehow resists and channels them properly. Thank Crystal for her pinpoint repairs and Karnak for identifying the faults, and Maximus the necessary assembly. In time, Scarlett will. But for the moment, reality can go take a dive off a cliff and fall on a mad titan somewhere. She is purely off-duty, reacquainting herself with the shell of a home absent its soul while Blackagar reacquaints himself in turn with the comforts and conveniences of modern society. One can appreciate the lavender and bamboo only so long. When the rattle of water below shuts off and movements hint at activity from the stairs, she halts in the distracted caress of lemony leaves. Her unerring gaze seeks him out without even trying, and the volumes that could be spoken encapsulate her expression. There aren't even words, only that momentary lasting silence that goes deep as the soul. It'll take her a good minute and a half to say «Home».

*

The smile that comes to his lips is small and slow, but very present as he nods slowly his acknowledgement of the sentiment. Blackagar takes measured steps as he walks through the greens of the garden, passing by a few plants to brush fingers over them before coming to a stop a pair of paces away from Scarlett; more silent than usual in thought that brings a deep crease to his brow for a moment.

*

Thought comes too easily to the Midnight King. A slow upturn at the corner of Scarlett's mouth halts, a bloom shy under the dawning sun. Teeth catch the corner of her lower lip, the uncertainty something closer to deciding whether to devour a dessert whole or savour it slowly. In tandem, her hands drop from surveying the plants, flipped upright to bare her palms, a gesture of peace as much of welcome throughout cultures over six continents. The opal hides just under her sleeve, a flickering strobe where light dashes off the flame-shot surface. She waits, fraught in patience, head slowly tilted until the braids race off her shoulder.

*

«An interesting journey.» Blackagar finally shares after a few moments, conveying it in the ways he does with impression, motion and expression. «Around the world for most. It is very odd to simply take a moment to catch breath; to not wonder if all things will come to a collapse upon me.»

*

«You are more stable, and that danger seems to be farther away than it ever was.» It isn't a question. The absence of rumbling and clattering in low-level background ambiance proves that. Scarlett lends gesture to reinforce purpose. «Do you still wish to stay here or somewhere else?» It is very odd indeed to see him here, in a place familiar, after watching the prolonged isolation and suffering with her hands effectively tied. Patience tumbles aside in so many heartbeats, faltering under the weight of contemplation. Blackagar is briefly sun to her moon, her orbit closing in until she stands in front of him, tracing her fingers up from the necklace to his jaw without touching. As yet, anyways. «Love?»

*

«Here is best, for many reasons. Nearer to you first among them. But as well the need to delve a bit into just what is going on.» Blackagar reaches out a hand for Scarlett to take before tilting his head towards the stairs leading down. «Come, sit and tell me things I have missed?»

*

She nods, brushing her braids back between her shoulder blades. The complex arrangement is certain to snap elastics and bands; Scarlett's plaits weather flight as best they can, but nothing substitutes for a comb. «Tea first, to help restore energy.» The flicker of the smile strengthens, catching on tinder of slowly easing concern locked into place for the whole of summer. Descending the stairs takes her into the kitchen to put on the kettle and find an appropriately comfortable spot on the couch. For all it matters, it could be the floor. «Several of your people emerged. Or found their way here but they are all gifted in their way. One with animals, the other is an artist. I met them yesterday.» She has to revert to spoken words uneasily, a murmur. "Chloe. Nikandros." Back to sign, it's easier. «Your green cousin is very kind.» Triton, then. «The others have remained in the city. There have been words — signals. Broadcasts sent in many languages. They have been going to space…»

"Hala," she says, tired. As though she knows what it means. She might.

«From a place in the sea south of China. It seems they are calling a warning to your people's enemies. There is division about how to handle it. Crystal has ideas. My allies and friends can give help. The choice is yours. Your brother may be essential. He speaks the language, doesn't he? Crystal thought he might make something of the old technology. So that would be the key concern at the moment.»

*

Blackagar seems in thought for several moments then shakes his head slowly, «They are not enemies; so much as they are creators. Perhaps looking to destroy the creation.» He has settled himself down upon the sofa, hands resting on his knees as that furrow of his brow has returned. «The others should know better than to trust Maximus; he is always looking for what is best for Maximus.» The sound of the tea pulls his eyes in that direction, a soft smile on his lips and then he finally looks back to Scarlett. «I was hoping however, you would tell me what has been going on beyond just us.»

*

«The usual troubles. Those with unusual gifts that must be rescued from harm. The President ordered attacks on the sea south of China and the country to the west. It was retaliation of a sort for an attack.» Grave tidings then don't bring a smile to her face, those grim green eyes flickering across his features. Forgive her; she's not going to tire of reading Blackagar's expressions any time soon. «The Russians seem to be involved. Now swords shake and guns are drawn. Things are so very hostile. Here we are far from the danger but they talk so much about war. War with Russia. War from above. Asgard has been quiet. No other unknown peoples appearing. Disquiet still among those who are not visibly white and human. Some things do not change, that way.»

*

«And to be done about it?» Blackagar asks Scarlett, reaching a hand out towards her and a slow look of pondering touches his eyes. «It could be… solved. All of it could be solved.» He doesn't seem to be embracing the thought of doing such, but it is voiced, it is placed out there.

*

Scarlett simply curls up against Blackagar's side, fitting herself neatly into that space afforded to her. The water may whistle in a bit once properly at a boil. The tremor of opalescent fire trails over her wrist, savagely clamping down on a lapse in restraint until the imminent threat recedes back under the surface. «I already terrorized the president with an alien army at my back. I thought maybe trying tea and a reasonable discussion would be good. Violence is not a path that solves problems. Talking does. I am an Avenger. Captain America believes in peace and I follow that. You have ideas. What are they?» She smells of neroli, and him of clean soap and the familiar signature. «Find likeminded people? Problems could be solved without destruction. Tell me what you are considering?»

*

Blackagar shakes his head slowly, «What crossed my minds is more akin to what my brother would do than I. How the world could be made to set in order or face consequence. But to do such… would be against who I am.» Still, the thought was there if only for a moment, bending the world to will. Setting it on a 'path' that may be straighter but still dangerous.

*

The kettle murmurs away, forgotten. Scarlett nods, turned such that she absorbs what warmth she can and still reads the nuanced details of their broadening capacity. «Set pieces to work to a given game. Hence why having friends in many place is advantageous to us in case we need them.» For a moment, she tips her head to brush her cheek against Blackagar's jaw. «So what now? You know I am willing to withdraw those…» A pause signals the search for the right meaning and word. «Connections? Ties?» A pair of signs confirm intent. «If it is needed for your place in the world. Who you are. We matter more to me than out there.»

*

Blackagar shakes his head, a soft brush of his cheek given back towards the head resting against his jaw. «No. I just need to study the game board a bit more to know what move to make. I do not think withdrawal is right. Not at this time.» He pauses then and sighs softly, no sound emanating just the motion of his chest. «It does mean work however.»

*

The bohemienne stirs herself only enough to reach for his hand, the steady impression of her own fingers concealed by the trailing length of her sleeve. Just that much to keep from biting too deep. «What isn't work, beloved monk of mine? But all done, you will make an informed choice and that is needed more than careless action for its own sake.» Her pulse flutters and subsides back to normal, still plucked at a somewhat more rapid pace than usual. The grin flashes ever so briefly. «It still strikes as a bit surreal to have you home. Make haste slowly, as Augustus Caesar liked to blather on about.»

*

«Haste slowly? That seems to be rather counter, isn't it?» Blackagar asks with an expression that does nothing to hide the fact that he is now amused; clearly teasing along Scarlett at this point with delay. «A day or two at home will be good for the soul, both of ours.»

*

Rogue has to silently grin, the incandescent arc igniting her brilliantly green eyes. «It is a motto you might appreciate. Act with deliberate purpose and you will succeed more quickly than if you rush into something.» Of course she feels the need to explain herself, conserving a little momentum to swallow the laughter that wants to come up. «We call those weekends, love. You do no work on them because we use a day or two at home together.» Her fingers push her bangs away; the frost is the more noticeable, a streak of moonlight through the coppery flame of high autumn. «You are tormenting me. I should demand a prize for what you put me through.» Oh, he knows, as she does.

«I thought being home was the prize.» Blackagar teases back, humored state in his eyes and he leans over and kisses the top of her head gently. «Tea. Food. Then you can see if you can keep pace, hmm?»

*

A sigh she can make without fear, mostly, of collapsing a fourteen storey building on Greenwich Village. «It is. I love you, no matter how much you vex me.» Encouragement of teasing her as much as she is falsely affronted, that. Scarlett disentangles herself only for the necessity to dart into the kitchen and pluck the whistling kettle off the element. If she has to be separated, it's going to be quick. Experience performs the selection and steeping of tea at roughly lightning speed, rote effort hurrying along those preparations. Water poured over loose-leaf globes dropped into two cups will do. She momentarily glances around the wall back at him, shaking her head in a blush of amusement.

*

This is the new normal, Blackagar on the couch relaxing and Scarlett preparing tea and some kind of meal under a roof instead of residing on a frozen island dropping care packages when it’s too hazardous to approach nearer.

As a baseline, it works.

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