6256/Fashion Waits for No One

Fashion Waits for No One
Date of Scene:	23 January 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Wasp (van Dyne), Captain America

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Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
It had started off so simply: Steve needed to borrow a tuxedo. Who better to ask than Janet?

An exhaustive forty-five minutes after arriving at Janet's office, Captain Rogers was stuck standing on a pedastal in front of a three-way mirror. He's wearing about one-third of a tuxedo-- chalk lines and thread marks adorn the cloth, and several tailors are scurrying around Steve with needle, thread, and rulers in hand.

Janet sits on the edge of her desk, not far from the stand. Her office looks like the battlefield of a tidy mind versus an artistic chaos. Her office is largely, even starkly white. Tall windows admit a lot of light into the room, which is segregated by a color wheel-- her monochromatic ouvre is a sharp contrast to the riot of colors hanging in a corner, full outfits and fabric rolls alike.

She wears low-heeled black shoes and a sleeveless red dress. A black belt encircles her waist, the same leather as her slippers. "I know, it's not a *classic* tuxedo," she reassures Steve. "But classic tuxes are totally out of fad. Coat and tails is appropriate for the Kentucky Derby, but anywhere else-- you'd look weird." She bobs a foot up and down on the end of a swinging bare calf, her desk a little too tall for her to reach the floor while sitting on it. She looks a little smugly pleased about something.

Captain America has posed:
"I didn't expect to show up in tails, so I'm glad to hear you say this." Steve is the epitome of patience where he stands, one arm now outstretched to allow a cloth tape to measure the various circumfrences of his arm as well as its length from shoulder to wrist. He dares to glance over at Janet, knowing that he won't disturb anyone in their efforts by doing so.

"I refuse to wear powder-blue, Janet. I'm putting my foot down on that now." He lets his left arm drop and now lifts the right to allow for more wrapping and stretching of the tape measuring. A little wide-eyed look of surprise reflects back at him briefly before he turns at the waist and glowers behind him. Yeah, yeah...gotta measure down the back of his legs too.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
At least the senior tailor is working with focus. Seventy, stooped, with bottle glasses and a shock of white hair, he can barely reach over his head and measure Steve's neck. But he does, working dextrously and efficiently.

The other two-- a young designer named Chad and a draper named Melissa-- were in their twenties, coiffed and well-dressed, and trying to hold back their nervous excitement at Cap's presence. Both had gawked and gasped and then gotten to work. Though, neither had refrained from fluttering their lashes at him periodically.

"Blue yes, powder no. Though I've got some chunk platform heels that'd look great with it. Clothing's cyclical, y'know. The 70s will be back."

She picks up a few colored pencils and rapidly strokes out a few arching lines on the paper. It's turned around and showed to Steve. Geometric lines describe a figure that's unmistakeably Steve Rogers, Dorito-shaped torso and jawline alike. A deep navy blue jacket is blocked out around the stick figure and black outlines it. "Perfect color for you. I'll look awesome under the bright lights and subtly dark in a nightclub."

Captain America has posed:
"No heels," replies Steve in a monotone. He's holding very still now in order to help out the senior tailor and, as such, only the slide of his eyes to watch Janet in the reflection of the mirror gives away his mild pique. Fashionistas. Oy. "I'm sorry, you need me to what?" He leans in a little towards the senior tailer and then nods. The arm outstretched curls in to flex his bicep for its measurement.

Hearing the sound of paper rustling, his eyes rise to consider the brief sketch. "That shade of blue's not bad," he allows. "Oh, and I need to be able to move in this and not bust seams. I mean running across a room suddenly. Functional, Janet -- not just fashionable."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Talk to your tailor," Janet says promptly, and gestures at the elder fellow. "He's the expert on how to cut it."

The older fellow rises up to his near five-seven height, squinting up at Steve. He starts jabbering rapidly in Italian, and even for Steve's linguistics skills, the old fellow jabbers so fast and with such a heavy accent that it's barely intelligible. The long and short of it is that he seems unwilling to compromise on the style of cut to accomodate Steve's insistence on agility.

"Steve, it's for a fancy party, not an assault course," Janet says. "You're gonna look weird with loose seams. Just let him do his thing and we'll sort out body armor later."

She rests her weight on her left palm, arm locked out. "What's the fundraiser for again?" she asks him. "I'm surprised I didn't hear about it. Usually they make the rounds for the society pages. And ... you've got a date?" she asks, with a feigned nonchalance.

Captain America has posed:
"I will speak with him." And by Steve's conviction, he sounds like he means business. His mouth opens to begin discussions with the white-haired gentleman -- and boy, does he have a perfectly logical and fairly convincing argument to deliver -- but between the sudden avalanche of Italian and its speed, he's left in the dust. The bewildered little frown might be charming to see on the soldier's normally stoic features. "I'd rather sort body armor out now..." he mutters under his breath, sighing to himself as he raises his other arm in a curl. Those are going to have to be either some loose sleeves or a forgiving material to accomodate his biceps after all.

"The reason you didn't hear about it is that it's a favor for a friend in the military," he explains as he then pulls both shoulders back for the tape measure horizontal across the planes of his pectorals. "The guest list isn't public. I didn't put in for a date, no. I don't intend to stay long."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Oh! Well, I'm sure your friend is gonna appreciate you being there" Janet tells Steve. "Even if it's just touch and go. Is it one of those lame official things, then?" she inquires, curiously.

"I've been roped into a few of those. I don't mind the society thing but this was some Senator's formal dinner. I think? It was his son who needed a date, and his dad's golf buddy played with my cousin Bill, and Bill asked me if I'd do him a solid," she says, eyes rolling as she blithely chatters on. "So I showed up and oh my god it was at least an hour of speeches, and awards, and the guys kept standing and sitting and standing and sitting-- I was bored to tears. And not a one of them said *anything* about my dress," she says, and scowls at Steve as the current representation of men in general and Army guys in particular.

Captain America has posed:
"A shame," agrees the Captain in droll humor to the absolute travesty that is a lack of appreciation of fashion, especially worn by THE Janet van Dyne. "It will have official notes and a few speeches, I'm sure, but nothing to that extent." He relaxes through his shoulders now and tries not to curl his toes at the tickling of the cloth measuring tape aligning to his spine. "Just a fundraiser." And someone's being deliberately vague given the polite mask reflected back at himself from the mirrors.

From down below, on the main floor, the sound of a sudden gunshot -- BANG.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's sketchbook goes flying and she leaps off the desk, alarm on her features. She skitter towards Steve, weight over her toes and a tension in her shoulders. "That sounds like... was that a gun?" she demands.

The three tailors are peering into the hallway. "Hey! You three! Get back from the door!" she snaps at them with an uncharacteristic tone. She starts tugging at her dress. "I swear to god, someone better be *shot* down there or I'm going to *make* them bleed." She shoves her dress into Steve's hand and slaps a golden metal plate to her sternum. Black fabric darts along her body like a lapping tide, covering her in a sleek bodysuit and guarding her body with thin metal armor pieces.

Captain America has posed:
The Captain's off the raised pedestal and lunging for his discarded jeans even as the three tailors make to look out into the hall, potentially a thing of personal danger.

"It's a gun," confirms Steve, hopping along on one foot as he tries to work his other leg into the pants. "Go! I'll be right behind you!" He knows the Wasp can beat him to the scene and be nearly impossible to spot in the process. That he ends up standing there with Janet's red dress haphazardly thrown over his arm and one leg still half into the jeans is another matter entirely.

The sound of sudden demands, not clear from this distance given the speaker is one floor down, galvanizes him. The red dress is thrown to the floor -- woe! -- and he buttons his jeans on the fly, forgetting entirely about his bomber jacket and boots. Bare feet and a t-shirt it is as he charges out. "Stay here!" That's a command -- or reminder -- for the three assistants.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet lunges forward and vanishes in a flickering of movement. Wings buzz and a two-inch tall woman zips into the hallway, tugging a thin hood and clear mask over her face. Hardly her classic attire, but serviceable in a pinch.

She buzzes with a flickering of translucent wings, moving fast and with a deliberation that few insects could replicate. Down a vent, through the air system, and out again in a flash a floor below. She buzzes once in a tight loop to gauge the scenario.

A single attacker, waving a hand cannon around. Strung out looking, tweaking on something? It's hard to say. But he has her secretary in a headlock and is dragging the poor girl around, yelling incoherently.

When he raises his gun as if to shoot in the air again, Janet materializes out of nowhere overhead and kicks the fellow right in the jaw from his blindside. "Drop the gun!" she shouts at him, voice high and tight with anger.

Captain America has posed:
Steve has to bypass the wonderful shortcuts by dint of his usual size and build. He runs down the long hallway towards the service stairs, carefully brushing past people as best he can. Of course folks are sticking their heads out of their offices. Even as Janet emerges from the ceiling, he's opening the door leading to the stairwell. "Get back inside!" he shouts over his shoulder even as he disappears behind the self-shutting door. Down the stairs, bip-bip-bip-bip in bare feet, and he opens this door far more carefully.

A woman clutching a half-emptied manila folder of sketches is curled into this corner. She looks up at him as he slips out into the short access hallway, out of immediate sight of the gunman, and he places a finger to his lips. "It'll be okay," he mouths, accenting the need for silence again with the same gesture. She nods, her blond curls bouncing in flawless waves against the brilliant emerald green of her pants-suit. Steve sneaks forwards along the marble flooring and carefully peers around the wall to see the gunman with his back towards him. Now to...

...watch Janet appear out of nowhere with her usual spectacular flare and land a solid blow to the gunman's face. Ouch -- that's gotta hurt. The gunman stumbles, but doesn't drop his weapon. However, he does release his hold on the secretary. She falls to her knees and makes to crab-walk in a panic out of immediate reach as the man straightens in place, stunned if not down. Steve darts out into view and snags the woman about her waist. She lets out a winded yelp as he abruptly darts back the way he came, aiming to disappear back out of view. The man turns in place, hearing this, and sets his teeth in an enraged leer as he raises the gun to shoot at Steve's unprotected back!

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Ohshi-!" When the gunman recovers and swings his gun around the fashionista leaps into the air and disappears again. The odds of someone hitting her with a handgun are about like getting hit by a car in the middle of an empty field, but she clears his arc of fire almost instantly with an upwards, buzzing trail.

Janet moves so fast that only Steve has a chance of tracking her motion. She zips up and around in a blurring arc towards that upraised barrel. Then again, a woman in gold and black appears with hands wrapped around the upraised gun hand. She executes a flying armbar throw with all the momentum of being suddenly full sized, giving her tremendous power and force to go with the classic judo throw.

Captain America has posed:
Executing a barrel roll in mid-leap, Steve cushions the landing of the young secretary with his own body. They slide out of sight just after the gun levels dead on their path of travel -- thank god for Janet's abrupt re-sizing and the kinetic energy that flows in its wake. The gunman lets out a pained wheeze and travels summarily through the air to smash into a nearby display of last year's top designs for the top fashion show in Milan. The chaos!!! White, blank-faced mannequins break and their body parts, some pieces still stuck inside clothing, fly like bowling pins.

The gun, still live, is dropped but thankfully does not fire. Modern technology has done its best to prevent such a mishap. It slides on beyond the groaning hostage-taker and bumps into the bottom of the glass door. He's stunned, but still trying to get to his feet, broken jaw be damned. PCP is convincing this guy he's invincible. "Gimme back mah money!" He screams at Janet, a vein popping in his forehead, even as he makes to shamble at her, apparently now going to use his bare hands. The gun is already forgotten.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet yelps and leaps backwards, disappearing into the air. She evades his swinging fists with a buzzing of her wings and shoots downwards. The Wasp twists in a spinning kick while zipping back to full size and slams a foot into the gunman's knee to knock his feet out from under him.

"Stop breaking my things!" Janet screeches at the gunman, and vanishes before she can get squished. She whips around and goes to full size, straddling the gunman's stomach and holding his shirtfront in her left hand. Her right fist curls in readiness. "I will knock your block off, you creep!" she shouts, her normally girlish features twisted into an angry scowl.

Captain America has posed:
Crunch -- nothing like the sound of connective tissue giving. A bit like wet popcorn under a car tire. It's enough pain to register through the padding of the drugs and the gunman goes pale even as he collapses, uttering a shriek to rival that of the incensed petite fashionista. His flailing hands swing nowhere near her, given her agility and the comparative lack of speed of his larger limbs.

Steve peers out from that short hallway, having ushered the secretary over into the care of the pants-suited woman. He begins to creep towards Janet and the prone gunman, shocked by pain enough to remain still beneath her for now. Stooped low in his travels and barefooted, he makes no sound as he collects up one of the mannequin's arms. Holding it by its wrist, he subtly gestures to Janet that he'll throw it at her for use if need be -- he's about a dozen feet away now.

On a dime, the wide eyed maniac suddenly smiles toothily again and begins laughing. Inside his mouth, loosened teeth and one apparently swallowed speak to the damage done. "Screw you, fairy lady!" And he makes to bite at her left hand in deranged earnesty.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet yelps when she's bit at and responds by slamming a kneecap into his ribs. She's not strong enough to do real damage, but it distracts enough for her to go for a cross-collar choke. Slight as she is, she doesn't have a lot of options for knocking out someone with a single punch.

She twists a hip to keep all her weight on his collar, ducking her head between her shoulders to ward off punches. She doesn't quite her her weight set and she's small enough he might realize he can just lift her off of him.

"Steve, *help*!" she cries out, wincing away from flailing hands.

Captain America has posed:
Steve sprints over the very second he sees the struggle begin to shift in terms of power. The crazed man might not weigh much himself, all near-emaciated leanness beneath his wrinkled clothing, but he's not happy about his airway being so severely restricted. Janet is at very real risk of a human bite happening when the mannequin's arm comes down at a golf-swing's angle, thicker half to make an audible //CLONK// with the top of the guy's skull.

Still, Steve pulled his power -- this guy is no Red Skull, even if he's turned the same shade after the semi-chokeout. He's dazed now and limp beneath Janet's negligible weight. The Captain tosses away the mannequin arm, now having little use for it. "Roll him over, we'll tie off his hands with this."

In Steve's other hand, a beautiful length of high-end silk in a pattern of koi fish and water lilies on a black background.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet falls backwards on her rear when Steve swings the mannequin's arm. "Look out!" she yelps out loudly and with a lack of gratitude. She crabwalks on her palms and kicks away.

"Nice swing, though," she concedes a few seconds later. She looks at the scrap in Steve's hand and yelps in alarm. "That's like... a thousand dollar piece of silk! Where did you get that?" Her shoes scrabble for purchase and she reaches to snatch it from Steve and the jaws of being lost as evidence. "Use your belt or something! Or... take his shoelaces and tie his pinkies together. I don't know. Oogh! The.. JERK!" she sputters, scowling angrily at the gunman.

Captain America has posed:
"Janet!" Steve splutters, aghast. "It's //fabric!!!// My belt is upstairs!" It lies on the floor, ignored and discarded in his haste to get down to aid in keeping the gunman from doing further damage. He glances behind him and quickly reaches out for a far less expensive scarf that has fallen as a result of the scattered display mannequins. Bummer if Janet complains; the cherry-red fringed length is summarily used to wrap twice around the skinny gunman's arms once the Captain turns him to his stomach and then six times about his wrists. The guy is going nowhere even if he wanted to.

Running a hand down his face, the blond then cranes his head to look out the glass walls of the front of the office. "Somebody called the cops, right?" he asks the room as a whole, scanning faces.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet takes the piece of silk, folds it up, and puts it on the counter with a fussy sort of neatness as Steve detains the individual. She looks down when he efficiently lashes the fellow's wrists to one another. At Steve's glance, she gives him a sultry, wickedly smug look. "Why Steve, I thought only Navy boys knew how to tie knots like that," she says, her tone coyly suggestive.

She brushes her hands down her sides and looks around at the wide, startled eyes. "Okay everyone, crisis averted," Janet calls, holding up her hands. "Go back to work. Michelle, please call the cops, and then let HR know to schedule a crisis counselor to come in." She moves away from Steve and heads towards her secretary, distress and relief on her face. "Oh my god, I'm glad you're okay!" she tells her, face creased with tension. "That must have been scary. C'mon, come sit down over here-- someone give me that wool stole, she's cold-- sit here-- okay, wonderufl," she says, and settles her secretary down.

"Okay. Everyone stay here until the cops come and take witness statements, and then you can knock off for the day," she tells everyone.

Captain America has posed:
Score one for Janet. A blush suffuses Steve's cheeks even as he tucks his chin and rolls his lips. "'Least it wasn't the double overhand figure-eight fisherman's bird glove," he mutters down at the druggie's back. "Nobody knows how to undo that one." The man doesn't do much more than groan quietly. He's still seeing stars.

As the fashionista begins to delegate to her underlings, the Captain elects to remain kneeling beside the man. He rests an arm on his own knee and observes, quietly looking around with an attentive glint to his eyes. No one appears to be a cohort to this maniac, not by their behavior. Janet's secretary accepts the wool stole and thanks her between quiet sniffles, her shoulders twitching with each inhale.

"Local PD is on their way, Miss van Dyne," assures Chad, having finally come downstairs once things stopped going crash and smash and sounding like a ruckus. Melissa is standing off to one side, her hands held over her mouth. Oh -- oh, that was //her// display trashed to no end. Sad day!

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
It doesn't take long for the cop to show up. Statements are given, the perp is arrested and hauled off, and after it's done Janet sends everyone home for the day, with the admonishment to talk to a counselor if they need to. The enitre time Janet projects an air of crisp self-assurance that stiffens spines and stirs the morale of the shaken staff as they file out. A model's smile on her face the entire time, betraying nothing.

She beckons Steve along and heads back to her office level, shooing the tailors away and closing herself back up in the room. Once the door shuts she turns to Steve and buries her forehead against his sternum, hugging her fingers under her chin. Her breathing is slow and forced as she regulates her heart and tries to get the adrenaline under control.

Captain America has posed:
Steve attempts to remain off to one side when not directly interacting with the authorities. He reports what he heard and observed, crisp in detail as he always is, and once he's certain that everyone's going to listen to Janet -- and not linger out of morbid curiosity as to what they just saw go down in the building's lobby -- he does follow her back upstairs.

"Could have been -- " He pauses his comment began after he stepped into the office as he suddenly feels the impact of her slight weight against his chest. It's awkward, for a second or two, but then his hand rises to pat her gently once on the back and then it lingers. No attempt at being overtly friendly or forward, just professionalism on his end. "You did great, Janet," he assures her quietly and then he blows his own sigh, one big enough to ruffle loose hairs in her coiffing. "Could have been a lot worse." Thus, his initial thought finished.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Ugh," Janet agrees, her voice muffled. She takes a big breath of air, inhaling through her nose. "You are a pessimist and terrible at being comforting. But I like your cologne." She gives his sternum a pat that's more reassuring than anything else and beams up at him, then with one more shrug of her shoulders she exhales away her tension. "Okay. Thanks. I just ... needed a few seconds. I'm glad you were here. I think I'm a little out of practice," she confesses, and rubs a gloved hand along her arm over the black fabric. "I should have laid him out with that first hit and I totally biffed it, didn't I?"

Captain America has posed:
The Captain's lips rise in a little smile as he looks down at her. "Pragmatic, not pessimistic. I'm not gonna tell you that you nailed the first hit because you're right. You didn't. You didn't make contact with the right part of your foot. But that throw? That one was executed well. It would've sent //me// flying if I'd been on the receiving end of it," he notes. His hands are back at his hip pockets now, with thumbs hooked as they always are. "You still disarmed him and that was the most important part. He was clearly on something; without his gun, he was much less of a threat."

Glancing around the floor, Steve espies his belt. He walks over and stoops to collect it up, the better to start threading it through the loops on his jeans. "You can always spar with the others in the gym downstairs in the mansion if you want practice, remember that. All's well that ends well though." His eyes twinkle as he looks to her again, paused in his stance. "Don't sell yourself short."

Bad puns are bad.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet makes a face like she stepped in something, though it's ruined by a sharp giggle and a grin. The fashionista grabs a foam carving ball and flings it at Steve with all the force of a wadded ball of paper.

"Funny," she clucks at him. "Short jokes. Way to win over the ladies." She touches the gold emblem over her sternum. The armor plates shift and click into one another and her bodysuit sags and zips away, leaving her in her designer underthings. "Where is my dress," she mutters, without any self-consciousness, and tosses her super-suit away. The red fabric is espied and she squawks in alarm, diving for it. "Steve! I thought you were holding this!" she says, sounding disappointed and upset. The fashionista moves to a hanger and drapes her dress from it, and attacks it with a lint brush and damp fabric cleaning cloth.

Captain America has posed:
Watching the foam ball bounce from his chest and roll away off to one side, Steve simply shrugs afterwards, not in the least abashed by her half-hearted reproach. "You can't help being an outlier," he quips once more, his smiling beginning to reach dimple-dom. However, he swiftly realizes that he had in fact tossed the red dress aside in his haste to reach downstairs and turns a smooth about-face to instead admire the various decorations on Janet's office wall. The tips of his ears pink all over again.

"Didn't have a spare hand to hold it," he tries insofar as explanations go, actually rocking one onto his heels once as he folds his arms. Where are his boots. That's a safe thing to look for. Where are they...ah, over by the pedestal.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet gets her dress cleaned and wiped down and then wriggles into it again. It's pulled into place and she fusses over it until it's draping properly, then pads over to step into her discarded slippers.

"I think it's ok. Nothing got torn," she tells Steve. Stepping into her slippers earns her a few inches of height and she moves to seat herself on her desk again, rubbing her palms against her face to wake herself up. "I guess I'll have to hire a detective or something. See if we can figure out what that nutbag wanted. I'm pretty sure I didn't short him on any shipments from our winter line of clothing."