12794/Blizzard vs Dinner Party

Blizzard vs Dinner Party
Date of Scene:	05 March 2021
Location:	John Aaron's homestead
Synopsis:	Nat and Alexander talk about the past during a winter storm.
Cast of Characters:	Phobos, Black Widow (Romanoff)

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Phobos has posed:
    The saying is March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. It was a saying that had defied Alexander Aaron's understanding for a good several years as New York and its surrounding environs are rarely subject to much punishment in the waning months of Winter, just one of those sayings put down to perhaps the changing of times or to a different understanding of the world. In some ways the youthful Olympian simply figured people were exaggerating the whole concept of blizzards.

He was wrong.

For during the start of the month, with little warning, the stormfront had rolled in off of the ocean. Some might blame mystical elements, others might proclaim that some of the very real Gods might be angry, yet there was nothing magical about the roiling thunderous clouds that washed over the great city and its nearby townships. Simply old Mother Nature stretching her limbs and reaching out to cover the world in white.

It started as a drizzle, the wee hours of the first day of March. Then the temperature dropped and it became a steady flutter of snow. Until finally the sun went down and the storm began. Sleet and a sheet of white fell from the heavens, lowering visibility and casting the world in that hue of grey in the dark. Across the news the city tried to deal with it, a 24 hour weather report was running, and a steady ticker streamed along the bottom of the television as people watched. Images of windswept streets with already a foot of snow weighing heavily on the parked cars was seen. For most it was just a matter of hunkering down and enduring. But for others... it disrupted their social plans.

In the home of John Aaron the front door opened with a /fwumpf/ wind howling through the open way as the heavily clad figure stepped within. The snow shovel thumped loudly against the wall of the breezeway as he started to divest himself of the long long scarf that wrapped around his neck. Snow melted and sloughed off of him as he stamped a boot here and there. Hard to tell who it was until he lifted his voice to speak to the guest who had been so polite to show punctually for the only dinner guest who made it to the planned gathering. "Alright walk's shoveled."

Even for an Olympian there was a hint of exasperation to his voice, since though shoveling wasn't exactly taxing his frame and his endurance, it was still tedious. Finally, however, he got that scarf off and called out, "Kinda pointless since it's just going to fill up in like an hour anyways." But it'd make a difference to his father if he showed up in that hour to know Alexander had taken that effort. For it was his duty as his son of course.

Inside the cape house that served as the cover for John Aaron's home it was nice. The decor was minimal and homey. There were a few archaic weapons on the walls, antiques assuredly, some trophies from battles and victories past, but also pieces of artwork from fallen civilizations. Yet the main thing about the place that likely the visitors might well be appreciative of... is the flickering fireplace that glows in the subdued lighting.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
That guest was curled up in an oversized chair, high backed, cushy and comfortable. It obviously was built to support the frame of John Aaron himself, one that was far larger than the diminutive form curled upon the upholstered cushion. It was to the side of the hearth, allowing for that warmth to be felt easily by the occupant.

There was a small table by the chair and another by the sofa nearby. On the one be sofa sat a cup of hot chocolate, marshmallows having melted a bit and the drink still quite hot. A matching cup was in the hands of that guest.

Natasha was dressed comfortably in a pair of soft jeans that were quite faded, obviously having been worn for many years most likely. There was that lived-in quality to them, instead of store-bought pre-bleached. She had on a heavy ecru colored sweater and her red hair was down, falling to about the shoulder blade. Her boots were sitting by the front door, thus her feet were just covered in a pair of warm gray socks. This allowed those feet to be curled up in the seat with her, legs bent so her feet were to the side a bit, leaving her leaning a little closer to the fireplace. She sipped her hot chocolate, glancing to the door as the abominable snowman entered only to shed the snowy clothing and reappear as one of her hosts.

"Look at it this way. If you didn't do it now, you would have twice as much to try to move later. Better to stay ahead of it a bit and it will be nice for when the others arrive." If. She thought it but didn't say it.

Phobos has posed:
His answer to her statement is just a lifting of his eyebrows, a widening of his eyes, and a nod as if agreeing with her in its entirety. Though she'll lose sight of him as he pulls that heavy jacket off and hangs it up in the breezeway, he snow dripping and melting down its sides. He takes a moment to pull out his cellphone from his pocket, stomping his boots a few times before he begins to unlace them since if he wore those wet heavy leather things into the room on his dad's hard wood floors there would be hell to pay.

"Still no word from him. Though got word back from the other two people that were coming." His nose crinkles as he smiles a little at the screen of his phone, "They're... surprised I was checking with them to see if they were still coming. Apparently I'm a mad man for even imagining it." That said he swipes his thumb across the screen again and then tosses the small device into the glass bowl that sits on the end table near the door, where keys and such devices are left. He moves into the room.

"Do you need to get anywhere? I could..." He looks to the back and frowns, perhaps imagining the work that would need to be done to clear enough of a space for a helicopter or VTOL to set down back there, and then likely imagining how cheesed off the neighbors might be to have such a vehicle hovering so low over the house. He looks back, "Could do what needs to be done," He settles on that fact since he would if there was an emergency or she had a mission to go on. "I know you're a busy person."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
"I am certain I can make my way home if you want to cancel," Natasha offers, slipping her feet off the chair and scooting forward to the edge so they will actually touch the floor and she doesn't look like a four year old with feet dangling. "I didn't think it was going to get this bad. The news said a storm, but I think this surprised them all." She glanced briefly at the tv then back to Alexander.

A sip of her hot cocoa then she sets that cup on the table next to her. "I took the night off for the party, so I'm not expected at Shield or the like. Unless some major catastrophe happens and the Avengers call. In which case I'm sure they will show up in spectacular fashion like they seem to do."

She grins a little at the idea of the poor quiet neighborhood being host to the Avengers heading off to save the world. People would be talking around here for months. It wouldn't help the Aarons keep a low profile.

"But if no one else is going to make it, I probably should be on my way. I'd text your father, but he would likely just glare at the thing and curse me when I know his thumbs and small electronics do not mix well."

Phobos has posed:
A small flicker of a smile is seen, if only for a moment, likely conjured by the mental image of his father trying to manipulate his cellphone, let alone any technological item. But he shakes his head as he walks into the room, big woolen socks making his footsteps silent. Clearly the next generation in tactical stealth gear, giganto wool socks. Especially these he's wearing that are orange and grey striped. Sure they make a fashion statement, but they are super warm and toasty.

"As I have had it explained to me before at length, in his absence I am to stand as lord of his household and see to his obligations. Though that rarely includes social ones." His lip curves up a little, "You found the cocoa, so that's good. There's a roast ham in the fridge I can slice up and make something to eat if you're hungry."

As he says this he sits down on the coffee table nearby, close enough to scoop up the cocoa and sip gingerly from it. Then he takes a swallow and sighs with contentment as the warm liquid washes into his body, spreading the warmth through his nerve endings. A deep breath and he nods to her, "Thanks," For making the cocoa.

"But you're welcome to stay."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
The explanation of his duties in the absence of his father has Natasha looking a bit amused. "That would be funny if I couldn't actually hear him saying those words. Ou tloud. And not joking." There were few people who could pull it off, but she somehow knew John could. All things considered.

"I found the coffee too. But cocoa sounded nicer in this sort of weather. It just seemed the proper choice for when you came back in to warm up. Would you like the chair?" she asks, automatically moving to hop forward to her feet and stand so he can be closer to the fire than the coffee table. Which isn't a seat. Yet she manages to not say that out loud. Not like it was fragile and going to break with the Olympians weight on it.

"Seriously, I don't want to impose. This whole thing was your father's idea and I don't want you stuck having to try and entertain me. Though something to eat before heading out would be good. You have anything other than ham?" She turns to head toward the kitchen in her own stealth-socks.

Phobos has posed:
"It wouldn't be an imposition." He shakes his head though as she offers the seat, though he does rise from his own. He takes the cocoa with him, however. A sip is taken and he smiles to himself. "Besides out there it's..."

She can see him make that mental check, and before he says that she'd have a hard time with it she can see him make that mental comment to himself. Yes it's hard and crappy out there. But...

"I mean, I know you are you. So you'd be able to make it. But If I let you out on a night like this, I wouldn't hear the end of it." Which is true to be fair. Then his smile returned, easily given as those pale eyes met hers. "So I can at least feed you, and we can pass an hour or two. Or until you get bored then I can walk you to the train station... if they're still running. Alright?"

That said he finishes his stroll toward the kitchen and she might well hear the ceramic click of his mug being set on the counter, then the subtle rush of air as the refrigerator door is opened.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
As he takes up the spot in front of the fridge, Natasha opts to not go try peeking around him to see what else is there. Instead she leans against bar between the kitchen and the dining area, arms and elbows atop it as she watches him. "It would be our little secret. We wouldn't have to tell your father. Or I could just take you down and tie you up so you couldn't stop me." Thing is, she is positive she could. But it is a joke and was said as such, tone light and playful.

"Seriously, the ham is fine. Sandwiches and cocoa by a nice fire as the snow continues to pile for you to shovel later." That was not very nice. At all. Reminding him that, as lovely as the falling snow might be in some ways, the nightmare is just accumulating for more work.

"Maybe come chips or such to go with it? I mean what do Olympians keep in their fridge? I was expecting one of two things. More meat that you hunted yourselves or some Greek fair. Finding out you are like the rest of us is jus--"

At that moment the room went black. To be fair, every room did other than the one with the fireplace. A glance to the windows showed no glow of street lights outside either and the other houses were dark. "Oh dear. Hope people have fireplaces and wood burning stoves or this could be bad."

Phobos has posed:
She'll hear him exhale a breath, just through his nose, a close thing approximating a laugh though it slips more toward a sound of a harumph, sounding that hint of disapproval at her threat to tie him up downstairs. He even shoots a /look/ at her over his shoulder tinged with a hint of incredulity. But he offers his own rejoinder as he murmurs in that rough gravelly tone he affects when his temper threatens. And curiously enough he sounds /so/ much like his father in that instant.

"Last time you took me down was luck." He points at her reflection in the glistening chrome of the fridge, as if reminding her of that utterly true fact which cannot possibly be interpreted another way. But then he straightens and says.

"We have..." Turning around he holds out a hand, "A package of green beans, two squash, and the ham. No bread. Gimme..."

Then the power flickers and /whumpf/ all the lights go out suddenly leaving them both in darkness with him holding those veggies in his hands. Yet it's only a moment... two...

Before there's a low /cha-chunk!/ that is heard down below in the basement and a whir as the generator kicks on, the lights flickering several times and coming back to life though perhaps not as bright and more subdued than before. "I umm, yeah. That's not good."

A few steps take him toward the window and he peers outside. Through the tree line he can perhaps see a hint of the silhouette of the neighbor's house a ways down the street, but everything is pitch black in that neighborhood.

"Ah that's not good at all." He chews on his lower lip for a moment, then turns back to look at her with a slight smile. "Here, let me see what I can do with this and what seasonings we have, I'll finagle something."

And with that the young Olympian moves into the kitchen once again, intent on creating what he can.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
"I never win by luck. Keep dreaming, boy," Natasha says back, giving him a wink as she uses that nickname his father has for him. He sounded /so/ much like John with that gravel in his voice she had almost burst out laughing. They may have their at-odds moments, but he is more like his father than he will ever want to admit.

As the power kicks back on, she takes a moment to look up at the lights then back to him, tracking his walk to the window. "Let me guess. Generator? Why am I not surprised your father has a generator?"

She wanders off to the living room but returns a moment later with her cup of cocoa and hops up on a reinforced barstool. At least there, dangling feet don't make her look like a child. It's meant to be tall.

"Do you know your neighbors to know who might need something if the power stays off long?"

Phobos has posed:
"Think so," Is Alexander's response, "Will check in the morning, though," Yet as he talks he's digging through the cabinets, the sound of the wooden doors opening and closing follows close on after his words even as he digs around. Only to finally murmur a quiet, 'Ah.' as he finds what he's looking for.

Turning around he holds a metal basket of some kind and proceeds to rinse it out, only then noticing that she had left but was returning in that instant. Then she hops up onto the bar stool and if she's looking close enough she might see his smile before he turns his head, perhaps amused at those small ways she perhaps tries to hide that... height difference.

Into that metal basket, however, go the vegetables and a few slices of ham that he tears off the large hunk of meat. Yet it's only after reaching for the salt and pepper does he seem satisfied with his efforts and then he turns around, "C'mon." He tells her and gestures with a shoulder.

To the oven? No. Instead it's back into the living room, to that hearth, and there upon the swinging hook arm right next to the fireplace he sets the basket there right on that twist of metal then proceeds to open the metal curtains in front of that fire. With a faint creak he swings the basket over the flame and leaves it there, taking the next few steps back over to scoop up his cocoa and then /drop/ into a seat on the couch, finally taking another sip.

"That should be good in a bit, let me know if you smell it burning." That said he pulls the comforter up and closer to him, tucking his stockinged feet underneath it and hunkering down now with the cover. "S'gonna get cold since the heat kicks down a notch when the generator is online. Here..." And as he says that he'll toss a blanket her way from beside the couch.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
When he tells her to come on, Natasha's brow knits together a bit in confusion. Then she watches him heading for the living room. She hops down and pads along behind him in her stealth socks, completely silent. She tilts her head to the side as she stands watching him pull the hook over then she has the a-ha moment as she figures it out.

Back to the giant chair and curled back up in it like a cat seeking the warm spot in the house. She sips her cocoa then sets the cup on the table by her as she gets settled in.

She watches curiously as the basket is swung into the fireplace above the flames. "That should be wonderful. I didn't realize you used it for cooking as well as ambiance and heat. Guessing another of your father's many surprises. Though cooking that way has been within his lifetime. Another of the things he felt should be part of your education?"

Phobos has posed:
"Well..." She can perhaps hear the brief moment of hesitation there as he leans forward a little, adjusting the swing of the arm that holds the basket, then he settles back in opposite her, pulling the comforter up over his chest and arms and becoming just a floating head above that blanket hiding his body there in that muted light. His lip curves as he tells her, "At first he had just a spit. But then..."

He looks to the side and back at her, perhaps hesitant for some reason to maybe damage that image she has of his father. Yet he does press on as he murmurs, "I showed him what the frontier people used, and at first he didn't like it. You know, not exactly a big fan of change. But over time he got used to it."

So perhaps in some ways the exchange with his father was a two-way street as Alexander grew older. "Though he argued for a while. How there was nothing wrong with a spit, and char put hair on a man's chest." His lip twists a little as she can likely almost hear the God of War's voice.

But then he turns to look at that fire, the light illuminating his pale features with an almost eerie glow. He takes a deep breath as for an instant his thoughts wander, then he says sidelong, "You know, I know for most parents their kids will always be their kids. I thought after everything maybe things might change in a way. Not that he doesn't respect me in his own way, but he still does the whole 'Boy' thing." As she well illustrated.

"Thought mebbe after the war, he might see me differently. But then I realized after seeing how his father treats him that Gods. They don't really change."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
"It isn't just gods," Natasha says as she takes that blanket he threw her way and pulls it around her. For now her arms are still out from beneath so she can pick up her cocoa again, cradling the cup in her hands. It's cooling but it still tastes good at least. She sips.

"That's just parents. Their children are always their children. It is hard to let go, to accept that they are adults. When they look at them, they are still that baby they held so long ago. Yet blended, with the adult they have become. So don't stress too much that it's different for you. That's normal. For mere mortals as well."

She smiles a bit, glancing to the fire and watching the flames dance as they do their work on heating up the food. "Having your aging altered thanks to that time away, it didn't help him to adjust any more easily. Give him time. Obviously he is already listening to you." She nods toward the fire as she looks back over to Alexander. "And he will do more so as time passes." Then a grin. "Though you will likely be 'boy' the rest of your life. I know people who still introduced children that were in their seventies who were introducing their fifty-something child as their 'baby' still."

Phobos has posed:
There's a slight scoff that comes from him as Alexander shakes his head, but he does not give voice to any words that might refute her. Instead he lowers his blanket a little to grab his cocoa again and takes a sip. Then another, before he sets it down back on the table near at hand with a soft click.

"Different for us, I think. At least in some ways. From what I've seen my family is more... raw. Everything they do is broad in gesture, sweeping in emotion, like every one of them is on the stage every moment of every day." Curious he doesn't include himself in that statement. But then he adds, "Though it could be because of how we are."

Only then does he include himself in that august company, even as he tightens up his grip on the comforter and pulls his legs up under it. His pale eyes reflect the flicker of the fire even as he tilts his head. "How we view ourselves seems to be very important to how we are. Affects things."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
That's interesting, to say the least. He keeps himself apart from them. Doesn't include himself as one. Except in the final moment but that is because it is more personal. Lots of psychological hints for those that know how to read them, combined with his body language and micro expressions. Yet, Natasha is just having a polite conversation and never lets on to any of that.

"Oh? I was not aware things worked that way. So, if you see yourselves in a positive light, you have more power? Or how does that work?"

She pushes off the blanket and hops off her chair, moving toward the entryway. There she digs in a pocket of her jacket and pulls out something the comes back.

It looks like a wine bottle but there is no label on it. She sets it down on the table by her cocoa as she takes up her spot on the chair again, feet tucked, blanket getting settled back properly with a few flicks and smoothing hands.

Phobos has posed:
His attention follows after her, and she can read that subtle spark of curiousity in his eyes when the bottle is set down. But he does not speak to that curiousity yet, instead he turns back to the fire and seems to ponder it for a time, eyebrow lifting thoughtfully. He takes a breath, holds it, then says. "These are just... the meanderings of my thoughts since I've known them."

He looks back then to her, as if to make sure she's taking his words with the needed grain of salt, but then he elaborates. "It's just you look at my family, and they fit their roles in a lot of ways. How they look, how they speak. Take my grandfather for example, Zeus."

Alexander smiles a little as he meets her blue eyes, biting his lower lip for an instant before he says, "He's the patriarch of the family, and when you see him he is this strong but aged man, white hair, grey beard. Yet he's not the eldest of us. His brothers are actually older, but they look like my father's age. My cousin cupid, however..." He uncurls a hand, "He's like a babe, and Hermes... presents himself as younger than myself. But it fits the role as how they see themselves. Hermes is the trickster, Cupid the cycle of life, Zeus is our progenitor and source of power in some ways. And it affects how they behave too sometimes."

Then he looks back to her, "And it got me to thinking, will I become like that? Or worse am I already like that?"

The youth shakes his head, "I know a long time passed when my father and I fought. No idea how long. Am I just this way because this is how I see myself in my mind's eye. I don't know."

Then he turns a slight smile to her and says, "I think that's one of the reasons I went to SHIELD. To try and find the truth of. Me."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
While he speaks, she pays close attention. Her eyes are on him, she gives a nod of the head here or there to note she is listening. Active listening, not distracting herself with that bottle for now. It's something that can wait because this is obviously important.

Mostly as insight into her friend, his father, and the family they are both part of. Though also letting her learn more about Alexander. The one she knew as a boy who suddenly was a man overnight from her point of view. Though they had been back a time, it still was a shock to the system. Even for someone like her for whom age worked differently than most people.

"So, they appear as they want to appear. Are what they want to be. That's a valid question then, to wonder if you are or if you become." She looks him over a moment. "But you still age. Or have been to this point. Does that stop somewhere along the way with Olympians? I know Asgardians seem to still age, albeit so slowly as to be almost stopped entirely."

She does reach for the bottle now, popping off the top and pouring a teensy-weensy bit into her cocoa. She offers the bottle his way. "Asgardian ale. I had brought it for your father as a gift since I know your constitution makes it difficult to enjoy human liquors."

Phobos has posed:
"I don't know," Alex says as he shifts his legs under that comforter, the bumps of his knees being seen as he settles cross-legged there under the fabric. "Could also be an aspect of the... role each of us has. The Fates all look wizened and are crone-like at times, but then at times they can seem younger if they wish." He uncurls a hand and turns it over a few times, looking at it.

"It's not an exact science is about the only conclusion I can draw from it. But this last year or so since I've been back. I don't know. I don't think I've aged. But that might change down the line."

And as he falls silent he lets that thread of the conversation trail off, only for his attention to be drawn to the bottle as she pops the top. His eyebrows rise at the revelation and he leans forward curiously as he accepts the bottle from her. "Oh? Hm. I've only been... tipsy once before, it's strong enough to affect our kind?"

His pale hazel eyes meet hers across the way as he listens for her answer, but takes a sniff of its contents before he very slowly and gingerly adds some to his own mug of cocoa. Likely fortunate for no Asgardians being present lest they be scandalized.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
"It works for Asgardians. They have to drink quite a bit though but seems to be proportional to them as a bottle of whiskey would be for a human. Never know until we try. I'd bring Olympian ale if I knew where to find some but had to settle for this." It's obvious who Natasha's source is. She doesn't have to spell it out. "Hopefully it wouldn't be considered an insult for Olympians."

That thought has her glancing over at the bottle, brow knitting. "If it is, we hide it quick if your father shows up. I don't want him bellowing about the other pantheon when we are trying to have a nice social gathering."

She focuses back on the conversation they were in before the ale interruption. "So, for now, you suspect you are through aging? Obviously time will tell but early 20s are not really big on sudden changes. You may not know until you get into your late 20s or even early 30s depending. And with the human side to you, not really something you can ask since it isn't necessarily going to be the same as the others."

She swirls her cup a little so the ale will blend in then sips, giving a nod of approval. "How are you liking SHIELD so far?"

Phobos has posed:
"I don't know if it'd be a thing." Alexander says, reaching down under the covers and pulling his leg up into his lap, then cradles the mug of cocoa in both hands. "He seems to not be entirely down on the Asgardians of late."

The young SHIELD Agent's eyes slip to the side thoughtfully as he ponders, then he looks back to her. "They give me a weird vibe though, like... renaissance festival try hards." His smile slips a little wry and then reaches for the bottle to add some of the ale to his mug, perhaps just a smidge more. Holding it close he takes in a breath and quirks an eyebrow, then gingerly takes a sip. Not that he doesn't trust the ninja spy assassin giving him something unlabeled to drink, more perhaps curiousity.

Another sip and those pale cheeks take on a faint ruddy color as his smile slips to the side. "Hm." But then he replies to her latter words.

"From what I've seen, in my limited exposure things can change when... things change. When my half-brother, the first Phobos ascended to the role of War, he grew older, stronger. Perhaps the way he looked at himself changed. Or could just be magic. Since, yeah. Magic can be weird." As she well knows.

"SHIELD's alright." Such a vanilla answer, then his lip twists, "I think Agent Skye? Agent Johnson? I think she is suspicious of me."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
She doesn't ask for the bottle back. That tiny bit she put into her cup is more than enough. Gives a spicy bite without overpowering the cocoa. Although her marshmallows seem to be gone. That's a very sad thing, just that bit of white melty goodness on the top at this point.

"Yet when you became Phobos, you did not. Although you didn't have the same mindset, likely. Being raised here among humans and not really liking the power you gained." She is a smart cookie. She gets that bit at least.

As he focuses on her question, she tilts her head curious. "Agent Johnson, newbie," she teases. "Never first names unless she's a friend of yours and I missed the bonding time. Did you have bonding time?"

But she homes in on that last since it is the most important bit. "Suspicious of you? For what?"

Phobos has posed:
"Hey, not my fault, she introduced herself all weird." The young Olympian replies with a rejoinder that most SHIELD agents would be completely shocked to see delivered to the famed Black Widow. He takes a deep breath, inhaling more of the steamy chocolatiness of the cocoa, the scent seeming to please him on some level entirely separate from the taste.

"But I saw her interacting with other newish agents, with me she was nice and polite, but I got this vague feeling that to her I was some sort of puzzle to figure out."

He lifts his cocoa and takes a hearty swallow, then gestures with it. "So I gave her a hearty handshake, thanked her for her friendliness, and then ran away." His lip twitches slightly.

"But I don't know, maybe I'm just being paranoid."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
"She has been with use a few years and is a level five I think now. Officially." Unofficially, Skye can manage to get a lot of info she shouldn't have access to, a fact Fury knows and doesn't seem to mind. In fact, Natasha suspects he encourages it.

"Everyone is a puzzle to figure out. Does she have any reason to be suspicious? Cause she will be all in your computers in a heartbeat if she has decided you're a puzzle. I'm presuming there is nothing incriminating there. You're too smart for that and thankfully your father hates tech enough there won't be a trail from his side."

For Skye to be wondering about him, he really has to have done something. The question is what. "What were you doing at the time?"

Phobos has posed:
"Yeah, I don't really have computers?" He tells her and indeed it might well seem the ale is having an effect on him with how his cheeks are a touch rosy now and those staggeringly pale irises dilating just so. "I have a cellphone but it's empty except a few numbers, which might lead her to my father and he's... even more of a technological dead end than I am."

That said he shakes his head and extends one long leg to rest it upon the coffee table in her direction, then slouches a little in his seat. A deep breath is taken, "But I can't blame her. I remember ages ago getting a wild hare and trying to figure out things like they were some sort of giant puzzle."

Another quiet sip is taken as the lights flicker again, the generator giving a hearty /cha-chug!/ down in the depths of the basement. Alex's eyes lift up to the ceiling and he makes a small face, then looks back to her. "Like for a time, I thought for sure my father was lying to me about my mother. So I tried to dig up who she really was. Snuck around, snooped into all sorts of things."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
"You don't even have a laptop for your computer work at school? I thought that was impossible in this day and age. The fact you have no digital footprint may be enough to have her digging on its own," Natasha admits. "People your age just rarely do that. It's not unheard of but is uncommon."

She manages not to grin at the fact he seems to be affected by the ale. Perhaps he shouldn't have put quite as much in his cup. Or perhaps he really deserved to feel this way if he wanted to since it was such a rarity.

"Wait, what?" The last caught her off guard and she shifted a little in her seat, pulling the blanket up as enough time had passed it was starting to cool a bit in the room. Not extreme but enough to notice. Course their food was probably already hot too but she was distracted by that statement. "What did you find out?" Asked carefully.

Phobos has posed:
"Well," Alexander says in that subtly over-exaggerated way when someone is a bit too relaxed and eased into that feeling by the light touch of alcohol.

"This was years back, and I was... you know," He holds a hand up about waist high and then gestures with the mug of cocoa. "And I thought for sure maybe it was a secret, maybe my mother was a queen somewhere, or an alien, or a princess, or you know... something." His smile is a little rueful and perhaps the hint of color in his features isn't purely from the drink.

"So I paid extra special attention to the people he'd go out with, or see, or whatever. And I tried to find out what I could by ever so subtle questioning and snooping."

Then those pale eyes slip to the side and his smile grows a little more amused. He looks back, "I even considered that it might be you, but then I realized that dark hair and red hair likely doesn't make, you know..." He holds a hand up and pulls on a rather blond lock of hair.

Then he looks away as it's his turn to tease lightly for once, remembering the way she tried to hide the way her legs dangled on that chair she sat in even now. "Also there was the height thing so obviously not you."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
To be fair, it wasn't a normal chair! Normal chairs, her feet touched the floor just fine. This one was built specifically for a giant specimen of a man that called himself John Aaron these days. He was over a foot taller than her.

The amusement was there, despite his picking on her size. "You thought I might be your mother?" She can't help laughing. Bright, cheerful. She shook her head negatively. "I hadn't seen your father since....well before you were born." That was a close one. She couldn't say 1984 cause that would raise some red flags. "And we never were that kind of friends." Hopefully he gets what that means.

"Although you do know the height comes from the father's side usually so that wouldn't an immediate disqualification. The hair though...pretty much. Just usually doesn't happen that way at all. I suppose it is possible with recessive genes or something. Not really an expert."

She shrugs and sips her cocoa again. "Did you ever figure anything out? Who she was? Or is?"

Phobos has posed:
He does a good job of hiding that smile behind the tilt of his mug, taking another sip as his features remain nice and bright. Those eyes hold hers for a time as she seems amused then he nods slowly in agreement to her first question. "I did, maybe, thought it was possible. You seemed cool enough to maybe fit the bill."

But it's when she declares 'we never were that kind of friends' that she, as an operative well capable of reading those subtle micro-tells on a person's features, she can gauge surprise there in his eyes, the way his brow slightly lifts and then it seems to please him slightly as almost a smile starts to twist the corner of his mouth.

"Really?" He murmurs, but that's all he says toward it, listening to what else she has to say and then that half-smirk reappears as she reinforces his observations. Then she asks of his conclusions.

"I did not, not really. Eventually..." Alexander's eyes lower a little then he looks back up at her, eyes askance and glance sidelong. "I could tell when I asked him of her he would seem... sad. So I stopped. And I think maybe she is really passed on."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
This was getting more interesting by the minute. Yet, as Natasha had to do when in a normal setting, she acted like she didn't see a thing. After all, if everyone knew they were being read at all times, it ended to end friendships pretty quickly. Few people could deal with someone who could tell what they were feeling, even if they didn't know exactly why.

"From what he's told me, she did. He cared for her deeply. I mean he chose to take on a mortal type of life for her and then for you. That's pretty amazing for gods." She doesn't need to tell him his family tends to love-em-and-leave-em more often than not, outside their own kind. Even then, it was pretty damn rocky.

"I'm complimented that you had me in your list of possibilities. But how did you work out the age thing considering?" Since she didn't look that old. Unless his father had told him more than she realized about their history. That was what was was digging for now.

Phobos has posed:
Like a subtle game of poker they each casually lay out their cards, seeking to gain more from the other. In the Game Theory course SHIELD offers it was a clearly discernible thing, the give and take, that back and forth. With them, however, there is a little more subtlety. And curiously enough some aspect of playfulness though they each have such a poker-face that to an observer... it might seem not like that at all.

Yet she calls him, shows her interest in the topic and exposes herself by trying to guide the conversation, he then shares some information to perhaps ease her along to revealing more. All in just a few words.

"He said he had known you for quite some time." Which, for him, is a curious way of phrasing.

There was a soft rustle as he shifted in his seat, leaning now against the arm of the sofa and still holding that mug of cocoa. Another sip is taken and he then adds, perhaps to raise the ante. "When he says that he usually means what he says."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
Which gave her nothing. And she wasn't going to be revealing just how long it was without more information. "Quite some time is fitting." Verification. Without telling him a damn thing.

Now was time to shift conversation completely and thus the basket hanging over the fireplace was now her focus. "I think it's ready. I can get us more hot cocoa if you want. Or do you just want a glass for the ale?" she asks in a teasing tone. Come to think of it, was he old enough to drink? Wait, yes. His file had him of age. She'd read it, of course.

She pushed the blanket to the side and scooched forward them hopped off the chair and grabbed her empty cocoa cup. Then she offered to take his, if he had elected for cocoa. If not, she simply headed for the kitchen.

"So when Agent Johnson," she begins. Not if. When. "Asks me about you, since I obviously know you, what would you like me to tell her? Truth? Tale? Might as well get our stories synched now."

Phobos has posed:
The comforter falls away from him as he leeeans over toward the hearth, then takes a step off the couch as he pulls on the swing arm. The small hatch on top of the metal box flips open and he takes a sniff, nodding his head a few times as he considers. "Seems alright, it's not going to knock your socks off or anything, but it's food."

Which sometimes is all that matters.

As she starts to head into the kitchen he lifts his voice, "Get a glass... and some napkins!" Demanding of him, but it's fitting with the frontier motif for them both to share the box and pick at it bit by bit.

It's only once he has a few green beans in his hand that he sits back on the couch and calls out to her. "Wend her some wild tale, tell her I'm a magical prince fleeing from my responsibilities and seeking a new life in SHIELD." Which, in some ways, is sort of true. From a certain point of view.

"Or, I don't know. I trust your judgment, Natasha." And as he says that he leans back on the couch to draw the curtain back and see so very little of the outside world. Just the steady fall of white snow, drifting down at a steady and heavy angle, and already there's barely a hint of where he dug out the sidewalk. Damn.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
When she returns, she has two small plates with napkins atop them. In her other hand are two small glasses. She pads back out and sets them all down on the coffee table. Then plate and glass and napkin to his side. Same for her side.

"I don't want to tell her the truth. Unless your father agrees to it. No word from him, right?" She hasn't had her phone go off yet but wasn't sure on his. "So I'll just tell her any story is yours to tell. Instead of me giving up anything. Simpler and you can make your own choices. Although, do you want her to know you are powered at all?"

Phobos has posed:
It takes a few moments to clear the table enough, push a few magazines out of the way, slide the half-empty ammo clip onto the small knickknack tray, just enough to make room for the dishes and accoutrement to be set down around the fabric cozy that holds the metal container that's still warm from the flames.

"You'll come up with something." Alexander says as he looks up at her from across the table, meeting her gaze with a wry smile. Perhaps the glance lingers a moment longer than it normally would, but then he shifts gears and says. "C'mon, need to keep our strength up in case this is a precursor to a zombie apocalypse or something."

And with that said the two settle in for a good bite to eat, while outside the wind blows and swirls the snow over the New York suburb. At the least inside it is warm, and the generators work well. For now.