6119/Not Everyone Can Be A Pool Shark

Not Everyone Can Be A Pool Shark
Date of Scene:	06 January 2019
Location:	Avengers Mansions, New York City
Synopsis:	Not everyone can throw darts well either. But both Janet and Steve can talk a big game and then finalize a time for Oklahoma! the musical.
Cast of Characters:	Captain America, Wasp (van Dyne)

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Captain America has posed:
The Man With the Plan can only be still for so long. Sketching, while cathartic and mentally-stimulating, does not stand in for letting off steam physically. The punching bags of the Avengers gym space suffer accordingly. He only breaks three this time and is certain to sweep up all of the spilled sand afterwards, shooing away the helpful robots with the broom itself like some cranky housekeeper. If only Tony knew how many terrible things were said to the constructs.

Now, Steve is sequestered away in the gaming room of the mansion. The sound of pool balls cracking together gives away what he's up to even before entering the spacious room. Along the walls, multiple TVs hooked to gaming systems. There's a foozeball table nearby along with an air hockey table. The wet bar along the opposite wall to the TVs is fully stocked. The Captain has a bottle of beer balanced on the edge of the pool table itself on a coaster. He's leaned over the green felt and is carefully eyeing his next shot to sink the black poolball in the corner pocket. The poolstick is pulled back and...

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
The black eightball starts rolling. Sideways. With no visible force working on it. It walks around until it's hiding behind an impossible bank-shot, and then an impish, pixie-ish face peeks out behind it.

"Lonely game of pool? Isn't that a little cliche?" There's a buzzing of wings and Janet flutters up into the air and lands on the cueball, crossing her legs neatly at the knee. Her wasp-wings flutter and fold behind her out of the way, though they do little to detract from the appearance of a little fae thing pestering Steve's pool game. "Is this one of those Army guy things, playing bar games by yourself?" She's wearing yellow and black, the sleek jumpsuit she prefers when in her more minute size.

Captain America has posed:
Steve's eyebrows do a wonderous impression of nearly disappearing into his hairline. He straightens from his lean over the pool table sharply. A glance left and right and behind him in case of poltergeists before he looks back at the moving pool ball. But oh! Oh, it's a small interloper to his green felt! Janet does earn a quiet laugh from the Captain. Steve then rests his weight against the staff-like angle of his pool cue, smirking at her.

"Anyone can play pool by themselves, don't pigeon-hole me," he replies, teeth flashing in his grin. He's still got dark circles under his eyes, but he's apparently quietly happy to see the minute woman after all. "Grab a pool cue if you want in. I'll reset the balls." He reaches for his beer and gulps down some of it before setting it aside again. In a t-shirt and tan cargo jeans, he's only missing slippers at this point for personal comfort.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Ugh. I can't play pool," Janet says, her tiny voice carrying clearly. She rests her weight on her palms behind her, one boot swinging in the air in front of her. "How about some foozeball though? I'm good at foozeball," she tells Steve. "Pool kinda sucks when you're as short as I am, and everyone yells at me when I use the guide thingy. Also, I'm better at billiards than pool," she clarifies. "Or we could play some darts!"

Captain America has posed:
"Darts it is. I'll try not to leave holes in the wall again. Tony always gets grumpy about the damage..." His voice falls out as he leans over the table once more. The pool cue is lined up with the cue ball and the angle adjusted for the now-impossible bank-shot. He considers Janet with a small and growing smile.

"Gonna bump you if you stay there." His voice is gently sing-song as he taps the white ball with incredible amounts of care. It rolls with muted speed towards the 8-ball and if allowed to hit, won't do barely anything more than set the black pool ball to rocking in place. What a cad.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Eek!" Janet vaults sideways and pushes off the pool ball, sending it skittering to the side. She buzzes through the air and rapidly grows to full size, still wearing a single-piece black jumpsuit. "I missed out on the whole college experience. Y'know. Bar games," Janet says, running fingers through her pixie-cut hair. "It was mostly correspondance stuff and private tutoring. I did a semester of college for exams and final assessments, but... I was so busy studying I didn't really get to do the fun stuff."

Captain America has posed:
The cue ball whiffs past both Janet and the 8-ball with inches to spare! Fouled shot, game over. Steve smiles even as he straightens in place again, the pool stick acting as momentary walking stick.

"I can't tell you if you missed out or not. I never enrolled in college. Got enlisted." He doesn't expand further as he leans the cue on the side of the table and goes about collecting the various balls. Everybody knows the story of Erskine's shot in the dark and the serum's results on the world's skinniest lab gerbil.

"You know your stuff, so all that studying must have been worth it. Pull out the darts?" He nods towards a drawer surely filled with gaming accoutrements, including two sets of darts to pair with the four boards hung along a short stretch of wall. "Grab a drink too if you want. The fridge got stocked again after the last party." A wane smile at that as he plunks the last ball into the triangular rack.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"I've seen the movies," Janet tells Steve. She digs out a flatpack of proper steel-tipped darts and moves it to the little table, setting them out. Pink quoits for her, grey fins for Steve. "You guys have your officer's clubs, and all the bars, and plenty of places to play games. Didn't, your, like, barracks have a pool table or something?" she asks, nose wrinkling. "Or a ping-pong table or whatever? I can't believe you just sat around playing Hearts during your down time."

Captain America has posed:
"Not a lot of down-time," comments Steve as he walks over from slipping his pool cue into place on the wall. "It was playing cards or nothing while we waited for orders. I wasn't comfortable in the officer's quarters. They needed me out on the front." He picks up one of the grey-finned darts and considers its sharp point as he murmurs, "He still hasn't swapped out for plastic. Must not mind too much." 'He' being Tony in regards to holes in the walls.

His voice upswings to conversational volume again. "Besides, Hearts gets boring. We played Poker for anything we had, all on the honor system. I slept nice and cozy in my tent a few times in the winter. A pile of clothing works just as well as a blanket." He says this with an innocent blandness as he glances over at Janet, the ghost of dimples appearing. Oh yes. Precisely what she thinks.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet perches on a low table while Steve steps up to the line. One foot swings in the air, legs crossed at the knee. Just as he prepares to bowl his first dart, she gives a lazy, longing sigh, as if lost in dreamy contemplation. Eyes rake Steve's frame rather pointedly with a wickedy demure gaze. "So a bunch of strong, rough, buff soldiers out in the winter woods, naked in the winter. I wonder if I can find a time machine," she says, draping a forearm across the top of her head with a rather pointless stretching motion. "I could totally be a WAC or whatever. Sounds like a swell way to spend those cold winter nights."

Captain America has posed:
Steve aborts his first throw to give Janet a lingering glance of mild reproof. "It wasn't romantic. It was dirty and cold. Everyone's socks were worn through, so we had to pack our boots with whatever we could find. We didn't shower for days at a time, sometimes weeks. Every night, building a fire risked bringing the attention of enemies, so sometimes, we curled up and prayed our fingers and toes would work the next day. We smelled like blood and smoke and sweat. You really wanna cuddle up with that?" He aims his dart again and quickly flicks it, aiming for the center of the circular board. Still, no denying the pink at his ears, light as it is.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet waits until Steve's right in the middle of his backswing before asking, in an innocent voice: "Why, is that an invitation, Captain?" in a sultry tone that's fairly a feline purr.

She beams a wholly unrepentant smile at him, idly toying with the edge of her high mandarin collar. "You know if you want a girl to crawl into a sleeping bag with you and help find some novel ways to keep you warm, you wouldn't have to go far for volunteers. I'd-- well gosh, that's just the sort of sacrifice we ladies love to make for our long-suffering boys out in the trenches, you know," she adds, her voice painfully saccharine.

Captain America has posed:
The first grey-finned dart buries itself nearly up to the blending point of color and metal spire into the wall. Steve winces and rubs at his eyes, muttering to himself softly in Gaelic. Something about what you get for inviting trouble.

"You sound like every WAC I encountered," he mutters, walking over to rescue his dart from its state of deep embedding. Normally, removal would have required a set of pliers. The Captain yanks and out it comes, taking some of the paint with it. A shake of his head and squinted wrinkle of nose against a smile towards the petite woman. "You wouldn't do it even if you had a time machine. Imagine. Dirt on your clothing. Fire-smoke in your hair. Cheesy feet. You'd chicken out," he says as he walks back over and stands at the invisible line toed on the floor. Another dart upheld, but as he goes to throw, he stops -- and turns to look at her expectantly, as if silently communicating, 'Go on.'

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet just smiles and shrugs rather engimantically, and stays quiet. *Too* quiet. She inhales in the middle of his backswing again as if to speak, and ends up just emitting a low sigh. That sigh turns wistful, then just a *bit* needy at the end. But expression: innocent and naieve.

He's preparing his third throw, when: "I guess you boys just had to settle for each other," she exhales. "Pity, too." She hops daintily to her feet and drifts behind Steve, rising up on tip-toe to rest her chin on his shoulder. "I wouldn't mind the grime. Long as I could share the showers," she whispers, with a throaty breathlessness and warm rush against his earlobe.

Captain America has posed:
The second dart flies to land just shy of the center on the dart board rather than into the wall. Steve smiles to himself at being able to avoid the worst effects of the squeaky sound made by the troublemaker. He's got his elbow loose and the third dart pulled back when she pulls the trigger on her continued thoughts on matters. His ears go a hue redder yet and he closes his eyes in an inhale as she lurks her way over to perch her cheek on his shoulder.

"I wouldn't know about settling and sharing showers. I was too busy shooting Nazis," he informs her levelly as he turns his head to look her dead in the eye. He doesn't shrug her off the broad, muscular line of his shoulder. Rather, he simply throws the dart - without looking away from Janet.

Bulls-eye.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"God, Steve, you blush like an altar boy," Janet chides him. She makes a face when he drives that bullseye home, and when he looks back, she boops his nose with a swipe of her index finger. "Okay, one side, beefcake," she says, trying to push Steve off the bowling line. She gathers up the quoits and lines up her shot, eyes narrowing and tongue hanging out the edge of her mouth. She pitches... well, like a girl, weight forward on her feet and taking a little *hop* with the pitch that edges her six inches past the marking point. The dart flies wide and hits a low-scoring panel. She scowls and readies her next pitch.

Captain America has posed:
"I'm Irish." That's apparently going to be Steve's explanation for how his ear tips are still noticeably warm. He does step to one side when shoved, if only to give the impression that the wee fashionista can move him, and sits on the same table occupied earlier by Janet.

"Could always see how you throw when I'm shirtless, if I qualify for a beefcake. We're not being sportsman-like as is," he muses, grinning like a fiend.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's not remotely rattled. She throws her second, then flicks her third as well. She's well over the line when she does, and her throwing is pretty inadequate, for both points or score.

The petite fashionista turns and gives Steve a smouldering once over, one hip cocking pointedly backwards and her hands resting on the small of her back. She trails green eyes up to Steve's blues and smiles at him with a shrewd, lopsided expression. "Whatever makes you comfy, Captain," she tells him, flirting back in the same bantering tone. "I'm not here to judge."

She resumes her seat and watches Steve gathering himself for his throw. "I guess we could make it a game of *strip* darts," she suggests, eying her nails casually. "Though I guess that'd be a bit less fair in your favor."

Captain America has posed:
The Captain returns that louche smirk and contraposto pose with a mask of a mild, thin-lipped smile. Ears tell no lie. It's definitely a mask. It's been a very long time since someone's been as pointed with him in terms of flirtation, real or gaming. Getting up to go retrieve his darts, he simply snorts.

Having gathered his darts, he walks back to the line. He's certain not to be beyond it, per the rules happily ignored earlier by the fashionista, and lifts his first dart. A sigh when Janet starts speaking again and he rolls his eyes in a fairly dramatic manner from the dart board to her personage, flicking his brows high. "I'm not here to judge either, Janet. You'll be cold fast." A little tilt of his head towards the low-scoring spread of her darts on the round board.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet glances at the scoreboard and pulls a face. "Okay, I might have lied about my darts ability," she admits, with a weary sigh. "I just know I'm terrible at pool and I'm pretty sure with your reflexes I'd just end up flailing at the foozeball table. I've got spindly little wrists, Steven, and you're one of those awful brutes who can spin-slam the little dealie-guys and I can't possibly keep up." She scowls at Steve as if blaming him for the disparity in terms of both gender and physical capability, and retrieves her darts for her next pitch.

Another low-showing score, and she flickers her fingers at the board uncaringly. "Someday they'll come up with a good bar game that doesn't favor thick-necked soldier boys, I'm sure," she tells Steve.

Captain America has posed:
Steve doesn't pull his throws this round, having little to distract him. Another flurry of good numbers and he goes back to leaning on the table, arms lightly crossed.

"If the bar games all favored thick-necked soldier boys, it'd be a disparate world. You just keep practicing. You'll get good at darts if you work at it," he opines. "It doesn't decide your worth, however, so keep that in mind. You're an Avenger. You don't have to prove anything to anyone except that you mean to keep the world spinning." He scratches at the side of his neck as he adds rather coyly, "Besides...if you played cards with your...spindly wrists, was it? You'd still be cold." A flick of twinkling eyes at her. "I'm not here to make you suffer."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"I don't care *that* much about darts," Janet says, dryly, and lazily flings a few darts at the board. She claps happily at two high-scoring marks. "Bar games were invented to give drunk boys a way to impress girls without giving them something heavy to drop or getting into fights with one another. If I started *winning* all the time, then I'd be dealing with a whole bunch of insecurity and that's just more drama than I need."

She resumes her seat and laughs gaily at Steve. "Steven Rogers, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to charm me out of my pants," she scolds him, eyes dancing. She purses her lips, waiting to time it right.

"Not that you'd necessarily need a game to do it of course," she says, baiting him with a bantering tone.

Captain America has posed:
For her higher scoring throws, she receives a partially-mocking golf-clap from Steve. His wry little smile softens the tease. He's ahead still, but not by much. Swapping seat with the petite woman, he waves a hand dismissively at her in a broad sweep of his arm as he goes to collect his darts.

"I think you're full of it, Janet," he informs her with a sly side-glance. She waits, he goes to throw and pauses again in mid-motion, choosing not to release the dart. Instead, another roll of eyes towards her.

And Steve Rogers dimples for all he's worth. "I'm just a straight-shooting guy who means what he says." Holding her eyes, he throws. Bulls-eye. "You'd be cold -- " Another dart thrown into the bulls-eye without looking away from her. " -- and I don't want you to suffer." His last dart slams home in the board's center, clustered with its brethren. "But you're not wrong. I wouldn't need a game." Those dimples smooth away to a beatific little smile afterwards, as if to imply utter innocence..

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet sticks her tongue out a bit petulantly. "Cheater," she accuses him with a laconic voice. "But I'm glad to see you're learning how to talk to girls without stammering and turning pink at the gills," she tells Steve. She nimbly slips from the table and reaches up to give his cheek a fond pat and playful push. "Don't let it go to your head, mister. I know my eye-shadow isn't quite on point as *some* people's. I've seen the newsreels," she teases him, bumping a small elbow against his ribs. "I'm sure there's a certain someone out there who gets you positively tongue-tied. And I just hope I get to be there--" she twirls a dart tip between her fingers, and drags the plastic fin along Steve's sternum-- "when you're a stammering fool and can't think of a *single* *clever* *thing* to say." She taps his chest with the dart base to drive her point home, and no-looks her pitch.

It hits the wooden sideboard a solid eight inches from the dartboard. Janet looks at it, then exhales wearily with a slumping of her shoulders.

Captain America has posed:
Steve's eyes fall to the dart as its fins ghost along his chest and then bop it lightly once. His gaze rises to her and by the wrinkle of his nose, he's trying not to smile -- or horse-laugh, one of the two. The ears, as always, are the tell. They flush pink again. He's not the accomplished banterer that his oldest buddy is and always will be, no matter how hard he tries. All his ammunition is gone at this point.

Realizing she's throwing no-looksies, he glances away to watch...and not laugh. The Captain is a very good friend and does not laugh, even at the fall of her petite shoulders. Instead, one of the delicate roundings gets a very gentle pat-pat. "Maybe one day, you will get that chance. And you might also make that throw. But you'll choose to wear Crocs and leggings out in public before either of those events happen, so I won't get my hopes up for any of it."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet staggers dramatically (a little sincerely) and swallows, going pale. She rests a hand on Steve's arm for balance and presses her palm to her sternum. "Steve, if you *ever* see me in anything but high heels outside of work, then you'll know a Skrull or HYDRA agent or some awful ghost has taken me over. Kill me and put me out of my misery." She shudders. "Crocs. Dear lord. How could you even *say* such a thing."

Captain America has posed:
"Sometimes, even if the truths are awful, they need to be shared. I'll be sure to wrap you in a nice white jacket and see what the medical staff can do for you," he says most solemnly, playing along. "I'll burn the shoes as well. They'd be pink. Mmm, no, probably orange." Steve amends this with a ho-hum tilting of his head. "Safety orange. Like a glow-stick."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet turns a gimlet eye on Steve. "Steve Rogers, if I ever hear such nonsense from you again, I will slap you so hard that you'll feel it back in 1944," Janet promises. She glowers up at him, bristling. "*Safety* orange, the very NERVE. You're lucky you're cute," she grumbles, and goes to retrieve the darts and start putting them neatly back into the little wallet that contains them.

Captain America has posed:
All the grumbling just ends up summoning the dimples again from the pits of politeness. Steve goes to collect his semi-cold beer from where it still sits on its coaster, balanced on the edge of the pool table, and meanders back over to the dart line again.

"You're too kind, Miss van Dyne. It's because I'm Irish." Both cute and lucky and apparently, that's the go-to explanation for everything today. There's a period of quiet in which the man finishes his beer and then, he looks up appraisingly at the fashionista from his sneakered feet. "So." A shift in weight from one foot to the other and he hooks his free thumb on his belt. "The show's still a go?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
\

Janet blinks at Steve. "Well-- yeah, of course, I haven't heard anything about it being cancelled."

"...Oh! You mean-- yeah, I'm still game to go with you," she assures him. Janet laughs and lays a palm on his arm. "I'm sorry. I wasn't even thinking. You *sure* you don't wanna meet my friend Leslie? He's smart, he's witty, he's big into musical theater. I think you two would really hit it off well," she tells Steve. "And fair warning, I get *mobbed* by the press at these things. I can only ninja so much. Tabloids love me."

Captain America has posed:
"I'm certain that I want to have you on my arm at the show, Janet. Not your friend Leslie, as nice as he might be." Steve does manage to keep his tone even, but with effort. "Tabloids are nothing new. They were around in the Thirties and Forties, they'll be around when I'm ten feet under the ground. Just..." He rubs at his eyes in passing and deflates noticeably. "Just lemme know what to wear. It'll be a distraction. A good one," the man seems to remind himself.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet wraps herself around Steve's arm and smiiiiiiiiiles. It'd be sharklike if it wasn't for her button nose. As it is, she looks like a manic, slightly cannibalistic pixie.

"A tuxedo would be proper, but I asked a friend of a friend who's in the Service, and they told me-- what do you call it. 'Mess dress'?" she inquires of Steve. "With the cummerbund and the medals and whatnot. But I'll be generous," she says, wiping imaginary dust from his collar. "I'll give you a pass on wearing the ceremonial sword, even if that would look *amazing*."

Captain America has posed:
A long-suffering sigh. "It's called mess dress, yes, and I wouldn't have worn the sword even if you'd asked me to," the Captain informs the tiniest fashionable pirahna on the planet. He doesn't make to shake her off his arm, however, still in his reserves of patience yet. "Mess dress it is. Same time at the address you gave me?" The rest of the beer disappears as he tips the long-necked bottle to his lips.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Oh, goodness no," Janet tells Steve. "Forty-five minutes early, and my limo will come by and we'll fetch you from your apartment. Then I've got make an appearance, smile and wave for the cameras-- oh, you'll have to meet a couple of people, you know, other board members at the Met, that sort of thing," Janet explains. "I'm a donor so I've got to, you know, play the role. Think of it like selling bonds!" she exclaims. "You show up, you smile, you shake hands, and then the theater sees a ten percent bump in donations."

Captain America has posed:
"At least I'm not a dancing monkey," Steve mutters to himself even as he turns to go walk behind the wet bar. He stoops behind it and the sound of glass landing in a recycling bin is heard. He pauses there behind it to wipe his hands on one of the white bar towels absently and considers Janet again from where he stands.

"Fine. Forty-five minutes early at my apartment, mess dress. Anything else I need to know?" He leans on the bar now with hands spread, as if he were a bartender intending to listen in on some secret. The lighting accents the darker circles under his eyes.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet walks up and squeezes Steve's hands, smiling reassuringly. She then pops on her toes and leans over the bar to kiss the high ridge of his cheekbone. "Just be prepared to stick a smile on your face and mug for the camera. I promise to protect you from the social sharks," she giggles, and gives his other cheek a reassuring pat. "Or at least I won't let anyone eat you alive unless you give me the nod-and-wink. See you Monday night, then?" she asks, slipping from his fingers and drifting backwards.

Captain America has posed:
One last little hint of a blush for the peck on the cheek. Steve does manage to shed the doldrums briefly and return her cheery query with a wane smile.

"With bells on," he quips back quietly. "I'll make the most of it." A flick of his brows and he straightens his back, putting forth the old mask of mild good nature again. "It'll probably be the most fun I've had in a while. Monday night." The confirmational echo is accompanied by a nod and a toss of the white bar-towel over one shoulder as if it belonged there.