6389/It's All Fun and Games Until Someone (Cliche Warning Here)

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone (Cliche Warning Here)
Date of Scene:	06 February 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	It really is all fun and games until mojitos meet day-time TV and questionable choices in fashion. At least Steve doesn't butt-dial anyone else AGAIN.
Cast of Characters:	Captain America, Wasp (van Dyne), Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch

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Captain America has posed:
Upon leaving his room, leather bomber jacket in hand, Steve pauses as he pats the back pocket of his leans. That is his wallet, but...oh no. Where's his phone? Making a face of exasperation at himself, he strides down the hallway and into the foyer. Down the stairs in a rapid run of bootsteps and he's in the kitchen.

No phone here.

Into the library? No phone there!

It couldn't be in the gym, he wouldn't take the dratted bit of tech into there, not even in a duffel bag. That's a place of sweaty zen.

Must be the game room, by proxy of elimination, at least on-site for the mansion. Steve walks into the place and pauses, hands on his hips briefly. Ah, there it is, resting on the wet bar, right where he left it this morning. Blowing a sigh, he squints down at it. What's that little symbol...? Something about a phone call completed?

"I didn't call anyone..." he mutters to himself even as he keys in the passcode and flicks through the screens, frowning down at it.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Something wrong with your phone?" Janet is ... knitting, of all things. With a speedy clatter of her knitting needles at a pace that's nearly machinelike. She twists her neck to look over her shoulder, resting an elbow on the back of the leather sofa. Janet rocks the athleisure look, with mesh-slashed black leggings and a close fitting performance t-shirt. Naturally, she makes it look like she just stepped off a magazine cover.

She sits back and mutes the TV set with the remote. The cast of The Bachelorette go mercifully quiet.

Quicksilver has posed:
Pietro speeds into the game room! He's dressed in casual wear, since he's not doing any kind of superheroics. He wore jeans, a track jacket, and some simple white tenneshoes. White hair marks him, but he looks between the two of them (that being Janet and Steve) and he just seems to chuckle. "When are you guys gonna go out on a date already, sheesh." since he rarely seems to find one without the other, plus...he just really enjoys teasing the two.

but, he doesn't seem to be sticking around in one place. He speeds over to the bar, humming a little bit like he's looking for something to snack on. "Thank you for turning off the bachelorette. Why do Americans keep trying to promote heartbreak? It's like watching the worst love story ever written. Oh wait, that was twilight."

Scarlet Witch has posed:
There are benefits to living in New York. Excellent restaurants. A plethora of exciting festivals. Countless concerts and cultural venues open past five p.m. on a weekday.

Simply nothing to overcome the need for heavy boots trimmed in fur to deal with the awful slushy misery outside. For someone born to far worse climates than the Northeast, winter boots with actual intact soles and sturdy toes are more an expectation. But Wanda stops by the wall to fight with the laces swollen with the clammy wetness left by a sheen of disturbingly discoloured precipitation. Knots refuse to give way, the triple bow tied to avoid an aglet whipping around and coming undone. Her eyes narrow in feline consideration, full mouth naturally thinning out by degrees anyone can suggest is unwise.

The ten million some odd natives are probably -also- tired of the weather, fatigued by endless dark days, chilly weather, delays in snow removal or rent payment. It shows in their little barometer there. Wiggling around like a rubicund flamingo, she tries to haul the boot off. Know how well that goes? Gravity and inertia resist her with summary violence, Bachelorette or no Bachelorette, until they give all at once with an almost audible cackle of the physical forces. And then there was boot, and it was good.

Sailing through the air right for Steve.

Captain America has posed:
Steve glances up first from his phone at Janet and then squints at the silenced TV beyond. The small wrinkle of his nose betrays his feelings on the matter of the show in question: blech.

"No, nothing wrong with the phone," he replies distractedly, still thumbing through windows. "It's telling me that I called someone and I'm pretty certain that I didn't." Pietro's arrival is abrupt, as usual, and the speedster gets a flat look from the Captain. He does not dignify that particular question with a direct answer -- nor does he look at Janet as he speaks.

"We already went to the theatre... ACK!" The boot whops off his rounded shoulder, given he saw it coming in his peripheral, and he looks from it to Wanda, eyes momentarily owlish. Then he laughs, once, most likely in mild confusion. "Didn't think the idea was //that// bad?!" Picking up the boot, he then makes to walk over and return it to its owner, giving her a friendly little shake of his head -- tsk.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Has anyone told you two that you don't remotely look alike?" Janet tells the twins, gesturing from Pietro to Wanda with the blunt end of her knitting needles. "Wanda's funny, and pretty, and has a good sense of fashion, and you ... can run fast," she tells him with an arch sort of tone. "By the way, track suits haven't been a thing in America since 1994, so like... check yo'self, sir," she tells Pietro, with a haughty lift of her chin. She's absolutely not pinking a bit at the ears at his brassy question of herself and Steve.

"Wanda! C'mon in here, save us from your brother!" she shouts into the hallway, as Wanda hops past in an attempt to remove her other boot.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
But for the boot. Its sudden release knocks Wanda back against the doorjamb with an audible resonance of metallic chiming and one good thud. Her rebound softens her knees to absorb being bounced summarily out of the game room, though she was partway through and that establishes her no longer. Something choice anoints her lips in Serbian -- the best language to swear in, with all the harsh edges of German brutalized by Slavic barbed wire.

"-Pietro-," however, is not one of those words requiring any translation. Neither is his name the startled sound out of her, to be sure, but anyone could make that accident.

Especially with her waging war on Christ-- Steve. "Take not the holy name of Adidas in vain around him," she quips to Janet on her demise, brought to a halt except for bare feet. The second boot is currently floating in space, jettisoned by whim.

Captain America has posed:
With the initial projectile returned to its owner, Steve walks back over to one of the stools at the wet bar to fiddle more with his phone. His brows are beginning to knit in a ferocious frown over this -- this -- technological mystery nonsense!

"She's right, you know," he asides towards Pietro, glancing from him and between the other women in the room. "Track suits are out of style. You could try loose shorts and a t-shirt, like I do?" It's an offer without tease or rancor, intended to be useful, but made in obvious half-attentive nature. "What in the..." the Captain then whispers, looking flabbergasted at his phone screen.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"I have mojitooooos," Janet singsongs at Wanda, and offers her a highball glass stuffed with ice cubes, white rum, and crushed lime. "Stop throwing boots at Steve and come sit with me," she prompts the redhead, and scoots over so there's room for Wanda to sit.

"And Steve, it's the 21st century," Janet tells the blonde felllow. "It's all tights and mesh these days for workout wear. No one wears windbreakers or shorts anymore unless you're playing basketball. Don't worry, you've definitely got the, uh, thighs for tights," she tells him, impishly.

Quicksilver has posed:
Oooookay, so MAYBE Pietro took it a step too far. But! he looks to his sister, who he moves over by. "What?"

To Steve, on his fashion choice, he narrows his eyes. "I do not like shorts. they make my shins uncomfortable. Very bad too when I run, you know." he teases the Man of Liberty.

To Janet? narrow of the eyes. That is all. but he seems to smile. "See? She agreed!"

Scarlet Witch has posed:
Pietro receives a pointed look out of Wanda, but she dusts her hands against her leggings and gets back to her feet. Her very bare feet, no socks needed. Collecting the floating boot is the easier business, a flick of her wrist delivering the floating footwear into her palms. Scrutinizing the dampened fur and the dangling laces, she stalks over to pick up the weapon that struck Steve. "Mojitos?" Her brows pinch, putting words to thoughts. "Rum in that, yes? I could have a bit." A glance back to Pietro is ripe with meaning. Who wants a drunk witch? No one! Bit of a trust game, and she half-smiles at him, headed for Janet's couch.

"You look troubled, Steve. Has something happened with that? A bad message or is there some new looming trouble with the..." A brief pause. "The organizations out there, a constellation of dark stars." Her hand flicks and the boots are installed on the floor in front of the couch. She sits after, brooding intensely over them. "These are not beautiful. I want something beautiful, better than those. And not those tracksuits, but they have those thin, streamlined layers. You could run in those. But not in the bright colours they come in. Who puts lime with lilac mesh? It is atrocious."

Captain America has posed:
"I'm not running around in tights," the Captain asides under his breath even as he's rapidly pushing at the screen to exit multiple windows and looking almost a little green. "Did enough of that back in the war." He puts the phone back into his pocket and scrubs at his face with one hand briefly before looking to the samll gathering by the couch.

"It's technology misbehaving, Wanda, nothing to be worried about." Steve gets to his feet and wanders over, having left his bomber jacket on the bar. He hooks his thumbs in his pocket and considers the mojitos. "You couldn't pay me to run around in tights again. They bunch, they tear, they over-stretch..." The blond shakes his head. "Pietro can wear the tights. I'll stick to pants."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet reaches for a second glass and pours Wanda a tall one from the silver pitcher in front of her. Ice and all, and she scoops a few lime wedges into the glass and muddles them against the ice cubes.

"I didn't get a word of that, Wanda dear," she tells the witch reassuringly. "Do you need new shoes? We can totally see if Nordstrom Rack has any sales," she offers.

"Steven, stop being such a buzzkill. Tights are where it's at. *I'm* wearing tights," she reminds him, and sticks a leg up in the air pointedly. "They're less likely to get hung up on things and the fabric heals fast. I mean, what, you want to wear trousers and a necktie into combat? Hello, George Patton calling, why yes you should go to war in a three-piece suit," Janet says, miming manipulating a phone handset to her ear. "What's wrong with your phone, Steve? Need me to fix it?" she says, extending a hand towards Steve.

Quicksilver has posed:
Wanda.

Is.

drinking.

THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDE-wait, Mojitos? Pietro seems to lift his hands defensively as Wanda gives him that pointed look. "What? was it something I said?" Though he seems to look at Steve as Pietro is apparently the one who gets tights now. "I stopped wearing tights after I stopped working with father. Now so wear padded armor, like you."

Pietro is tempted to kick a rock, but none are found! for shame! He does move over to Wanda though. "Your shoes look fine. If you wanted new ones, why didn?t you tell me?" probably because she did not want him stealing a pair.

He kinda looks at Janet, silently asking for a glass.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
Wanda is drinking something probably made from more ice and mint than actual alcohol. Assuming that Pietro hasn't whisked the highball glass away. She sighs in satisfaction to the jingle of ice cubes and potentially the destruction of her boots. Attention moved off the offending look, she says, "Thank you." A lift of the glass might clink with Janet's. Toasts are fine. "I might make those into sandals. There should be enough there for me to work with it. This way, no one complains I am spending my money unwell."

The little tap of her finger to the glass sings a high note. She looks over to Steve, a smile hidden in profile, threatening to become an actual honest-to-witches blossoming of a grin. "Pants have pockets. Never forget their use." This is from a woman dressed in leggings, a corset, and at best an asymmetrical skirt. "Let us see this phone. Maybe you have an app with a bug. Or it is a bug. Or it's talking to us loudly. Pietro, can you hear any buzzing?"

Her fingers lift, and a spark of poppy dances on the air.

Captain America has posed:
Steve, for once, doesn't immediately retort to the Wasp's mocking allusion to the General. Instead, he gets the faintest glimmer of pique in his eyes and a little ghost of a one-sided dimple as he aims his barb.

"Patton would have approved of how I dealt with the gala fiasco in that suit, Janet." Destruction and all, is implied, of course. His phone remains in his pocket as he pats it, adding, "But thank you, for your offer of assistance. I'll suss it out later."

Wanda's comment has him looking around the room and then squinting back at the witch. "I...don't hear any buzzing, no? The TV's not even whistling. Pietro?" he asks of the speedster for confirmation.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet slowly narrows her eyes at Steve when he casually mentions the destruction of the amazingly expensive tuxedo she had custom made for him. Made with not just expertise, but with love. And then shredded into pieces by his bulging beefcake muscles.

SPeaking of beefcake, it takes her a few seconds to rip her attention back to the conversation at hand. "Bug?" She looks around reflexively. "Oh, no, she means like, a computer bug," Janet tells Steven. "Not, like, a *me* bug," she explains. At Pietro's look she pours him a glass as well. "Why would she tell *you*?" Janet inquires of Pietro. "That'd be like Steve going to Tony for relationship advice. Come talk to *me*, I'm the expert on fashions. And relationships. And ... cuteness," she says, fishing for a third item.

Quicksilver has posed:
The buzzing!

As Wanda uses her hand to generate poppy dances on the air, Pietro, who experiences most things in super-slow motion anyway, indeed does hear the gentle 'buzz' of those sparks. He glances to Steve as he speaks,and he nods.

"How can you not, Steve?" Was he serious or is he teasing? but he does look at Janet. "Because...I'm me? does she have reason not to?" he blinks, as if genuinely confused by Janet.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
"You are not only a bug. It sounds wrong to call you that," Wanda insists of the fashionista plying her with compliments -and- alcohol. The mojito she sips at least. No downing mouthfuls of the intriguing concoction with Pietro looming nearby, free to run halfway to Jamaica Bay before anyone realizes her hands are empty. Poppy blossom light weaves a lazy path around her fingers, a firefly bumping off her knuckles and shedding its own sparks. "Relationships? You may need to help explain those to him. What is expected. I do not believe we are going to be able to do ruin chic, or offer to stand in a line for bread for three hours to show that you like someone." Clearing her throat, she says with genuine innocence propped up on the abysmal streak saturating her very soul, "Pardon, you -fancy- someone, Pero." The diminutive traipses out around a clink of ice, a sliver of citrus on the air.

"I think maybe I will turn these into sandals. With wings on the front, a layer of feathers. Cut leather, laid up the top of the foot, and tied around the ankles, da? That could go well. High heels. Not red." Someone stop the clock. Or clock Steve. "Is his phone buzzing? Sometimes the physical bugs or the computer bugs make buzzing, one that should not be there. Do you put anything on your phone that would not be good for people to read or see, Steve?"

Penny, drop.

Captain America has posed:
"I can't hear //that//," he replies to Pietro, nodding towards the brilliant fireworks display in miniature. "That's beyond my range of hearing." He does smile to himself at the gentle razzing between brother and sister, however. It reminds him of the light arm-socks of speech that fly on a regular basis when in the same room as one soldier. However, Wanda asks a pertinent question.

"...no. There's nothing incriminating on my phone." The coloring slowly suffusing Steve's ears is a curse of the Irish. "I figured out what happened. It's called..." He glances to one side and snaps his fingers at the height of his waist. "When you dial someone when you sit down," he finishes grumpily despite the lift of his chin against further embarrassment.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
Wanda Maximoff exclaims lightly, sotto voce to Pietro, "He pants summoned someone! They must have been very excited."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Wow, Steve," Janet says, looking over at Steve with her slender jaw balanced on her knuckles. "You are a *terrible* liar. You blush like a thirteen year old girl on Prom night," she advises him. "You know that everything you do on your phone is recorded, right?" She glances at Wanda, then back at Steve.

"Everryyytthiiiing," she says, stretching the word out pointedly.

She wriggles closer to Wanda, folding her elbows over the sofa back. "Wanda, anytime you wanna talk shoes and fashion, just come over to my room," the fashionista reminds the witch. "We'll come up with all kinds of crazy stuff. Just no -track suits-," she says with a pointed grin at Pietro.

Quicksilver has posed:
Pietro just laughs at Wanda's words. "It's true!" And he looks to Steve. "Hearing is the second thing to go, Captain, yes? What is next, bladder?" ah, old people jokes. Bit Janet's comment makes him sigh. "I get it, I do not dress well."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet reaches out and gives Pietro's wrist a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay, darling," she tells him as compassionately as she can. "None of you dresses well," she says, sympathetically.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
The bumbling red firefly dances over Wanda's fingers. She crooks them this way and that. It lands on her manicured fingertip, and the burning motes collect a full flood as her pupils fill with light. "We can leave the men to their pants summonings. But there is hope for you, Pietro. All you need to do is get your own phone and put many random numbers in. Maybe someone will come to the call of your bottom too!"

The witch flexes her fingers and thoughtfully spreads them apart. Fur flies and twists, a living presence that stretches itself out with the consistency of cooked noodles and that cheap foil ribbon used to festoon too many baby presents and wedding shower gifts. Winter boots collapse on themselves, their shafts withering and limply flopping over to the side. Sparkles crackle from suspended droplets over the concave tips, illuminating the sorry, sagging state of entropy.

Right until the soles roll over themselves and form a pair of high-arched sandals, wound with silver plumes that curl in a spray. She pinches the ring of her fingers, concentrating, and makes a quick sideways motion.

The noodly straps narrow down into tightened spiral strap. All fitted and propped on stiff, elongated heels. "There! That's much better than tights." She nods. "Just your size!"

Captain America has posed:
"Don't even know why I have a phone then..." grumbles the soldier to himself even as the conversation shifts away from him and to the far safer world of fashion -- at least, in his opinion. He does fall silent, briefly glancing to Pietro, at what the Witch enacts upon the soggy winter boots. What popped him in the shoulder not so long ago is now a veritable display in opposition, leather acting in a manner that it doesn't naturally, not without help. His eyebrows jump thoughtfully.

"That's a trick. You'll have to wear them to dinner, Pietro," he jokes lightly. "Speaking of dinner, I gotta run. Enjoy...whatever that is," he says in regards to the TV show in pause. A quick snag of his leather bomber jacket off the bar stool and there he goes, leaving the others to indulge in mojitos and terrible day-time TV.