7324/Buzzing About

Buzzing About
Date of Scene:	25 April 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Wasp (van Dyne), Scarlet Witch

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Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet usually leaves her door open a crack. The Wasp is a social creature and any invitation to spend time with friends is a welcome one, no matter how slight the pretext. She's working on a mannequin propped in the corner amidst an explosion of cloth and sewing supplies. Eearly afternoon sun slants through the windows. Bolts of material are strewn across the ground and her desk looks like an art supply store burst nearby and spilled on it.

She's dressed relatively conservatively. Tan trousers, a sleeveless daisy-yellow blouse with a matching accent scarf around her hips, nude pumps. It's a good look for the office, though perhaps a bit over-dressed for the Avenger's often very casual style of dress in their collective mansion.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
Wanda's presence in the mansion doesn't often set off vibrating alerts and wailing alarms. Not usually. There are other risk factors at play like the blue bees chasing her around one day or the highly toxic flower with fangs she kept in a bell jar in her otherwise dull room. That room needs some kind of personalization. But today, she returns with flowers in her hair and cherry blossoms littering her dark coat, stuck to it by some means likely related to paste or non-magical tape. On the other hand, having a crown of flowers does help with the whole 'spring maiden' thing going on. Persephone she is not, but she smells sweetly of the faintest light fragrance, a skein of shadows and salt around her otherwise. Somewhere close to the ocean then.

A knock at Janet's door is muffled by her fingerless gloves. She of course isn't dressed for the spring; she never is. Leather and wine, that's her raison d'etre and uniform worse than spandex for Steve. "Allo? Janet?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"In here~," Janet sings. She looks back over her shoulder between strokes of the sewing needle and a brilliant smile lights up her red-painted lips. "Wanda! You look like a faerie princess," she gushes at the redhead. "Two shakes honey, I'm *almost* done with this seam. C'mon sit!" she beckons.

She's not overestimating; the needle rises and falls twice more and she bites it off with her teeth before neatly tying the thread off. A magnetic wristband holding bobbins and needles is set aside, and she puts her heavy shears into a specific container to hold them safely away.

She beams at Wanda and skitters over to hug the other woman with her usual effusive charm. "Ooh, and they *smell* good. Like a garden! Can I get you a drink? Tea? Unless you're in the mood for something stronger," she offers, tugging Wanda to a small settee in the corner.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
In there; the door pushed open a crack to a wider gap allows the tall, lithe girl in. The sorceress drips at least one of the petals in her wake, not quite up to the standards of romantic Japanese anime. No chiming noises, no spotlight upon her. "I look very strange," she agrees, holding out her arm and surveying how far down the petals go. "You do not stop because I come here," she adds, the enthusiastic response a guarantee that she isn't interloping. Between Janet and Pietro, her world is defined by high energy being a good or terrible thing without much leverage in between.

She takes her time to the humming of the sewing machine, folding her legs underneath her once settling upon a seat or the floor, whichever is most convenient. The chaplet refuses to angle back other than it has, replacing any hint of a headdress or coronet that usually might adorn her in other periods, other times. No sky-high pink tights for her, thank you very much. Modern times change. The machine thrum is familiar enough that she tilts her head, gaze unfocused. All the gilded-jade light shines around her pupils, and she blinks. "They came from Japan," she says. "A whole street of trees dropping their leaves. Everyone watches, quiet and polite. I had room to walk through the road untouched, a sea of pink there, and a sea of pink in the water beside me. A little river, so small." English is easier when she's talking freely and not thinking about the English.

"Tea? Do you have any kind, green? I would like it. You are making something, yes?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"I've got a good selection," Janet assures Wanda. The flowery prose is met with a polite smile; the Wasp just doesn't have the attention span to register anything beyond the dreamy sentiment and Wanda's contented tone. She fusses with a little tea service and brings it over to the low table near the chairs. It's a formal little thing that she's probably done a million times since learning how as a young woman. Critical hostess skill, this. Hot water's transferred into a low insulated ceramic pot and she offers Wanda a pine box full of a dozen different teas bound in thin silk baggies.

"I'm working on a new costume design," Janet tells Wanda. She fusses with tea for herself, setting a black of black bergamot to steeping, and moves back to the mannequin to turn it to face the chairs. A black corset-style top with yellow chevrons, flowing into a brief and flirty yellow skirt. Detached sleeves would presumably disappear into the flared yellow gauntlets nearby. It's pretty likely the yellow boots and leggings on the floor would offer some modesty for the brief hemline of the garment.

"Don't you love it?" she gushes, admiring her own handiwork. "I wanted something cute and summertime-y now that the weather's getting nice."

Scarlet Witch has posed:
"Green is good then." Wanda nods. Her own pace is a thing quickening with the seasons but the slow advance of spring out of winter means she can be ponderous, quiet, gelid as the hour requires. Deep connections often make precious little sense. Her hand strays to her brow to feel the row of silky blossoms still perched there, threatening to tumble down. The excitement of whatever walk she mentioned over, she is now resigned to helping how she can with the tea, selecting one of the teas without even so much as looking at it. Some instinct honed by the time in Tibet and other climes where tea is a sacred art and its waste something an ancient sorceress would whip her for, certainly it all plays out. The box she sets on the table, selection given.

"Very pretty, but it works." This opinion is given with the critical eye of someone probably altogether too used to survival by cruelty, the harsh conditions shaping her to what she is. "The colour is bright. It makes me think of the flowers outside. The cut is very good. Not so hot." A pinch of her coat indicates her opinions about that.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Branding, honey, it's all about branding. If I don't look like the Wasp, people will just start complaining about that weird flying girl on the Avengers," Janet assures her companion. "So color scheming is important."

"Speaking of, if you wanna dress this up a bit--" she wiggles a finger at Wanda's attire-- "it's a prime time of the year for a wardrobe switchup. Could ditch the trenchcoat and come up with something cute and summery. Tights and shorts?" she suggests. "Could do a cute v-neck tunic top, maybe red and hem it up in black. I've absolutely crazy for oriental decor lately, a friend in Bangladesh is plugged into the Indian fashion scene and she's been running over to China a lot to see what the new hotness is there."

Scarlet Witch has posed:
"Branding?" A confused look passes over the witch's face. She carefully sets her lips and says, "But that is to burn someone's skin. You do not mean to own something. You are not owned by the Avengers." Let them start complaining about the other weird flying girl supposedly tied to them, with a possibly genocidal or heroic father. Life is an interesting box of chocolates, for sure.

She slides her arms free of the sleeves. Careful extraction is involved not to displace the flowers, though the majority on there aren't going anywhere. Her chaplet is the trouble in question. She looks rather confounded by the concept of shorts and tights, a blank kind of stare focused on the wall. "Like the leggings and skirt," she eases into it. Okay, that is understandable, that part. Her hands hook over her knees, "Oriental. Red and black are good. The effect of the Chinese furniture and vases. Rich, dark hues." She holds up her hand and the light blooms, an innocent creation, immense cerise rather than subdued vermillion.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Branding, brand recognition, god it's like talking to Jessica," Janet mutters. It's a good natured sotto voce and she winks at Wanda to show it's all just gentle ribbing. "Look, like Steve, for instance. Red white and blue. Anything he wears that's in that 'scheme' with the little goofy 'A' on his forehead, he's the Cap'n doing his thing."

Janet starts tossing her room to find something. It takes a minute to produce a sketchpad and she flips through a bunch of half-finished designs, then hands it to Wanda. It's an artistic suggestion of Steve in a blue suit, black hemming, and a flashy red tie over a white shirt. "See? Captain America, right there. Tony--" she goes through a few more, comes up on a bright red suit with gold trim. "There, you see someone in that, you go 'oh wow, that's Iron Man', and people who want to *be* like Iron Man will buy it."

She eyes Wanda. "You're always rocking that Romani look, the tunic and tights, the boots, the red-- I could totally come up with something that'll make girls go 'You know I wanna rock that hot gypsy look', they'll eat it *up*. Red and black? Power colors, all the way," Janet assures Wanda.

She starts pouring tea for both of them now that it's had a few moments to steep, and kneels on her chair facing Wanda so she can keep talking. Janet's a little too wired to sit down properly, it seems.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
In German, a language far easier to endure, Wanda replies, "English uses too many verbs that have one term and the same meaning. Patience." Her slip into English is almost a painful comparison for the linguistic graces of that rough language are apparent in their symmetries when gracing that pretty tongue.

Good-natured in her own way, though entirely intense and flame-darkened, she leans over to see that sketchpad. Industry secrets and espionage have never looked so obvious, though in truth either of them could steal far more data than they have any right to. She looks at the suiting and nods. "Steve." Yes, it's him. Good eye there. The consistency is noted and she says, "Colour. Shape. Always a hint. Steve is a triangle. Anthony, the blade." Nailed it. "I can look different. I do not know what is cool. It is always for me a thing of practical. I go outside, I climb, I fly, it has to go with me. But these big shirts and pants eat me up. They look so awful, why they wear these things." She huffs a sigh.

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