8159/Grand Opportunities

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Grand Opportunities
Date of Scene: 03 July 2019
Location: Central Park, Manhattan, New York
Synopsis: It's a lovely day for a stroll in the park.
Cast of Characters: Psylocke, Wasp (van Dyne), Spider-Man, Shadow




Psylocke has posed:
Ah, summer in New York.

With so many super heroes flitting about, the dangers of the power grid going down due to an AC overload and causing a city-wide sweltering blackout are nil. Well, almost nil. But surely Energex the Human Lightning Bolt or someone can fix that if it happens. For now, most of the city's good denizens can enjoy the sunshine without feeling like so many melty candles.

Betsy Braddock doesn't do patrolling. Not anymore, at least. Her reason for being in the park is a selfish one. She walks alongside Janet van Dyne. Yes, /that/ Janet van Dyne. The pair already in conversation as Betsy lifts her shoulders into an exasperated shrug.

"I don't know. I just want a sea change, I suppose. The Mansion is nice in small doses but it's got a lot of ... memories." She says the last word with equal parts fear and distaste as though it might as well mean 'evil goblins with rusty scimitars living under the bed'.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet is focused on her ice cream, trying to use the small plastic spoon to cull out small bites from the wax paper cup in her hands. A bit gets on the side of her hand; she scowls at it and uses a napkin to daub at the mess.

"Nice place, wouldn't wanna live there?" Janet hazards, glancing over at Betsy. "I don't blame you honey," she confirms. "Reminds me too much of prep school." Her nose wrinkles. "At least they don't make you wear a skirt and mary janes to class," she amends.

Janet's in a loose-fitting yellow camisole with oversized decorative loops dangling from her slender shoulders, and a knee-length white skirt with ivory lace and a ruffled hem. Her sandal-style high heels match the shirt to a tee, even with little loop ribbons dangling from the ankle strap.

"Not that you can't rock the schoolgirl look," Janet says quickly, and flashes a winsome smile at Betsy from behind her oversized designer sunglasses. Janet's been in the industry long enough to be careful about prickling a model's ego, even inadvertently!

Spider-Man has posed:
This heat is the reason Spider-Man is such a strong advocate for baby powder. He tried to get them as a sponser, even offered to do commercials, but they were concerned about blowback from his more violent side job and opted out. Aside from all the baby powder he could want for, that extra money could have kept him flush in ramen noodles for a lifetime.

RIP.

Today, however, is not a spandex day. Today is a shorts and t-shirt day and just because all the people know the stuff about the fashion, he's wearing a Captain America T-Shirt (One of those ones where he's in the OLD suit from the 40s, smiling too big, giving double thumbs up, super vintage, you probably never heard of it.) and jean shorts.

Peter Parker is a Jeans Shorts kinda guy.

Also, converse. The shoe that use to be for poor college kids until they became popular so now they're more expensive than last seasons Nikes? Like Vans. 'Membah Vans? Oooh yeeeaa, I Meembah...

These are knock offs. Wal-mart brand converse.

His backpack is real though. It's sitting against his leg while a big physics book sits in his lap. It is a well known fact that sweating from your scalp is inducive to learning. So here's Peter 'Hipster' Parker, doing physics homework in the sweltering heat while Frozone is out saving the world from broken ACs. What a schlub.

Shadow has posed:
    Ah, Summer in New York. school is out and the sun is high in the sky. It's a lovely day to be outdoors, and Central Park is a lovely destination. Even a famous fashion designer and someone looking exotic enough to be the next model is barely drawing more than the occasional glance from passers-by.

    Along the paths, various vendors and purveyors of entertainment are plying their trades, selling ice cream or cool drinks or just showing off their arts, while a bit further off the path a group of capoeiristas have formed a roda and are just starting their singing, a call-and-response chant that wouldn't be out of place in a church service before the snare and drum kick in to establish the rhythm. While the tones are profound, anyone who speaks spanish realizes quickly the words are not - they boil down to 'the sun is high, the day is beautiful, come and dance, come and play, all of us together'.

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy's smile is a rueful one. She's in good spirits for the most part, but there is still something weighing on her and she can't help but let it show - despite all her wishes to be insurmountably poised: "Got it in one. A bit of a 'oh, that's where we did this, and that's where we did that' situation. I certainly don't want to separate myself from everyone but it's much better having my own little place."

'Little' place. On the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Oh, poor, poor Betsy.

Janet's reassurance prompts a genuine laugh from her as she waves a hand.

"It's fine. One of the perks of being in someone else's body is that the ego is remarkably fortified when it comes to the physical. If I look like a clod, I can just blame it on Kwannon's decided lack of elegance."

Not that she ever does.

As they pass the capoeira troupe, Betsy stops and tilts her head to one side. She brushes an idle strand of violet hair from out of her eyes, watching them a moment before glancing sidelong at Janet.

"I need to get out. If only sometimes. Be somewhere else. A different kind of me than I've been -"

Her eyes widen slightly as they momentarily gaze past Janet and make out a familiar figure sitting on a bench eyebrows-deep in a physics tome. Don't it just figure. She trails off. Lost for words.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet links elbows with Betsy and squeezes reassuringly. "Bets, you haven't looked like a clod since you went through that phase with the bell bottoms," Janet assures the woman with a mischevious grin. She laughs and gives Betsy's bicep an affectionate squeeze and goes back to digging at her ice cream.

Sure, it's a two-handed operation, but a cone would smudge her lipstick.

"And I'm still pretty sure I can bring bell bottoms back. It's all cyclical you know," she says, with an airy wave of her spoon. "Also, if 'Kwannon's inelegant, at least she's got a solid workout routine," Janet says with an envious glance at Betsy's toned arms. "You should come work out with me and Carol. She's got this butt-blasting squat routine that's just-- well, /Steve/ approves of my results, anyway, and--"

She trails off and follows Betsy's line of sight, squinting at Peter as well. She looks to Betsy. "Who ordered the veal, amirite?"

A pointy little elbow bumps into Betsy's ribs. Janet looks away with a grin, following the tumbling capoeristas-- she sings along with their rhythm calling, head bobbing to the tune. "Si mi caballeros, bailar en la sol,~" she sings softly, only a little off-key.

Spider-Man has posed:
Do Spidey senses work when he's about to be hit with an emotional bomb?

The singing certainly helps and Peter glances up at the source with a thankful smile hidden in a sweaty face. It's a needed break from staring at figures and equations, so he sets the book aside in favor of the large waterbottle he's carting around with him to replenish depleted water reserves. After a long drink, his arms stretch out across the back of the bench and his legs out ahead of him crossing at the ankles. Make yourself at home Pet-

His brow furrows when something tickles the back of his neck. It's not spider-senses, there's no threat that he can find, but something familiar. Like a memory so vivid that it leaves a lasting physical connection. Immediately he's searching the crowds of people with head tilting hither and to trying to find the source of this feeling in his mind.

It doesn't take long.

There's Betsy standing next to Janet Van Dyne and the look on Peter's face upon seeing the pair together is as if someone snap kicked him in the gut when he wasn't ready. They're still too far away to call out and it would be CRAZY embarassing if Betsy weren't actually looking at him and he waved and then he's got to wrestle with looking like a dipshit waving at the pretty lady next to the other pretty lady and cut it out Parker.

So he does the rational thing and just stares at her.

Ultimately the less creepy option, amirite?

Shadow has posed:
    Not that off-key is a problem - these are not songs meant for a pitch-perfect concert hall; they're meant for the massed chorus of a dozen or more amateurs, a melody of averaged consensus. And even then, the tone means less than the rhythm, dictated by the snare and drum and taken up by the clapping, three beats and one silent, as the first jogadors move into the center of the roda to take up the dance.

    A few steps as both dancers find their rhythm, and the kicks start flying - elaborately telegraphed feints and dodges, to the point where even people not accustomed to actual fighting can clearly see it's more an improvised ritual dance than an actual battle... Although it would take someone who /does/ have extensive experience with actual fighting to realize that the dexterity and precision required to pretend-fight like this would translate /very/ well into actual combat.

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy locks eyes with Peter across the distance. She stares right back, not waving either. They're good, right? They talked it out. Logan knocked him about. She frowns pointedly as that particular memory drifts across the transom. But then it looks like she's frowning at him. She exhales quickly and turns her head back to Janet, putting on a playful smile that spectacularly fails to reach her eyes.

"Captain America looks at bums? Excuse me while I completely fail to imagine that. And I'll have you know that Captain Britain suit was /borrowed/ - I shan't be put on trial for the fashion crimes of other dimensions." Yes, because there was never any bellbottoms phase outside of that. Never, and she will deny it to the last.

"I wonder if there's a club for national mascots," Betsy adds, trying to talk and cover up that emotional sucker-punch with as much levity as she can muster, "Could you ask Steven about it? I might be retired from the Union Jack but if there are benefits I'm missing out on then /I want them/."

She focuses her attention solely on the capoeira display. She doesn't look back at Peter. She doesn't even turn to look at Janet, just in case she can't help but look past her and experience that special brand of misery all over again. She doesn't sing along - even if she knew the words - but she does smile politely at the dancers.

"They're rather good, aren't they?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Well, he looks at /this/ butt," Janet confirms smugly, and half-turns to shimmy her posterior pointedly. Behind the sunglasses her awareness flickers between Betsy and Peter-- there's *something* going on and it's not hard to notice the tension in Betsy's eyes, or the way Peter's... staring at her. Janet stares right back at him and frowns disapprovingly, bracketing Betsy as the supermodel looks away, and maneuvering so she's A) in Betsy's averted line of sight, and B) watching Betsy's back, just in case Peter proves to be the sort of acquaintance who just... walks up and talks to someone so very clearly out of his league.

Hey, Janet's protective of her friends!

"They're OK. That dance fighting stuff isn't my favorite, I'm too bitty to really make those punches stick in a fight. Steve's been pushing me to do more jiujitsu," she explains. "You should come do some sparring with me'n Natasha sometime. She's stupid strong but at least she's not tossing motorcycles in the air for a workout."

Spider-Man has posed:
Peter opens his mouth as if to say something, which would be a waste of time over that distance, while he and Betsy are staring. Then immediately closes it, and not because he realized it would be a waste of time. Whatever he was going to say, waste of time or otherwise, wouldn't do what he's thinking any justice. If only he had the confidence here that he had in his costume.

Suffice to say, he doesn't.

When Betsy looks away, he cannot see the way her eyes betray what her smile is trying to hide. All he can see is her smiling and saying something to Janet. Then Janet glaring at him... and Janet stepping in the path of his gaze. "You're a schmuck, Peter Parker..." Said under his breath, reaching for his books to shove them into his backpack way too quickly and with a lot more force than is necessary. When his backpack tears and drops all of those books, notepads, and calculators on the sidewalk?

Insult to injury.

He takes a deep breath and slides down into a crouch to gather these things up, piling them on the bench he's vacated. "Time to go, time to get, time to be somewhere else." Is it a crime that he wishes someone would whip out some guns right now and force him to done his mask? Absolutely. Yes, it's wrong and he knows it's wrong. Anything not to feel like this though.

Shadow has posed:
    As the performance - because that's really the only appropriate word for it - progresses, a second half-circle is forming inside the roda, of dancers getting ready to take their turns. Even as Janet looks over, a well-tanned and well built man with Maori tattoos on his upper biceps moves into the center, taking over from one of the dancers almost without dropping a beat, bending back like a limbo dancer to avoid a kick before snapping back with a strike of his own while the departing dancer takes up a spot in the outer circle to join in the singing.

Psylocke has posed:
"Sparring, you say?" Betsy asks, squaring her shoulders slightly as if to show off a more battle-ready stance, "I've learned quite a bit since school, you know. Although I'll admit there's a marked difference between dance-fighting and plucking someone's eye out with your thumb and forefinger."

She holds her hand up to illustrate her point, a genuine smile crossing her face as she makes eye contact with Janet. She's just kidding, right? Betsy isn't the eye-plucking sort. Certainly not.

"I'd be happy to join you. Sounds like quite the party."

For a moment, she lets her mind drift. Usually the surface thoughts of those around her are blocked out by force of will. Nobody wants to listen to the mundane babbling of thousands upon thousands of people all day. Maybe Professor Xavier does but he's old and doesn't have anything better to do. Nevertheless, for whatever reason she's listening now. She hears the admonishments. The Forest Hills-style self-flagellation that she knows well.

Betsy's head turns sharply as the backpack tears and the contents spill, only to finally notice Janet paying her the kindness of blocking her line of sight. She sighs. She's going to have to talk to him. She reaches out a hand, placing it on Janet's shoulder and leaning in to murmur something in her ear before inclining her head towards 'the Veal'.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Hey, they don't give out Avenger's club cards just for my shiny good looks," Janet protests at Betsy's implications. "In case you hadn't noticed, we do fighting. A lot of it. I've stalled Steve out in the ring once or twice. I mean," she allows, "not for /long/, but there's only so much you can do against a guy his size."

She turns her head slightly into Betsy's whisper, then leans back sharply and gives her a look. Back and forth from Peter to Betsy, brows rising behind the circle lenses of her sunglasses. "/reaaally/," she muses, and nods at the woman. "Huh." She gives Peter a thoughtful look. Whatever Betsy said has forced a re-evaluation of the calculus of his social worth.

"C'mon, might as well do it. Like a bandaid," Janet says, clearly reading the direction of Betsy's line of thoughts. "Either that or we can go play with the hunk with the tribal tats," she suggests, tilting her head in the direction of the dance circle.

Spider-Man has posed:
This would be a good moment for the Spidey-senses to warn him. Peter is doing his very best not to look back at the pair, collecting his books and calculators and all the things someone who does a lot of math carries around with them. Then he's looking at the torn bottom of his backpack through the opening in the top with a deep frown. Glance to his books, then his bag, and back and forth several times with a drawn out siiiiiiigh.

There's a half a second there where he wants to throw a temper tantrum, bang the bag against the bench until it shatters beneath the weight of weaponized fabric, but he contains it. Instead he combs back his damp hair out of his face with his fingers with ALL THE FORCE. SO ANGRY AT HIS HAIR. Parker smash.

Somewhere, likely at the bottom of the pile of books, his cellphone adds it's helpful tune; Stay, by Lisa Loeb. It's his ringtone for Aunt May, but when heard at high volumes it does nothing for elevating his worth. Neither does the juggling act of trying to find it before it plays for longer than a few seconds, "Aunt May? Whoa..." Juggle juggle, phone in the curve of his neck, books caught in the palm of his hand easily. "Yeah, hey May. Huh? Will I come reset your wifi password? Why? Why do you need me to do that? Okay, why do you need me to do that NOW? Well yeah, of course Little Jimmy next door figured out Parkerwifi... I told you that when you set it. No, I'm not giving you 'tude... Yes, I know I'm still young eno- can we talk about this later? I'm in central park..."

Shadow has posed:
    Unlike more conventional (read: Eastern) martial arts, Capoeira famously doesn't bother with fancy robes; loose pants, predominantly wite, and shirts with the troupe's decal or sports bras are as close as the art usually gets. Likewise, formal belts aren't much of a thing, but it's obvious that the Maori guy is a bit higher in grade than his current dance partner.

    Just as obvious to the more experienced fighters in the audience is that he's deliberately moving to make his partner look good and teach him rather than show off his own skills to the fullest -- aside from that very well excuted but wholly unnecessary backflip over a leg sweep, but everyone seems to take it in stride with a cheer as the first fighter bows out in favour of a new opponent...

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy gives a last look towards Mr. Tattoos in the middle of the capoeira display. She makes as though she's admiring him, but the look on her face suggests there's something else on her mind. Not a look all that uncommon with Betsy Braddock, given her tendency to read minds. Nevertheless, she lets is go for now. One problem at a time and whatever sense of discord within the dance-fighters would keep. They didn't look to be ready to start any actual fighting.

"Like a bandaid. Got it."

Taking Janet's advice, Betsy takes a deep breath and moves towards Peter. Her long legs cover the distance quickly, and now that she has her mind set on speaking to him she seems determined to do it. Nothing about her body language suggests backing away or changing course at the last second. As he talks on the phone, Betsy simply crouches alongside him and begins to help gather up the nerd paraphernalia that fell out of the back. She glances at the hole-y backpack and tilts her head back to look up at Janet.

"I don't suppose all fashion designers carry a needle and thread on them?"

As she asks, she peers back towards the dancers through her glasses. Definitely something unusual there. She may not do superheroic patrols anymore, but one can't turn off that particular set of instincts.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet blinks at Betsy and digs in her purse. "Uh, of course I do," she says, as if Betsy was asking a wholly rhetorical question. "Old habits, you know. Last thing I need is a fashion show and someone's seams busting out because she drank too much water right before a fitting."

The little clutch produces an emergency sewing kit and she looks at Betsy, trying to concentrate and 'throw' her thoughts. <Hey if you need to bail, say the word and I'll remember a thing we have to do,> she offers to her friend. Betsy's arm is given a reassuring squeeze and Janet moves to flank Betsy's approach as they head towards Parker.

Spider-Man has posed:
That's definitely bandaid worthy, Pete would definitely give her that. With his phone craddled up in his neck, he turns to regard the passerby that happened along to save him from broken back and dropped books only to find it is not some random stranger with alturistic intent, but Betsy Braddock with Janet Van Dyne in tow. "Aunt May... I have to go. Betsy's here." Looking right at said individual, one finger pointing at his phone mouthing Aunt May as if she didn't just hear him say as much. Whatever his Aunt says, Pete chortles quietly and lets his phone fall out of the curve of his neck into his palm, then into his back pocket. "She said you should call her sometime."

For his part, Pete is pretty oblivious to any malcontent that may be happening with the dancers. He's preoccupied and works on instincts most of the time anyways. As long as he's been doing this, one would think that he'd developed some inclination that trouble might be afoot, but one would be dreadfully wrong in their assessment. Usually, Spider-Man is just in the right place at the right (or wrong) time. Or ventures there after the craziness has already taken place.

He can tell when someone's good at fighting and pretending not to be, but as far as he's aware, them cats is just dancing. So he aside from a glance back when Bets does, he immediately returns to picking up his books. "Hey." Under his breath by way of greeting. Eyeing Janet up and over his shoulder with tight smile and star struck like wave. "Hey." The most uninteresting man on the planet. He was there for the undersea, unexplained mass sponge migration.

"I'm.. I'm good Betsy.. you don't have to.." Motioning, combing back his hair, "It's okay. I didn't mean.. if you've got somewhere else to be, I get it.." CAN HE READ MINDS TOO?!

Shadow has posed:
    The not-a-confrontation on the path is drawing some attention - not exactly unexpected with two supermodel-level women involved - but by and large New Yorkers have a sense of discretion these days.

    Besides, the show on the lawn is a bit more interesting -- the Maori guy has been working through a whole slew of dance partners, giving each a minute or two to show their stuff and learn a bit before yielding to the next in line, but the current contestant seems to know her way around the roda quite a bit more, which allows him in turn to up his game.

    The players certainly have recognized this, and by consensus have upped the tempo a step or two, and the action is flying quite a bit faster now...

Psylocke has posed:
"Oh, shut up, Pete," Betsy says, rolling her eyes in a way that suggests no real animosity, but more than a little time spent in proximity to the 'I'm alright, worry about yourselves!' selflessness act. Or not an act, really. But still frustrating.

"Ta," she says as she gratefully takes the sewing kit, holding it in the air for a moment. With the dancing going on nearby, she figures she can afford a little x-gene-fuelled shortcut. The kit leaves her hand, floating in the air as a flicker of violet light fills the air near her temples. The needle slips free of the kit and moves silkily through the air to her hand, meeting the thread along the way. She sets about stitching the hole shut. Not ideal stitches - nobody would call Betsy Braddock a seamstress - but enough to keep the thing in one place until it can be replaced. It's the thought that counts.

<It's alright,> Betsy thinks back at Janet with a shade less effort, though as she does the sewing kit drops back into her waiting hand as all telekinetic heft ceases, <Although keep the engine running, so to speak, hm?>

She then turns, handing the (mildly) repaired backpack back to Peter: "I have been meaning to stop by and visit here. I've just been busy."

Her brow knits once again and she glances back over her shoulder to the dancers. Derailing any future of the painful 'how have you been? I've been good' conversation in favour of something a touch more super-heroic. She lowers her voice enough for just Janet and Peter to hear.

"I'm sorry but there's something odd about those dancers. They're hiding something. Or rather one of them is. Not Muscles. The woman."

Nothing like a handy telepath emergency to waylay awkwardness. She glances to Peter pointedly, a telepathic hint directed at him about a certain spandex-clad wall-crawling fellow who investigates misdeeds. Well, who falls into misdeeds.

Spider-Man has posed:
This is all very good because Peter is terrible at awkward conversation. It's as if he goes out of his way to make it all the more awkward by being awkward. Xibit did a show about it, put some awkward in his awkward. Whatever. It's late.

Pete takes the bag and glances down into the, mostly, reconstructed interior with a quiet Thanks and a nod at her explanation as to why she's not visited. He gets it. He's been avoiding the school for the same reason... busy. Mostly in spandex. Glancing, then, in the direction Betsy indicates with a furrowed brow, "Not very much in that outfit." He murmurs, dropping into the oneliners easily once mental tapping reminds him that he is said wallcrawling button pusher.

He was spending so much time avoiding looking in Betsy and Janet's direction that he also avoided looking at the dancers, but now that he is it's hard not to... "Nope, still don't see anything." But he's fine taking her word for it. "Maybe someone should check in on them later? When there's not so many people around... challenge them to a dance off." His books are put into the newly repaired pack with a great deal more care this time and it's slung up on his shoulder as he stands.

"I... am glad to see you. I'll be in touch?" Mental soon stapled on at the end there.

Shadow has posed:
    The song is definitely taking on a higher pitch as two expert dancers strut their stuff, with rapid spins and acrobatic dodges that might even impress ninjas and friendly neighborhood wall-crawlers with their displays of agility and control. The tattooed guy definitely has better reach and upper/lower body strength, but the blue-haired woman more tham makes up the difference with flexibility that borders on the superhuman, at one point reversing direction in mid-cartwheel in order to evade a low sweep and flick a kick back in her opponent's direction...

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy nods her head to Peter, the rueful smile returning for a moment. The whole situation has taken a decided mental turn for her from awkward to depressing. Regardless of how much she may wish to hide it, it's impossible for that particular emotion not to drain the colour from her telepathic communiques. <Soon.>

That done, she stands up and gives him one last look: "/Someone/ should, yes."

<Subtle as a brick, Parker.>

"I'll see you later."

She isn't going to investigate. She won't. She's not that sort of hero. Or any sort. She doesn't crawl around on rooftops saving the poor and helpless. That was the whole reason why /this/ didn't work.

But still ...

She shakes her head slightly, linking arms with Janet and gliding away. A moment later they're lost in the sea of people.