8404/Fashion Forward

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Fashion Forward
Date of Scene: 19 July 2019
Location: Janet's Room, Avengers Mansion
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Wasp (van Dyne), Psylocke




Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's in her offices at JVD, and there's a sense of... not quite urgency, but /alarm/ around the company. All the way from the front desk to her personal assistant, manning the doors to her design room. It probably has something to do with her CFO being on charges of insider trading. It's the sort of white collar crime that most people couldn't give two toots about, but it's clearly got Janet van Dyne a bit twisted in knots.

When Betsy Braddock departs the elevator, Janet's assistant springs to her feet. "Miss Braddock! You're right on time. One moment, please." She gestures at a sofa near the large desk and taps something on her keyboard. A few seconds later there's a *bleep* reply and she smiles at Betsy and gets to her feet, moving to open the door. "C'mon in, please."

The doors open, revealing Janet's massive design space/personal office. The curtain in the middle of the area is drawn back, illuminating the divide between businesswoman and designer; on the right, nothing but white, soft blues, and delicate gold. A cool and lean room concept with little in the way of distraction or color. On the left... every conceivable combination of color, a riotous array of cloth and mannequins and artwork and sewing machines.

Janet's just putting some paperwork away when Betsy shows up, and flashes a polite (if somewhat wan) smile at her friend. "Betsy! Good timing, c'mon in," Janet says, and gets to her feet. She's dressed right out of the 40s, an a-frame dress in daisy yellow with white lace petal sleeves, notched collar, and miniskirt hem. Her shoes match, cute yellow pumps with a heel a little too high for most office wear and a tiny white flower on the arch that matches the wide white leather belt around her waist.

"Thanks Michelle, can you get us some... coffee?" she asks, glancing at the tiny white-gold watch on the inside of her left wrist. Her earrings match it perfectly, palm-sized loops dangling from her ears. "It's past noon, I guess we could break into the liquor cabinet," she offers to Betsy. Janet moves to hug the woman and gestures at the little settee near her desk, two chairs facing a sofa over a little coffee table.

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy moves towards the couch but doesn't have all that long to try and sit down before she's once more being ushered somewhere, this time into Janet's office. She cranes her neck a little to get a look around, taking it all in for a moment. She raises her eyebrows appreciatively, although a slight twitch in the corner of her eye hints at something else. She lifts two fingers to her forehead, pausing halfway across the floor to Janet in order to close her eyes and shake her head.

"Sorry. The ... trading? It's all they're thinking about out there. It's like standing in the middle of a beehive."

Betsy's look today is an extremely casual one. An open blazer in purple tie-dye, unbuttoned over a loose fitting white blouse. A denim skirt fashionably torn about the thighs with the hem frayed white. In her ears hang a pair of studs in the shape of butterfly wings. On her feet are a pair of sandals, two spartan straps enough to keep the wedge-shaped sole in place while not restriction her all that much. The sleeves of her blazer are rolled up around her forearms, a bangle colored like pink marble hanging loose about her wrist.

She shakes her head, blocking out the telepathic communication.

"Liquor if you can spare it," Betsy says, her voice sounding grave, "I've got some rather earth-shattering news."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's face twists in a sympathetic expression, and she rests a palm on Betsy's arm to give her a reassuring squeeze. "Liquor it is. I'll handle drinks-- thanks Michelle. Oh, if you can bring in some snacks, I'd appreciate it. Low-carb," she adds, and glances at Betsy. "Right?" she asks, prompting for reassurance.

The low bureau against a wall proves to have a well-stocked liquor cabinet in it and Janet starts pouring rum and Diet Coke into a glass filled with ice. A little lime is peeled and dropped into it as well and she glances over her shoulder at Betsy, wiggling a finger-- as if to inquire what the lavender-haired woman will have.

"I've got some shit news too. I think you oughta go first though," Janet prompts Betsy. "Something with the Mansion or on the personal side?" she hazards.

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy nods her head, glancing at Michelle for a moment with a grateful smile before turning her attention fully back to her friend. She finds the first sturdy-looking flat surface and sits on it, crossing her ankles and folding her arms low over here stomach.

"Can you make a Moscow mule? Ginger beer and vodka. Little lime juice."

The violet-haired woman puffs her cheeks out and exhales, considering the question before saying: "It's personal news. And I rather don't think it's all that bad. It's more like a sudden change I didn't quite expect. I'm just afraid I may be 'on the rebound' as they say."

The talk of bad news furrows her brow, and she presses away from her leaning place to approach Janet.

"Shit news? Is everything okay with Steven? I'm sorry I couldn't make the birthday party, by the by. There was some rather sticky business in Canada."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Me and Steve? God no. No," she chuckles. "We're fine. Better than fine. I can guess where your brain is at though," she adds. Janet winces at Betsy and makes the drink with tidy practice. She /does/ keep a well-stocked liquor cabinet-- all the ingredients are on hand. And chilled!

"Must be worst than I thought. You and Peter are finally quits, huh?" The drink's prepared with a rattle of ice and she brings both over. The copper mug is offered to Betsy and Janet curls up on a chair, tucking her legs in under her with her shoes hanging carefully off the side. It's a trick to do that in a miniskirt, but somehow she manages just fine. "I'm sorry to hear that." Ruby-painted lips quirk in a wry moue, slanting to the side. "I met him. I mean, officially, at the Mansion." Janet chews her straw on her back molars and sips from the glass, then gestures vaguely. "Why am I telling you this?" she asks, rhetorically. "I texted you about it. I'm still on board with giving him shit if you want, I got your back. Sisters afore mist-ahs," she says, and purses her lips while throwing out a little faux 'street' handsign.

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy breathes a sigh of relief, taking the drink and immediately bringing it to her violet-hued lips for a grateful sip. She holds it there for a while, eyes watching Janet over the rim as she listens to her.

"He's a sweetheart, really. What happened with us was never because of anything he did, or I did. We were just - I don't know - different people. Sometimes that variety is the spice of life, other times it's like mixing Marmite and chocolate. It limped along as long as it could but in the end he's a good person and I don't suppose I am."

She fixes her eyes on some indeterminate spot on the floor, the straw caught between her lips as she grinds it flat between her front teeth. A moment later she shakes her head, smiling brightly and turning her gaze back to Janet.

"This person I've met, though. It's - well, not the sort I'd quite imagined myself in. It's - "

The model trails off again, her eyes rolling upwards in thought before she adds: "Do you remember Kate Green from school? The one who broke up with that Grosvenor's chap and swore she'd never go out with another man as long as she lives?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Katie?" Janet has to think about it for a second. A fingernail scrapes a hollow tune from the edge of her straw. "Yyyyes, I think I remember her. Yeah," she confirms with a nod. "I mean, as much as you can say 'going out'," Janet amends, rolling her eyes theatrically. "Chaperoned trips to the cinemas to see six-month-old US movies weren't really my idea of 'a good time'," she snorts. "Pretty hard to sneak off and snog with someone in the bushes while Madame Marguerite was hunting with that ruler in hand. Bitch," she mutters, darkly.

"Uh, anyway. So what, you've... started dating someone already? I mean, not 'already', just-- wait, i thought you were here to tell me you broke up with Peter. How the hell could you already be seeing someone that intense?"

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy can't help but laugh as Janet recounts their storied finishing school careers. Her expression brightens and her eyes crease slightly at the corners, her smile genuine rather than practiced. She sighs, lifting the drink for another sip straight from the class while letting the chewed-flat straw dangle off to one side and bump against her cheek.

"We've been broken up for months, really," Betsy explains, "At least to one another. I hadn't seen him outside of the Mansion and that time in the Park for weeks. When we called off the wedding I knew it was over, it just took time to admit it. For both of us."

She shakes her head, lifting a hand to tuck a loose strand of violet hair behind her ear. "Perhaps not that intense. We haven't even gone on one chaperoned trip to the cinema yet," a wry smile, "But seeing someone, yes. That's one of the perks of telepathy, I expect - being able to understand and make a connection with someone a touch quicker. I wanted to tell you before I told anyone else and perhaps to warn you in a professional capacity. I don't imagine for a second Peter would take it poorly but if he did - "

She sets her glass down suddenly with a loud clatter, slaps both palms on her thighs and turns to face Janet: "I'm seeing a woman. As - I mean that's who I am seeing. Dating. That's who it is." She closes her eyes sucks in her lips with a frustrated grunt.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"...is..." Janet looks very confused. "I thought you'd dated a girl before," she says, confusion writ on her fine features. "Whatsername. Amanda, Amanda... somethin'rother," she hedges. A furrow appears in her brow and she purses her lips, looking at something on the far wall for inspiration. "You two were thick as thieves in our senior forms. I figured you were doin' it or at least making out or whatever."

She looks at Betsy, then laughs. It occurs to her half a second later that laughing might be taken the wrong way and she covers her mouth, but it's hard to hide those dancing green eyes. "Oh, lord, I'm sorry. /Sorry/," she stresses. "I don't mean to be rude. Is /that/ what's got you stressed out? C'mon, we went to an all-girl's academy. I went through my 'experimental' phase. Well, phase one," she concedes. "Second phase was after my divorce, and... well, there's a reason I don't drink bourbon anymore," she says, mischeviously.

"Anyway, good for you! Lil' rebound never hurt anyone. Is this..." her face twists. "Is this one of those things with the--" a finger gestures at her forehead. "split personality issue?"

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy lifts her drink off the table, breathing an audible sigh of relief. As Janet speaks, she opens her eyes wide, raising her eyebrows high and takes a gulping sip of her Moscow mule. She finishes it off and lets the dead soldier return to the tabletop, it's duty done, "The split personality rather does play into it." She trails off, once more moving a strand of hair from her forehead.

"Amanda FitzHume? Oh," Betsy trails off, staring at some point in space just past Janet's eat, "Well, maybe a little bit but that was not quite as serious as this." She laughs, "I didn't think you'd be shocked or appalled I just - I wasn't quite ready to say it out loud before. She's rather new to the whole idea herself, with a - a split personality issue of her own. I want you to meet her, actually. She could probably use some rather urgent fashion advice. Until recently it was exclusively shorts and band t-shirts."

She shakes her head and closes here eyes before looking back at Janet: "Well, now that my news was rather less of the mountain and more of the mole hill - what's your news?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Hey, so every date you guys go on is a double date," Janet says. Brows rise and she opens her mouth wide, a silent expression of 'heyooo!' and then breaks out laughing at her own corny joke. "Sure. I don't mind meeting her," she adds a beat later. "I'll even waive my consulting fee of $5,000 an hour," she adds with an airy, patronizing tone that's far too pompous to be sincere.

"Anyway, my news-- well, I've got 'news'," she says, making a face, "And then honestly I could stand to dish a bit about personal stuff, 'cause I need some girl chat." The black straw is clamped between her teeth and Janet sips heavily.

"Anyway, long story short, my CFO got arrested for insider trading. He's an awesome guy and I totally call bullshit on it. Apparently the SEC got a 'tip' from some anonymous asshole. They don't have a lot to work with, but... well, Larry's like a lot of white collar management types. He's heavily invested in a lot of different hedge funds, and one of his fund managers shorted a bunch of stocks in Dmitrios Margoli's fashion house right before he dropped that godawful line of designer plasticware at Paris Fashion Week," she says, chattering glibly. "My guess is that the hedge fund manger finger ol' Lar for it to try and get a plea deal or something, but..." She shrugs, helplessly. "Anyway, I woke up the next day with a few hundred thousand sawed off my net worth and now the company's flailign a bit to stay on top of a misplaced executive. He can't handle finances while under investigation so..." Lips twist into an irritated moue.

Psylocke has posed:
"I'll help you," Betsy says immediately, leaning forward with her palms flat against the tops of her thighs, "with keeping things floating, I mean. I hardly think I'm good financial executive material. But the benefits of being a Braddock is I don't have to be. That's just money that's been sitting there since the Regency Era, and Brian and I don't use even a fraction of it. And Jamie - well, he's Jamie." She waves a dismissive hand at the specter of her elder brother.

She vigorously nods her head, remaining leaned forward, "How much do you need? I'll have Mister Dunn transfer it across to you straight away."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Aww! That's so sweet," Janet tells Betsy. She shifts, recrossing her legs so one points behind and one hangs ahead of her, and beams gratefully at the Brit. "But it's really not hurting my pocketbook. Just the Forbes index. I'm pretty well diversified in terms of my personal finances, plus I've still got my majority stake in Pym Labs, and a few other odd ducks. And the old family holdings," she assures, Betsy. Like Betsy, Janet comes from old money-- 'The Van Dynes owned part of Plymouth', she'd say-- and it shows in her regal bearing when finances are discussed. "I mean, don't get me wrong, a three-percent dip in my stocks for JVD is nothing to sneeze at. But it'll recover once Larry's out from under this mess," she assures Betsy. "But you're still very sweet to offer. And no-- I've seen your grades in math and Economics class. You'd be a /horrible/ CFO."

Psylocke has posed:
"I don't suppose you want me to do any of the old - "

Betsy trails off and raises a hand to her temple, pressing two fingers against it and closing her eyes. In that same moment her voice is inside Janet's head, clear and with that same youthful resonance she had in her old body that seems missing from this new one.

<Mind trick. Make them think they arrested the wrong man.>

She smiles, holding up her hands defensively before quickly adding in her spoken voice: "I'm just having a lend of you. With all this Sentinel rubbish I hardly think we need mutants perverting the course of justice."

The telepath leans back in her chair, splaying a hand across her chest and sighing audibly in an overly dramatic way, "I'll never work at JVD, will I? I'm doomed to be an Instagram hack forevermore. Chief Financial Officer was my last, best hope!"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Wow," Janet says, drawing the word out. She's so unimpressed by the obvious gambit that it almost rounds the bend into being impressed again. "Is /that/ why you're here? Angling for work?" The fashionista clucks her tongue at Betsy, chidingly. "Y'know, for a telepath, you're about as transparent as a window," Janet says, with a hiked brow.

Janet may act a little vapid from time to time, but she's certainly sharper than some give her credit for. "And yes, you /are/ an Instagram hack. Selfies on a beach just aren't gonna do it."

A thoughtful expression crosses her face and she rocks back and forth, nibbling absently on a simple golden pendant hanging near the hollow of her throat. "I mean, I'm not as old-school as Mode or Calvin," she amends. "I dig social media hardcore. We're doing a lot with Instagram influencers, but that's the sort of fickle love of the mob. And it's a lotta work, you've gotta be making a careful balance between saturating the feed with images and posting so little you lose followers. Still, get the right businessses on board, put some money behind driving up follows... I don't know, you could clear a hundred, hundred and fifty thousand US a year, I'd guess. I still think there's some mystique in being a supermodel, you know?" Janet states. "Vetted with some real brand recognition, walking the runways. Not just posing for pictures for horny neckbeard internet dudes to leer at."

Psylocke has posed:
"I certainly don't need to work," Betsy insists, that air of aristocratic indignance seeping into her voice, "But I confess I rather want to. There was a time not all that long ago when it was me on the runways, on the billboards, in the magazines. It wasn't all that long ago at all."

She sighs, slumping back in the chair as her poise leaves her. She reaches for the empty glass, lifts it up for a moment before realising she already finished it and setting it down again miserably. She looks down at herself, as though disappointed by what she sees.

"And now this is me. A face nobody recognizes and," she lifts a hand, gesturing at Janet, "Selfies on the beach. Teaching physical education to a gaggle of teenagers equal parts randy and indignant."

A pause, she reaches a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and sigh, "I'm sorry. I'm not here to try and pressure you into finding me work. Especially not after all you're going through. That - that wasn't good of me."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet laughs merrily, a tinkling sound, and rises smoothly. "You're adorable," she tells Betsy, and leans down to kiss her browline with a sisterly affection. "I'm just giving you a hard time, hon," she promises her friend. "You're just a little rusty when it comes to the finer points of dissembling, these days. Too much time doing ninja stuff," she teases.

With a click of heels she heads to the bar to whip up another drink for Betsy. "Look, I mena, I know you miss how you used to look," she acknowledges. "I mean, I can't even imagine. But let's be real, you've kind of got the best of both worlds now. You're a hot, tall half-Asian chick and built like an athlete. It's bad enough you're taller than me now, you could at least have lost your tits with how skinny you got," Janet mutters. "Almost as bad as being around Jen Walters, you'd not /believe/ what it costs to make support garments for her."

The drink's prepared and brought back over to Betsy. "Listen: lemme help," she offers. "We'll bring you on as an Instagram contract model. Push you with some on-brand stuff from JVD and I'll personally get you on a catwalk or two. Once you get some of that name brand recognition, we'll hack some social media algorithims together and drop five or ten grand on outreach and advertising. Once you break that hundred thousand follower mark, you'll start seeing some real momentum."

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy reaches out to give Janet's hand a grateful squeeze from where she sits slouched backwards on the chair, sitting up a little as the compliments wash over her and giving an abashed smile. Nevertheless, there's no point where she tries to stop or waylay them.

"I can do that," she agrees, sitting up straight now and reaching out to take the drink as it's offered to her, "I'll front up the cash for the advertising. It's my favour you're doing, after all."

All at once she sits bolt upright, slapping Janet on the thigh and rising to her feet, "Now! No more sulking!" As though she weren't the one doing it, "It's my birthday in three weeks and you're coming, aren't you? The fifth of August. You and Steven. It's going to be quite the do."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Uh, yeah, absolutely, count me in," Janet promises Betsy. She elects to sit again, kneeling on the furntiure next to Betsy and resting her thighs on her calves. One shoulder leans against the sofa for support. "I can't speak for Steven. Not yet," she amends, grinning. "Working on that, though. But absolutely, I'll clear my schedule and be sure to be there," she promises Betsy.

Her expression grows thoughtful. "I'm ... y'know, I can't tell if this is me just being paranoid and insecure, or what," she admits. "I can't get a read on him sometimes, still. It's been three months and I just don't know what he wants sometimes. He can be so sweet and thoughtful-- /amazing/ footrubs," she tells Betsy. "But like... I don't know." She fidgets absently with the little golden pendant she's wearing, a nail tapping against the enameled talisman; on close inspection, it's a cunningly crafted miniature of Cap's iconic shield. "I've had to make every first move. First date, first kiss, first, uh, other stuff," she says, impishly. "I mentioned trading keys and he sort of went 'eh'. I asked him really casually, /really/ casually, how he felt about kids, and he almost had a panic attack." She exhales in frustration. "And then I fixate on that and kinda spiral down for a bit, and I'm just... I don't know. Thoughts?"

Psylocke has posed:
"I don't know him all that well," Betsy admits, her words carefully chosen and slow, "Only what one reads about on Wikipedia or in the news. But he's a centenarian, isn't he? A hundred years old? You've seen newsreels from the Thirties and Forties. Some of the words they use? The way they speak? It seems almost like a different language sometimes. Maybe that's what it's like for the pair of you?"

She lifts her glass to her lips, capturing the straw and not worrying it with her teeth this time. As she takes a sip, she nods her head and 'hmms'.

"Good mule. Anyway, the commitment-o-phobia isn't too much of a surprise. Peter may have popped the question but he was married to Spider-Man first and foremost. That's how those good, decent people are wired, I'm afraid. They couldn't imagine putting it all down to live a quiet life, and they don't want to put you in a position where they would have to choose something and it not being you."

She waves a hand, shaking her head: "But it could just be that he's an old fashioned gentleman and you're a modern woman. I'm not quite sure they'd invented Janet van Dynes in the Forties. Maybe he's just worried that if he takes the lead you'll think he's trying to curb your freedom?"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Mm. Mebbe," Janet allows, and nibbles the straw trapped between her fingers. "I know he's real respectful of that sort of thing. Treating women right, I mean-- not just 'oh, I'll go to work so you can stay home'. He's very supportive. Had to tweak his nose once or twice when we went on mission together, he can get a /bit/ overprotective," she allows. "Which would be annoying if it weren't a little sexy. Then again-- honeymoon phase, he could stub his toe and it's endearing," she admits with a lopsided smile.

"But it's ... he's not really a century old. He's my age. Our age," she amends. "He was in his mid-twenties when the ship went down. So it's not like he lived through seventy years of history. Asleep one day listening to the news on a radio, next day, cell phones and flying cars." She shrugs at Betsy, then her face falls. "You're probably right about the white picket fence thing, I just... I don't know. Kinda bums me out to think Steve's gonna be married to the job forever."

Psylocke has posed:
"Well, what do I know?" Betsy says with a shake of her head and a dismissive wave of her hand, "I'm the stupid cow that thought she could con Janet van Dyne into giving her a job on the merits of a few beach selfies and finishing school stories. Maybe he's not married to it forever. When he became Captain America? That was a very different time. A very real and identifiable threat was sitting right there and he stepped up to stop it."

Betsy takes one more sip from her straw and sets the glass down so she can lock eyes with Janet, "There's the Avengers for one thing. He's not the only one anymore. There's all of you - Earth's Mightiest Heroes and all that tosh. Not to mention all the other groups and people out there. There'll always be an appreciation for him, I'm sure, and there'll always be something he can do but maybe in time you'll make him realise that perhaps he could stop?"

Her eyes flick down to the floor, staring at it in silence as one corner of her mouth twitches faintly.