Owner	Pose
America Chavez	"Hey. I'm kinda hungry. Want some chicken?" Sometimes you earn a nice break. Maybe you got a lot of work done; maybe you finished some spring cleaning. Maybe you pulled an all-nighter for a friend. Or maybe, just maybe, you helped squash a rogue detachment of AIM killbots and could just really go for some chicken. That seems to be the case -now-, at least, as the doors to Los Pollos Hermanos jingle open to usher in America Chavez, covered in grease smears, red-white-and-blue ensemble lacerated and scorched here and there, currently picking pieces of scrap metal out of the thick curls of her hair with one hand. Her other hand is holding the sparking head of a robot screeching something about "ALL GLORY TO MODOK, THE MECHANIZED ORGANISM DESIGNED ONLY FOR KILLING" that she's not really paying much attention to. She looks to her left; looks to her right. And, finding what she's looking for, unceremoniously dumps that head in the garbage before making her way to the counter, its furious ranting muffled out by the cruel plastic of the can's lid. It's only then that she makes her way to the counter, glancing over her shoulder at her size-changing friend she's invited along for a well-earned chicken excursion. "C'mon," she says, tipping her head. "My treat."
Nadia Pym	One of Nadia's resolutions has been to spend a lot more time out in the world outside the lab. Having adventures, meeting new people, and most importantly trying new foods. And when your metabolism has to handle shifting the size of your entire body you don't have to worry much about the calories you're eating. If anything the amount of meals she misses while researching things means overdoing it now and again is probably good for her! "Chicken sounds good. It's interesting how ubiquitous chicken has become across the world. Relatively resource efficient to produce, you get eggs and feathers too, and tasty. Do parallel dimensions also tend to have chicken?" She scowls at the robot head. "If Modok was only designed for killing then how did it design robots to praise him?" She shakes her head. Dismayed at such a lack of logic from a robot. "Are you sure you want to pay for mine? I can eat a lot." She beams a smile. "I can also do the whole 'Russians drink a lot' thing. Not that this seems like the sort of place which sells vodka.."
America Chavez	Do parallel dimensions also tend to have chicken? "Sometimes it's a different animal. Sometimes they just call it something different," is America's simple response. Her tone of voice is still as effortlessly bland as she continues, "Sometimes the chickens have taken over and farm-raise people." She says it so matter-of-factly, too. The multiverse is truly vast and terrifying. The sound of the robot trying to refute Nadia's point via scathing ad hominem attacks is largely muffled as America turns around to face the Titan. She leans back against the counter, folding her arms over her chest as she regards Nadia with a cocked head. Is she sure she wants to pay for the other woman's? "Wouldn't have said it if I wasn't," is her easy answer, one brow lifting. "What else am I gonna use the money for?" Basic daily necessities? New clothes? A place to live? None of that seems to actually factor in as 'a problem' for America, at least. Instead, she turns her head, casting a hooded-eye at the employee manning the cashier and staring at them both with a level of detachment that could possibly rival even America's. Working so close to Titans Tower, the people here are presumably used to this, and mean-spirited robots. "You got vodka?" she wonders of the man. He stares back, in silence, for five whole seconds. He looks sidelong, towards the fountain drinks. Back to America. "N...o. We have Coke." America looks back at Nadia. "They have Coke." "And Dr. Pepper." America jerks a thumb back at the man, to indicate 'and that.'
Nadia Pym	"Are they tiny people?" Nadia wonders. "Chicken size that is. People wouldn't be very calorie efficient to raise for food in our current proportions but I guess if they breed for meat we'd probably... You know. Make a better meal." Probably this is not the first direction a typical person would take that train of thought. But then there are places in the Microverse equally exotic as any parallel dimension. Probably. There's certainly some weird things. "I guess you probably just punch your way into the dimension where everything is made of diamonds. Pocket a bunch then come back." If she wasn't before she probably will now. "Coke is good. Especially if it's the real sugar kind." Because a super genius needs lots of sugar and caffeine. That never possibly goes wrong. "Been on any fun adventures lately?" She wonders. "Harper took me bar hopping which was fun. I've also been trying to teach wasps to do construction work... But it's not going well. They mostly keep chewing my ornamental plants."
America Chavez	Nadia works through the logistics of human farming; America regards her with a brow perpetually arched just so; the Los Pollos employee takes it all in ambivalent stride. America waits until Nadia's train of thought completely runs its course before answering with a simple, nondescript, "Something like that." America Chavez: ineffably informative. As Nadia speculates on how America manages to keep herself afloat via pilfered diamonds from the Diamond Dimension, though, the Utopian manages a little smirk of amusement; a snort of the same sentiment follows suit, before she turns around to face the cashier. "Not too far off, chica," is all she offers, maybe to scintillate that active imagination all the more. She cants her head Nadia's way, then, before saying, "Large Coke. And a large root beer float, two straws." She looks up at the menu, perusing for a second as Nadia speaks to her about adventures. She makes her order for a sixteen piece bucket of chicken and a chimichanga platter, before she takes a single step to the side, gesturing casually for Nadia to come forward and make her own order. "I've been here and there; keeping busy," she answers simply, which for her could mean practically anything. "Sounds like you've been doing okay." Wasps aside. But really-- "Don't get yourself too down. Wasps are gonna do what wasps wanna do." Which is, of course, chew up plants. She looks sidelong Nadia's way, brows lifting. "How'd your inaugural crawl go, chica?" The bar crawl is, after all, is a sacred thing.
Nadia Pym	"Well the whole point of selective breeding them for intelligence should mean they will do what I want..." Nadia says with a sigh. "I'm thinking it'll probably be easier to just get Kate to pay for specialist engineers. I don't think the civic planners will take the safety guarantees of insects. I'll probably just find I have to deal with tedious admin if I do things the /fun/ way." Which is to say overthinking it and using way more convoluted science than the situation requires. Although that /is/ the Pym way. She places her own order. It's.. a lot. Four different dishes picked largely on the basis she hasn't tried them before. "Crawl? We didn't crawl anywhere..." she says quizzically. "Besides I went drinking with Gwen before hand. But that was just after work and we only drank most of two bottles of vodka. The bar in Gotham had a band on though, which was new, and that was a lot of fun. I didn't get drunk though. I /tried/ though." Strictly speaking she's not old enough to drink in bars. But a former spy has a fake ID for every occasion.
America Chavez	"Everything's got a limit. Guess you found what wasps' were." It's a lot of food, in general; America still pays as promised, stuffing one hand into the pocket of her scorched but mostly intact denim jacket to produce a simple, new-looking prepaid card. It's as she's running the card through that she continues on talking with Nadia. "Not a lot to be done about it, yeah? Sometimes it's just about getting the job done." The Los Pollos Hermanos employee stoically takes their massive orders and payment without so much as batting an eye. What a pro. Or maybe he's just dead inside. But it's when Nadia talks about how they didn't -crawl- anywhere, that America pauses. The employee pauses. They both stare at Nadia in silence for several long seconds as she continues on. Ultimately, the employee just manages to say, "... Your meal will be out soon," and wanders off to the back, apparently having hit his own limit. And America-- "snrk" Snorts out a small laugh of amusement, shaking her head with a bounce of brown curls. "Bar crawl." She reiterates: "Bar hopping, chica. Same thing. And if you were doing it right you oughta end up crawling somewhere by the end." Not that America would know; Utopian fortitude requires Utopian strength alcohol to get her in a state like that. But she knows how a proper crawl should go. "Sounds like you made a good try. Maybe next time, we all go on a proper crawl." What's a proper crawl for someone who can transport people across spacetime? Probably not something for the faint of heart. At the very least, America will take pains to ensure they don't end up in the Los Humanos Hermanos universe.
Nadia Pym	"We didn't hop either?" Nadia says, frowning. "I'm not sure I really understand. English is my second language and we didn't really go to bars in Siberia." On account of growing up in an underground bunker. Which really puts a dampener on her social life. "Drinking a lot just makes me get a little silly. I have been trained to resist intoxication. Both of alcohol and various other toxins." Because if you think the Red Room wouldn't dose it's trainees with narcotics to make sure they can still fight while inebriated you don't know the Red Room! "That does sound like fun though. I want to go to a proper party sometime," she muses. "For science." She grins at America, who seems like someone who gets invited to a lot of parties. "It's probably the only downside to skipping college. I don't get to enjoy the 'social' side of higher education." It's probably for the best they don't visit a dimension where people are raised for food. Especially if alcohol is involved. Who knows what sort of wacky liberate the livestock adventure they might end up on.