Owner	Pose
Janet van Dyne	Avengers come, and Avengers go, but being an Avenger: that's for life. And so it is for Janet van Dyne, back from a long stint running her fashion house, returning to the tower that launched her name from the obscurity of the fashion world into the forefront of the newspapers as THE WASP. JARVIS jingles a 'friendly incoming' alert to the main floor and the security services. Janet broadcasts her IFF signal and lands on the balcony adjacent to the helipad, enlarging herself from wasp-sized to her full five-something frame. Her helmet's popped off, and she shakes her hair out while she walks into the building. "Hello? Anyone home?" she calls, standing on her tiptoes and cupping a hand to her mouth to be heard.
Captain America	Down one floor, Steve's just exiting the library with a closed laptop under his arm. His study session, a read-through of an encyclopedia in contrast with Wikipedia, has granted him some insight on the world of Furbies. Color him intrigued at initial search, mildly disturbed at what he's discovered afterwards. He hears the voice calling down and pauses in plain sight of the upstairs level. "Depends on who's asking," he shouts back, already wearing a hint of a smile. He //thinks// he recognizes who's calling out and it's been some time indeed. He waits in his zip-up hoodie overtop a t-shirt and jeans with running sneakers, looking incredibly civilian and absolutely boring fashion-wise.
Janet van Dyne	"Steve!" Janet squeals happily and jumps *off* the landing in Captain America's direction. Mid-vault she shrinks rather quickly, and then there's a buzzing of her wings to arrest her momentum. Sure enough, she *pops* back into regular dimensions a running step in the air above Cap, and aims to land a hug right on his shoulders. She breaks after a moment, beaming happily at Cap. "I'm so glad you're here! I was worried I'd missed you and you'd headed off to do Army guy stuff again." She pats his chest, then blinks and pokes a pectoral. "Well, you're still eating your Wheaties, I see," she teases him, with a sly grin. "How've you been?"
Captain America	Steve's sharp eyes can barely track the process of shrinking. She's quick and skilled at it. His gaze flicks until he sees the minute winged figure and, more truthfully, only finds her due to that ringing buzz of flight. He catches the falling superheroine easily enough as she slings arms around his neck and he hugs one arm around her, other hand dedicated to keeping the laptop from being jostled to an ignominous thump on the wooden flooring. A quick laugh on his part and he then takes a half-step back to beam at her. The familiar (friendly) gesture on her part is enough to make his smile twist something wry. "Enjoying my Wheaties. Keeping busy. Evil never sleeps and all those adages." A shadow cross over his face, but he masks it again quickly enough. "Heard you were off on a jaunt in the world of fashion. Still sticking people in terrible jackets and calling it haute couture?" he teases lightly with a little tilt of his head.
Janet van Dyne	"Oooh, you!" Janet scolds Steve and swats at his arm, with all the impact of a rolled sheet of paper. "That's a pretty big word from a guy who got his GED when there was still an Ottoman Empire," she says, with a haughty disdain that lasts about .5 seconds. "We blew open the Chinese market and I bet we'll see inroads in Malaysia this year," she tells Steve. "It slows down this time of year a bit 'cause of seasonal workers in America taking time off. I figured it was a good time to come home and tend to things stateside, see some friends--" she squeezes his arm, beaming up at him-- "and get my boots back on, so to speak." She links arms with Steve and tugs at him. "C'mon, I need to unpack and you can walk with me," Janet suggests. Suggests somewhat imperiously, admittedly. Is Steve doing something? Doesn't matter, surely it's not as important as Janet!
Captain America	Furbies are never as important as Janet van Dyne -- and Steve'll be the first one to agree with this. Humoring her, he travels along by dint of her tugging directional lead, still smiling almost to himself. "You're already wearing your boots," he points out unnecessarily, again in mild tease, before adding, " -- but you've come back at a good time. We..." A small sigh breaks his thought up and he grimaces, glancing at her again. "We could use an extra hand or two. I'm sure you heard bits here and there while you were away via the comms, but the place itself has only been back about a month. I went with Tony and the others into another dimension to retrieve it. The contractors are almost done. Just a few more rooms left to fix up. If you hear anything odd in the walls, just let JARVIS know. Tony's robots will come deal with it. They'll be leftover...extradimensional insect eggs." There's that little lilt of an apologetic shrug in his tone in this information. Ew, gross, and all.
Janet van Dyne	"You're joking," Janet huffs. She looks up at Steve. "You're not joking. Interdimensional eggs? I thought Tony was drunk texting me again." She frowns. "Or maybe JARVIS got a computer virus? I don't know, I never read my emails anyway," she says, airily waving it away. "Point is, you're all here and the tower's where it ought to be." She opens the door to her old suite, which has been emptied and re-used several times and sports a minimalist decor. "Oh, the old Stark touch for interior decorating," she grumbles, wryly. "You'd think he'd hire someone who has a tasteful aesthetic. This looks like a doctor's waiting room." She reaches into her purse and starts taking little cubes out of it, setting them in different places around the room. "So who else is on the active roster, these days? Hank's not gonna jump out of a corner and yell 'Boo!' is he?" she asks, wryly.
Captain America	Janet gets a slow and stoic shake of Steve's head in reply as they travel along. Nope. Not joking. It's totally interdimensional insect eggs. "You're about as bad as Thor and his comm," the Captain says with a little laugh before they reach the room belonging to one Miss van Dyne. Steve lingers at the doorway rather than entering, even affecting a lean on the frame itself as he watches her go about her business. The small cubes get speculative squints, but he'll just see what those turn out to be -- and whether or not they fit in the room. He glances up and grins, replying, "No, no jump-scares from Hank...if that's what they call those these days." How fuddy-duddy of him. "He's off working on something else. You know Tony, considering you were just harping on his interior decorating skills. Bruce is still around. Thor," he adds with a glance down the hallway at some distant sound. Probably a robot. "Nat's still around, same with Clint. Wanda helped get the mansion back. Colonel Rhodes stops by now and then. Logan dropped by for drinks not long ago. Jennifer Walters." He frowns off to one side, thinking. "Miss Drew -- Jessica. Rogue and Beast, they're around. Captain Danvers had some time off from her work, dropped in. The Doctor's around, Strange." The last name, not the description. "He's been having some trouble lately, but not sure what. I've been...busy." Code-word in Steve for 'dealing with trouble', and deliberately vague to boot.
Janet van Dyne	"Gosh, it's like having the old gang back together," Janet says, with a fond smile. "I'm glad there are some familiar faces lurking. Nothing worse than showing up at a party and not knowing *anyone*," she murmurs, rolling eyes skywards. "Dreadful." She finishes unpacking her purse and touches a computer display hidden in her left vambrace. Fingers tap-tap-tap, and then she palms the 'activate' button. There's a flash of light and rushing wind, and everything she'd set out reverts to full size. A big drafting table, a huge wardrobe, a nightstand, posh bed, and a very well-loved recliner that looks big enough to swallow her whole. She opens a steamer trunk and comes up with more tiny objects that, once enlarged, turn out to be picture frames. "Be a lamb, help me hang these?" she asks of Steve. "I'll tell you when it's level." She gestures at the interior wall and starts setting out what proves to be planters and bonsai trees under her window. "I don't think I've worked with Dr. Strange much. He's always got a nose buried in a book. How's he been fitting in around here?"
Captain America	"Yep. It's the worst," agrees Steve drolly to not knowing a single face at a gathering. He watches the wonder that is subatomic engineering in action and shift back in a rock-step at the outwards movement of displaced air. A thoughtfully-amused 'hmm' from him at everything on display and in exactly the right place. It must definitely take a designer's eye to correctly gauge the small-to-large shift -- and no doubt came with story-worthy mistakes in the past. Duly noted: ask Janet when there's time. Invited into the room on premise of offering aid, he walks over to set aside his laptop on the drafting table. He takes up a picture, considers it with a nonjudgmental tilting of his head, and then it's one at a time along the interior wall, deferring to Janet's call on level hang. "I haven't touched base with the Doctor in a while," the Captain admits. "He seems to get along with everyone well enough. What he does is beyond me, but that's okay. I'm not ever going to be able to...what did he call it. Open a window to London with a spin of his hand. Incredible stuff."
Janet van Dyne	"Little higher." Janet frowns, walking Steve through a series of very minuscule shifts to the painting between blithely chattering on. "I've seen Tony and Hank twist themselves in knots trying to figure it out," she assures Cap. "There's a famous author who once said that 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from Magic'," she quotes. "Magic is a system. I think it's a system that's way, way beyond us, but it's one that makes sense to Strange and his companions," she points out. She moves to her drafting table, eying Steve's laptop, and carefully moves it to her bed so it doesn't interrupt the layout of the pencils and drafting instruments she digs out of storage. "Personally I think those boys just have egos which can't accept 'it can't be explained' as an answer for why they don't understand it. God help us if Tony ever gets a knack for the fundamental powers of the universe," she says, eyerolling. She seems to have forgotten about Steve's task.
Captain America	With his arms stretched up and frozen in order to keep the picture from potentially tilting further, Steve has to tip back his head to look around his upraised limb. "I have a feeling he'd still be responsible about it, in the long run. After all, he'd have the Doctor to keep him in check -- and me," the Captain adds with a wry chuckle. "We have our differences, but he's a good guy." A pause and Steve arcs an imperious wheat-gold brow. "You good with the leveling on this one or more to the right or left or...?"
Janet van Dyne	"Oh, you know what I mean," Janet tsks, shaking her head. She brushes her pixie-cut bangs back from her face and lays out colored pencils in a rainbow shade from red to blue. "He's Tony. His biggest enemies are always going to be his own ego and a reckless disregard for consequence. He'd be halfway through playing with a nuclear warhead before realizing he should probably take it out of the city." She glances over her shoulder. "Oh, no, that one doesn't go on that wall. Other wall," she tells Steve, forgetting that she handed it to him to begin with. "The light's all wrong there." "So you're living here in the tower?" she inquires of Steve. "Or still in that place in Brooklyn you've got? I know there's some sentimental value, dear, but I could absolutely help you find a posh penthouse on the island, I'm sure. Manhattan real estate's a bitch and a half but people will probably pay *you* just to share a building with them."
Captain America	"I dunno, I was a big fan of how he managed to override the mansion's speakers and play Guns and Roses to distract the extradimensional insects. He has his moments." Steve grins at Janet. He humors her and walks over to the other side of the room, raising the picture to plant it in place there instead. He's looking over his shoulder at her and inhaling to ask about whether or not it's level //here//, but she's flitting to another thought already. With an amused little sigh, he rotates and leans against the wall instead, arms crossed before the back of the picture held flat to his torso now. "Here, yes. I can't go back to the place in Brooklyn right now -- well, I //could//, but...it's not in my best interest at this time. I'll look at other places when things settle," he allows. "It's not bad here. The workers are finally about done, as I mentioned before. No more random sounds of drilling or electrical saws anymore. The yard needs some work, but it's winter. No one's really complaining." Except for the artist who commissioned that original statue of Steve out back. Steve broke it, however, by throwing a large insect into it in another dimension, so maybe there's a special irony to it all.
Janet van Dyne	Janet doesn't look bothered that Steve's abandoned his picture-hanging efforts. Maybe because he's holding it and it looks like it's roughly in the right spot? Janet's vision must be like the T-rex, only it's aesthetics instead of motion that drive her. She eyes her wardrobe, which is four inches off the wall, and sets a shoulder against it. It's a brobdingian thing, some antique that's eight feet tall and six feet wide and must weigh at *least* two hundred pounds minus her clothes. "Well don't look to me to garden. I hate gardening. The dirt under my nails, sore knees, scratchy *grunt* bushes..." She sets her shoulders against the thing and pushes hard with her feet. It moves maybe a millimeter, and her boots scrape against the ground before going out from under her. Like an oversized Tinkerbell, she falls on her rump with a squeak. "...Little help?" she asks Steve, waving a hand vaguely at the big hutch.
Captain America	The Captain is far too polite to laugh aloud at her efforts. After all, the blame can be put most solely on those ridiculous boots of hers. "Sure," he says as he walks over, setting the picture on the bed this time rather than the drafting desk; he did note how his laptop got shifted -- oops, disturbed the artist's space, bad Steve. He should have known better, what with his habits of sketching as is. "I don't think the gardeners would let you help them anyways. They know what they're doing and get paid to do it," he continues, setting a shoulder himself against the wardrobe. With careful application of his strength, he scoots it until it's basically flush to the wall on one side. He walks to the other side and does the same, slowly exhaling, and then dusts off his hands almost theatrically. "You could get better boots if you're moving furniture though." A cheeky grin.
Janet van Dyne	"Uh, excuse me?" One of Janet's brows lifts even as a furrow appears between them. "I beg your pardon, but these are *Van Dyne* custom boots." She sticks one up in the air, wiggling her toes around. It's very stylish, with a modest wedge heel and color scheme that matches her attire. Aside from some light tread, though, it's clearly not really intended for walking or heavy lifting. "These are the best boots anyone can get. I love 'em. Lookit 'em!" she says, wiggling her foot around in the air. "Meanwhile, you're clomping around in combat boots," she says, nose wrinkling in distaste. Janet pushes to her feet and dusts her hands, eying the wardrobe as if she was the one who pushed it into place. "Perfect. Saves a lot of effort just moving the furniture instead of moving the clothes. Also, I've never met a closet big enough." She opens the doors and sticks her head in. Everything in it looks like... doll clothes. Looooots of doll clothes. All on tiny, delicate little racks and shelves and bins. Janet's visage appears in the mirror in the back, which proves to be a large holographic display. It responds to her selections and paints her outfits onto her 3-D image, allowing her to twist and see how whatever she's chosen will look on her. "Someday, Steve Rogers, I'm going to ambush you with a few tailors," she tells Steve, giving him a wickedly gimlet look. "I'll get you in a tuxedo if it kills you. There's a reason that look's never gone out of style."
Captain America	The dimples now show on Steve's face as he eyes those supposedly-impressive boots with lofted brows. His lips don't part and, as such, he looks to be trying to keep from blurting out a laugh. "Can't beat clomping around in combat boots," he quips even as he takes a step back to allow Janet better access to the wardrobe. It's also to step out of the way of the doors. He peers inside, blithely interested at the amount of clothing present, and his eyes widen a touch. Wow. That is a //lot// of clothing. He glances over at Janet and withdraws in his subtle lean to return her squint with a disarming grin. "You give me a good enough reason to stand still for those pin-wielding mad-people and I'll humor you, Janet. Until then," and he gestures from his neck down and out to his sides. "I'll stick with comfortable and functional.."
Janet van Dyne	"Yeah, I know," Jan sighs. "I tried to keep it small this time, at least. These are my winter outfits and some formal wear." She starts whipping through a selection of pre-assembled outfits, and the holo display flickers to keep up. "And a couple swimsuits in case we end up going to Maui or something mid-season," she adds. "The summerwear's all back at my penthouse loft. Oh, and the designs and prototypes aren't in here," she clarifies. "I know it's terribly old-fashioned, but there's something about working with pins and craft scissors that drafting just doesn't do for me. So I need models to ... " She considers Steve, eyes narrowing. "Wear and... hmm." She produces a bolt of clear blue cloth and pastes a section of it against Steve's chest with her hand. "Hmm. You know, you could totally pull off baby blue. You wear your shirts way too loose, too. Tight white jeans, collared shirt, with a ... paisley pattern?" she hazards, chewing on her lips. Her eyes glaze a little as she dips into wild fashionista fantasies about outfit selection for Steve.
Captain America	Tipping his chin to consider the length of fabric held against him, Steven then glances back up at the fasionista. His lips purse in mild incredulity until a snort finally escapes him. "I think that look will clash with my combat boots," he replies blithely even as he then frowns in disbelief. "But paisley? Really, Janet? I don't count myself savvy at this kind of thing, but even I don't know about that choice. And //tight// jeans?" Another gesture down at his legs, wherein their musculature is on display even in the standard cut he wears. It's unspoken: you gotta be kidding me.
Janet van Dyne	"Yeah, silver and white," she says, eyes fairly glowing. "Little intricate patterns, it'd be awesome. You're the perfect frame for modelling-- I hate those stick figure boys, it's like draping a coathanger." "I'll figure it out. Do some sketching," she says, and flicks the bolt of cloth back into the wardrobe. It shrinks down, stacking with the others, and Janet shuts the heavy doors. "Well, this is looking pretty good," she says, hands on her hips and surveying the room. It does look fairly put-together, actually, with a number of little touches that are entirely aesthetic but make it feel so much homier. "I mean, for temporary digs. Not sure how long I'm staying in the tower," she says. "A few weeks, maybe a month or two. At least until Tony blows it up again."
Captain America	Steve just shakes his head as he goes to collect up the picture he set aside on the bed those minutes back. "I don't think the place is going anywhere anytime soon. Not again, anyways," he amends with a grin. "You should be comfortable." He then offers the picture out to Janet, at least partially meaning for her to take possession of it. "You want help putting this up still? No, wait," and the Captain holds up a hand. "I'll help you finish putting these up //if//...there's no paisley." He lifts an eyebrow at her. That's right -- he'll be that frame as long as long as that particular pattern choice is redacted from options.
Janet van Dyne	Janet presses her lips into a thin line and snatches the painting from Cap's hands. "What kind of man are you?" she demands, crossly. "Standing in my own room, BLACKMAILING me into caving to your fashion sense?" She look aghast. "Listen, if I say paisley, it's paisley and that's just how it is, buster!" A gloved finger pokes Steve's sternum, and she glares up at him, well... waspishly. The full foot of height difference and her pixie cut blunt a bit of it. Also, there's a vast gulf of difference between an outraged Janet and a truly *angry* Janet. She snatches the picture from Steve's hands and moves to the original wall, where he was hanging it, and puts it up there. Crooked. She's reaching above her head, too, and then vainly struggles to balance the painting on her fingertips while going for the hammer and nails to mount it. Both are just out of reach, and she ends up taking an awkward, looong sideways step that tilts the picture even more with the reaching motion. Fingers strain with the effort of trying to do three things with two hands.
Captain America	The inwards cave of bottom lip at one corner of his mouth means Steve's trying very hard not to smile by setting his teeth there. This, he missed every now and then. Spiteful, well-meaning little creature that Janet is, he can't just stand there and let her struggle for more than a minute in total. "Here." It's irritatingly easy at his height to put a hand up to steady the picture. He levels it as best he can manage and then holds out his other hand. "Gimme the hammer, I'll set the nail. You can hang it." Those blue eyes twinkle at the young woman. Yeah, he's trying not to laugh in good humor, it's evident.
Janet van Dyne	"I got it..." Janet's tongue sticks out the side of her mouth as she leaaaaaaans sideways. "I got it. IIiii alllmoooooost got I DON'T GOT IT!" She stumbles and catches herself. Thankfully, Steve's holding the picture, and disaster is averted. Adjusting her armor and getting her dignity back, she turns and gives Steve the hammer and the picture hanging nails, as if that was the goal the whole time, and moves to sit on the foot of her bed with her legs crossing at the knee. "So any dirt on the romance front?" she inquires, as Steve takes over the picture hanging duties. She props a hand behind her for balance, foot kicking lazily up and down in the air. "Don't hold out on me, I need dirt to leak to the tabloids to keep them off my scent once in a while."
Captain America	It's a miracle that the Captain's fingers remain free of hammer-smashing. He still misses the nail entirely once after that question of hers and the wall is thumped. He winces and squints. No mark, whew, lest the fashionista become wrathful. A few more solid hits and then he sets the hammer aside. "Why's it got to be my dirt? You could always ask after someone like Tony -- or maybe Thor. Or Clint." He speaks at the wall as he hangs up the picture. A step back and a tilt of head as he considers it. Eh, that'll do. Turning about, he rests hands on his belt and peers at the young woman sitting there. "You're a nosy one, Janet van Dyne." A beat. "...no, nothing to report. No time for romance...and no dirt for you. Guess you're gonna have to just keep your head down with those tabloids."
Janet van Dyne	"I *know* Tony," Janet says, nose wrinkling. "And Clint's got some ridiculous hangups about his love life. C'mon, are you serious? *Nothing* new?" She shakes her head disapprovingly. "Steve, c'mon. You're God's gift to women and ten percent of men in America," she says, wryly. "You being off the market would be criminal." "Hmm. Y'know, I could probably set you up with someone," she thinks, scraping a thumbnail against her lower teeth. "What's your type, anyway? Tall blondes? Cute redheads? I'm trying to think of the last time I even heard you talk about a girl except in terms of 'tactical support'. Life's for the living, Steve. Don't squander it on work!"
Captain America	By the time Janet makes that comment about a rather significant percentage of the population of America, Steve's looking off to one side -- and mostly failing at looking as if he's been finally flustered. He drops his chin and snorts again, a repressed laugh, before he gathers that enviable stoicism about himself once more. "No better way to spend my life than making sure that others can appreciate their free time. If that means I have to be working, then so be it." Those broad shoulders shrug under his sweatshirt. "I don't know if anyone could handle the hours I put in. They say I'm a workaholic," he adds as if it's a fact of life itself. wryly.
Janet van Dyne	Janet grins with vicious delight at the slow blush creeping along Steve's neck towards his cheeks. She's not a cruel person, but it's a rare treat to get Steve Rogers doing his impression of a cherry tomato. "All the more reason to break outta the rut!" she encourages him. "I mean, if it was Jen Walters, I'd say high heels and a black little nothing and a nightclub. Somehow, I think that's not your style though. Spin classes and yoga groups would probably send the wrong message." Her eyes flicker to the landslide of shoulders moving, and she exhales a sigh of appreciation. "Sounds like we need to find you someone with a cape, then. I mean, don't take my example for it-- maybe don't marry a workaholic scientist hoping he'll 'settle down' after a year or two." She smiles at Steve. "Gosh, I'm glad I'm back. I didn't even know there was a Project Rogers pending my arrival!"
Captain America	"You don't //have// to make me your project, y'know," grumbles the Captain with only a modicum of true irritation by his tone. In the end, he knows that Janet means well. He reaches to rub at the back of his neck, his eyes averted to his laptop on the drafting desk. "'m fine without someone. They'd just worry about me. I don't need that." A glance back at Janet. "Besides, who do you know who wears a cape? That Incredibles movie had a point. Those things can be dangerous." Of course he's speaking of Edna, the foreshortened fashionista who pointed out to Mr. Incredible that sometimes, airliner engines eat superheroes. "...in fact..." And one can just tell by his amused squint that Steve's gearing up to tell Janet she //might// look like Edna. And act like her. Just a little.
Janet van Dyne	"Ooh, quibbling over semantics! Girls *love* it when guys do that," Janet informs Steve, a bit primly. "Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve," she sighs, coming off the bed, and moves towards Captain Rogers. She palms his temples, pulling his head gently down so she can look him in the eye. "Resistance is pointless," she says, sweetly. "This is happening. I'm not happy unless I'm meddling, you know. Do it for me, Steve. Do it for *America*." She beams sunnily up at his marble-hewn features, and pops up on a toe to kiss his cheek. "C'mon, there's worse fates out there. Right?"
Captain America	That's a stoop for the blond man at his height, but he doesn't resist the gentle tug. There won't be any missing of the eyeroll accompanied by another light blush to replace the first summoned forth not so long ago. Still, he looks at her, apparently resigned to his fate. "I dunno if there are, Janet. It looks like I'm not going to be able stop you, however, so..." He pats her hands lightly before straightening again. "...just don't be promising anyone anything. Nothing, you hear me?" A pointed finger at her emphasizes his point as he then walks over to snag his laptop. "I'm going to be busy for a while more, I think." That has the undertones of weariness, but he seems to brush it off quickly enough as he turns around. "Want me to tell Tony you want to have drinks?" A sharp twinkle in his eyes. Two can play at this game.
Janet van Dyne	"Tony's got his 'assistant' to keep him company," Janet says. Her eyes roll, and she inscribes air quotes with her fingers before flouncing back to her bed and sitting on it again. She's a fidgety thing. "And he's not really my type, anyway. Self-indulgent billionaires are not that uncommon. He just gets points by virtue of not being a greybeard in his seventies and looking for a trophy girlfriend." She picks up Steve's laptop, putting it on her thighs, and frowns down at it. Fingers trail across the mousepad, clicking and scrolling without invitation. "What if I set you up a Match.com account? We'd need to use some off-camera shots of you, or stuff where we can't see your face," she mutters. "All we'd need is some sharp-eyed user going 'oh, that's Cap' and you'd have a million emails next morning." "Wait, what am I saying? That's *exactly* what's needed here!"
Captain America	Hey -- that's his computer! Being relatively good-natured as he is, Steve allows the theft of his laptop...but for only a short period of time. The mention of a Match.com account is enough to make him quickly and firmly retrieve it from Miss van Dyne's grasp. "I don't think so." It gets tucked away beneath his arm and he eyes her again. "I'll ask what's needed just to get it out of the way." A meaningful pause and look down his nose at her. "What's needed, Janet?"
Janet van Dyne	"Hey!" Janet grouses silently when her (Steve's) laptop is stolen (reclaimed), and her irritaiton lasts for bare seconds. At his question, she looks up at him with her deeply green eyes, which somehow gain additional intensity and depth with how grievously he's wounded her by thwarting her (almost) entirely altruistic intentions! "Steve! You've got just got to have a little *faith*," she says. Janet moves to a high kneeling position on the bed and reaches for Steve's arm, so she can lay her cheek on his shoulder and pout upwards at him as appealingly as she's able. "Look, you just tell me what kind of lady you're into, and I'll help you figure something out," she wheedles. "I just want to see you happy! Honest! I have no other ulterior motives!" She hugs his arm, trying to disguise her blatant dishonest as she fairly simpers up at him.
Captain America	The reel of laughter has its fair portion of exasperation. Steve can't help it. It's utterly ridiculous, the amount of theatrics on display. Once, he might have been so thrown by it that he would have acceded immediately to the young woman. A few more decades on the planet and he's gained a better understanding of it. "If you were a man, I'd call you a punk. ...you know what, you're still a punk." He can't move away just yet, for fear of dumping Janet on the floor with how she clings, and so he looks down at her. His expression is severely polite for a few seconds of high-noon stare-down before it crumples to wry amusement again. "It doesn't matter what's on the outside. It's what's on the inside that counts. If you can find someone who can keep up with me...who doesn't mind my work schedule, with the hours and the danger...I'll consider it."
Janet van Dyne	"I'll take it!" Janet beams at Steve as if he'd just conceded the field at Waterloo. That casual physical affection evaporates, and she pushes on his brawny shoulder. "Okay, now get going," she tells him, trying to propel him out the door with as much effect as a child tryring to herd a cape buffalo. "I need to get outta this gear and put some human clothes on. Then I'm meeting some girlfriends for dinner. Thanks for the help holding the picture, though," she tells him. "You're pretty handy as handymen go."
Captain America	The sturdy man makes his way towards the door upon the cajoling shoving. "You're welcome, Janet," he calls back over his shoulder. He pauses in the doorway to turn near-fully towards her and he ends up just snorting again with a shake of his head. "Glad to have you back. Enjoy your dinner." Steve then disappears down the hallway, headed towards his own room and more research -- though this time, not on Furbies.