i would ask you if you were dead but your network id would probably not let me send this message if you were. so, assuming you're alive, do you want to get a drink?
but actually i mostly drink at home. i really only go to bars to people watch. what do you say, captain? bottle's on the house and so's the couch you can crash on after
[ who let her watch bad action movies??? but also, conveniently: she tells stan to keep an eye out for a scruffy blonde man with nice abs, and gives him explicit instructions to send him up the elevator immediately. no chatty detours. ]
[ It takes Steve a few minutes longer than promised because he wasn't raised to show up anywhere empty-handed, so he stopped at the futuristic equivalent of a bakery to pick up what passes for dessert these days. The building concierge must have been expecting him because he is pointed through to the elevator without any fuss, but if he thought he'd get to avoid small-talk he was sorely mistaken.
The elevator ride up stretches for an eternity, Steve nodding along politely as a man who introduced himself as Denise (at least that's what Steve heard) weaves an anecdote with far too many outlandish details to be believed. He quickly excuses himself as soon as the doors roll open onto Daisy's floor, pretending not to hear the neighbor calling after him with a suggestive invitation to visit anytime. ]
I'm here, [ he texts, letting her know who to expect before knocking softly. ]
[ if steve rogers was expecting a formal welcoming, he was in for his second mistake of the night. while daisy actually dresses herself appropriately for company (read: wearing all her own clothing, and not just an oversized t-shirt that definitely doesn't belong to her), she doesn't actually do much else.
she's barely wearing socks, okay. give her a break. ]
Captain America, how nice of you to join us. [ god, she's the worst. ] Come on in, we've got the KGB in the other room and two space cadets up on the roof playing with plants.
[ and you brought snacks. let her just take that bag in order to start peeking through it. ]
Did Stan give you any trouble? He usually loves the strays we bring in.
[ He's used to nobody listening when he asks people to please, for the love of God, just call him Steve. If he winces when he hears himself addressed as Captain America for the first time in—huh, probably at least a year now, taking his six month nap into account—he quickly recovers, hiding behind a friendly smile.
Steve surrenders the bag of desserts to Daisy as he steps through the door. Maybe he should be more concerned about the KGB thing, especially since in Steve's limited experience he's found Daisy's boyfriend to be highly gifted in the death glare department, but hey. Some of his best friends are former KGB. He can hang. ]
Stan didn't give me any trouble. I can't say the same for the neighbor I rode up in the elevator with but I'd prefer not to reminisce.
[ a delighted sound, but whether it's to captain rogers' tease of a story or the donut she's just fished out of the bag is anybody's guess. she's all too excited to take a bite of it, so her follow-up questionnaire is paused for a brief moment. good thing she's still really good at gesturing with her hands at the many and varied seating options in this apartment's all too large living room.
eventually, though, her mouth is clear, and daisy can offer the next part of her reply. ]
Did you meet Dennys? [ obviously. he's the chattiest neighbor they have, and the only one who would deign to speak with the proletariats daisy and her roommates bring into these hallowed halls. ] He's trying to seduce Illya with sex cacti.
[ a beat. ]
It's obviously not working too well for him, but he's still trying.
[ Steve waits for Daisy to verbally offer him a seat—old men and their manners—only to realize that her hand gestures are all the invitation he should expect. He chooses where to sit based on the highly selective criteria of it being the first seat he reaches and having a decent amount of leg room between the coffee table. ]
Sex cacti, [ he echoes, as if repetition is the path to understanding. It isn't. ] Those words don't go together.
[ yes, that's right, sex cacti. if steve is expecting story time, he came to the wrong house. this is a house that thrives on shorthand references to stupid things and a lot of liquor in the cabinetry.
like the bottle of vodka she pulls from an under-counter cabinet, its label a faux russian stylization meant to evoke memories that no one native to this century actually has. doesn't matter, though. the bottle still sells well enough. ]
Do you want something to mix it with? We have... uh. [ wait, what do they have? ] Juice, apparently. Or what I think is some futuristic knock off of Diet Coke.
[ Steve isn't overly fond of straight liquor but it took exactly one judgmental sigh from Natasha for him to learn his lesson about vodka and mixers. He declines politely: ] No thanks.
[ In lieu of juice or cola, he fishes a donut out of the bag and does not stop to wonder whether it's made with real flour or insects ground into a futuristic flour substitute. The important part is the sugar that will coat his tongue and render the burn of vodka just that much more tolerable. ]
[ so captain america is a ballsy, mildly stupid man. that checks out. he and illya share that insistence on no-nonsense know-what-you're-drinking behavior, at least. maybe if the man ever comes back into the living room from whatever he's doing elsewhere, they can bond over it. ]
Suit yourself.
[ she will, at least, bring him back both a shot glass and a rocks glass so he can figure out how he wants to do this. maybe he's a throw it back kind of guy, maybe he wants to nurse it. she doesn't know. she just knows that her drink will be mixed with juice like the american child she is. ]
So. [ she flops into the armchair opposite the couch, legs draping over the side arm like some kind of heathen who doesn't know how to sit properly in furniture. ] Welcome to our bougie crib. Are you getting settled okay, or are you still sleeping in the safehouse?
[ His insistence on drinking straight vodka has nothing to do with having been mildly chastised by Natasha and therefore being acutely aware of what mixing his drink would indicate about his cultural education (or lack thereof) and masculinity to the Russian in the next room. Steve is much too evolved to concern himself with something so trivial.
(It's about 10% of the reason, because constantly needing to defend your masculinity is a hell of a thing to unlearn. Mostly, he's just used to it by now, and he doesn't see how the bitterness of an orange or cranberry juice is any improvement on the taste of vodka.)
He is tempted to start throwing back drinks right away, but he is, as the kids say, a troll, and he wants to see how long it takes Daisy to realize he isn't even getting tipsy. So long game it is, and he goes for the rocks glass. ]
Are those two things mutually exclusive? [ Translation: no, he hasn't settled in, and yes, he is still sleeping at the safe house, but must she call him out on it? ]
[ it may take a while. unlike the last time daisy informally played bartender in her own apartment, this is not a drinking game, but rather a casual conversation. and, while daisy doesn't necessarily know steve's super sobriety skills, she does happen to know a little bit about captain america thanks to the good old-fashioned internet.
it shouldn't take too much to connect the dots between super strength and super sober, but once she's had a few drinks in her? who knows. ]
I don't know that you can really calling sleeping in a cot in the safehouse settled. [ by nature of a safehouse being an inherently temporary thing. ] But if it works for you, I mean, I can't really judge.
I've slept on worse. [ Because war. Also because you don't exactly get your pick of five star hotel suites when you raise a middle finger to the United Nations and are branded an international fugitive. Who knew?
He raises his eyebrows as his mouth forms a small, self-deprecating smile. ] You know, your words are saying one thing but your tone is saying the exact opposite.
Thanks. I appreciate the offer. [ He is nothing if not diplomatic. And stubborn. Jesus Christ, is he stubborn. It took a fair amount of convincing for him to stay with Bucky's family after his own mother's funeral, so God only knows what it would take for him to accept Daisy's invitation.
Anyway, time to deflect from him because we're very emotionally mature in this house. ] What happened to the closet guy? It seems like there's more of a story there.
[ if she's supposed to be mollified by his entirely-too-agreeable thank you, daisy fails miserably. she's not going to fight him on it, but she also doesn't believe for a hot millisecond that steve rogers has any real intention of taking her up on anything beyond a few hours' worth of crash pad couch time and maybe a few glasses of liquor. (and even then, she lowkey expects he's going to come back around some time soon with a replacement bottle.) ]
Any time.
[ but sure, she'll play along. she does mean the invitation, even if he's unlikely to take her up on it. one day, though, she's really going to need to investigate why all her closest male friends here are the ones that rock the stoic soldier vibe? (see: illya, jack, now steve...) ]
Marcos? He moved out a few weeks ago, I think? Got an apartment with my old roommate, actually. [ a beat, her attention lifting from the lip of her glass to watch his reaction. ] Katelin Philips?
[ or does he know her as bobbi? have they had that conversation yet? ]
[ Steve smiles, his chin tilting inward, eyes pointing down; an introverted expression, as if he's sharing a joke with himself. He does have to wonder how he always finds himself entangled in the complex world of spies and secret agents. ]
Do you mean Agent Morse?
[ In another time, another world, the deception might annoy him. But he'll give Agent Morse the benefit of the doubt given how quickly she came clean, and Daisy, to her credit, never seemed interested in secrecy. ]
She told me right after we met. You two worked together at SHIELD?
[ oh, thank god. daisy is horrible at lying on a good day, and while she's managed to mostly keep bobbi's secret by sheer force of will, it's so much easier to have someone around who already knows the truth. ]
Yeah, that's Bobbi. I'm glad you guys had a chance to talk about all of that. [ bobbi! her gal! ] She's a good person to have on your side.
[ a way better spy than daisy could ever hope to be in about every way that counts. ]
Plus, she kicks my ass on the regular in the ring here, so if you're looking for a sparring partner...
You don't spar? [ He shakes the ice around in his glass, then lifts it to his lips for another sip, his distaste well-disguised. ] I've seen you in action. I'm sure you'd make a great partner too.
[ Not that he's opposed to sparring with Bobbi, but from the little he's had the chance to observe, she and Daisy have unique styles. No harm in sparring with both, if it's an option. ]
[ the laugh that echoes out betrays the tease her statement is meant to be. daisy hasn't typically enjoyed sparring, she's never really enjoyed exercising much at all, but she's learned how to have fun every so often. occasionally. when not being forced to do it. ]
I'll spar with you if you want. But you have to come to dinner after. [ she shrugs a bit, mock-helplessly, and tilts her glass in the direction of her bedroom. ] House rules.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@daisy.johnson
so, assuming you're alive, do you want to get a drink?
[ she could use one. ]
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[ That's not a no... ]
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[ they have honest to god public transit??? ]
but actually i mostly drink at home. i really only go to bars to people watch.
what do you say, captain? bottle's on the house and so's the couch you can crash on after
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whenever
there's leftover gumbo in the fridge if you're afraid to drink on an empty stomach btw
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[ who let her watch bad action movies??? but also, conveniently: she tells stan to keep an eye out for a scruffy blonde man with nice abs, and gives him explicit instructions to send him up the elevator immediately. no chatty detours. ]
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The elevator ride up stretches for an eternity, Steve nodding along politely as a man who introduced himself as Denise (at least that's what Steve heard) weaves an anecdote with far too many outlandish details to be believed. He quickly excuses himself as soon as the doors roll open onto Daisy's floor, pretending not to hear the neighbor calling after him with a suggestive invitation to visit anytime. ]
I'm here, [ he texts, letting her know who to expect before knocking softly. ]
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she's barely wearing socks, okay. give her a break. ]
Captain America, how nice of you to join us. [ god, she's the worst. ] Come on in, we've got the KGB in the other room and two space cadets up on the roof playing with plants.
[ and you brought snacks. let her just take that bag in order to start peeking through it. ]
Did Stan give you any trouble? He usually loves the strays we bring in.
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Steve surrenders the bag of desserts to Daisy as he steps through the door. Maybe he should be more concerned about the KGB thing, especially since in Steve's limited experience he's found Daisy's boyfriend to be highly gifted in the death glare department, but hey. Some of his best friends are former KGB. He can hang. ]
Stan didn't give me any trouble. I can't say the same for the neighbor I rode up in the elevator with but I'd prefer not to reminisce.
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[ a delighted sound, but whether it's to captain rogers' tease of a story or the donut she's just fished out of the bag is anybody's guess. she's all too excited to take a bite of it, so her follow-up questionnaire is paused for a brief moment. good thing she's still really good at gesturing with her hands at the many and varied seating options in this apartment's all too large living room.
eventually, though, her mouth is clear, and daisy can offer the next part of her reply. ]
Did you meet Dennys? [ obviously. he's the chattiest neighbor they have, and the only one who would deign to speak with the proletariats daisy and her roommates bring into these hallowed halls. ] He's trying to seduce Illya with sex cacti.
[ a beat. ]
It's obviously not working too well for him, but he's still trying.
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Sex cacti, [ he echoes, as if repetition is the path to understanding. It isn't. ] Those words don't go together.
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[ yes, that's right, sex cacti. if steve is expecting story time, he came to the wrong house. this is a house that thrives on shorthand references to stupid things and a lot of liquor in the cabinetry.
like the bottle of vodka she pulls from an under-counter cabinet, its label a faux russian stylization meant to evoke memories that no one native to this century actually has. doesn't matter, though. the bottle still sells well enough. ]
Do you want something to mix it with? We have... uh. [ wait, what do they have? ] Juice, apparently. Or what I think is some futuristic knock off of Diet Coke.
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[ In lieu of juice or cola, he fishes a donut out of the bag and does not stop to wonder whether it's made with real flour or insects ground into a futuristic flour substitute. The important part is the sugar that will coat his tongue and render the burn of vodka just that much more tolerable. ]
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Suit yourself.
[ she will, at least, bring him back both a shot glass and a rocks glass so he can figure out how he wants to do this. maybe he's a throw it back kind of guy, maybe he wants to nurse it. she doesn't know. she just knows that her drink will be mixed with juice like the american child she is. ]
So. [ she flops into the armchair opposite the couch, legs draping over the side arm like some kind of heathen who doesn't know how to sit properly in furniture. ] Welcome to our bougie crib. Are you getting settled okay, or are you still sleeping in the safehouse?
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(It's about 10% of the reason, because constantly needing to defend your masculinity is a hell of a thing to unlearn. Mostly, he's just used to it by now, and he doesn't see how the bitterness of an orange or cranberry juice is any improvement on the taste of vodka.)
He is tempted to start throwing back drinks right away, but he is, as the kids say, a troll, and he wants to see how long it takes Daisy to realize he isn't even getting tipsy. So long game it is, and he goes for the rocks glass. ]
Are those two things mutually exclusive? [ Translation: no, he hasn't settled in, and yes, he is still sleeping at the safe house, but must she call him out on it? ]
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it shouldn't take too much to connect the dots between super strength and super sober, but once she's had a few drinks in her? who knows. ]
I don't know that you can really calling sleeping in a cot in the safehouse settled. [ by nature of a safehouse being an inherently temporary thing. ] But if it works for you, I mean, I can't really judge.
[ she can. and she does. ]
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He raises his eyebrows as his mouth forms a small, self-deprecating smile. ] You know, your words are saying one thing but your tone is saying the exact opposite.
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[ daisy johnson, sarcastic? she would never, your captainship. ]
If you get sick of it, you're welcome to our couch. Jyn had some guy sleep in her closet for a while so he wouldn't be homeless, I doubt she'd mind.
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Anyway, time to deflect from him because we're very emotionally mature in this house. ] What happened to the closet guy? It seems like there's more of a story there.
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Any time.
[ but sure, she'll play along. she does mean the invitation, even if he's unlikely to take her up on it. one day, though, she's really going to need to investigate why all her closest male friends here are the ones that rock the stoic soldier vibe? (see: illya, jack, now steve...) ]
Marcos? He moved out a few weeks ago, I think? Got an apartment with my old roommate, actually. [ a beat, her attention lifting from the lip of her glass to watch his reaction. ] Katelin Philips?
[ or does he know her as bobbi? have they had that conversation yet? ]
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Do you mean Agent Morse?
[ In another time, another world, the deception might annoy him. But he'll give Agent Morse the benefit of the doubt given how quickly she came clean, and Daisy, to her credit, never seemed interested in secrecy. ]
She told me right after we met. You two worked together at SHIELD?
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Yeah, that's Bobbi. I'm glad you guys had a chance to talk about all of that. [ bobbi! her gal! ] She's a good person to have on your side.
[ a way better spy than daisy could ever hope to be in about every way that counts. ]
Plus, she kicks my ass on the regular in the ring here, so if you're looking for a sparring partner...
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[ Not that he's opposed to sparring with Bobbi, but from the little he's had the chance to observe, she and Daisy have unique styles. No harm in sparring with both, if it's an option. ]
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[ the laugh that echoes out betrays the tease her statement is meant to be. daisy hasn't typically enjoyed sparring, she's never really enjoyed exercising much at all, but she's learned how to have fun every so often. occasionally. when not being forced to do it. ]
I'll spar with you if you want. But you have to come to dinner after. [ she shrugs a bit, mock-helplessly, and tilts her glass in the direction of her bedroom. ] House rules.
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