I can hear as you tap on your jar

[noifsandsorbubs]

WHO: Logan and Emma...and Hank "stupid sexy" Pym.
WHERE: Residence #014
WHEN: Evening of 2/11
WHAT: Uncomfortable conversations and alcohol; neighboroonies.
WARNINGS: None.



The house had that just-normal-enough government aura. Nothing was wrong, but something was missing—it was like no one with human empathy had ever touched anything in there. It was easy to imagine it springing up out of nowhere, all plastic and particle board: slap on some fancy windows, a tile roof, and yellow paint, and you had yourself a secret in plain sight.

Logan had already given himself a cursory tour. Five bedrooms was a little much—it suggested that they expected to bring more people in. The upstairs bedroom with a view of the street would be the best place to sleep, tactically, but if and when he slept, it would be on the couch. Bedrooms implied ownership, permanence. He was going to do his damndest to make sure this was a very short vacation.

The second thing he'd done was check for alcohol. The pool in the back yard was a nice touch, but if they wanted to have more than a snowball's chance in hell of convincing him to stay, he thought, they should have given him a mini-bar. Or a regular bar. He was trying to come up with a solid plan, but it was rapidly becoming get beer, then think.

Comments

[noifsandsorbubs]

He was almost abnormally talented at sucking the fun out of things without meaning to. (Probably to be expected from a guy with an ant obsession.)

He's gonna be bloody if he doesn't shut up about this shit, he thought back at Emma.

Actually—

"You can drop it any time you want, Pym," he said, slinging an arm over the back of the couch.

[myownbestfriend]

Do not injure the almost certainly easily-manipulated supergenius. They did not need to start making people, especially useful people into enemies this quickly. Time, in her experience, would see to that on its own.

"It's not an act, Logan. The inside of his head really is a cross between an ant farm and a Boy Scout Jamboree." Yes, she'd meant to say that out loud. Given Hank's widely-known feelings about insects, it could be considered a compliment, if you tilted your head and squinted. To get a straightforward compliment from Emma generally implied that she would hypothetically be willing to sleep with the recipient--or that said recipient was out of earshot.

[pyms]

"An ant farm and a—what?", Hank muttered, mostly to himself since it seemed that there was some confusion between the mutant duo. He took on a more incredulous expression and crossed his arms. Though, in retrospect, Hank's heard worst said about him, in front of him, behind his back. Being called a Boy Scout is the least offensive of that list.

"There is no act, Logan. I am glad you and Miss Frost here are getting along enough to be in the same house. I live right next door and I have intentions to stay there for at least a month. And we all know that incidents between mutants—among people with powers above the norm—aren't small scale events."

He didn't mean to say mutants first but he did, and he can't take it back now.

[noifsandsorbubs]

"Pym. You wanna talk about all those times the Avengers acted stupid and tore everything up?" He hadn't meant to rhetorically remove himself from the Avengers, but he had, and in the present company, he didn't really feel like amending it.

"No," he continued, "you don't. Change the goddamn subject. Let's hear whatever ideas your big scientist brain came up with about how to get outta here." He didn't expect a solution—he expected a long-winded explanation as to why there was no solution, actually—but anything was better than rehashing their failures over the past few years.

[myownbestfriend]

Emma managed to maintain her aura of amused detachment despite Hank's ongoing implication that mutants were particularly troublesome, though she drummed her fingers once on the couch cushion next to Logan's leg. Now was not the time for sensitivity training, no matter how desperately certain socially inept scientists might have needed it.

"Yes, I'd really rather be at home, philosophical differences notwithstanding." Emma looked around the room and let her distaste peek through. She was not prepared to forgive the place for being Florida.

[pyms]

Hank crossed his arms and said nothing; if they're both fine putting it aside for a moment, he's not going to be the jackass that brings it up again (though, maybe he will, at a later date). And he's thankful that Logan didn't go into specifics, god knows they have a long enough laundry list.

"I don't have any viable solutions yet. We have a whole new world here, that's relative to our own. It means there's a couple possibilities that can describe our situation. We could be in a completely parallel world with delineation in terms of technology and probably other minute things, or we're in a new world that's separate from our own. There's too many variables to consider. It's not something I can figure out on my own, never mind the possibility of going home. Where we'll have to pinpoint the location and consider time in the equation."

Hank pinched his temple and summarized neatly, "So, no. There is no way to go home. If I had the Pym Portal, then maybe we have something to work with."