calling_logs | So when they say 'quiet' they really just mean 'as terribly dangerous as usual'

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So when they say 'quiet' they really just mean 'as terribly dangerous as usual'

Who: Steve and Dejah
What: Continuing from here, Steve and Dejah escape the beasties in a treehouse
When: Mid-afternoon
Where: City of Adventure,
Notes & Warnings: Mentions of blood and poisoning.

Now that the beasties are done with, Steve's going to climb his way up to the treehouse and collapse on the floor. Collapse because that was much harder than he'd expected it would be and while he knows he has some work to do, that he needs to check up on Dejah--

Dammit, he needs to get up and check on Dejah.

It hurts, and he's sore, but he pushes himself up and goes to take a look at her, check her wounds, see if any of them have turned an unsavory color. It's hard to tell, given her red skin and her blue blood, but so far, hopefully, so good.

"Sorry about the toss. I just... I needed to get you up there and I couldn't think of anything else to get you out of harms way. I hope it didn't hurt too much. How we doing?"

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She gives a quiet laugh and shakes her head. The aches and pains of the yesterday's adventures make getting undressed a little slow, but it's hardly the first time she's had to bathe herself while battle weary. Boots first. She finds the same log he'd obviously used the day before and settles in, hissing under her breath as she bends to undo the laces.

Yeah, it's going to be a few minutes before she's undressed and in the water.

And Steve will spend that time patrolling the area. No, he won't look. It doesn't matter how long she's bathing; she's injured, she's vulnerable, she's trying to clean up and she's hurting. Not only would it be disrespectful, it's inappropriate. But he can't help that he's thinking about what it might be like to go to Romance... well, with someone.

The water feels amazing and she dips beneath the surface, scrubbing away the mud and the last few bits of ichor. She finds a warm strand of the water fall to stand under to give her long dark hair a thorough rinsing.

And yet, she keeps an eye on him. Or rather, the silhouette of his shoulders. Not even a glance. (John would have at least stolen a glance.)

Eventually, after carefully marking the location of the doorway behind the upper falls in her memory, and after carefully getting dressed again, she calls out to him.

"You are from the great city of New York, are you not?"

He doesn't look back but he tips his head back a little so the sound doesn't go completely out into the jungle.

"Brooklyn, yeah."

"I am curious. My only experience with your world is from a distance." She drags her hands through her hair, finger combing it out.

"How might lady declare her intention to a gentleman where you are from?" She imagines it doesn't involve the slaying of a large beast.

That's a pause. Not an exceptionally long pause. But a decently long pause, yeah, because he's not stupid. He can put two and two together. It's just that 4 makes his knees and his brain turn to mush.

"Ahhh, generally, she'd, uh, pretty much just say that and propose, uh, propose something they could do. Out. A date. Something to do on a date."

Beat.

"Like dinner."

"A feast, perhaps? Call everyone important together, ply them with barrels of wine and roast meat?"

She manages to keep a straight face, miracle of miracles. She's still unsure of whether or not such an advance would be welcome. She feels preposterous putting herself out there. She is a High Jeddak, the one who rejected a thousand suitors after her ascension to the head of the Council of Jeddaks.

But there is something about him that destroys her composure. Makes her question again. Makes her hope.

"Stand up and declare her intention before the Lord and everyone?"

Still not looking.

"More, uh... like two people at a nice restaurant. Nice clothes. Good food. Maybe... a couple glasses of wine."

He has no idea. He's taking half of this from romantic comedies he's caught during late nights when he can't sleep.

"Maybe a picture? Movie, I mean?"

"You can turn around now." She waits until he does, her head still tilted to one side as she twists her hair up off the back of her neck.

"You'll have to forgive me. Being Jeddak, things are a little different for me. Would you be amenable to idea? Of going to dinner with me?"

He turns and it's a testament to his more recent training that there's not the barest hint of clumsiness to it. He's been working on that with Nat, some of his balance issues. She's brilliant, honestly, and he'd tell anyone the same.

"I would expect."

Since it sounds like a hefty title even if he's a little unclear of--

Wait.

No.

No, he's just... going to see how things play out before he asks her something asinine like 'jeddak like on Mars' or 'wait, THAT Dejah Thoris?'

He does, however, swallow.

"Honestly, outside of this place, dinner might... be a bigger production than I might like as well."

Because paparazzi exist. They're definitely one of those parts about the modern world he's not too keen on.

"But I... I wouldn't mind dinner. No. I mean." Earscratch. "I'd like to."

Her lips press into a thin smile, and she watches him, closely. There's a sadness that clings to him. One that she would very much like to know better. It feels very familiar to her own.

"It would be impossible back in Helium. Also, I imagine your powers would prove -- challenging. So it would have to be here. But this is me," she singsongs. "Declaring my intentions, Captain."

Something like hope flutters behind her breastbone.

He's not sure how his abilities would prove any more or less challenging in-

Wait, Helium?

Wait, Jeddak?

WAIT, DEJAH THORIS?

...you'll have to excuse him, Dejah, a few things have finally fallen into place as he takes all the disparate pieces that he's heard from her since they met and puts them together into something utterly impossible.

"You're THE Dejah Thoris?"

The one thing she has already learned about one Captain Steve Rogers, his thoughts are plainly visible on his face. So she watches as he puts together the details and a slow smile grows. She sighs and nods.

"I take it you're familiar with Ned's books, then?"

A mute nod and oh, he's wrapping his arms around himself now because she's- that is he read- and she- and that was-

Wow. Oh wow. Wow oh wow oh wow.

Just for good measure, he nods again. In case she missed it a moment ago.

She takes a step closer, cocks her head to one side and looks up into his face, studying his eyes.

"You know, it's not exactly what one would consider a scholarly history? Anymore than the -- oh what do you call them? Comic books?"

"I didn't-"

Oh, hey, he could talk. He was kind of pleased with that, really.

"I didn't think that. It was more, uh...

"Amazement? Like meeting a movie star or something."

Wait.

"You know what those are, right?"

Her brow furrows and she shakes her head. "I assume you mean the people who are in the movies you mentioned." He still hasn't answered her declaration of intent, so she thinks perhaps it's best to change the subject. Save what little remains of her dignity.

"It's all right, Captain. I'm sure, after the events in New York, you get much the same reaction everywhere you go. Even here in the Seven Cities, your metal is known far and wide."

She casts a look down at herself and gives him a crooked smile. "Only you've seen me covered in mud and blood, in a venom-induced delirium. And you've saved my life. Twice. All in a day's work for you, I know. But I am still grateful."

"Steve," he's sure to point out, quick, as if he's afraid the point might get lost. "I'm Steve."

Please.

"Especially if, uh... if you were serious. About your intentions."

She fixes him with a pointed look, as if he's just presented a particularly challenging quantum mechanics problem. She chews on her lower lip for a moment, considering. And then she takes a breath.

"Tell you what. You can be Steve if I can just be Dejah."

She's not sure she even remembers how to be Dejah anymore. After a century and a half of being Jeddak, and the Widow of Dotar Sojat, Dejah is a person who only ever exists behind closed doors. And sometimes, not even then.

She's not going to restate the seriousness of her intentions. She wouldn't have dared speak them aloud if she wasn't.

He considers that for a moment, head tilting one side, then the other, and finally he reaches out a hand, open to shake.

"Steve," he says, as if to introduce himself again. Start 'fresh', for a value of fresh.

She takes his hand, even though her grip is awkward, and gives a firm shake in return. There's a brief flicker of a smile in answer to his own, like she's still unsure about where they stand with regards to one another. More than acquaintance. Not quite friend. Trusted ally. (Potentially more. The thought tickles the back of her mind, sounding suspiciously like John's voice. She ignores it.)

"Dejah." It feels weird to leave off all her titles and degrees. She retrieves her sword, clean of mud now, and slings it easily through her belt.

"Well this has been lovely but, perhaps it's time we made our way back?" She's feeling stronger, but she's no where near one hundred percent, she knows. Still, she lifts her chin and unconsciously places a hand over the wound on her hip.

He agrees with a quick nod before turning to tilt his head at the trail that leads away from the waterfall.

"I know the way back from here to the Outpost. Even with that injury, we should be able to make it back there by nightfall, I think."

He starts walking.

"They've actually got pretty good medical facilities there. The contingent from the Amazonians run the clinic there and I've heard good things."

"Amazonians? As in the ancient Greek warrior society?"

She falls into step beside him, doing her best to keep up even though his stride is long.

"This should prove enlightening. I think I should be able to keep to my feet that long. Though I'll apologize in advance for the part where you might have to carry me."

He's making sure not to step too fast. He's marched with wounded soldiers before, after all.

"Just let me know before it gets too bad," he says firmly. "I don't mind carrying you and you don't want to aggravate the wound."

A few more steps before-

"And I think so? Everything here seems like it's a half-step off from what I know most times."

"I have a theory about that, but I'm keeping it to myself until I have more data," she says.

"This place seems to pull from several different mythologies and cultures. Many of which are foreign to me, but seem to be Jasoomian in origin. I wish John was here, he could probably explain it all to me."

The last is half-muttered to herself.

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