LOOK AT ME!

If the full truth about her ever comes out (and she's as terrified of his reaction as she thinks he'll be to hear it), Thera's more than happy to take Steven anywhere he wants to go, anything he wants to see. She's just as happy to do it now, as ordinary people, if he ever suggests he might want to. And even if the last time they went somewhere it turned out to be black market and a fucking police sting.

She'd love to go somewhere that stays ordinary once in a while.

"Never too much. I'll put the kettle on." A smile as she stands, not only to go make the tea (as rampantly British as it is) but because she's getting too comfortable there on the couch and moving around will freshen her up - especially if she does end up needing to drive him home.

It's a little more negative than his usual attitude, but, really, he's not all that fond of the human race, either. He tries to be, but the fact that they don't seem all that fond of him makes it hard. He doesn't need to worry about that now, and he doesn't want to. He's not that kind of person.

He smiles as she agrees, and he nods. It does sound nice while they're relaxing, while Steven's still deciding whether he's going to stay the night--a decision that's weighing heavier the darker it gets outside, but also that inches closer to being answered for him, which he doesn't think he would mind at all. Decisions are always easier when they're made for you.

"my husband has sung your praises, monsieur." she makes the effort in the little bit of French she knows. there had been a french missionary in the town she had grown up in. kind people, who taught her a bit of their language though her fluency was clumsy at best.

however, greeting a guest was something she was quite familiar with.

her hands clasped at her waist as she offered a slight bow, eyes lifting to find his eyes beneath the mask. nadir's first stop had been home before taking the famed magician to the palace after being away for so long. to see their son. to see her. and in the few moments they had together he had recounted in quick summation the dangers and perils the faced.

He offers a small bow in return. He is not, by nature, an abrasive man. Quick to retaliation, yes, and to violence when necessary, but he does so desire to be a man of society! If he is cruel, it is because the world has demanded it of him. But this family has been kind to him, and so Erik will be kind in return. Rookheeya meets his eyes, and he does not shy from them, so she will earn his kindness.

"That is very true," she concedes as she holds the cup with both hands. "I will keep returning, then. I would miss you and this place. So you do not need to share the label with me." Truth be told, even if AJ gives her the label, Mantis will keep returning. She likes Claire's Room, and she likes spending time with AJ, so Mantis does not intend to stop visiting anytime soon.

Quickly, then, her attention gravitates back to her son. For all the freedoms it has afforded her, the worst part of having to fill her late husband's shoes is how often that has left her boy behind. Some days, Keiko wishes she could split herself in half, make the mother and the woman two separate beings entirely: Become both the person she should be for Hiroshi's sake, and the one she could be had she been born afforded the same freedoms in life as Kentaro, as Anthony.

But no matter how much she may wish it so, she only has this one life, this single body. A body that, after hours of work, is begging to be fed - and hunger is no longer a cue she can ignore, as long as her son still relies on her body to satiate his own.

So it's with a quiet sigh that Keiko places Hiroshi back into his chair. Fingers running through baby-soft tufts of black hair, she lingers there for but a moment before glancing Anthony's way. "Can you keep an eye on him? Just for a minute."

Keiko doesn't await confirmation before making her way over to the other two women in the room, quietly dismissing them both. She can finish plating what's been made alone. No one expects this sort of labor of her, not any more, but she spent far more years as the wife of a doctor than one of a noble; the motions are already engrained. Besides, she feels anything but useful, sitting by idly and waiting for them to bring it over. She's done enough idle sitting around in the past year alone to last a lifetime.

Compared to the lavish feasts most of the Ton seems to throw nearly daily, there isn't much here to sort through. Seaweed soup, white rice, thick cuts of salmon; three pieces of rolled omlette each, and an array of seasonal vegetables on the side. To someone like Anthony it is likely simple, but for most back home the array would be far more lavish.

Once she finishes off both trays with a set of chopsticks for her own and a fork for Anthony's, Keiko grasps hers between both hands and turns. Her eyes dart to Hiroshi first on instinct, scanning over her baby to make sure he's alright before she settles her attention back on Anthony.

And more importantly, why does he allow her to get under his skin so easily? What difference does it make. He does not want to dwell on that now. Now, he sits. He moves quietly, something both trained and intentional, giving her her moment with her son as he sits. The table is low, and the seat is uncomfortable, but he doesn't dare complain. He does wonder, though, whether he looks as out of place as he feels. He assumes he must.

He is unsure whether he is meant to watch Keiko and her son. For the moment, he sits with an arm rested on the table, back straight against the back of the chair, and his gaze settles somewhere across from him as she sees to her son. The love she has for him is clear, and he only wishes to give her the proper privacy to enjoy it. She does not need to feel a stranger's eyes prying into what she shares with her son. It is a delicate, beautiful thing, and he does not want to intrude.

However, she speaks to him, and his head turns to her. There is a moment where he is unable to control his expression, where trepidation is clear on his face. He supposes he can't say no, but he doesn't know what he's meant to do, and she leaves before he can answer. Well, that's fine. That's...that's just fine. Keiko walks away, and he is left with the boy.

He looks at him, and stands after a moment to move closer. Despite being the eldest of eight, Anthony has spent little time with children so young. He is so terribly small, with eyes that stare at the world without pain, without sorrow. Anthony hopes that he will be able to keep that, but he knows that he won't. He has already lost his father, and he carries the same affliction that Anthony does. That of being the firstborn son. At least, he thinks, his estate will be small, without a gaggle of siblings to corral, a thought that he regrets as soon as he has it. He would not trade his family for anything, but they do try him.

Softly, Anthony smiles at him. He does hope that the world will be kind to him. He does like children, despite his inexperience. He imagines that seven siblings will do that to a man.

"Hello," he says softly, though he's not sure what to do with his hands. He isn't going to pick him up, nor does he feel that it's terribly appropriate for him to touch him. He isn't sure whether Keiko would like that, though he hardly intends any harm. He wonders what the boy sees when he looks at him, but of course he is too young to say. He barely knows what Keiko sees when she looks at him.

The problem, which he was sure Matthew would come to appreciate even if he hadn't realised it yet, was that everybody knew each other. The world of the upper classes wasn't a particularly large one. Circles were small, especially considering how many individuals had no real employment to supplement their social lives with exposure to regular people. When somebody learnt a secret, they inevitably spread it at their club, or the next house they spent time visiting, or whatever else, and from there it would continue to travel until everyone knew but pretended not to.

So, considering that, it was best never to find oneself in a scandal of any kind. Of course, that was easier said than done. Mycroft managed, but he was hardly known for having fun. When you kept to yourself and didn't partake in nonsense, it wasn't quite so difficult to keep your name out of rumours where there was little of interest to be said.

"Of course, the benefit of the speed of gossip is that you yourself will hear things about others. Sometimes, this can be very useful. It certainly gives you an idea about what disgraced nephew or whatnot may be doing a tour of houses across the country as his family does their best to rid themselves of him while it all blows over."

Besides, he knew how to handle himself. He may not have been of this higher class, but he had been a member of society. People knew him, and they depended on him. He knew how to avoid a scandal. And even if he didn't, he wasn't the sort to put his foot in his mouth like that. "I appreciate the warning, but I've never been the sort to invite scandal."

Did he want to learn things about people, though? Perhaps once, as a working man, it may have been useful, but he was no Mycroft. His life was not one of listening and secrets. Matthew had always believed in honesty, and he didn't intend for that to change. "Is that what you do, Mr. Holmes?" There was more humor in his tone than accusation, but he was curious. "Listen to other people, waiting for mention of ruin?" He should pull back. He was risking offending the man he barely knew, and he didn't want to do that. Even so, that sounded like a terrible life. Always listening, waiting for something he could use. And what would he use it for? Sure, Mycroft laughed, and Matthew was in no rush to cause anything to sour between them, but it was...interesting.

An inch, a light year, the distinction didn't matter. Her cosmic travels had not erased her love for small blessings, small distances, small creatures. The empath listened, attentively so, as Taylor told her of her own travels when she was younger, and Mantis stifled a smile with a shake of her head, reassuring.

"It does not seem silly at all," she promised. Taylor grew up thinking she would never see anything beyond the planet where she was raised, and Mantis grew up thinking the same. Even though she called herself a Guardian of the Galaxy, the empath would never judge someone for being unfamiliar with space. Not when it was still new to her in many ways.

Taylor's next words warmed her heart, a smile spreading wide and bright, easily becoming a laugh.

"Maybe that just makes you remarkable," she replied, both teasing and genuine. She was a wonderful woman, kind and gentle, and, of course, she'd been on adventures that most people could only dream of. Not that Taylor was exactly jealous about that, because she didn't think she was Guardians material, but it was still beyond her.

"If my father had been there he would have stopped Mycroft pulling rank..probably would have avoided him coming in altogether..John would be the one to pull the rank, and I would have no choice but to listen" Amelia explained, "but I think you would like Watson, John doesn't take any of our shit" herself included.

"I am sorry to hear that your father died before you were enlisted..I know what it is like to be used..before I was taken hostage,mission gone wrong..Mycroft used me as a spy, to get information" a breath "I was good at it too. I was a Holmes who could use her looks, hell in heels is what they called me.. until my father decided that Moriarty was the nemesis he needed. Everyone has a weak spot Barnes, I was my fathers. The mission went wrong, Mycroft unknowingly signed my death warrant. Jim wanted the information I had, tortured me for it. Hung like a piece of meat for days..my father and uncle found me, barely alive, Jim however was long gone. And all Mycroft cared about was if I told his secrets" She would have taken that information to her grave, pointing to her shoulder with her head, with a huff of a laugh "so this..this is nothing.." it made sense why she was tough, because it had been wired and programmed into her.

He smiled faintly as she spoke again, appreciating the trust. It was a hard thing to come by these days, and he didn't take it lightly. He wouldn't break it. "Good to know." He looked at he wound as she uncovered it, frowning lightly. It didn't look good, but he'd take care of it.

Personally, he didn't mind that there hadn't been a third Holmes on location. He wasn't in the mood to deal with a shootout as well as more family drama. Not that he was a stranger to it, with a good amount of sisters, but his was never like this. "Sometimes the best sort of person you can have around is someone who doesn't take any of your shit."

He nodded as he began working on her wound, cleaning it as he listened to her. "Thank you," he said softly. Then he listened. He'd never been hell in heels, but he had been a ghost story. He was the thing people thought they saw when they looked over their shoulders. In some ways, depending on who he was behind, he still wished he could be that, but mostly he wanted to be away from that entirely. "When I was...you know, back then, all that mattered was that I got the job done. I wasn't a person. I was a weapon. And I was really good at being a weapon." He shrugged, not sure why he was telling her all of this. "But I never had my uncle as the one who made me into it, so who knows. Maybe it could have been worse." He said it lightly, trying to turn it into something better than it was.

She looks up at the skeleton too, one of the bipedal kind with massive legs and raised head full of teeth, and with a wry twist of her lips figures he's right. This isn't even the tallest specimen, and comparing it now to the memory of a subway station ... yeah, that ain't gonna happen. A soft breath gusts her lips, crossing that idea off the list. The other, however ...

"OK, so that gives me a direction to work in." Another sigh, hand rubbing the back of her neck. Legs stretch out, heels resting on the floor so her toes point straight up, less scientist and more kid on a school bench. "They'd have to be careful, with the genetics thing, I mean. Not to step on InGen's or Biosyn's toes. Not just the industrial secrets but, well ... they won't want anyone mentioning the body count."

Thera takes a deep breath, one that's trying to switch away from the idea of finding a venue - it's still a plan, but the more she thinks on it the bigger the task begins to seem.

He hates to be so vague, especially as someone who has always known just what he wants out of life, but he thinks it's fair to say that he's been in something of a funk lately. There's been some discussion with Parker-Genix, but that's consultation, and it doesn't help him get a job. It really doesn't help with the museum. Maybe he should go back into the field, but who cares about digging fossils anymore? Well, he does, of course, but no one's going to fund that. His passion, his favorite thing in the world, is a dying art, and it kills him. That, though, isn't something he needs too get into right now, not with her.

They're both tired, both worn out. It's clear in the way they're both sitting on this bench like they're waiting outside of a courtroom for their hearing to continue. In a way, maybe they are. "We've gotten this far without anyone worrying about the body count. Jurassic Park became Jurassic World despite the fact that it was a monumental failure before it even got the chance to open to the public." He pauses, shrugs. "But that's not my problem. Maybe they'll go with something different."

When Loki's hand rises to rub at his throat, Mantis notices immediately. She refrains from making comments, though. The trickster god seems to be the kind of person that would hate being viewed as vulnerable, so Mantis looks away, as though she has not seen anything. She wants to make sure both Thor and Loki feel comfortable enough. It might take time, and she knows this. Trust is earned, not bestowed.

Thanos did assume he was the biggest, smartest, strongest being in the galaxy. Mantis knows this because she held his mind in her grasp. Her consciousness had mixed with his as she held him down, and she had felt the way he saw himself, the way he saw the cosmos, the way he fully believed he was saving the universe. The self-righteousness had made her skin crawl.

Loki's small smile helps banish that feeling to the back of her mind, though. Mantis returns the smile, hers a little bigger, a little brighter. She agrees. Thanos really was neither.

Still, as much as her pity bothers him, it is better than staring. Better than commenting. Both of which have not been the case for everyone. They very well may end up ruing this day when Loki is done licking his wounds, but for now he does not seem so pose so much of a threat for most. Right now, the God of Chaos is weary.

The labyrinthine workings of the phantom’s mind reminded Iskandar of more tangible passages contracted by the shah so many years ago, which perhaps also contributed to an uncalled-for restraint. What was he thinking? Iskandar could only guess, but something told him that this being— whether human, demon, angel—understood more than he let on.

Bah. Why should Erik concern himself so with these human emotions when it had been made quite clear that Erik was no human? What kind of Phantom worried himself over the concerns of men? But was the Phantom not born from the concerns of others? Oh, how he tired of these games. He was a man of puzzles, but he had never asked to have the weight of man on his shoulders.

But then he asks for her help and her stomach lurches, a strange thrum of determination palpitating in her chest as she nods firmly.

“Yes, of course. I’ll help you.”

Time isn’t on their side, so they’ll need to act fast. There has to be a way to get him out of this room without being too conspicuous. Carefully pondering their options, Lucy glances at the gurney, eyes lighting up with an idea that may just work.

But she agrees, and he cannot say that he isn't flooded with relief, and with more gratitude than he can say. It's always the case, these days. The amount of people willing to help them seems to only be getting smaller, so he will never take for granted anyone that will help.

Except, he's looking at her, and he follows her eyes to where they catch, and though he isn't any less grateful, he does feel a little less relief. It isn't like he hasn't had to do worse, but the idea isn't exactly thrilling. Still, it's the best they have, and now isn't the time to be squeamish.