#cwrpstarter

@phdinrage​​

             ‘Coffee.’ is what she thinks she says, but as Bostonian as Faith knows herself to be, that time spent in Sunnydale did it's damage and while she focuses on the menu, what she actually says is, "Half fair trade Columbian, half chai tea. No honey, frothed almond milk and extra foam." her knee brushes his under the table as she casually turns the menu over --- the carbs and sugar are always on the back, “Hear B tell it, it was some kinda mutual thing. Full-on said she didn’t dump him but Herondale hit the ground like a safe so I dunno who she thinks she’s playin’, here.”

Managing schedules to find a time to get together was in more casual settings difficult enough, but when it came to try to set up a date to meet up with a Prince Regent? Yeah, that was a lot trickier. Not that this was a date, date, it was just a friendly get together. Among friends, nothing more, nothing less. It wasn’t anything special. 

However, that didn’t really stop Jedi from putting in the effort of trying to look nice. Because after all, she didn’t have to be a hunter that day, right? She didn’t have to blend in? So putting in an effort it was. Even the extent of her efforts were just a nice sweater, a skirt and heeled boots… but hey, at least this time around, she didn’t brush out her curls! That counted for something right? And she’d taken the effort to pin her hair back with the pin Loki used before. 

“Look at you.” Harry whistled when she came down into the store area. “I thought this was just a ‘get together’.”

“It is.” Jedi nodded, walking over to the counter. “But I got a point to prove.”

“Don’t think Loki calling you ‘blending in’ was a challenge.” he sniffed, picking up his coffee mug. “Got your gun with you? Permits?”

She patted her bag in response. “As always. It’ll be fine, Harry. It’s not like we’re going out on a hunt or anything.” Truth be told, she wasn’t really sure what they were going to be doing. She was banking on that horse ride they discussed on taking, but on the other hand, maybe a trip to New Asgard? Yeah, she didn’t really know. 

“‘Cause that worked out so well, last time.” Harry took a sip of his coffee. 

Jedi rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag.  “Don’t wait up for me.” she said, starting to go to the door. Yeah, she’d just wait outside for Loki. That’d be the better option. She stepped outside, closing the door of the store behind her, walking over to lean on the hood of her car. This was the better option for sure. 

Now, if her heart could just stop beating a mile a minute, then it’d be even better. It was just Loki she was meeting. It wasn’t like she was meeting the Quee- oh, right. Shit, Prince of Asgard… oops.

"Come on. Come on, Faith," Bruce begs in quiet and exhausted tones as he scrubs both palms over his face, "Don't do this to me right now. I know you're itching for a fight but I'm your only back up." angrily and pointedly he taps his temple as he speaks, "Think about that. All it takes is one vampire to royally piss me off and it's over. One. Do you have any idea what'll happen to the street if The Other Guy starts wrecking the sewers? No. No. Unless they buzz us in we’re staying put. Both of us."

No one looked askance at a lawyer being at an expensive art gala, despite the fact that he didn’t make enough money in a month to afford even one of the smaller pieces. No, the strange looks he could feel probably came from the dark glasses and the cane, given it was quite strange for a blind man to be interested in art. And he wasn’t interested in the art, even if he supported the cause behind its selling.

Matt had claimed Karen’s plus one spot to be here. In large part to protect her should anything go awry. Call him paranoid, but with this many superheroes and superhero adjacents in the building, if he were a supervillain with a thing against the Avengers, well, this would be the time and place he’d strike; when they were in fancy dresses and ties rather than kevlar and iron suits.

Karen suitably distracted with her press-related duties, Matt wandered. There wasn’t much to do here, beside cringe at the abundance of strong colognes and pungent perfumes invading his senses and not admire the art like everyone else. At least the eavesdropping was interesting. 

High society folk tended to be gossips, he’d found, and this little outing had proven no different. Equal parts amused and distracted, he was tilting his head towards a trio of giggling socialites talking about the handsome blind stranger when he nearly ran head first into someone else if not for his senses snapping to attention when someone invaded his personal space. He swerved enough to nearly bump shoulders rather than go head first collision, but still offered a courtesy, “I apologize. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” 

Peter shifted a little awkwardly as he moved around the gallery. "Hi. Hello. Hey," he greeted quietly to anybody who looked his way. He felt supremely awkward walking around in his Spidey-Suit while everyone else was in fancy suits and fancier dresses, but he wasn't out yet, as it were, so he showed up in his crime fighting gear.

"Ooh. Finger foods!" Peter exclaimed to himself and scooped up something red and green on a cracker, only to realize… he had his mask on. He couldn't eat anything. He stared down at the hors d'oeuvre in his gloved hand and scooted away from the crowd.

"Hey, Karen? What is this anyway?" He murmured to the AI in his suit.

"It looks to be Steak Tartare," she answered chipperly, an answer which didn't clear up any of Peter's confusion. 

"Steak what??"

"Steak Tartare. It's a dish consisting of raw ground steak mixed with raw egg, onion, and seasonings. It looks like this one has capers and cornichons as well," Karen explained.

Peter was suddenly very glad he had a mask on and nobody could see his face. "What?? Rich people food is so weird." Glancing around to make sure nobody was looking, Peter quickly dumped the finger food in a potted plant before scooting to the other side of the gallery to stand next to some abstract painting of dark swirls and splatters. 

Perhaps it was a little lame to throw your own birthday party, but Jo knew if she didn’t do it, Bonnie would, and the woman already did too much for everybody else, so Jo just did it herself. Birthdays, for Jo, meant another year she’d survived, another year of experience under her belt, another year she’d won every fight she’d walked into. She wanted to celebrate, spend a night drinking and relaxing with friends, and a birthday was a good excuse to do that.

A simple text to basically everybody in her phone’s contact list was sent out about a week prior, including the address and a simple message.

             [ I’m having a get together for my birthday. April 7th, 9pm. ]