#hadariyao

       Unfamiliar faces in an unfamiliar place-- different housing and different sections. This was quite a set up for what it was, at least from what the thief could gather. It was a set up after all, right? Still. He didn’t like it, he’d rather go back, back to his usual ways, back home. Back to have a drink and a smoke. His hand twitched somewhat, pulling the cards he had been given and flipping one across his fingers as if to occupy himself.

      If there was just one familiar face---

       Oh--- Oh that certainly was a familiar head of hair. Was that some kind of strange hope he felt in his chest? Probably. Quickly, the thief snatched the card he was playing with between his fingers and made a quick dash for the form he saw ahead of him, wouldn’t it be embarrassing if he was wrong, eh? And quickly, he grabbed her by the shoulders---

“Oh.”  Listen, he has plenty of (respectful, tasteful) suggestions for a solo costume, speaking from one eleven to another.  Costume ideas including her other half...Not nearly as respectful nor as plentiful.  Being perfectly fair, he’s...Kind of sure Logan can pull off something other than, you know, a werewolf.  What, he has no idea, but surely there’s something out there in the wide world of couples costuming that’s right for him.

Tony’s just probably not the guy to ask.

Still, he’s nothing if not stubborn, and he’ll give it a good, honest Avengers try, if only because he hates losing at anything.  So he takes a moment to put on his thinking cap, contemplating hmm and chin stroke included, willing his brain to at least give him something.  Something decidedly not were-flavored.  It’s actually harder than it has any right to be.

“I’m going to take a wild guess here and assume I already have a clear idea of what the answer’s going to be, anyway, given-”  He gestures, intent on signifying, oh, the last few years or so.  But, hey, sometimes people surprise you, and he happens to have what he thinks might be an excellent ace up his sleeve.  And when it comes down to it, he’s always actually liked being on the same side as Ororo, because he will be the first to admit she can be a little scary.  “But we’re gladhanding and you were on the shortlist to ask.  We’re trying to build a bigger, better, more balanced team, reserves and full-timers, got some new policies going into place to make everything a little more fair and organized.  And we’re also planning on asking Logan?”

“Twofer.”  His voice is soft, rough from sleep, and he uses two fingers to push down the blanket he’s wrapped in on the couch in the library (blue, cashmere, originally purchased to be part of a set - there’s a red one around, as well, meant to be Tony’s very own - that has become Tony’s main napping comfort item downstairs because it’s supposed to be Steve’s), revealing a very asleep Halley with the side of her face smashed into his chest right under the rt, one hand with a death grip on his sleeve he’s actually kind of glad has found fabric, not skin - he can’t break that grip on a good gym day.  She’s well and truly on her way to having one hell of a wrinkle from the fabric pressed into her cheek when she wakes up, and he’s pretty sure that’s drool leaking through his shirt.

Kids are dangerous.  They can take the most night owl of persons suffering under the world’s most constant and longest-running sleep debt, and turn them into nap in the middle of the afternoon types of people.

The rhythmic thumping of a tail to the exact beat of The Hues Corporation’s Rock The Boat starts under the couch.  “Threefer,” he amends.  He’s actually honestly surprised Theodore Ursa has shown the amount of restraint he assumes it’s taken to keep from jumping onto the couch with them, and instead has found himself a napping spot underneath it.

Or Tony’s discussions with him about dogs not belonging on the couch have finally made some headway.  Considering he has shown absolutely zero interest in appeasing Tony with acknowledgment before, he kind of doubts it.