aa_valkyrie | Oversight (Bruce, Vision) (Reply)

Bruce doesn't have any popcorn and he can't fly the jet.

So what he is actually doing is messing around with his Starkphone. Is he texting? Probably not. But he does seem fairly focused on it, reading through his nice new glasses. He glances up and looks across from his seat, briefly lowering his tech to rejoin the other humans -- and otherwise -- who are on backup duty out here. Jiggling his heel against the floor, he says, "Is the volume all the way up?"

Just in case they haven't heard anything yet because the radio is on mute. Banner is very reassuring in re: general competence, apparently.

"Yes," Vision confirms from where he sits roughly across from Bruce. He looks, compared to his initial appearance, very normal. Dark hair, blue eyes, skin roughly recognizable as a person's. Although it's unlikely to be of much use, he's looking out a window. "Do you think much will occur?"

There must be something with Asgardians and the potential for battle, Valkyrie's mouth twists in a slight smile of anticipation as she lifts her head when Bruce speaks. In contrast to Vision, Valkyrie does not look normal. The armored appearance of her leather jacket has been exchanged for something far more literal: a gleaming leather and metal breast plate covers her front, shoulders covered with a fur caplet, and a startling amount of leg revealed by the cut of her tunic. Her gauntlets and the silver bands shine as she adjusts the sword in her lap. "Between the sons of Odin? It seems likely," she offers wryly.

Bruce probably was startled by the flash of metal armor and that long length of leanly muscled leg when he first saw it, but now his tech toys seem to draw more of his eye through the gleam of his clean and scratch-resistant new lenses. "Oh," he says without looking up from the quiet bluish glow of the screen, as the radio crackles to life and voices murmur through from the shadows of the forest, "there they go."

After a lengthy beat's silence, he says, "I feel like I'm intruding on a private moment here. Do you feel like you're intruding?" (He is talking to an alien and an android when he asks this question.)

Vision watches the window, his high forehead featureless-smooth. He speaks slowly when he speaks, as if weighing thoughts individually. "Their language is highly elevated. It does not sound like a traditional private moment. There is emotion in their voices, but their words are artful."

"Is that not the idea behind such quiet observance: to silently intrude and drop the eaves upon their words?" Vaklyrie wonders, lifting her brows. "Loki no doubt expects such, should he be so adept with the mag -- technology of this plane as that of others."

Bruce glances at Valkyrie with his eyebrows lifted high towards the dark rumple of hair back from his forehead, and then looks across at Vision. He says, "I think they just talk like that," in a wry shade of aside. He tips his thumb toward the radio as Loki even comments on the listeners. "Yeah, it's the point and he knows about it. Still. You know." He wiggles his fingers.

"Ah," Vision says. He glances at Valkyrie. "Evidence does bear that out." He settles his arms in a loose fold, looking at the radio now. "Perhaps, then, he is performing. We will see to what end."

Valkyrie lifts her brows in return to Bruce, a fine line appearing above them. What is wrong with her manner of speaking? "I fear for your ears if it displeases." She chuckles at the radio, leaning back in her seat. "Seems to none at all."

Snap-crackle-pop. Hissss.

Bruce looks up at the ceiling of the quinjet. "Apparently Thor agrees."

He shifts, leaning forward in his seat with his elbows propped against his thighs and drops his head. He lifts his gaze after a beat. "All we're getting is the sat pickup now. So I sure hope Loki doesn't manage an ambush we'd need ears for."

"Unfortunate. It was an interesting conversation." Vision leans minutely forward, regarding the satellite display. "At least we will be able to tell if they begin more pitched hostilities. It may just be too late for effective action."

"I think that if a lightning storm begins, we'll know they are fighting," Valkyrie suggests, lifting a hand to rap her knuckles against the side of the metal tin they are flying in. Ting-ting.

Bruce cracks his knuckles.

"I am prepared to step outside at a moment's notice." Vision gives Bruce a maybe-overthoughtful side glance.

"As am I. Although I think you would find it difficult to survive the descent," Val observes, giving Vision a once-over. Human? Plant? Mineral?

"He'll be fine," Bruce says mildly without glancing in Vision's direction. Without audio cues, he fiddles with the top button of his button-down, and then flips his hand in an 'I give up' kind of gesture before picking up his phone from his leg.

Mineral, mostly. Vision marks Bruce's phone-picking gesture before turning his attention to Valkyrie. "I have but to achieve maximum density before impact. Our altitude is sufficient that this should be possible."

Valkyrie blinks, a frown touching the concerns of her mouth in confusion. "I beg your pardon, but I do not understand." Maximum what?

"Vision is designed to alter his density at will," Bruce tells her, focusing intently on the satellite pickup despite the fact that what it shows is entirely itty-bitty Asgardians. "Essentially, when the ground hits him, he'll hit back."

"Yes," Vision says with an incline of his head toward Bruce. "It is not very delicate, but it will serve in an emergency."

"So you are not crushed by the fall? Superb," Valkyrie says with a laugh, slapping her hand against her knee.

Bruce smiles a very little bit. "I'm pretty sure I got you beat for indelicate, there, Vision."

"This is the idea," Vision says, with a small smile of his own. "Of course, neither are both of you apt to be crushed." To Bruce more specifically. "Perhaps. But it is a glorious indelicacy."

"Your strength is to become a b -- warrior in place of a man of science, is it not so, Bruce? There is no delicacy to be found in battle-forms. Finesse comes from use, but delicacy is best left to the painters and sculptors." Settling her sword so that the pommel leans against her shoulder, lengthy blade in its sheath and point balanced against the floor, Valkyrie folds her hands.

Bruce's eyebrows twitch. "Glorious, huh?" he says. His voice is weighted heavy with dryness. He studies the tiny figures from the satellite image. "There are strengths and strengths, Valkyrie," he says. "The Hulk is not exactly a creature of finesse either."

"Perhaps glorious is not the right word," Vision owns after a moment. "But Bruce's warrior form, as you put it, has an explosive effectiveness. No finesse, perhaps - but an effectiveness."

"No babe in the ways of battle is anything more than an element of brute force. Finesse is a thing to be learned, not granted by right." Valkyrie turns her head to look towards the screen, squinting at the small figures. "Explosive seems apt a term for a number of these ventures."

Bruce falls notably quiet. He folds his hands over the phone and props his knuckles against the close of his lips. He watches the Asgardians on the satellite pickup.

Vision leans in a few more fractions. "The shield?" comes, unnecessary.

Valkyrie grunts in what sounds like an affirmative. Lady-like.

Bruce continues to watch in silence. (!!)

"Passed the shield," Vision says, low-voiced. "Could it end in peace?"

"It seems more of a cease of fire for the moment." Valkyrie leans forward, leaning her hands against her knee. "Looks like it may be so."

"Yes." Vision straightens as Loki disappears and Thor ascends. "No battle today, then. Good. Shield recovered."

"Alas." Valkyrie sounds a touch dismayed at the lack of battle, at odds with the smile that touches her mouth. It is best for brothers not to fight. "Then we will meed back with Thor at the home front, I imagine, to hear his thoughts." The pitch of the engines shifts from a holding pattern into flight, beginning the trip back to base.

Bruce, Val, and Vision watch over the meeting of brothers in Europe.

Occurs in conjunction with: Last Refuge