Oh for Pete's sake, she thought when he repeated her title despite her wishes. Zap ignored it, temporarily, to focus on what was actually important: sending someone to Hel. Tonight? That was her preference, and Nate seemed to agree. "Their input doesn't matter," Ronan Murphy was a grown man and made decisions for himself. To the chagrin of others (often especially his family). "Of course you have," she said after Nate mentioned having gathered the supplies. Nose in his ingredients closet, no doubt. "Troy, Jimmy, Illyana, you, me and..." Hm. She did have a preference - someone she'd known since her tween years. "Brian," Eva nodded.
Her eyes searched Nate's for a few silent moments, trying to read his roller coaster of thoughts and feelings. Then she was hit with a cold, creepy attack on her spine and she shuddered and her prying gaze turned to a shocked and glaring one. "Why do I always have to kick you out of my rooms?" Her hands made a shooing gesture. As for her clothes, meh. Nate might not have understood the practice of changing throughout the day, but Tress did, and it made the dresser happy. It was a massive platform for Qiana to display her work and designs, and Eva wasn't going to stop her or the traditions of Asgard. She pursed her lips and made a blowing noise, and the lights in the room went out. "I'm right behind you," the queen told her right hand. Or, maybe just her 'hand' at this point.
"You should pull that move next time one of the boys has that look (mischief) in their eye," Eva said conversationally about the spine-tingler. While she spoke, she'd stepped up next to Nate in the hallway and took his arm, partially slowing his purposeful stride. "Seriously, especially when we're alone, or with our," er, "people," Midgardians, that was, "don't use titles. Not with me, at least." Her elbow squeezed Nate's. "I'll do more than give you a shove, next time," the queen vowed.