pyschosomatic (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} pyschosomatic) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} solitarycomm, |
Jean had been so soaked into her people watching that she didn't see the man walking over her until he was a few feet away. She did a little double-take, sure that she saw that face somewhere before, but it wasn't until he finally spoke that she remembered. Right. The American bloke with the star spangled tights. At least he wore normal clothing at parties.
"Thank you, Mr. Rogers, I appreciate it." She was a little proud of herself for remembering his name; she had never been a comic book person, but the movie was good. Until she was living in it, that is. They had never spoken face to face before, so she offered her hand to shake his, being a strong believer in proper introductions. "Jean Watson, by the way. I don't think we've properly met." She let her hand fall to her side, turning to pick her drink up from the side table before facing him again. "You know, from rumors I've heard of Mr. Stark and the size of his tower I expected something much more..." She trailed off, wondering how to word herself, before giving him and finishing, bluntly, "obnoxious."
She continued quickly to talk over the awkward word pause. "So how long have you been here? In this place?" She had gestures weakly with her glass, but continued, a bit more specifically, with, "I mean, this version of New York. Or... wherever we are now. A while? Oh-" In that moment she realized that, perhaps, he had just approached her to say hello, and she might have been trapping him in a conversation that he wasn't exactly willing to have. Not that she cared. She needed people to bloody talk to in this place, but the least she could do was make sure he was comfortable as she forced him into an interaction. "Do you want to sit?" Another gesture, this time to the seat that was across from hers.