Owner	Pose
Steve Rogers	"Lots of heavy equipment down there," Steve muses. He's squinting at something in the distance, in the low prone on cold earth with only a thin blanket between him and the frozen ground. "Yeah," Bucky agrees, looking through his binoculars at the work site. At the center of the camp is an ancient Norse longhouse, hidden in a fjord that must have gone dry centuries previous. It is surrounded by heavy earthmoving gear, tents, generators, and lots of equipment and men milling around. There seems to be some operation underway to enter and search the building. "I count forty," Bucky says a minute later. Steve lays on his back and tightens his gloves on his hands. "Forty three," he amends with a mild precision. Bucky sighs and lowers the binos, then starts low-crawling back down the hill until he can stand up and return to the other Howling Commandos. "Maybe you can count your way to a hot meal for your next trick," he suggests to Steve. In the longhouse itself, a string of electrical cables brings light to the interior. The building is ancient but well-treated wood, with paint fading from many years of weather. At the rearmost wall behind the chair where a jarl would sit is an extraordinary work of art: a solid sheet of gold completely covering a wall some ten feet on a side. The shape of a vast world-spanning tree stands proud from the glossy surface, showing no signs of tarnish or wear despite the great age of the piece. "Shall I get the jackhammers, Oberst Schmidt?" One of the foot soldiers looks from the wall to the man wearing an officer's uniform, with silver octopodes on his epaulets. "No, this is far too valuable a relic to destroy in so cavalier a manner, Lieutenant." Colonel Schmidt runs his gloved hand against his jaw, over the inky red of his sanguine, stark features. "There is a secret yet to be wrested from this display. The gods would not leave such a great work behind so carelessly."
Kelda Stormrider	It starts with the wind shifting. Branches whisper on any nearby trees. A few flakes of snow zip past, there and gone. Leaden clouds above and behind the reconnaisance by a number of yards suddenly begin to roil in a manner not akin to any form of any weather known to earth. Like an inversed riffle from a pebble's throw, the clouds bunch and then part to emit a solid beam of prismatic light. Auroral hues slam to the earth with palpable force and a blowback of displaced air scenting of petrichor and plasma both deeply chilled. Centrally, rising to a straight-spined carriage, a blonde woman takes a moment to brush a smoothing palm down the fall of robes visually archaic at first glance. Belted about her waist with a confection of leather and bluish-silver metal, the robes themselves fall centrally in a wash of snow-white fabric almost gossamer from a v-necked cut of collar. Indecency is saved by the thickness of the material otherwise. The central fall is lined by silver runic design running from neck to bottom hemline on a backdrop of royal-blue, a hue so deeply colorful as to be impossible to make on earth. Sighing to herself, the tall woman turns in place and looks around. Her hair, braided back and held from fraying by a silver clasp, swings and settles along her spine again. Almost unerringly, her attention aligns to the distant work site. Her eyes visibly narrow -- and with little further ado, she, entirely sans weaponry or armor per first glance, begins to walk in this direction.
Steve Rogers	"C'mon man, just ask her out already," Bucky says. Steve looks skywards in supplication, and sighs heavily. "Buck, we're in the middle of a war zone. What are we going to do, hop a bus to Queens and hit up the nickelodeon?" Steve's tone is somewhere between wry amusement and defensiveness. "C'mon Cap, are you really that scared of a dame?" Dugan chews on the end of his cigar, talking around the unlit stogie. "God knows we've seen worse out here." "Chocolates and a nice wine," suggests Dernier, inspecting his own gear. "How is it, candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker?" Sniggering breaks out around the ground and Steve looks around, hands spread in exasperation. "How did this become a discussion about my love life?" he demands of no one in particular. "Uh... Cap, speaking of women..." Norita points at the newcomer striding towards the Nazi camp. "I must be seeing things, because I think there's a blonde bombshell walking around the snow in an evening gown." Inside the compound, it takes a minute for anyone to really notice Kelda. The guards are paying little attention because they don't really expect trouble this far north, let alone a woman dressed like a nightclub singer. Two guards converge lazily on her in an intercept course. "Good -night-," one of them approves. "The Swedes, they do know how to build them." "We're in Norway, you idiot," says the other man. He gives Kelda a leering up and down. "You're a long way from the nightclub, lady. If you're cold, we can help you get warmed up by the fire."
Kelda Stormrider	Lip corners rise into a smile which doesn't fully reach the glacially-blue eyes. "You are kind to offer, but no, I am quite comfortable." The blonde woman tilts her head slightly and looks between the two guards with what appears to be a reserved intrigue. She has some height on them both. "I wished to know why you are disturbing this resting place? Your people were to keep the treasure safe until the Allfather thought it time to return it to its home." Softly-spoken as she is, the mild irritation at visible proceedings rims her words with a light layer of frost. "Who is your leader who thinks this appropriate?" She idly glances over her shoulder in the direction of the Howling Commandos and their boldly-starry leader, but doesn't catch sight of the source of the voices. The guards once more get a refined look down the blonde woman's nose, her hands now neutrally pressed palm-together before her belt.
Steve Rogers	At Kelda's insistent tones the guards stiffen, faces darkening. "We are conducting the business of the Third Reich," the corporal says. "And civilians need to stay clear of the area. Residents of this village have been evacuated to Hamskarl," he says, pointing vaguely south. The collection of scattered homes nearer the river look unoccupied save for the German forces. The private waves over another soldier, presumably an officer given his more spit-and-polished approach. He steps up to Kelda with a military swagger and gives her an up-and-down. "You do not look like a member of this village," he tells her. "And your German is... good." His eyes narrow. "Too good. Papers, please," he says, and makes the 'please' sound more like an imperative than a request. Fingers snap and he holds a hand out. The Commandos are watching from a distance with disbelief in their eyes. "Who is this dame?" Norita whispers, hoarsely. Steve shakes his head with an uncertain expression, better able to see her than the others. "Don't know. No uniform. No weapons. She's ... I mean, it's an evening gown. Did she hit her head and wander away from some party?" There's a prolonged silence, and Steve looks back to see the Commandos all staring at him. "What?" he growls. There's a pregnant pause, and all the men look at each other, then back at Cap. "Who gets to go talk to her?" they ask, almost all at once.
Kelda Stormrider	It appears the blonde's brows wish to pinch at this news regarding 'business'. One can tell she doesn't recognize the identity of the Third Reich nor does she care for the goings-on of this faction's current invasion of the village. The officer who arrives and demands papers gets a smoothed expression of strained politesse for his snapping. "I have never required...papers in order to walk upon Midgard before. I do not have any. I am the Lady Kelda Stormrider, envoy of Asgard, and I wish to speak to your leader." How politely, she couches the request, and yet it contains a note of steel which begs the recipient to think long and hard about consequences.
Steve Rogers	There is a low but strident babble around Steve, and he tolerates it with gritted teeth for all of a minute before turning on them. "The next man who opens his mouth is on latrine duty for a week," he growls. Bucky starts to open his mouth; Steve checks him with a fierce glare and an index finger jabbing in his direction. "You mor-- men," Steve amends, "cover me. I'm going to try to get closer. Buck, take a flanking element and attack from the west if I give the signal." "What's the signal?" Bucky quips. Steve's jaw clenches so hard his teeth almost crack. "It'll look and sound like I'm getting /shot at/, Buck," Cap says. With no more ado he clambers over the berm and starts hustling through the trees, low and quiet. "Oh sure, Cap gets to go talk to the dame," Norita objects. He looks at Bucky. "He can't even say hi to Carter without breaking into a sweat. Was he always this bad?" "Would you believe he used to be worse?" Kelda's encounter with the Leftenant is rapidly devolving. His ego is pricked by her demand to speak with his superior. "I am Leftenant Rhineman, and I /am/ in charge," he snaps at her. "Security of the work site is my responsibility. You are obviously an infiltrator of some kind. We will not tolerate your intrusion. Take her into custody," he orders the private. "She will be taken to the garrison." The soldier slings his rifle and reaches for Kelda's wrists, trying to shackle her with a pair of simple steel handcuffs.
Kelda Stormrider	Perhaps it's simple surprise which allows the steel handcuffs to land on Kelda's wrists. Maybe it's a lack of knowledge given her time away from Midgard. Maybe she assumed they //really wouldn't try this.// Blinking down at the temporary (flimsy) restraints, the Asgardian then sighs. Her breath comes out in a mist thicker than should exist with the current air temperature. "Please do not attempt this again," she tells the officer and the other guards with a calm firmness. It takes naught but a separation of her palms and outwards gesture of two wrists to snap the links of the handcuffs with a sharp little crack. "You are not observing guest rights and the respect such an envoy deserves. I am greatly disappointed. The Allfather will be displeased to have put his trust in your people," she then informs the soldiers with a thinning of her pastel-pink lips.
Steve Rogers	The guards step back at the casual show of strength from the woman. "Mein gott," one mutters, and hastily starts unlimbering his stubby sub-machinegun from his back. "I need backup!" the lieutenant roars at several men not far away. A dozen guards come up at a fast jog, levelling weapons at Kelda. The lieutenant steps back and lifts his service pistol to aim at Kelda's face. "You are most /certainly/ a spy and you are resisting arrest! Do it again, and I will have you executed!" the lieutenant barks. Inside the longhouse, Schmidt tilts his head minutely at the sound of shouting. "What is this?" he hisses, and glares at his aide-de-camp. "I cannot concentrate with that racket." "I'--I'll go find out, mein Oberst," the aide says, and dashes for the door to find out what's going on. "Oh criminey," Steve says with a weary, shoulder-slumping sigh when guns come out. This is fast turning his ambush into a rescue mission. He draws his service pistol and readies his shield, taking careful aim. It's a shot of some fifty yards, with a friendly in the mix. Few people would dare try such a shot with a handgun. The lieutenant's head jerks backwards with a hole between his eyes. He hits the ground like a marionette with severed strings as the report of the gunshot echoes. "ALARM!" screams one of the guards, and Captain America bursts from the underbrush with his shield out in front of him to deflect the badly aimed bullets coming at him while he sprints across the middle distance.
Kelda Stormrider	"You will find your firearm is of no use," Kelda informs the lieutenant, looking dead at his face rather than the black maw of the gun's muzzle. "It would be best if we spoke rather than devolved to fighting." Unfortunately, the sub-machine gun owner is nearly armed and dangerous. It makes the Asgardian mage sigh. The lieutenant then drops with a shocking suddenness. Stepping backwards in one smooth motion, the blonde's glacially-blue irises then flicker to bright life. A one-two sweeping gesture with her hands before herself and a wall of thick ice screams into existence between her and the stubby weapon. Her palms outstretched, the mage plants her boot-heels to concentrate on the gleaming bulwark between herself and the hailstorm of bullets. She can, however, divide attention -- and that is one spangly shield. "Excuse me! What can you tell me about this offensive presence?" she shouts over the din of weaponry in Steve's direction.
Steve Rogers	The presence of the ice wall on the battlefield makes everyone gawk in surprise. Fortunately Steve spends the least time agog and recovers his focus while others are still processing the fantastic sight. The machine gun chugs with sharp staccato pops and leaves nine-millimeter dimples etched into the surface of the ice, chiseling out tiny radiating cracks that stretch no more than a few inches. Steve ducks sideways and whips his shield around his body's center of gravity and with a grunt hurls it at one of the guards trying to work around the barrier. It caroms off of him and sends him to the ground and ricochets towards the gunner trying to shoot Kelda. Steve dashes past her, puts two well-aimed shots into an armed jaeger trying to get on a radio, and catches the shield out of the with one a short, one-handed leap. "Ma'am, you really should get clear of the area," Steve suggests politely. He looks at Kelda-- /up/ at Kelda, clearly something he's not accustomed to-- and shakes his head. "This whole area is lousy with Nazis and they do not like strangers." As if to punctuate his words another burst of gunfire rattles Kelda's ice wall, this time with hardened rifle rounds from a soldier's heavy machine gun.
Kelda Stormrider	At some remove, like the realization of wind on clothing, Kelda can feel each impact of the bullet spray colliding with the wall of thick ice. Masterful as she is in the art, she continues watching the Midgardian with the starry shield and his own art in it. Pale brows lift. "Impressive," she comments half to herself; it's impossible to know if she was heard over the growing rhythm of barking guns. The heavier machine gun and its more punctuating impacts on the wall has the Asgardian's fine features finally squinching into a proper scowl. Even this expression has its refinements, as if patience finally wore thin enough to let the emotion through, and heaven forbid it should have happened. "I am certainly learning about how these...Nazis are not learned in the art of receiving guests," she agrees drily. "But I cannot leave until I confirm the presence of the Tesseract for the Allfather. If they must be removed, then so be it." Another gesture of one hand behind the wall of ice, fingers outstretched and then curling upon themselves into a fist. Ice grows in a rapid coat over the heavy machine gun and potentially onto the wielder of the weapon itself, slinking into mechanisms and expanding to warp the metal and render the weapon nonfunctional.
Steve Rogers	"Learn what the what for the who?" His eyes widen at the frigid ice shattering the MG3; that's a hell of a parlor trick. Steve's questions are cut off by the whistle of a mortar round that lands about a hundred feet away from them. Kelda's clearly safe behind her ice wall, so Steve just puts his head behind his shield to catch any stray shrapnel. Two more come in hot on the trail of the first, one hitting a German light truck and the other destroying a tent. Steve looks to the west and brightens. "Good timing, fellahs," he says to himself. A dozen men can be spotted advancing through the sparse woods, laying down fire to cover their advance. More shouting, in German-- a halftrack rumbles into view with a four-barrel AA gun on the back, and the gunner frantically cranking the weapon to angle the barrels towards Kelda on the ground instead. "Run!" Steve shouts at Kelda, and sidesteps the ice wall. Instead of taking his own advice he charges straight at the heavy weapon with his shield high, ready to deflect those heavy projectiles if he's not fast enough to get ahead of them.
Kelda Stormrider	"The existance and safe-holding of the Tesseract needs to be -- " Nevermind answers to the questions either. The mortar round lands and interrupts any chance at conversation. Second and third mortars landing within enemy -- they're certainly enemies now per their actions against the Asgardian -- territory make Kelda too look back in the same direction as the bold man with his starry shield. "Ah, your comrades, very good." Even if the Mage can hold her own behind her wall of foot-thick ice, it's always a game of numbers. Then, the shield-bearing man is telling //her// to retreat while //he// runs in with his shield upheld. It seems nonsensical and as such, she shouts over the din of weaponry, "It is contrarian of you to tell me as such while you approach the enemy!" Maybe Barnes can hear this. Exasperation crosses worlds, apparently. Halftrack in position, the gunner behind the AA sets the weapon to blazing. It's a broad spray aimed in the direction of both shield and ice wall and both take the brunt of the 20mm ammunition. Ice begins to crack at an alarming rate of depth and Kelda's eyes go wide. She thinks. This is going to take some refinement. Waiting until the ice is just about to collapse entirely, the Mage abruptly gestures outwards like a martial artist's punch. The entire wall blasts out towards the halftrack and its weapon in chunks the size of bowling balls. Mist curls up around Kelda within the half-second and...she's gone. Or is she. Behind the immediate aim of the halftrack now, the Asgardian then seems to conjure up an eight foot-long spear. Its tip gleams like a diamond. In a swirl of robes and haft, she spins into the nearest grouping of soldiers. Needless to say, the bodies literally fly.
Steve Rogers	Captain America's shield may be indestructible, but Steve is not. There is a limit to how much kinetic energy the mythic shield can disperse and targeted fire from an anti-air gun is pushing it. Even if the shots don't hit him, the explosions from the shells impacting his shield are going to leave his ears ringing for a while yet. The firing abruptly stops and Steve skids to halt, his eyes going wide. The halftrack is shredded like it was hit with its own flak rounds, and the tall blonde woman is in the middle of a bruising melee armed with a /spear/ of all things. The idiosyncrasy is a little jarring, but the effects are unquestionable: she is tearing down Jaegerkommandos and foot soldiers alike with brutal efficiency, shrugging off their bayonets and bullets. Schmidt emerges from the longhouse with a visibly furious expression on his skeletal features. "Damn you, Captain America!" he spits. "I'll not have you foil my work again!" The gun in Schmidt's hand looks as out-of-place as Kelda's spear, the barrel replaced with some kind of emitter. Schmidt adjusts a dial on the side and fires at Steve. A lancing beam of yellow energy hits his hastily raised shield and ricochets off at an angle, cutting a black swathe through snow and hibernating grass. Kelda's flurry of blows catches his focus and the Nazi colonel takes aim with the same careful precision Steve had displayed and fires the energy weapon at her exposed back. Rogers takes two steps and hurls his shield with a powerful overhand cast. It flies through the air and intersects the energy blast, scattering it into micro-beams that bounce into the German ranks and sow much confusion and anger. Rogers raises his pistol and aims at Red Skull's head, taking advantage of his momentary confusion. *click* It's possibly the loudest sound in the world to hear a gun not go bang, and Steve stares in disbelief at his sidearm. Jammed. With ice. "Equipment trouble, Captain?" Schmidt raises the energy gun at Steve. "As they say, always buy Germa--" Schmidt staggers back a pace with a dimple in his forehead shaped like the butt of Steve's handgun. The fastballed sidearm clatters to the ground next to him. With a bellowing leonine shout, Steve charges at Schmidt and they struggle furiously for control of the weapon in Schmidt's hand.
Kelda Stormrider	The difficulty with spear-fighting in this manner is divided attention. Kelda has to mark each approaching combatant as well as those who are staying out of immediate range of either blunt or pointy end of the spear. Long legs allow her to cover inhuman (literally) distance with each graceful, spinning stride, but she still needs to keep projectile weaponry in mind. Bullets ricochet with hollow thunks against the haft and jarringly-beautiful crystalline chimes from the head of the spear as she spins it before and around herself. Whatever she's muttering to herself in Asgardian isn't polite. It's not the beginnings of any monstrous spell -- yet. Deflected energy from the Captain's shield catches her attention in passing, but her mind just as quickly calculates: unexpected ally is unscathed, can fight, continue with current objective. It also means she has no idea of the weaponry currently aimed and fired at her back. Or, at least, she doesn't until the beams flash and scatter with destructive efficiency around her. Even this is enough to break the Mage's concentration on remaining unscathed. It helps that there's nobody else to threaten her after this and her own spear's workings. Turning in place, the tall blonde watches as the Captain's gun, jammed by her own magics (oops!), is then used as a projectile in itself. She would applaud, but her hands are busy. It turns quickly into a grappling match for this terrible weapon and with a huff of an irritated sigh, Kelda gestures towards the weapon itself. Frost begins to collect not on the weapon, but on the red-faced man's hands instead as heat is leeched from the air surrounding them. Drop it!
Steve Rogers	That lurid red skin turns a pallid, greying blush on Skull's hands. At the same time, Steve Rogers fingers are turning rapidly blue from the cold that seizes their mutual grip. Neither man seems willing to relent, though they're clearly both in great pain from the intensity of the unnatural cold permeating Skull's flesh. With a grunt of effort Schmidt tears his hands free and the pistol flies away into a snowbank. So great is the man's anger that he curls his nearly frozen fingers into tight fists and punches Rogers, repeatedly. Sinew and bone were already tougher than most, but Schmidt uses the numbness to throw bone-breaking punches at Rogers. Cap staggers backwards and puts his dukes up to block the blows and strikes, getting his own licks in here and there. But he's on the defensive, and Schmidt gets Steve in the gut with a full-power kick that knocks the big blonde fellow backwards on his ass. "Oberstkommander!" shouts Schmidt's aide. "I have it!" He stands up in the back of a vehicle, waving a piece of paper around. "I have the map!" "Gut!" Schmidt laughs, and flees towards the safety of the convoy forming up. A second AA gun turret starts sending thumping doom towards Rogers, forcing him to scramble for cover behind a rock embankment. Two smaller machine guns open up a crossfire at Kelda, heedless of the risk to their own men, and the rest of the infantry forces suppress the Howling Commandos while Schmidt gets clear. Engines rev and the vehicles peel out with great sprays of snow in their wake. "Farewell, Captain!" Schmidt shouts, with deranged laughter. "Your end will come, soon enough!" He hits a button on a transponder and the longhouse explodes into flames, pyro charges under the thatched eaves igniting swiftly despite the chill and heavy snow accumulation.
Kelda Stormrider	Kelda winces when she realizes her good intentions did precisely as intended along with unintentional more. The spell is cut off as the weapon is lost and the two super-brawlers then break to pure fisticuffs. She can heard the sounds of impact; the boot to the solar plexus seems particularly painful and she winces all the more. Ouch. Two more soldiers attempt to ambush her from behind and it allows Schmidt his ability to rush to the safety of the convoy. Two sharp swishes of the spear, thump-thunk, and Kelda wheels again in a swirl of settling robes to see the second AA gun appear along with the machine guns. It's instinct to yet again throw up a wall of solid ice strengthened thrice over by the presence of Mellakaldr. She braces behind her shielding at the sudden detonation of the longhouse. Charred and smoke-streaming pieces of wood and metal clatter and smack against the ice wall. One particularly endeavoring spar of metal jams its way inches into the ice and vibrates to stillness. Ears ring. It smells like acrid destruction now. Kelda dismisses the ice wall before herself only when she can tell the enemy forces are insubstantial. Again, the Mage composes herself with a smoothing brush of palm down her robes and finds the portion of them singed by energy fire. A mutter in Asgardian; damnit, these were her nice pair. "Captain?" Her voice then rings out as she turns to walk towards her impromptu ally, he who'd had to dive for cover. He must be alive still, surely.
Steve Rogers	"I'm alive," Steve grunts, and staggers to his feet. He looks mournfully at the burning longhouse; the conflagration's already reaching skywards. "Damn," he breathes. "I wonder what Schmidt was after. It can't be anything good." He removes his helmet and tousles sweat-damp hair, the cool temperatures rapidly chilling his scalp. "That was Oberst-Kommander Schmidt. He's the head of the Nazi science division, HYDRA," he tells Kelda. "He's been tearing up villages and hamlets all over Norway looking for clues to some relics or treasure. Hitler's nuts for anything occult and I think Schmidt might be on to something." Steve casts around for his gun retrieves it. A sharp *smack* against a stone breaks the ice loose and Steve racks the slide repeatedly to ensure it's no longer jammed, then reloads it and holsters it. Dum-Dum Dugan approaches with Steve's shield held lazily in his left hand. "You gotta stop dropping this, Cap," he says with a jovial and yet serious expression. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Thank you, Corporal," Steve sighs, and slings it over his back. Dugan's staring at Kelda with a slightly unnerved expression now that he's closer to her; it's apparently one thing to speculate from a distance, but it appears that up close her presence is a bit of a stopper. "I'm Steve Rogers," Steve says, trying to nudge Dugan out of his reverie. "Captain, US Army. This is one of my soldiers, Corporal Dugan. The rest of my men are over there," he says, and gestures at the Commandos looking at them. "Instead of doing something useful like securing hostiles and establishing a perimeter." A pause. "/Corporal/," Steve adds, pointedly. Dugan looks at Cap, blinking, and stands at something approximating attention. "Oh, uh, yessir. On it." He wanders back towards the Commandos, bellowing orders at them. Steve just shakes his head and allows himself a small chuckle to go with his wry smile.
Kelda Stormrider	Ah, there's the Captain in question. Kelda glides over with staff still in-hand and pauses within proper conversational distance, her entire mien politely questioning. The scrum hasn't shaken her overmuch given all which suffered on her person was a section of the supernaturally-blue robes. She listens to the shield-bearer explain; at one point, her own regard returns to the burning longhouse and a measure of grief passes through her own expression, there and gone in a shadow. Dugan arrives to return the shield and Kelda returns his moderately dumbfounded look with a patient, reserved one of her own. A faint smile curls the corners of her lips when Captain Rogers manages to get the Corporal off to proper duty rather than continued staring. "They seem to be fine men of great loyalty to you," she comments quietly. "Though I am deeply concerned of the red-faced man and what you say he intends to do. This...Schmidt. I believe I know what he seeks and it chills my heart to think it. But I am remiss: Lady Kelda Stormrider, of Asgard, here at the behest of the Allfather." Steve gets an inclination of head not deep enough for royalty, but certainly enough to be respectful from one warrior to another.
Steve Rogers	"Lady," Steve says, and nods. Bows. Something in there. It's awkward. "I'm sorry, I'm obviously not from this area," he admits. "The Allies are spread a little thin lately. When we heard Schmidt was raising Cain through Norway we figured it had to be for something he considered worth his time. I'm just glad to meet a native who speaks English. My Norwegian's pretty basic," he confesses. Steve surveys the carnage they've caused, then looks at Kelda again. "If you'll take a little free advice, be really careful around him," he says, voice pitched low. "Schmidt has captured and killed a lot of good people. Hitler's insane and out to kidnap or torture anyone who has some kind of super-powerful ability. I don't know how you did that ice trick, but if Schmidt decides he wants to know, he'll pile dead bodies in front of you until you surrender." He looks around once, then back to Kelda. "If you're ready to get home to Asgard, I think no one's gonna miss one of those cars. Put on an officer's uniform and no one will recognize you. Not from a distance, anyway."
Kelda Stormrider	Kelda realizes the confusion at hand after the suggestion about borrowing a uniform. She has wonderments of her own which start with a half-rhetorical question of, "Those cars? The means of conveyance." Scanning for one of the vehicles, she spots one which miraculously isn't smoking, dented all to hell, or nonfunctional in some manner. "I am not a native of Midgard, your world...and Asgard is far beyond the means of such a conveyance," she informs Captain Rogers with a small smile. "Though your wisdom in regards to uniforms is one I gratefully accept. I would collect one of the uniforms of the enemy, yes, but what of your own uniforms? I would not wish to become accidentally considered a target by you or your own men." Because 6'3" and slender if still Asgardian build blends in so well. "You stand against this Schmidt and his madness. I wish to do the same."
Steve Rogers	Steve hesitates. A year prior, Kelda would have merited more than a little disbelief. But having seen a woman from the lost ages of Greece cut her way through entire battalions of Germans, and a man from space tearing apart tanks with his bare fingers... Well, it encourages one to be a believer. "I get the feeling you're not just someone who got lost on her way home from a village," Steve surmises. "And if I hadn't just seen what you did with that ice, I'd be a bit suspicious myself," he admits. Steve looks to his troops, then to Kelda. "I'd like to escort you back to our main camp," he says, delicately. "Peg-- one of our specialists, Agent Carter, she'll want to meet you in person. And my commander as well. Then we can figure out how we can help each other deal with the Krauts." "Er, Nazis," he amends, a beat later.
Kelda Stormrider	"Understandable indeed," comments Kelda mildly on the Captain's admitted suspicions. She didn't exactly ask for permission to show up and start to throw down with one of the arch-issues of the Allies in the northern half of the war stage. She follows his glance briefly before continuing to give him the patened patient look she's known for around the Courts of Asgard. A nod to the strapping blond man with his spangled shield. "Good manners will get you everywhere, Captain. Of course. I will accompany you to your main camp and speak with this specialist and your commander. Our goals coincide. There seems no reason to delay." Her gesture is grace incarnate and suggests Steve lead the way in any direction. After all, the cold isn't bothered her.