1033/Well That's Ominous

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Well That's Ominous
Date of Scene: 07 April 2020
Location: Food Court: Triskelion
Synopsis: Numbers and ideas and swords, oh my!
Cast of Characters: Jane Foster, Daniel Hastings, Dane Whitman, Jennifer Takeda




Jane Foster has posed:
The buffet-style options for the Triskelion ignore the hour. Of course there are scrambled eggs, scrambled eggs with cheese, toast, and a waffle bar overseen by Maris, a woman of flinty eyes and likely a veteran of various clandestine wars around the world. The running story she's also Director Fury's mother is not helped by the fact she visually lacerates anyone who thinks of leaving waffle batter drippage seeping over her clinically pristine round griddles. There are also sandwiches, soups, shawarma (don't ask), and the fixings for the salad bar. The roast beef option, highly lauded, comes out at 11 am and if you don't like it, swim in the East River and sit in decontamination rooms for about a week.

Jane happens to be contemplating a squidgy sponge and probably thinking the better of it. Her phone keeps lighting up at regular intervals. Someone ought to tell her to turn the screen settings to a different stage, but the wire leaping into her pocket probably announces the use of a portable battery charger, so there's that. She flits on by to gather up a few things for breakfast: yoghurt, fruit, a distressing lack of honeycomb or certain Apples of Idunn. She stares out over the frozen berries in various stages of thawing and sighs, scooping a few into a bowl. Her phone blips. She ignores it for a few moments, shuffling the papers squashed into a folder without the SHIELD logo on it.

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    There's a waft of men's aftershave that preceeds the appearance of Daniel Hastings. Freshly shaven, showered and not at all looking like he is looking forward to the day, he yawns mightily as he reaches out for a tray. It should be noted that 'appear' is the correct word. One minute, he wasn't there. The next.. he was. Or maybe he walked in. That's a long walk to not notice someone. "Morning." He offers to Jane as he looks to the day's offering. He seems to be selecting a swath of offerings, a bowl of yoghurt with some fruit and granola in it, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast.. but in lieu of coffee he seems to prefer tea. He's selected English Breakfast and set the packet next to a cup of steaming water. Also a glass of ice water and orange juice. It's almost as if the man missed dinner. Or isn't awake enough to realize he's filled his tray. "Read your paper on cosmological origins. It made for some very interesting dreams." The question is.. was he Asgardian in them or one of residents of the realms they conquered.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane Whitman has been coming here but a few days and has surmised that Maris is a personage not to be trifled with, possibly on a level akin to said Director Fury. So his waffles were acquired with the utmost of care. A smattering of half-thawed berries layered on top, a couple strips of bacon and some scrambled eggs on the side, and a little side plate of crispy hash browns. The physical fitness evaluation was this morning, so with that done, he's freshly showered and back in clothes that don't look like gymwear. He'll just have to remember to get his gym bag out of the locker room before he leaves for the day. He's not too worried about the results, but he did push himself for a hopefully high-score.

Dane veers his beverage choice towards coffee, with a bit of sugar and a bit more cream (well, half and half, but still). He's just managed to acquire the blessed magic bean juice when he rounds a buffet table and spots...

"Morning Doctor, and Morning Doctor." He notes with a smile, though it shifts to an expression of mild concern as he asks, "Everything all right, Doctor Hastings?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Lashings of bacon do not call to Jane. Neither does a roasted haunch of game. The berries turned into a layered parfait will do particularly well for her breakfast, or breaking some kind of fast. It may be elevensies or fourth-bells, because the hunger gnawing at her belly demands attention. She glides to the pile of granola, scooping out one healthy amount and then stopping to peer down at the chia seeds and more alternatives. Hrm. Fingertips sculpt out a metal spoon while she finally reaches into her pocket, squeezing the phone to a silent state where it doesn't even vibrate. It goes to a muted format, and juggling papers, tray, and not even going to the matter of drinks -- all this piles up as she sighs. A sound that lingers on the lips.

Turning her attention away from whether vanilla or low-fat cherry is an ideal additive to an existing parfait assembled, she glances over her shoulder. A familiar face coalesces out of the masses, but she just might not be awake enough to determine the what and where and who.

"Cosmological origins from 2017 or 2019? I should have refined a great deal out of the first one," she adds, trying to stifle a yawn. It's been a long day and the day is not there. "I think I dreamt in code, though that reminds me where to go from on the new project."

She drops a spoon into the yoghurt, having already enough. No, Jane, don't add more. Hoisting up the tray, she gravitates out of the way so that no one is going to be impeded. A hint of a smile stretches, dawning, a warm gold-rose effect. "Hello Doctor and hello Mister. Mister Consultant? I am not sure the right form of address." The swivel comes with a smile. "Whitman and Hastings, I'm leaving it at that. Well-rested, are you?"

Gods. Asgardian dreams. Her eyes shut for a moment as the bracelet sits there, accusing, forgotten under her sleeve.

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    There's a small shake of his head at the inquiry from Whitman. "Not particularly. It's hard to sleep when you're not sure if you're dreaming or awake or having an out of body experience. Especially not when all three can be true at once." Either way, he takes his tray and starts to move towards one of the larger tables with plenty of room for the other two. "The revision I think. Doesn't matter. I kept seeing this.. city.. civilization.. set upon an oceanic disk floating in the void of space. Like I was looking at Asgard. Which, don't get me wrong, it was fascinating. I just.. next time I'll read something on math so if I get away from myself I can count the numbers until I fall sleep again." There's a snort of a laugh then he's sliding into a seat.

    "What about you two? Anything interesting? Dream of flying a ship at breakneck speed through an asteroid field or some such?" The question was aimed at Dane though he looks to Jane thereafter. "Please.. let me get some tea in me before you talk shop. I've got rainbows on the brain still."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Nothing quite that exciting. Don't really remember much from last night's dreams." Dane's expression dims a bit, "Which is an improvement on some nights. At least it wasn't Acre again this time." As to matters of address, Dane glances down to his badge and chuckles, "Proto-Agent Whitman? Just Dane probably works fine. Rhyming and all." He gestures to a recently-vacated table, about as secluded as any in this place (which is to say considerably more than your average cafeteria space). He moves over to said table and takes up a seat along with Daniel, though he doesn't immediately start digging in, mostly to see if Jane is coming along too. "So am I right in guessing we've both had some issues with time displacement, Doctor Hastings?"

Jane Foster has posed:
"That presumes I have slept for long." Jane considers the offerings and selects from among them a cup, a stream of scalding water that might melt deuterium or plutonium, and then two bags of sugar, two of cream, and a choice of Earl Grey. Trust the Earl to bring in the bergamot shot one needs to stay awake, refreshed for the world. In terms of coffee, it's not quite the caffeine content, but tea of a black nature will do. "Acre. You mean the Crusader State, or whatever has become of it? Israeli city, isn't it?" She has to plumb the depths of that fine education, all the same. But the answer trips to her tongue and it's not the result of /Kingdom of Heaven/ or playing too many games with a man in white bedsheets projecting himself into history. She slip-slides her way to gather a spoon, perfectly washable, rather than the unfriendly plastic waste that ends up in the sea and giving Namor reason to yell. "Nothing quite so exciting, I'm promising you. Neither shop nor much else." She swats down the papers starting to slide from the folder, following the others. Sitting along is so high school tragicomedy.

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    "Do we?" Daniel looks over at Dane curiously. "If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting then your own lapse is significantly larger. I only lost seventy years or so. Tragic accident, blasted to another galaxy, made it back here." He gestures vaguely with his tea spoon before beginning to stir in a little cream and sugar. "If you're from quite that long ago then I have to give you high praise for adjusting to technology as well as you have." A glance to Jane and he smirks, "Tea, Doctor? I approve. I.. honestly could never much abide coffee. Tea is like a pleasant conversation in the morning. Coffee is like having that same conversation with Welshman attempting Cockney while slapping you with a fish. Sure, it gets the job done but who needs to be slapped with a fish?"

Dane Whitman has posed:
"No, you were right the first time. Crusader State." Dane notes to Jane, then glances towards Daniel and smiles, "Wish I could take that much credit, but no, mine was more like an...extended sabbatical. I spent about ten years living in the body of one of my ancestors, in and around the Third Crusade. When I uh...returned to myself in the present, only about a year had passed. Didn't really know what to think at first, but aside from getting out of the habit of speaking in Middle English, when I researched said ancestor what scant records I could find did line up with my experiences. Kind of like that video game series with the people being projected back into the lives of their ancestors? Only with a lot less technology involved. Or at least any kind of technology that isn't indistinguisible from...well, you know." He chuckles, "Hey now, Tea is just fine but coffee has it's merits. Though I'll admit I've certainly learned to not be picky about my choices of food and drink."

Jennifer Takeda has posed:
     A space opens in the crowd at the buffet lines, heralding the arrival of someone in a rather familiar hazard suit if people have been paying attention lately. The teen's bubble of extended 'personal space' moves from the entrance to the tables, where food is selected. Bacon, sausage, eggs, french toast, OJ. Jen heads over to a table, which rapidly empties at her approach, earning an eyeroll. YOu'd think people didn't trust Fitz' design skills. Her helmet unseals, visor rising about two inches, accompanied by the soft whir of the helmet's filtration systems kicking into the higher gear that accompanies negative pressure mode. Mmmmmm. Real syrup.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane pivots with a bit of ease, putting down the tray on the table and then sorting through the cutlery. Her folio ends up stuck on her chair where, without fail, she will sit on it. Then the rest of the organization is easy, and if anyone on staff whisks by to take the tray, they will do so without any problems. Her gaze widens with Dane's description of taking a sabbatical. "All right, that definitely sounds like a video game I've played before. Except I think it was the Second and not the Third Crusade. Don't quote me on that." She holds up a hand just in case. "Am I the only person in this building who hasn't been injected with some fancy serum or transported halfway across a star system or time? I'm starting to understand what the Director must feel like. Minus the eyepatch and, you know, several hundred people living in total terror of him." A grin there. "But I digress. Hello, lone normal girl in the room. This is an odd sensation as of, oh, six years ago? Seven? I think seven might be a better ballpark." She doesn't sound in the least bit bothered by it; work with incredible heroes, get to be the token scientist. "Maybe my dad was right, I /should/ have gone into insurance. Would've given me all the perks and billing you too." She grins all the same and makes her tea, spinning it together. "Ever miss the experiences from back then? I mean, hot water on the regular is a plus, though I know they had it, specifically in Constantinople or some of those bathhouses. Roman plumbing is amazing."

Closet measured of a smile there, even as she watches Jennifer's appearance and smiles in that direction too. For Daniel, she says, "Of course tea. Just because I came from Seattle doesn't mean I fail to appreciate a good cuppa. Not like I want to have it by itself. Tea and sugar for me. I blame Victoria. Poisoned the whole region with its British airs. Can't walk five steps without tripping over a Scotsman or a displaced Brit or an Australian snowbunny."

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    "Australian snowbunny?" Daniel's not familiar with that one. "Though I'm glad to hear that we've brought some civilized behavior to you lot of hooligans." He winks at Jane then looks to Dane, "Bloody handed crusaders not withstanding." There's a small shake of his head all of the cultural meandering in the conversation and so he begins picking at his breakfast.

    Now when Takeda arrives there's no small raise of a brow that comes to him. He follows her movements subtly until she sits and opens the sealed suit. "Odd." The sounds of the negative pressure has him curious, "Either of you know her? I spent a week in the bio labs being prodded and that's a new one by me."

Dane Whitman has posed:
There's a bit of a visible wince from Dane at the mention of "Bloody handed." The smile that tries to cover it is probably not terribly convincing and the gulp of coffee taken to further mask it likely somewhat obvious. "I don't know Jane, you got to have adventures with Asgardians. That's pretty unusual by the standards of most folks, I'd say." The more assured smile back in place, Dane's eyes follow Jennifer as she moves to sit down, even as he's responding to Jane's comment, "There were people...friends that I've missed. I learned to live without the creature comforts and technology eventually, but...it was war, and I felt like I had an obligation to try not to interfere with history, at least as much as I could recall of it. Even then, a few times I couldn't really stop myself. But I didn't come back to a timeline where cockroaches had inherited the Earth or anything so I guess I managed all right." Because yes, he probably could have carved his way right on through to Saladin, or ran Richard the Lionheart through before he committed any of his atrocities, but...that wasn't how things happened.

"Don't ask me...I'm the new guy." On the subject of the uniquely-clad Jennifer.

Jennifer Takeda has posed:
     Breakfast was one of the few upsides of being stuck here for Jen. Well, most meals are. The food is surprisingly good for cafeteria style, probably something to help all the bureaucrats deal with drudgery or something. Downside: She still gets stared at. Two types of starers she's noticed so far. The ones who try to pretend they're not, then the obvious ones. ...This table seems to be the obvious ones. One yellow clad middle finger is raised in solitary salute to this latest addition to the categories. "You're not as stealthy as you think you are." She /could/ go back to her suite... But the food would probably be cold by then. Stupid slow elevators.

Jane Foster has posed:
"Definitely Australian snowbunnies. They come up to the mountains to ski all winter long, which means escaping the heat down there. Most of the major resorts are staffed half by Australians, I promise." Jane warms to the topic along with her cup of tea, clasping the recyclable cup between her hands and breathing out a sigh. Warmth is precious. She grins at Daniel. "I'm just glad the Triskelion is stocked with more than Lipton. Not my cup of tea, if you'll pardon the excruciating pun." Adding a little more cream satisfies her, but she's leaving her parfait alone for the moment. "Don't tell me we have a closet Canadian in the lot! Doctor Hastings, your apologies are safe with us." She nods to Dane by dragging him into the mess, the conspiratorial wink all about play. Doctoring up the parfait, though, is a matter of stirring it well to get the fruit and the granola mixed in properly. With another look to Jennifer, she shakes her head. "I do not believe we have been acquainted, unless it was something showing up in my dossiers that... Oh, for pity's sake." She pulls her phone from her pocket and looks at the forty-nine some odd alerts crowding the screen. "Just a moment, please. I rarely have to do this, but." Flipping it over, she removes the cover with a practiced ease, all the better to slide the battery out. That, it should be said, is clearly practiced enough that she's frequently required to silence her phone. Mute your devices means more in that sense.

"You meet up with one of the great paradoxes, then. Being able to change the past could invalidate your own past, or cause you to fork out into another dimension than the one you left." Jane starts to reach out to pat Dane's arm and stops, turning it into dropping the battery of her phone in one pocket and the emptied device in the other. "I have a lot of people ask me about that. If they could go back and undo or redo something over. Or punch Hitler. Everyone wants to punch Hitler. Someone told me they wanted to prank Charlemagne, which was a good one, but I'm not telling them if we can build a bridge for that. Wouldn't be responsible at all." She nudges her spoon through the yoghurt and brings it to her lips. She doesn't stare at anyone, but that's probably because she deals with being stared at just about everywhere she goes.

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    "I think I'd like to do significantly more than punch Hitler had I the opportunity." Daniel opines. "You forget when I was born." Or maybe they didn't do the math. Of course then he was being flipped off by the radiation suit wearing lass. "Pardon me a moment." He disappears.

    Apparently, when Daniel says pardon me.. he reappears sitting in front of Takeda setting his breakfast tray down on the table. "Daniel Hastings, R&D." He offers to her by way of introduction. "Is it safe to offer a handshake? If not, consider it offered. Welcome to the madness of the Triskelion.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Maybe you could ask Captain Rogers about whether punching Hitler is as satisfying as it seems like it'd be." Dane notes with a wry grin, taking a few moments to actually eat some of the breakfast he's arrayed. When he glances up to see Jennifer's bird and hear her comment, his expression shifts to a rueful smile.

He opens his mouth to perhaps offer something of an apology and then Daniel's just...gone. It's perhaps a testament to how much weirdness Dane's been accustomed to that while there IS a blink of surprise, it's far from slack-jawed astonishment. "That's gotta come in handy." He notes, grinning at Jane, "What do you think Jane? Self-generated wormholes? Folding time and space? Passing through a parrallel dimension?"

Jennifer Takeda has posed:
     Oh great. Now they're over here. And this guy can apparently teleport. "Huh. Someone actually wants to risk touching me. That's a first." Jen rolls her eyes, taking another bite of breakfast, Close examination of her fork might notice that the tines are very slightly corroded. "Heard someone calling me HazMat a couple days ago. Guess it's accurate. Don't sit too close. Helmet keeps the toxins in, but the radiation still gets out. Not too much. As long as I'm not pissed off." There's a safety that trips and closes her visor if that happens, but she doesn't really need to /tell/ everyone.

Jane Foster has posed:
"How about very cool and terribly unfair. There's a gentleman I am acquainted with who can do something similar, though it tends to come accompanied with a bit more of a lightshow. He rather seems to enjoy the attention, though," Jane says in dry response. Her spoon is forgotten in her yoghurt. She gives Dane a lengthy, pointed look underscored by that grin. Daniel is busy sidestepping through space, and she gestures. "I make my point. Self-generated wormholes would not be appropriate here. Folding space is probably more likely on a personal scale, though it's really just a matter of corresponding two points and they become one and the same. Movement through both of them would be instantaneous, though the act of transposition requires, oh, I don't know. Magic and a really cool hat. Does he have a really cool hat? You judge."

Her gaze shifts back to Daniel making his introductions to Jennifer. She waves. Safely. From over here, fully comprehending what a hazmat suit means even if she is unfamiliar with the woman's specific ability. Dealing with the forces of the cosmos that generate stars and collapse gravity into nasty little pinpoints gives her an excellent idea of the particulars, besides. "Nice to meet you, miss." Doctor Foster is currently hiding from her social media imprint and that swiftly dinging email. She wiggles the file out from under her, and then drops it on the table, nudging it in Dane's direction. "How familiar are you with lost seaports of the Mediterranean?" There's a bit of a hook in that line, isn't there? "I have friends through Columbia and Cambridge involved in an underwater excavation. They found some really intriguing results down there so far. Hellenistic stuff, Roman period, late Egyptian. Standard things. Then they pull out a /tungsten/ necklace. Somehow inscribed and shaped. I'm not sure if it's a cartouche or what, though. Still waiting to hear back on the findings. "

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    "Hazmat. Radiagirl. Toxica. I'm sure they're very creative yes." Those Dan whipped out off the top of his head. "But I'd prefer your name if at all possible. If only to be polite." He tilts his head as he regards her and seems to muse a moment. The air around him seems to distort just a little. "I shouldn't worry about harming me. I have ways of keeping myself from wayward radiation and the like. So I thought I'd come say hello. Being kept in a space suit all day can't be fun.. or comfortable."

Jennifer Takeda has posed:
     "No shit. Fitz tries. Still only smell recycled air most of the time. Figured you'd already know my name." Jen holds up her right hand and wiggles it, wrist bearing a SHIELD ID and tracking bracelet. "Jen Takeda." She takes another bite of breakfast, staring down at her plate. Always with the questions...

Dane Whitman has posed:
Yes, that gains a curious look from Dane, "I could probably tell you where a few of them were, at least, though most have been built over." A good spot for ships is a good spot for ships. He does lift a hand in greeting to Jennifer, but half-yelling across the room just seems counterproductive and Daniel's a good guy. He seems to have it handled. "Tungsten, huh? Yeah, that's definitely out of place. No word on what the inscriptions are?" He moves to open the file, food forgotten as he pores over the contents. "And not something someone way more modern might have accidentally dropped on a three-hour tour?"

Jane Foster has posed:
"Tungsten isn't exactly a metal used widely by Romans, Arabs, or Greeks. I would wager it's just as likely something off of a ship or a fake, but dealing with actual marine archaeologists who dispute that fact has kiboshed that idea. I need to get back to them, and they are probably all diving or digging around through their ill-gotten gains," Jane supplies with a crooked smile. "Nothing on the inscriptions yet. Nothing that this place," she gives a nod, "needs to worry about yet. Half the time, finding something out of strata usually means building or disturbed sites. And with all the privacy in the art world that goes on..." Trailing off, the astrophysicist goes after the last of her yoghurt. She chases a melting raspberry around with her spoon. "Tell you what, when I get the pictures in with any better detail than grainy text, care to take a look? Egyptology is not my area. Not at all. If it's something a bit newer, you might at least get an idea of what it could be." She curls her fingers together again and watches Dan and Jen in conversation. Not rudely, of course. But just checking on a colleague and another fellow employee.

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    "Alas, no. I'm locked away in R&D when I'm not off grading papers at the prep school." Daniel opines somewhat wearily. "Doesn't leave a lot of time for socialization." He muses a moment. "Out of curiosity.. is that suit rated for high and low pressures? At the very least, if you're stuck in there, I can give you some fun sights to help you pass the time. Volcanos.. mid Atlantic ridge.. maybe.. a lunar visit?" Not so many questions.. okay that last one was but he sounded more like a tour guide than a salesman.

Jennifer Takeda has posed:
     "Fitz didn't say." Given the soft whir of fans and the visible air intakes and exhausts on the lower jaw and back of the neck of the helmet, the answer is likely no. "Save your effort. People who get too close to me end up getting hurt. Or worse." Jen stands, taking her plate, and heading back off towards the elevator. Her food'll get colder, but she can get a bit of privacy again.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Sure, don't know if I'll be able to offer much insight or not, but wouldn't mind taking a peek." Dane replies to Jane, still carefully looking over the information in the file, "I'm not an Egyptologist either, but I've seen and heard some things that told me there was a lot of weird stuff in Ancient Egypt that didn't make it into most history books."

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane Foster hums a tune from /Aladdin/, the dulcet timbre lifting and falling in a fairly accurate rendition. She scoops her spoon into the yoghurt for one last attempt to savour her breakfast. Then, there's a pause as the breakfast goods are set aside and stacked up to make transporting them to the garbage easier. She's conscientious of such matters. "Fitz must be impressed by his work for that," she murmurs, not too loudly. It sounds appreciative, all the same. She runs a light wave of her fingers over her hair, pulled back as it is into a somewhat messy French braid. "I'll pass over the information. Timezone differences work in our favour for once. Great, just what we need to find out about. Imagine an ancient Egyptian cult using tungsten for devotional statues to Thoth or something. Or the lightbulb." Her eyes burn with laughter not quite shed. "After going through all that, what's your take on the Met? I am unashamed to admit I spent my first month in New York between Cloisters and the Hayden. I mean, one because fo work, the other because of pure choice."

Daniel Hastings has posed:
Daniel Hastings tilts his head, frowning a little as he watches Takeda depart. This time, he gets up and walks back to his former tablemates and sits back down. "She needs a friend. Badly." A small sigh escapes him and he looks to the pair. "So what'd I miss?" Apparently the conversation had changed from physics to history and so he looks back and forth between them. In fact.. he takes the moment to dig back into his breakfast before things get cold on him.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Possibly some underwater oddities in archaeology." Dane replies to Daniel, shifting the file folder and it's contents in his direction for perusal. "Maybe nothing, maybe nothing SHIELD needs to worry about, maybe something big for archaeology or worst-case scenario something Agent Croft has to go lock up in secure storage in the near future. Flip a four-sided coin?" Dane notes, looking back to Jane after a brief, humored smile to Daniel, "I like the Cloisters, and the Met's a treasure, though I don't get to spend nearly as much time perusing museums as I'd like. I should probably get into that habit. Could use some inspiration for a side-project."

Jane Foster has posed:
"You probably don't have access yet. Or maybe you do." Jane pats around the folder and comes up with a mechanical pencil, fifty cents of plastic spangled in a few stars and 'Hayden Planetarium' sketched right down the side. Two clicks, and an unused napkin later, she pushes it over to Dane. "Sometimes it shows up unlisted, but I should have it cleared up. Direct line, in case you see it flagged as a spam risk." Jane scoots over her tray so it's easier for Daniel to join them, and their radium girl makes her departure. "She's a bit prickly? Or just lonely?" The lift of her eyebrows leaves the inquiry open. "It's good that you went over to say hello. We were having a bit of a running talk about -how- you did it. Fascinating trick. But that really was kind." With a sunshine smile, she sits back a little more and looks at Dane. "Of course. Croft would be the person to talk to, considering we can dig up all those strange references and fact check against her library. I'm pretty sure that Hutchens would lose his mind if I casually name-dropped her, though. He's not really aware I am here." A gesture around the building. "So it's going to be as a semi-professional brush at best. Got a great engineer in the field, this woman I know. Maybe she follows the Instagram account or I can dig up the last time we had her at the Planetarium. If we /haven't/, my boss is missing out on a stellar opportunity. Literally. I've got a cuneiform star chart that doesn't match up to anything the Babylonians made, and no one has cracked whether the guide is built around Betelgeuse or Spica. If they figure that one out, we might be looking at the first accurate record of a gamma ray. Fraudulent science, it's /fun/." Impish grin, fear not.

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    "A little of both actually. Prickly and lonely. The prickly's just a bluff I'm sure. I get the impression she has to live in that suit.. for reasons that sound entirely unpleasant." Daniel looks to the doorway and takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily. "As to how I did it.. in theory I fold space at will. Though I get the impression that's more a matter of how I perceive it in my understanding than actual fact." He shrugs then looks between them, "Why do I get the impression the two of you are plotting some Indiana Jones style shenanigans."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane returns Jane's impish grin, then turns the kind of look where butter wouldn't melt in his mouth towards Daniel, "Doctor Hastings, I'm hurt. I only undertake Indiana Jones style shenanigans when absolutely necessary." His lip tics upward at one corner for the briefest of instants before he adds, "It just so happens it often -is- necessary." He adds after a moment, "And I'd like to have a word with my College professors who told me Archaeology was nothing like that...because there are times it's definitely like that." He does pick up the napkin and study it a moment, carefully folding it and putting it in a pocket. Whoo! He's got Jane Foster's number. Like her REAL number. And he didn't even ask!

*Ahem*

"Way the suit sounded, I'm guessing it's more for others' protection than hers?"

Jane Foster has posed:
The observed kindnesses are met with a grin. Jane pops up from her seat, taking her tray and offering to steal the others' if they pass them up. "I will be right back. You're on your own if you want more coffee or hot water, though, service stops right here at recycling." Hoisting her collection, she carries them off with the practiced air of someone really quite determined to maneuver around a cramped space. Though the Food Court rarely is, even at high tide when everyone comes in for the lunch rush. Her braid swishes between her shoulders in a teasing lash, goading her on to separate out the silverware from recyclables, and commit the trays to be washed on the totally 80s-level tech used in the kitchen. C'mon, SHIELD wouldn't immediately put that on the front list of things to improve with Fitz, right?

Snatches of her humming might be heard at a distance, or close enough. A few words exchanged with a startled agent slipping past turn into a delay of a few minutes, trying to redirect interest over there-- hey, look, it's Steve Rog--nope, just the stunt double from Section F, at which point she makes her break back to the table.

"So, what did I miss? Talk about thrilling ruins or isotope decay---y?" Yes, she holds that syllable a little too long.

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    There's a chuckle from Dan as Dane regales him about college archaeology professors. The amusement fades at the last question though and he nods. "So.. she emits some radiation or another. Or so she warned me. Which.. I can deal with easily enough. Just shunt it out into space. Then she shut down, seeming to think I'd gone over as some pity party or another. Which is crap but.. she might also be worried she'll infect me with something or another." He lets out a soft sigh just in time for Jane to return and he offers a fake smile, "Oh just.. trying to figure out a way to solve a problem like Takeda." He saw that movie, too!

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Time and persistence. Understandable she'd try to shut people out if she's worried about hurting them or worse. Couple that on top of the isolation that kind of suit's naturally going to cause, and the acute awareness that you're "different" from everyone else and...yeah. Might take a while to adjust and come around to being accepting of friendship, which just means the folks that want to break through are going to have to keep trying. And make sure she doesn't feel like it's just pity." Dane shrugs a bit, "But I don't know how long she's been in that kind of state. If it's new it's really going to be a raw nerve." He briefly glances in the direction Jennifer wandered off, "Poor kid. Hopefully the folks here can help her."

Jane Foster has posed:
"An isolation chamber a few inches off the skin. That's an imposed state, and reasonably so that she would be concerned for making a connection." Jennifer's quandary is one that Jane shows a certain gentler tone and quiet reflection for. "I hope she gets the support she needs. Keep pushing through, as you have, Doctor. It seems to help. Besides, a prickly teenager is still a prickly teenager. It takes work, doesn't it?" Smiling briefly, she laces her fingers together. Her chin rests atop her knuckles as she is watches the conversation come and go. "Folding space around you as a defensive measure or as an escape? That's one heck of a party trick but also a useful one. I can see why you weren't so worried about decontamination then." A reference to a certain bird.

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    "You two look like 'folk' to me." Daniel observes to them both as suggestions follow. His eyes flit between them. "Though I suppose I've got it easier. Yes.. is the answer to your question, Doctor. There's really no such thing as the vacuum of space for me. I can form a personal bubble and fill it with whatever atmosphere I need. Or.. simply.. appear in presence when in fact I'm still in my bedroom. Whatever the need. As I say, it's complicated. Still.. she's officially added to my to do list. No one should have to live like that."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Assuming I survive Orientation and Evaluation." Dane replies with a tone that seems pretty confident he will, though. However once again Doctor Hastings says something that makes him double-take, "Wait, so you can be in two places at once?" Dane chuckles, sipping from his coffee mug once more, the only remnant of the meal thanks to Jane's kind offer to carry off and recycle the other remnants. "I'm starting to feel like I should've opted for a better deal when the whole "My life got turned upside down and inside out and now you're kind of a superhero." thing came around. A magic sword and a flying horse are pretty cool but not always entirely practical for every day use."

A beat.

"You should see me carve a turkey, though."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Don't get me started on how cool a magic sword is. Or a flying horse. Or both of those together. I mean, you act like it's less cool than a Ferrari 599 or something," sighs Jane. She flicks her wrist in Dane's direction and stifles a laugh. "I will complain thoroughly, both of you, if you complain of the gifts with which you are endowed. You keep us safe and sound. It is all a spectrum. I say that as the token girl involved in the matters of Asgard, who no doubt looked at me as worthy of pity and sorrow until they realized I could speak a little of their tongue." At nauseum, no doubt, she had to face down some of that. Laughter uncorked rises from her lips, brilliant and warm. "I fear that you could be on a mission in your jammies, Doctor Hastings, and I await the day that happens. Truly."

Daniel Hastings has posed:
    There's a small arch of his brow and a look askance of them both. "First.. no.. not technically..I am where I am but where I am is entirely negotiable. So that is to say.. yes.. I could be sitting on my couch in my pajamas while also attending a briefing in my pajamas.. but where my physical presence was would depend heavily upon what space I opted to fold. The inch or so from my person? A foot? At what point would the space about me tell the person viewing me through the lens of their perception realize that.. something was.. amiss." Call it food for thought. "As to complaints.. well.. I /was/ disassembled atomically.. for.. I'm not entirely sure how long. Since then, it's been.. an interesting life." There's a shrug and his tray busses itself as he rises to his feet. "I don't expect that I'll be attending meetings in my jammies though.. with apologies to Doctor Foster." He smiles, dips his chin to both, then.. vanishes.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane listens, and then looks highly bemused when Daniel disappears. "I feel like I should make him some kind of spark and smoke dispenser so it'll look like the old time stage magicians "disappearing" when he does that." He muses, mostly joking. The sudden and unheralded nature of the transit is probably useful in and of itself. "The horse -is- pretty great." Dane admits. "And probably gets just as much gawking as a Ferarri when I try to take him through the drive-thru." He leans back in his chair, looking a bit more thoughtful, "It's an honor and a responsibility I've been given. I intend to uphold it. But sometimes I feel like if I take myself too seriously it...wouldn't be helpful. For a variety of reasons."

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane blows out a breath. "And I thought Fandral was given to blustering too much." She lowers her voice so it's not so likely to stand out, not so likely to attract attention from any bystanders. "I expect a mountebank's cloak for him too. He needs to have a bit of glamour. If you end up with this Christmas' white elephant, you know what to do, right?" She gives a soft laugh, seeing Daniel disappear, and wincing a little. "Imagine being disassembled though. It doesn't ever come free or easy does it? Power? Any kind? It would seem like that sometimes, but then I turn and look at the costs for it, and I worry how much of a trial people undertake to simply get through the transformation."

She doesn't have much to add there, still resting her chin on her palm, one hand dropping back down. "Is it cheaper to feed a flying horse or a horse of any kind than a car? Assuming no premium fuel. I mean, we know the gas prices for a Lambo or a Ferrari are through the nose."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane does look a bit somber at the musings over "disassembly" before nodding, "Yeah, there's always a price." Aaaand there's that glimmer of something in Dane's eyes that speaks of being all-too-aware of what his is. But the easy smile returns after a moment, even impish in it's cast, "I actually wouldn't know, since I get to cheat. Strider is very well cared for...or at least he's never seemed upset about his living arrangements, but he actually lives...somewhere else. I don't -think- it's quite the same as Asgard, but maybe not entirely different. Avalon."

Jane Foster has posed:
"He lives in Avalon. The Isle of Apples." Right, then. Jane shakes her head a little. The braid snaps back and forth over her shoulder. "That horse has the life. Called up when needed, chilling on an island full of spellbinding ladies and Lords, or whomever dwell there now. Faeries? I honestly don't know what happened. Stories tell us one thing." She looks back at Dane, eyebrows arched slightly. "But you have a horse from Avalon. And you lived in the Crusades for a time. Next you're going to tell me that Dan Brown was a liar, and you have the proof of a grail in your backyard just to deal with copyright infringements." It's nearly a dare, though she looks down at her hands for a moment. They come to rest flat on the table. The bangle doesn't even make a clinking sound. "Believe me when I say I wouldn't blink more than twice if this is the case. Though Perceval might be a bit unhappy, Fisher King and all. So with all that... a horse, no less, not even Lola. Why are you here? Why SHIELD?"

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane laughs, shaking his head, "Well, Dan Brown is full of crap, yes, but sadly no, I don't have any hard proof. In my backyard or otherwise. Though I've got a direct line to someone that might be able to point in the right direction...I haven't asked. Feels like abusing the relationship for idle curiosity." He shrugs, chuckling a bit, but then grows considerably more somber. "Do you want the hard whole truth or the pleasant half-truth?" Dane laughs, a bit more bitter, but only a bit, "Tell you what, I'll give you the two-for-one deal, and throw in a story for free."

He reaches out to the side, and in a pale pulse of light, a long sword appears in his hand, which he carefully then rests across the table, allowing Jane a closer look. It bears a midnight-black blade of not easily identified material. Almost like Tungsten and Obsidian had a baby. The crossgard and pommel are golden, with brown leather cordage wrapping the hilt.

"So this is the Ebony Blade. It's apparently been in my family since, well...Camelot. It was forged by Merlin and given to one of the Round Table's greatest knights to wield in Camelot's defense...my ancestor, Sir Percival of Scandia. Percy to his friends. The legends don't seem to pick up on it much, but he became known as the Black Knight." A brief flicker of an amused smile, "Guess he dressed to match the sword."

Dane looks upon the blade like he's not entirely happy to see it. Not disgust, but a degree of wariness. "I'll tell you how it came to be in my hands another time. The long and short is that it did, and as far as I can tell launching my...soul? Spirit? Maybe just my consciousness back into an ancestor's body was...I don't know...Merlin's idea of boot camp or something. Anyway...the sword is powerful. Frighteningly so, in some ways. I don't know if it could cleave your friend Thor's hammer...but I also wouldn't be surprised if it could. But like you hinted at earlier...power has a cost."

Jane Foster has posed:
"I'm going to step back just a bit here, short of needing a haircut," says the astrophysicist when space bends and quite a few people are going to be staring in horror or wonder at a pigsticker in their midst. They might not even notice either, busy New Yorkers who give no rats about anything related to things other than their work. She stares at the sword, really stares at it. Not as someone who has much knowledge of weapons but--

--Oh. //Oh//.

"This is going to sound crazy, and I know you're going to probably knock me back like ten points, but I swear I've seen something like that before. Granted, there were differences. But dark as night, unlovely shadows that severed the night itself and left the starry sky embrightened by compare." It's awfully poetic language with a definite weird rhythm to it, Icelandic ballad if it can be picked out. "I don't think it was from Camelot. Something from a far way away, if I had to guess. But you get the prize for surprise of the day. Where does it go when you want it to leave? Avalon? Hammerspace?"

It's more curious than not, though she keeps her hands totally to herself and lets Dane go about telling his story. A glance aside and she offers, "Maybe out in the garden, if you don't want too much attention. There is no way I am speculating on what it versus Mjolnir can do, except to say Mjolnir now has a rival for scariest weapon I've seen all year."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane chuckles, "Would you believe the basement of a castle on the shores of the Potomac River? Might seem unsecure but I can call it to me whenever I like, and haven't found much yet that can block it, so...seems fairly safe." Dane clears his throat, then continues his tale. "Camelot had high ideals, but that doesn't change that it was trying to instill those ideals during a far more brutal age." Dane explains, "The sword was made to slay the enemies of Camelot. It -wants- to slay the enemies of Camelot, and in the absence of those, it'll gladly accept well...bad guys in general...as a substitute. It's not...sentient. Not fully. But it knows it has a purpose and it wants to see that purpose fulfilled." Which might give an inkling as to where this is headed, "So the blade comes with a curse. If it takes the life of a human...or near-enough a human, it triggers a bloodlust. It's not overwhelming at first, and thank God it doesn't target the innocent, but it grows and grows until the wielder either fights themselves to death by exhaustion, or maybe even worse threatens to become some kind of iron-fisted tyrant handing down a harsh and twisted justice to evildoers in whatever they decide is their realm to protect."

He looks up to meet Jane's eyes, "There have been at least eight Black Knights across history that I've found, and I suspect more that I haven't. Of those, only three have lasted more than a few months in the role. Sir Percy, Sir Eobar Garrington...who was the ancestor I occupied for ten years, until his death...and me."

"So the hard truth is this...if this thing goes sideways and I succumb to the curse, I thought it might be a good idea to surround myself with people that would have the skill, power, and wherewithal to do whatever it takes to stop me. The pleasant side is that it's a chance to be a little more directed in my do-gooding while I can. I've taken a few different steps to try to insure the curse is kept dormant as long as possible, but it's pretty much like taxes and that other thing...inevitable. If I'm lucky and smart it's later rather than sooner."

Jane Foster has posed:
Certain things call for more than water. Maybe a notepad, a good Sangiovese, and a lot of patience. The girl from a few years ago would have her jaw welded shut and frustration in her eyes, possibly something like stunned revelations tinging off the scientific brain taught to search for truth, proof, and empirical evidence. A lot of empirical evidence, at that, and discarded proofs and false positives littered at her feet. That Jane is not the same Jane facing the Ebony Blade or its nearest facsimile available from a very fancy reproduction shop. Neither are those misty snatches of story and memory imprinted in dreams so far away, even if she's left to try and suss her way around the stories being presented by Dane.

"Mid-fifth century or later? Let's put it somewhere between 450 and 850. The Romans left Britannia around 400; so running right into the Anglo-Saxon period with Bede. I couldn't possibly think of anything happening there where you might need a sword." She taps the tabletop, holding a good distance away from a sharp edge that might sever her sleeve and test just how powerful uru really is. Not like Mjolnir is the only test candidate. "Invasions, the Christianization of the island, unification and Danelaw, at the very least. Well, the Norse coming ashore. I reckon that would be an active age with a short life expectancy for anyone with actual martial skill. You're not talking about armies fighting on a scale seen in Rome, but a place where -- don't judge me -- life was nasty, brutish, and short when it came to combat. At least that's what I have been led to gather. Camelot was a beautiful vision of something ahead of its time, a dream plucked from the past and superimposed over ideals carried through three or four different streams." Her smile shows for a moment, contemplative. "Glories of Byzantium on trade, the Christian ideal of heaven, Rome glorified and lost in memory, Britons' tales of a better place. And a Flying Circus."

It takes away the sting of curses and prospective threats that tumble to the side. "Fortunately you get more of an option. You can be more than a village lord, blacksmith or knight. I suppose it makes for a duller story if you're the postman or the grocery store manager, or the agent-in-training at SHIELD on assignment to watch the exciting warehouse." A teasing tone there, but it's gentle. "Less death by combat. Does the curse push you to trigger it? I mean, it wants to be used. Does setting it aside mean it coerces you to use it? I've totally heard of those kinds of awful ideas before, but hopefully not anything you will ever be forced to deal with. Because SHIELD has great, mighty people around... But let's be real, having a good long life of your own is better than being subject to a shortened one just because."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane gives a handwobbly motion on the question of the sword pushing him to trigger it. "No and yes. I don't, for example, have some little voice in my head all the time. But when I actually wield it? Maybe a little. Maybe that gets worse over time, I...don't really know. As Eobar I only used it when I absolutely had to, and stuck with mundane swords the rest of the time. Even then I got really good at hitting with the flat. Still I..." He glances down, certainly not proud, "I killed a lot of people in the past. In battle. Saladin and Richard both wondered if I was going to be the one to end them at varying times. But I didn't do any killing with the Ebony Blade. -That- doesn't seem to trigger it...has to be with the blade itself. It DID seem to start...calling...towards the end. But when I came back to the present it seemed to...I dunno, reset itself? Might be something in that."

"But I don't meant to sound so fatalistic as I might be coming across. I am -totally- open to the idea of looking for ways to get around, through, or over the curse, especially if it goes active, which might be a bit of another incentive for joining SHIELD. I don't have a death-wish. But I also feel like, well...for lack of a better term, like I've got a calling. I'm the Black Knight, for however long. Save some lives, do some good while I can. Try to honor the ones that didn't get long, and the one that did."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Richard, son of Eleanor of Aquitaine. The one who ended up ransomed for an imperial treasury effectively." Hey, she's pretty well read in history despite all things. Maybe the child version of Doctor Foster adored sitting around with books about the Middle Ages, admiring the Bayeux Tapestry and daydreaming about kings and queens. Though that particular matter -- that is, Richard and Eleanor and Henry -- is not the ideal to hold up, considering how unhappily they all ended up. Tempestuous or not. "Did you actually meet Saladin? I have heard a good deal about him, and that he seemed to be quite the urbane, cultured leader above and beyond the fact he was trying to put the Crusader States back into the sea. I'm not sure I could entirely fault his reasoning, at least standing in his shoes."

Convictions being what they are, she spreads her hands lightly. "Resetting you back to normally only requires being punted from your body in some kind of quasi-mythical soul form, then. Wow, that's not daunting." She gives a grin, fearless about that point. "Look, you don't have to justify yourself to me. I will keep an eye out if it starts showing up, and you get a little too happy to stand on the front line. But you have lived with your particular friend here for a while, and that suggests you know how to handle yourself. You know your limitations, and where not to push the envelope. Does that mean you are a hazard? Not if SHIELD is vetting you. They don't take chances. They can be heavy handed, I won't lie about that." See also: New Mexico. Not so clear. "You have a chance to do great things, and that in the service of the people, what more can you ask for? Keeping it in the fight for a good reason, a higher ideal, that's important. More than important. I've seen firsthand what happens when someone loses their convictions or does it for personal gain."

The bracelet would agree if it could.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Yeah, just like that, no problem right?" Dane's wry smile returns at the subject of mind-out-of-body experiences. "And who knows if that's all it takes, or if the time-travel is necessary or...whatever." Dane places his hand on the blade and it disappears from view once more. "So that's pretty much the story. There are some other bits and pieces there, but yeah...SHIELD's getting all of it. So they know." He shrugs, then his smile grows impish, and he sort of but not entirely shifts the subject with, "So I made a real-world lightsaber."

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane Foster holds up her hands. "I made a particle phaser, but it basically teleports a particle one way or the other. That's about the distance for that, so you win on the front of lightsabers. How do you /use/ it though? I mean, does it actually act like hard light? I find the whole idea of hard light constructs cool but a bit frustrating to explain from a scientific point of view. Maybe." Wistful. She is ignoring the itching at her wrist hard now, as the pointed arguments being made /there/ are best ignored.

For now.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Sort of. I had to get really creative with electromagnetic fields to get the photons to shape properly. But it mostly kind of acts like you'd expect a lightsaber to act, except mine also has a stun setting. Which basically makes it shaped...light, but with a neuroelectric charge that knocks people for a real loop when they get hit with it. Probably way less efficient than a taser, but it sure looks cool. For your more basic hard light needs...there's a shield to match. Photonic weapon systems was the department I worked in at Stark Industries before they shut down all the weapons departments." He doesn't actually sound bitter about that. Don't worry Stark, he's not the villain of the next Spider-Man movie! Probably.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane laughs again. "Electromagnetic fields to keep it stable too, I have to guess. You can smack them with an oblong beam that disrupts the nervous system or just hurts enough to keep them from going? Tasers are pretty much on their way out, I hope." The tone makes her wince, even as she leans in a little over the table. "You get to have photonic weapons and a shield. You get great pointy weapons. Stuff made out of light. So all this means when trouble hits the fan, I'm standing behind you rather than beside you. You know, I'd love to hear your thoughts on that other project of ours, but maybe in a less charged place. No need to interrupt people's lunches."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Yeah..." Dane glances at his watch, "And it looks like my next appointment is coming up." Dane rises to his feet, "The side project isn't nearly as flashy, but it's interesting, or at least I think so. Be happy to talk about it some other time." He gives Jane a smile and a nod, "Pleasure as always, Jane. Hopefully I'll see you around again soon. And hey if not..." He pats his pocket, "I've got your number."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Thanks." Dane earns a quick dip of her head and Jane rises from the table, tucking her chair in as she goes. "I appreciate the story. It's a good one, and you've got plenty to keep me on the edge of my chair. No doubt we will cross paths. Give me a call when you get some free time. I'll see those pictures are sent over from Hutchens and Bell soon as I get them."

And hey, he has her number. Like, the one only Darcy has. Well.