11181/Late Night Landingside

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Late Night Landingside
Date of Scene: 16 May 2022
Location: Roof Landing: Triskelion
Synopsis: A late night dinner on the rooftop of the Triskelion leads to discussions of the past, present, and future paranoia.
Cast of Characters: Michael Erickson, Jessica Drew




Michael Erickson has posed:
    Late in the evening, there's no traffic up here - well, at least not tonight. As the spring wind blows across the top of the Triskelion, waiting to be stirred by transient aircraft, Michael sits on top of an air transfer unit munching on a cakelike thing wrapped up in silver foil. His eyes on the stars, visible as they are through the haze of the landing lights. Musing, perhaps, up here in night air.

Jessica Drew has posed:
A woman stands back lit by the elevator lights as the doors ping and open. She steps out, takes a look around the roof and sights her quarry. Jess knows that he knows that someone has arrived. Waiting till she is behind him, "There you are. I was trying to reason where you would be. If you weren't here, I was going to try the Gym next."

The Trisk, as the agents call it, is state-of-the-art in surveillance tech, despite that she slides her arms around him to hug him from behind. "Star watching, I take it?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    A smile plays upon his lips as she comes to stand behind him, feels those oh-so-powerful yet sleek and elegant arms cross about him. "I've got a phone, you know," he points out playfully. "I answer text messages, promise." He leans back against her, though, and sighs. She's a wall, after all. So strong under all those curves. "How are you, mmm?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
Taking his weight against her abdomen, she sighs looking up into the night sky. The Trisk is far enough from the City to let the stars shine. She smoothes his hair back from his forehead.

"Yes, you do. I wanted to track you. Sometimes I get a feeling about where people are if I know them. It's...a...thing."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    The hair that never gets oily or greasy. Self-cleaning filaments, you know. Michael chuckles quietly at her words, and nods. "A good thing I don't ever want to be away from you, then," he muses. "Perhaps I would never otherwise be able to get away, mmm? Mighty hunter and all."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Spiders track their prey. At least some species do."

She ruffles his psuedo-hair through her fingers and massages his skull delicately, "Do you miss feather, halan? Was that hard the other night?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    This elicits a soft laugh. "My point is reinforced," Michael says - then sighs, both at her query and at the massaging of his scalp. "And...yes. It was hard. First time I saw anyone from the Empire short of the dilletante. I don't know if you saw the way some of them looked at me as they passed. The soldiers, that is to say."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"So, they definitely know. That says a lot about them. Intel. Thoroughness." She tugs on the lobes of his ears and then massages the curving ridge to the point where they connect with this skull.

"No, I didn't see it. They are subtle bastards, I guess. It's the best case scenario, don't you think? I mean. No bloodshed. Do you expect them to go after you, halan?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "There were some dagger looks, aye," he replies, and heaves a further sigh as she begins to work at the back of his head. "And no, not the government at least. We did /help/ the Majestrix, after all. But I'm sure that down the line, someone will try something on a personal leave. To say nothing of the Raptors." He lets out a low, almost growling sound, and sighs again. "Really, halan, you're /much/ too good at massage. I might fall asleep right here."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Stars wink coldly in the clear sky above, distant from their small concerns. To the east, above the ridge of hills that eventually become the Catskills, the moon rises, blanching the light from the stars. Lowering her eyes, her fingers working at the muscles attaching his skull to the column of his neck, she agrees, "That you did. So officially, you are a friend to the government. And I want you to relax, you've been carrying a lot and I figured the reception was hard. It was interesting seeing them in diplomatic mode. I hope that is where they stay, too."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I am eternally suspicious," Michael murmurs, letting the world melt away and his perception remain within the universe conjured by her fingertips. So talented! "I intend to keey an eye on things, naturally. If there's something going on, I will sniff it out."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"I wrote up a report on the reception. But the didn't note the cold looks you received." She pushes his head forward and gives him a light knuckle rap, "You should. We don't want to be blindsided by someone coming after you, halan. Do they use stealth for these things?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Imperial intelligence doctrine prescribes a wide array of assassination protocols for the removal of threats and traitors," Michael says, grunting at the rap on his noggin. "The good thing is that I was trained in a wide variety of them. I doubt they'll be coming for me, but if there's an issue, they might expect me to go looking for it. Counterintelligence can be a lovely, compliated layer pastry."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Of course, they do. One that you know like a professional and enjoy eating in big bites, no doubt." It's not logical, she loves spy craft, too. Just not when it threatens the one she loves. Her finger dig into the stiff skull attachments, hitting release points with skill. A pause. Fingers encircling his the back of his skull, thumbs at the base of his neck, she presses.

"Just what are you thinking, Michael?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I'm not thinking anything, yet," Michael murmurs, pausing to draw in breath as her thumbs rest at the base of his neck. "Mmmn. Just if there /was/, it might be a stragety to arouse my suspicion, and then misdirect. Or use a strategy to discredit or otherwise make me seem untrustworthy." Then he laughs. "Mind you, I might just be overestimating my own importance and worth."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"You won't be taking things into your own hands," she says quietly and pointedly into the top of his head. She returns to softly smoothing back his artificial hair then stops. "You seem to like that. It's really nice to have a head massage, the feeling of hair being tugged on can be relaxing." She hesitates before asking, "Does it?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I don't intend to," he tells her. "I'm a team player, you know." Michael's eyes flutter closed again, and heaves yet another sigh. "Mmm. I just miss having feathers. The hair's fine, but...well. You know how it is, seeing something that you were born with and you don't have anymore."

Jessica Drew has posed:
A smile tugs a corner of her mouth as she tilts her head considering his meaning. She hasn't lost anything. And you can't miss what you have never had. The smile disappears as she asks, "Could you get them back? Would you want to?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I didn't have a ridiculous crest like most nobles do, you know." A smile lines his lips, his shoulders squaring a bit as he moves to sit up. "The men in my family always wore our plumage long. Not quite like hair, but the effect was far less...ostentatious." Putting the snack away into his coat pocket, Michael then slides off the air exchanger and gestures for her to replace him. "Your turn, halan."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"You should do that, if it is possible. If you'd be comfortable with how most people would look at you the first time, halan. I want you to be happy."

She gestures to the seat, "You sure?" She doesn't wait and slides into place. Who says no to a massage, even if it is being recorded by surveillance cameras.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I can't anymore that I'm aware of." He starts on her shoulders now, kneading megapowered muscle like bread dough. Very dextrous, that birdy man. "They had to surgically amputate the muscles that actuate the feathers, that sort of thing. Human hair is ridiculously simple by comparison, as lovely as yours is." He leans in to get a sniff as he says this. "Mmm. It'll be fine, my dear. Just because I'm feeling nostalgic doesn't mean I have any interest in moving backwards."

Jessica Drew has posed:
After a quick peek at him over her shoulder, she points to the horizon, "Onward and upward then. No looking back." She stretches her neck, relishing his strong fingers finding knots she wasn't aware she had.

"Are you happy with our security perimeter at the apartment?" Not your every day type of question, asked in the same tone as 'Did you remember to get milk?'

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Not with my people around," he murmurs as muscle turns to butter beneath his fingertips. "My gear is forty years old. Certainly technology takes a lot longer to advance on a galactic scale, but I'd feel much more comfortable with modern-generation espionage equipment."

Jessica Drew has posed:
He hits a good spot and she sighs slowly. "Well, what can we do about that? Talk to Foster? Grey? The Asgardians? they all seem pretty hooked up with modern generation tech."

He hits another spot which elicits a groan, "Do my neck, Michael."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I got you," he murmurs, working on her neck now. "And no, no. Well, perhaps in the future. I'm simply just paranoid, halan. Whether they're /actually/ out to get me or not will be seen soon enough."