13269/Blink Once For Help

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Blink Once For Help
Date of Scene: 04 November 2022
Location: Flight deck: Helicarrier
Synopsis: Jane goes to see a man about a missing Thor. That man happens to be Director Fury, and there's more to it than meets the eye.
Cast of Characters: Nick Fury, Jane Foster




Nick Fury has posed:
There are few things that are more awe-inspiring than the flight deck of a deployed helicarrier. No, nix that, there really aren't, considering that it was all built by human ingenuity. Work from numerous multi-national tech corporations with a large bit of inside genius, and there one has it. A flying fortress, that, by the way, can also disappear on a moment's notice, thanks again to SHIELD engineers that have a virtually unlimited budget and free rein.

With its position now above the clouds and above what could be considered contentious airspace, QCs for the newer Quin pilots have been suspended on this particular carrier. That's better done above the Pacific.

Flight deck operations are, remarkably, set to a higher level than what one would imagine. Every deck has a rating, and this one is mid-level, with tower operations left to a select few with clearances. And Nick's trusted few. There is a Quin due to land, however, and it carries a passenger that the Director has been waiting for. So, as the aircraft approaches, the gentle bubble that surrounds the deck is pulled back, causing something of a wash across the deck. The only reaction from Director Fury, however, is the blowing of his black leather coat around his legs as it comes in for that final approach and landing. Once down, and the back deploys, there stands the man responsible for ALL OF THIS, waiting for his guest. His visitor. One of his special assets.

Jane Foster has posed:
Human ingenuity, limited alien technology or metahuman involvement. These elements grant a certain satisfying ring to the Helicarrier's prestige and legacy, though it's not one which Jane particularly relishes at a personal level. She produces astronomical breakthroughs, not materiel a la Tony Stark. Though considering she can weaponize a black hole surprisingly well, her place on a flying sentinel of liberty might not be entirely off-putting. If only she had a purpose as simple as inspecting some of the interesting engineering feats.

Rank aside, a private message marked urgent escalates up the chain to the Director ahead of her arrival. It goes without saying this better have damn good reason to distract the commander from his extremely important operations and, moreover, probably his lunch. She cannot control when the Quinjet pilot lands nor whether it's actually lunch-time over the Middle East. Armed in the typical black jacket required for field missions and a noise-dampening headset against the rushing wind, the brunette could be any other scientist ducking out of her ride and questioning life choices that drew the fixed stare of the Director's eye on her.

Too late to change that. She set the ball in motion, she thanks Agent Lee and leaves the cocoon of steel and escape. The headset slips down to her neck, and she approaches. A respectful nod follows as she glances about. "Director," follows, crisp and polite. On edge; there's no denying that. "I regret to interrupt you on short notice, and appreciate you making time. However, this was something not suitable for an encrypted message."

Nick Fury has posed:
The single-eyed gaze, the inscrutable expression upon the larger-than-life man's face might give a hint that he is more than invested in whatever it is that the newly arrived might say. "Doctor Foster," is given in greeting in return, and there is that pregnant pause before he nods once and turns to lead in a direction most likely ending in his office.

The walk is mostly silent but for the briefest of pleasantries; he has questions for the good astrophysicist himself, but he'll hear what she's got to say first.

In his office, Fury offers up a chair that sits in front of his desk while he makes the decision to perch, one leg easily touching the floor with the other slightly bent. His hands sit at his side, one lightly cupping the edge of the desk, and his attention is most definitely fixed. It shouldn't be a long meeting, and his posture says as much. Everyone who has ever worked with him, under him, understands succinctness goes a long, long way with him.

"I appreciate your decision," to make it a personal visit rather than encrypted, "Now, what can I do for you, Doctor Foster?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Until they reach the office, Jane stays quiet with her head mildly ducked against any inclement winds or flying bits of shrapnel that could be around. Almost certain not to happen; they have Tony Stark, after all. Nonetheless, a matter of habit that still doesn't quite match the squared line of her posture. While Fury may be consummately professional, almost relaxed in his environment, she is not.

"May I?" Something peculiar to ask while he sits, but she indicates the door not fully closed. Her intent, then, is to keep it that way. All the better to run from the office under a stormy grey cloud of displeasure or ruin, then?

"I have an update to the attack on the Atlantic Starport. The perpetrator is a dark elf," yes, this sounds ridiculous, "who has created a connection to Earth. We speculate he intends an attack with an army of dark elves, giants, and possibly two dragons. We do not know if Earth or Asgard is his primary objective."

Her terse statements dwindle down on a pause. "Pertinent to your business, we have not found Thor alive or dead. However."

Her hand flexes at her side, fingers curling and then splaying wide.

Nick Fury has posed:
The request for the door to remain open is acknowledged with a displeased exhalation of breath. He can't guarantee full security with such things. Still, that eye flickers up towards the door and then back to the good Dr Foster, his arms rising from their more casual lean to crossing in front of his chest. It's the little things.

"Dark fucking elf," while it's not repeated verbatim from the report, it does give the gravity of the situation. "How the hell did he make a connection to Earth? Just to add to this, I have to ask, does Loki have //anything// to do with this? At least then, I'll know how to greet him the next time I see him." If anyone is going to know about that, it should be Jane. Though, as she continues, he slides off his perch and his jaw sets sideways as he considers, "So, we could be just a lay-over while they go after Asgard." And the 'not in charge' Odin, coupled with the 'MIA' Thor. "Right." Already, he's got wheels upon wheels moving in his head, expressed only by the closing of his expression into something more of a poker face.

"I understand Amora is a little upset with the fact that Thor has, once again, ghosted her and has taken it out on people who may be considered close to me." Or at least one is still within the clutches of her magic. "If you need Stark, you'll have to either wait about 20 years or until we figure out how to give him that boost." So, Asgardians have been a little too busy on Earth.

"We're going to have to proceed as if we're not going to see Thor again," as much as it pains him to say it, Nick isn't showing it. He's lost people before, and he'll lose them again. It's the nature of command, particularly at this level. That dark eye turns fully on Jane once more, and it's with a level tone, "I am going to assume that you have a potential solution to this problem." It's a statement that holds a great deal beneath it.

Jane Foster has posed:
Reason will first be detected by long-range radar and the plethora of other eyes in the sky that peer constantly to the earth, the heavens, and all things in between. Something comes moving at speeds that normally would warrant a double-take, and then possibly training several guns of various calibres on it. Something smaller than a person normally would take some degree of effort to actually spot, but given the altitude is hardly conducive to flying boats or animals other than extremely lost and oxygen-deprived peregrine falcons, safe to say it's not passing wildlife. Secondly, the Helicarrier remains fully cloaked so something skating by clearly needs to be able to detect that or happens to be on a joyride.

"A ritual proposed by Thor, vetted by Doctor Strange, and performed by Zatanna Zatara. One of the ritual items was compromised," Jane fills in the blanks even though this may be impertinent. "Loki acts as Prince-Regent in Asgard. Normally a position to his advantage, but without his brother or father, the realm is naked to many enemies." Stress on naked. "My professional opinion is no, not directly." The man is waiting for a slap one of these days. "Asgard as Malekith's principal target is most likely."

She can name the bastard, and she hardly seems bothered by this. Her expression remains cloistered somewhat. Elsewhere on the Helicarrier, the signature of that extremely fast moving inorganic object has probably raised a particularly loud, shrill alarm somewhere. Maybe not; the security systems probably know how to detect known objects in their database, and this one truly is.

Either way, if it's not shot down, then it comes through by pure intent, even if it has to bounce off a shield a few times. Vibranium with a star on it works well. Other forces are less so. Perhaps she recognizes an inkling in the man's pain; a shared pool darkened by a long shadow.

Or a particularly short one wreathed in a crackle of white-blue energy that will, short of serious intentions, make the open door a necessity as it barrels rudely into the office where it doesn't belong and smacks solidly into her palm. The force knocks her forward, even if her knees and stance brace for it, dragging her several inches closer to Fury.

She holds out the lightning-wreathed hammer. From delivery to arrival, about the time he stops speaking. Mjolnir's entrance is a thing that speaks for itself.

Nick Fury has posed:
Long range radar absolutely picks up the anomaly, and while klaxons don't sound immediately, there is a little concern on PriFly. The speed at which it travels, however, gives the crew a little more to worry about; and by the time it's within proper identification distance, the collision klaxons begin to sound out of an excess need for possible preparation.

"Sir.." comes over the coms, a female voice that seems unperturbable, but it could very well just be from years of practice, "We have an incoming.."

"A ritual proposed by Thor," Nick repeats, his tones a little incredulous, perhaps? "At what point in time did //that// sound like a good idea? I mean, no offense to him, but I really, really don't equate Thor and MAGIC. If you know what I mean." To the man, it sounds like a bad idea at inception, but what is done is done.

And here they are.

At least there's the one piece of good news, even if it just means they're slightly less screwed. "That's one thing, anyway. Means we might have leverage with him." Or more, depending on how the meeting with the younger Prince goes.

Mjolnir certainly does know how to make an entrance, however; and while the system is working on identification, at the last minute, there is verification, and the Hammer moves through the fields with its own air of practiced ease. Down the halls, across the corridors until it unerringly finds the hand for which it comes, beckoned or un-.

The unflappable Director Fury remains still; he's got experience with this thing, and fully understands that if it's here and NOT with Thor, that is a problem. "Right. Status changed." Thor presumed dead.

"So, the upshot is we need a sitdown with Loki sooner rather than later, and start pulling resources in order to combat the problem here." Resources, that is, that run the gamut. SHIELD has lots of those, but it likely won't be enough. "Let me know when it's time to brief the President." 'If it gets that far' is unspoken but certainly present and on the table.

"Until then? I'll expect updates. Tell me what you need and I'll make sure you have access." Within certain limits, of course. After all, there are a number of things going on in the world that he also has to keep watch on, from the mundane to the, well, supernatural.

Jane Foster has posed:
"The purpose to create a diplomatic station that provided advanced notice of magical or supernatural beings is well-established," Jane replies quietly to the incredulous sound. "He proposed the idea, not the ritual proper. Wonder Woman performed the same for the Atlantic Spaceport. A similar model advanced to the foremost magicians we have."

Plus, they're human. At least mostly human.

She turns the hammer around, so that it's less brandished as a threat to Fury and more evidence of it being intact. "The dark elf destroyed it and we restored it. However, despite my best efforts, it refuses to go to Thor." Speculation about the outcome for that shall be left to the Director. The woman carrying the weight of the uru hammer very much has her own blocky, opinionated mallet to bear. "With your permission, I would stand in where necessary with this." She gently taps the hammer. "I am not Thor, nor do I want anyone officially assuming I am. He's alive. But he protected many people and places, which seems to now be in our custody. I plan to put the dark elf in chains and leave it to you or others above my pay grade to decide what laws he broke here, given he abducted four civilians including Captain America. I'm new to this level of exposure, but I would make clear my loyalties lie with our mission and, most importantly, ensuring our civilian population is safe from fights they shouldn't have to take on."

A sigh, finally, as she cradles the hammer back against her shoulder. Holding it down is awkward. Though it might float after her, treating it like a very spoiled cat may be better positioning. "And bringing him home, wherever he is. I'll report what I know. If you need a... person with Mjolnir who isn't Thor, then I'm here."

Nick Fury has posed:
"You said 'ritual proposed by Thor', Dr Foster. Idea, I can understand and can give him credit for." The man has turned and faced the good doctor, and he inclines his head in a nod. "There will be some things that I am not wholly comfortable with, Dr Foster. Magic and spaceports are just the tip of the iceberg." How's that for understatement?

"Until I hear otherwise, however, I am going to assume that Thor is not an asset that we can utilize, so however you want to think of it, for all intents and purposes, he is off the board." His tones are flat, and hold a note of displeasure, or perhaps unhappiness; regardless, it's easier to work when there is a general understanding of assets and liabilities.

The spoken promise of putting Malekith into chains gains a single nod, a more acknowledgment than agreement before he sets fingertips on top of his desk. "As far as everything else goes, as they say, from your mouth to god's ears. And take your pick as to which god." He presses his lips together and moves finally to sit down behind his desk, a tacit dismissal should she be done. It'll give him a chance to go through everything in his head and using the great computer system that he's got in place; satellite imaging and all the rest. There's (MORE) work to be done.

Jane Foster has posed:
The woman nods, her hair fluttering weakly around her shoulders. A motion made. "The wisest course. All the same, we will continue to seek his return and coordinate with Lady Sif to find evidence as to his outcome, if that's acceptable." Jane will push no further. She made her point, and now she has to hide a hammer under her coat while wandering out to the Quinjet.

Should SHIELD or its subsidiaries call, the dance of lightning and wrath of a storm awaits. Fraught, though that future may be.