14077/In These Chilly Days

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
In These Chilly Days
Date of Scene: 08 February 2023
Location: Shadowcrest Manor - Bristol Township
Synopsis: Zatanna receives information about an enemy and a seed for a plan. It's not a good plan to deal with Malekith and his supporters, but it's at least something. With an envoy from Asgard and Zatanna's wiser mind, they might have something to go forward on.
Cast of Characters: Zatanna Zatara, Jane Foster




Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The last rays of the setting sun burn red through the large double doors of the library, the winter light quavering through the old glass. A fire burns in the fireplace; newly made flames leap along the massive logs behind the old brass fire dogs.

The mistress of the house paces in front of the fire, ignoring the red bird brooding on its perch next to it. On a low table near a settee, servants have laid out trays with biscuits and two decanters, one filled with amber liquid, the other ruby. Crystal glasses refract the firelight from their silver salver.

"You know the Prince will come when he will. Pacing won't make him arrive sooner." The bird opens one golden eye to observe archly without any prompting.

His words stop her long enough for Zatanna to eye him and shake her head. It is unclear whether it was because she didn't ask his opinion or she disagreed. The large book-lined room is rapidly growing dark, so she walks its circumference, lighting old faceted lamps with a snap of her fingers. Gold-stamped books interspersed with globes, crystalline objects, and figurines worn smooth with age spring to life in their glare. Zatanna resumes her pacing.

Jane Foster has posed:
Evenings in winter are a game of endurance, couched in soft flannels and hot cups of coffee, washed in the dim glow of the television or a string of faerie lights twinkling against the endless, despairing greys that wash out the world. Perhaps the amusement of taking the train to Gotham and then hiring a car to take her out to Shadowcrest Manor. New York's familiar sprawl surrenders to the flats of New Jersey and beyond that, the tumbled skyline studded by trees and the occasional sprawling pile. Twin headlights strobe the night and cut its velvety underbelly as she's taken up to the home of Ms. Zatara.

A proper message indicates her intentions to arrive, a matter regarding the familiar issue with the Spaceport and its aftermath. The time isn't entirely off, either, considering she's managed to succeed at getting into Gotham quickly enough. Estimates become reality when the Lyft driver lets her out, and she zips up her coat against the cold. However Zatanna knows she's got visitors, that one is here.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A muffled knock from a servant heralds the inner library door opening. One of her awaited guests arrives just as the trees in the park become dark wraiths in the last light.

Zatanna turns with a smile and crosses the library to bring Ms. Foster into its warmth.

"How good to see you, Jane. I only wish it were for happier circumstances. The Prince has yet to arrive," she gestures widely at the room, only occupied by a tall red bird sitting on a perch. It stirs and opens an eye, giving sign that it lives and then closes it without greeting the guest. Zatanna waves her hand dismissing it and walks to the settee.

Jane Foster has posed:
Caught in her camel coat and smart knit hat, Jane isn't particularly out of the ordinary for such a fascinating venue. She blinks up at the servant with a smile, though unless that servant happens to be especially unnatural, she almost certainly senses them before their arrival. A smile remains as she inclines her head in friendly greeting.

"Thank you for having me, especially on short notice." The greeting will be extended through Zatanna herself as she appears, a nod offered. "Are not the circumstances happy enough? I'm grateful for friends and clear roads, the opportunity to get out once in a while. No reason to allow a dark elf's misery to settle on us, is there?" Fiercely, devotely positive. "If the Prince makes his appearance, we can count it fortunate. How much have you heard about the ongoing issues with Malekith or with Asgard? Have you by chance heard any news?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The servant follows Jane into the room to help her with her coat which he hangs by the door then quietly closes the door after himself. Gesturing to the settee, Zatanna places herself in an armchair facing it. "Please, sit down. I am always happy to see you, Jane. Will he grace us with his presence? We will see."

Outside the paned doors, something scratches at the glass, black wings in a flurry until it sets itself down on the balcony. Light refracts on a bright eye peering into the room.

Zatanna's eyes widen in question and she throws Jane a glance before rising. "We have a visitor. I believe he has sent us an envoy."

Jane Foster has posed:
"I won't complain about an evening well-spent, I assure you of that." The brunette slips off her hat, revealing a loose braid in dire need of some tending considering the flyaway strands come free thanks to the friction of the knit. Zatanna's warm invitation doesn't call for hesitation, and so her guest seats herself in short order. No sooner is she arranged so then a black-winged bird announces itself and that warrants a mindful look sidelong to the window. "His Highness favours us then. I'll wait until all are arranged before I begin?" She isn't going to rise, but a gentle nod will do.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I have no complaints," the mage says over her shoulder with a brief smile. She opens the door and inclines her head. "Welcome to my house, envoy and come in." A cold wind accompanies the raven when it flutters into the room. It flies to the twin of Zatanna's chair and perches gracefully before dipping its head to Jane.

Zatanna resumes her seat and offers graciously, "You are welcome to a biscuit, Envoy. I had hoped that we could speak directly to his royal highness but we are fortunate to have your presence in his stead."

Jane Foster has posed:
With a formal nod of acknowledgment for the raven in their midst, and a sidelong note to determine if it's Huginn, Muninn, or another mischievous member of the Parliament, Jane laces her hands together in something of a steepled position. "We are graced by a wider audience, and within that, may the information we can hope to share lead to an ideal resolution."

With that out of the way, the woman considers the span of her fingers spread across the slope of her thigh just above her knee. The temptation to cross her ankles begins, and halted in her tracks, she resumes that upright pose. "Recent events in islands in Fiji and Newfoundland demonstrate the likely handiwork of Malekith. Mass casualty events involve nearly two hundred people; one in an apparent slaughter by a Kursed, a svartalf warrior. The other was a spell that burned a passenger ferry. These were not innocent victims; the former involved people wanted for a variety of crimes, despite their altruistic reputation. The second batch were all dishonourably discharged from the military, in other words, deemed oathbreakers. If the pattern holds, further attacks may be aimed at similar individuals with besmirched backgrounds. We've seen vices -- what others might fit the bill? Murderers? Thieves?"

She shakes her head, the question left uncertain. "Further investigation determined that an exile from Svartalfheim may be able to assist in determining the next location to be targeted. There isn't enough information for him to adequately guess where. The locations are both islands, in different continents, so far. They don't have a pattern we can establish; the antipodes don't apply, they are not historically or culturally significant. A potential breakthrough might be found with the svartalf's cooperation, however -- they operate on a hive mind, and tapping in might allow him to learn the plans that Malekith harbours. I intend to skim through it, if I can, to identify their plan. Sharing that kind of gestalt comes with drawbacks. Notably, escaping that link could prove problematic, and that's why I would seek your counsel on it. Or possibly your willingness to sever it, if it comes to that."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Some of the information that Jane shares with the envoy is known to the mage, but she had missed both incursions, not being part of the SHIELD team. Poised and straight backed, she watches Jane, a pained frown settling on her face as the details are divulged, deepening when Jane summarizes each incident.

She leans forward slightly at the mention of an exile, then shifts in her chair, asking, "Hive mind? Now that is news to me. You put yourself at a lot of risk, Jane."

She sits back, eyes roving the shadows in the high ceiling as she mulls over the information. Sitting forward again, "It's satire - the blackest of the black, sitting in judgment on humans for their sins. They think they are gods." Turning her focus back on Jane, she speculates softly, "Will knowing where they come next be enough? And do we know why they are murdering? It smacks of necromancy to me. The souls of the dead fueling a spell to tie Malekith to our world, perhaps?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Some might be known; other bits not. Jane does not stint when it comes to informing allies on the fractured landscape, so much wrapped up in the fog of war. Having spoken her part, she waits for Zatanna to process the information, ask questions or make statements as appropriate. Given how many days a week she spends in the utmost silence, sometimes speaking comes as an uncomfortable torrent of words followed by deep discomfort about whether she said too much.

"A hive mind," she finally repeats. "An unexpected if fascinating ability, fraught with considerable risks you probably don't need me to spell out." They're plain as day. Zatanna's intelligence and experience are not a mystery, written in her very name. Her father's reputation is certainly a forerunner on that.

"The dark elf may be our only immediate source for this information. The risk to him is considerable; he's marked for death by his people. However, he could withhold details or simply not detect them. I liken it to connecting to a flow of water; you don't know what's in there when it crashes down. Nor is he going to just likely accept us using other technological methods to validate what he's saying. Hearing, thinking. We need another avenue for verification. I'm not so dangerous or powerful that a prepared group could not subdue me or safely extract me."

Jane Foster has posed:
"And," Jane adds after a brief pause, "We might know what they need to target or where. We otherwise wait on the possibility that one of thirty some-odd sites might be next, and that the civilian casualties can be minimized. Or that they're 'sinners', or criminals, whatever the targeting is. I cannot stand to play with lives like that, no matter what faults they committed. We have to be better. We /are/ better than that."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Turning slightly in her seat to include the raven-envoy, she speculates, "Perhaps the Prince knows their dark motives? He has dealt with them before, I believe." Some instinct warns Zatanna to stay away from the topic of how well the Prince would know the Dark Elves or under what circumstances. The envoy bobs its head, the black eyes glittering in the firelight.

"If the elf is marked for death, I would hazard that vengeance will motivate him to prepare us. Maybe he will fight along side us to exact more damage on his foes. That remains to be seen. Limiting civilian casualties doesn't strike me as being high on most Dark Elve's agendas Vengeance might be something that interests him though. Have you met him?"

Jane Foster has posed:
"He very well may be privy to information that we are not. The dark elf presented, and I'm inclined to agree, that the Svartalfjar pursue any number of machinations at a given time. Some grander than others, certainly. What separates this plot from the others except the current state of Asgard's weakness?" Jane shakes her head, a mild movement, enough to indicate the shift of her loose braid and the bits of flyaway sepia strands. The raven holds her attention then, following Zatanna's lead, and she gestures. "This is, for my part, speculation regarding what information may be gathered and if the risk outweighs the reward."

She slides a finger up the hollow of her temple to whisk a ticklish strand away. "He's marked for death when he is among them. On Midgard, hidden, he is ostensibly safe. Vengeance could motivate him. He might also want to play us and sweeten the already generous demands he's made for his cooperation. The man isn't stupid." A grim smirk briefly flashes. "I have met him. He is currently our guest for several more hours, which gives us little time to act or play out what we need. I'm committed to my part unless you and others are inclined to believe there's no gain. Approval from the highest levels, the choice is ultimately mine."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna settles back into the shadows of the wing chair to consider, firelight limning her pale hands clutching the arms. Still in the shadows, she quietly wonders aloud, "What price then? What can we offer him that he doesn't already have except for vengeance or an honorable death if that exists among them?"

One finger imperatively taps the chair arm, "I trust your judgment and will value the Prince Regent's when he has time to grace us with his presence. -We- must gather the strongest in magic and other powers to face this threat." Leaning forward once again, "Will you keep us informed, Jane?"