14583/Ashes In His Mouth

Ashes In His Mouth
Date of Scene:	02 April 2023
Location:	Food Court: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Mike feels a grump. Jess wants to help. He makes it difficult, surprising nobody.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Erickson, Jessica Drew

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Michael Erickson has posed:
    He usually sits on his own by habit these days, having become more and more withdrawn - if he isn't doing cursory agency work, still being essentially a trainee, he's spending more and more time in the disabled yacht out on the airfield. Grows grimmer. Not sullen, per se, but...withdrawn. And all the more so, sharply, since the attack on the spaceport.

    This evening he remains the brooding bird, staring at his usual tray of way too much food for a man his size and trimness. Staring at a giant plate of spaghetti, hands folded before him, as if scrying the future from the meatballs.

Jessica Drew has posed:
The trim Agent in black with an appetite that could match the alien who was once her asset spies him from the doorway. Alone, she notes, he never had been one to glad hand the other agents. Mouth set in a thoughtful line, she takes a tray and goes through the line, adding a large salad to a dish heaped with pasta and meatballs.

She slows as she approaches his table to give him time to notice her. He might be alone for a reason - she doesn't need to barge in on his privacy.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "You may sit if you like." It's not like he could miss her. Oddly enough, tendrils of his native accent have started to creep back into his formerly perfect English. Michael spends more time talking to that ship in his native language than he does anyone else of late. Doesn't look up from his plate, though, this student of pastamancy. "How are you?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jess eyes him as she slides her tray onto the table, then pulls out a chair to sit opposite him. His silence intrigues her, but it is refreshing, too. The Starport drama has occupied all her time and seems to be the only topic of conversation among her fellow Agents. Not that she has wanted to discuss the latest NBA results or cricket scandal in India. It merits time and attention.

In a way, Michael was a harbinger of things to come; a scout for an alien civilization that had the Earth on their to-do list. Now, the Shi'ar might have to queue to pull an invasion off.

"Hmm, good meatballs," she pronounces after the first bite.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Perhaps they might. But Michael, at least, will not disappoint by falling back on the topic of the assault. Instead, he looks up and proclaims, "I have been considering submitting my resignation. I feel perhaps my usefulness has trailed off. I am not sure." He goes to poke at his pasta, his tongue articulating those words with alien edges. His beak of a nose almost more so thanks to the way he frowns. "And I am wrestling with my place here."

    Uhhhhh, so. Certainly a shift of topic.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Leave it to the man to surprise and appall her by turn. She doesn't let it show on her face. "Space programs are always infernally slow. Worse than electric vehicles, Michael. I'd be frustrated, too, if I were you. Could you do more elsewhere?"

After a thoughtful bite of another meatball, "China would love to have you. I bet they would keep you busy. But, it might not be the most pleasant of changes, considering the number of agencies that would put you on their hit list." This last said in a tone of voice fit for discussing a shopping list.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Oh, no," he says, shaking his head. "I would likely leave the planet. I have been weighing whether or not to seek revenge against these elvish people for their actions. I cannot do that as an agent of this organization."

    Ah. So it is vengeance, then.

Michael picks up his fork and prods at the pasta once more. "I feel myself thinking more like the nobility than a human. The arch-traitor to the crown wandering about, these other people attacking this planet that I promised to protect. Better to steal a planet-cracker and pay my respects to this elvish scum properly." Oh how easily he talks of shattering planets, of inflicting realm-wide apocalypse. "But they have innocents, civilians and children. So assassination would have to be the way if I decided to do it."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Eyebrows lifted skeptically, "Not many consider any Swartalf innocent after infancy and even then." She adds, drily, "I believe the Asgardians have them firmly buttoned up now. Least that is what I've heard on the grapevine. Malekith is dead, at least. Still, someone wanted all the Realms tit's up, so to speak."

Fork laid down now, "You're right though, you'd have to leave SHIELD. They couldn't endorse you going to war with the universe. We'd miss you." Or does she mean, that she'd miss him?

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I distinctly doubt that." The smile he gives her is faint. "I just don't feel very useful at the moment, that is all. And as for these elvish, well. I am used to people thinking one thing about an entire people while knowing the truth of things."

    At that, he sits back, looking her over. "And you, then? We have not spoken in some time. How are you?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
"I agree with you about stereotyping whole cultures and people. But I consider the Asgardians fair, and I hear from good sources that most Black Elves have no redeeming features. The best that can be expected of them is they commit no crimes or murder anyone." She returns to eating but stops, loaded fork halfway to her mouth, "That's a very low bar, if you ask me."

"We have to rile the science types up again. They certainly can't overlook the importance of SHIELD being space worthy. You could be behind that."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Assuming they're interested." He shrugs very faintly. "Perhaps I will speak to Director Fury about my rank. He will consider me impertinent I am certain but considering I have been doing this job almost as long as he has been alive..." A shrug, and Michael spreads his hands. "Or perhaps I shall just arrange to raid HYDRA facilities and reclaim the missing plasma pods and shield generator. Or assassinate some threat or another." He pokes the spaghetti again. "We should go and get dinner again, sometime. I miss your company."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Eyes lowered, Jess bites the inside of her mouth, considering how to answer him. "I think he would wonder why you were concerned about your rank -after- you have brought your ideas to him concerning readying SHIELD for space. Speak to the science types first. Simmons or Fos...someone like Foster." She sighs at the slip.

"You heard about the windfall of Svartalf ships we had at the Starport, right?"

Her green eyes lift to drill his, "I would second you on the raid on HYDRA for the plasma rods, you know. Let's do it. Submit a request." Almost smiling, she adds, "We can talk it over at dinner."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Well, we shall see, I suppose." He reaches for the bottle of water on his tray now, the spaghetti abandoned now. "I thought perhaps I would go to the Asgardian Embassy and seek out Lady Sif. Perhaps speaking to more not of this world might cure me of this sudden wanderlust." Alien friends as an anchor? Interesting concept. He takes a pull from his bottle. "You would enjoy their mead, I think. Enhanced metabolisms are no proof against it, as she demonstrated to me once."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"That might be a good idea," she says, slowly as though unsure of her words. "Science types. Or," she suggests, brightening, "Jean Grey?" Pushing her tray of unfinished food away, she looks at him puzzled, "Why Lady Sif? Do you know her?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "We have met on several occasions, yes," he replies, heavy brows lifting. "Quite friendly company when last we spoke, once she was certain I was not seeking the destruction or annexation of the planet." Another swallow of water there. "But that has been more than a year. Who can say if a godling would remember a mere mortal after such a span?" At the mention of Jean, then, he shakes his head. "I am content teaching astronomy to young people for her. I do not want to drag anything else to her door."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Then, I'm out of suggestions for you right now. Hold tight. Something will change soon." Her chair scrapes as she pushes it back, rises, then picks up her tray. "Stop by my office, I'm there everyday until, you know the drill, until I'm not." She gives him an encouraging nod and a small smile before taking her tray to the dishwashing station. With a final look back, she leaves the cafeteria.