17364/Jar of Bones

Jar of Bones
Date of Scene:	07 March 2024
Location:	Staten Island
Synopsis:	The surprising appearance of a formant viral colony in an artist's home leads to its peaceable liberation. But from whence did it come? And will more appear?
Cast of Characters:	Michael Erickson, Jessica Drew

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Michael Erickson has posed:
    From the Triskelion to Staten Island. Or, specifically, from the Triskelion to Staten Island, with Michael driving a SHIELD-issued sedan and listening to Top 40 on the radio the whole way down. "The students are listening to her a lot," he explains over the sounds of 70s-era guitar and the voice of a woman who could have been Joan Jett's vocal twin. "Her name is Lila Cheney, she plays with a band called Cats Laughing. The kids love her." After all, he still finds time to put in his regular rotations as a teacher up at Xavier's -- his way of paying penance in a way that feels the most comfortable to him. Not that he talks much about the classes themselves.

    From Manhattan to Brooklyn, and over the Verrazzano-Narrows; traffic keeps passage over the river slow, giving them time to chat. They're on the way to collect an artifact that Michael's gotten a rundown on, one he'd like a partner of durability and physical strength to recover: a Seltal Ossumodule, one of an increasing trickle of alien artifacts that have started surfacing now that there are, in fact, visitors among us. Right smack in the middle of middle-class, conservative suburbia.

Jessica Drew has posed:
One warm day in the unremitting rainy winter weather and Jessica has the window down, taking in the relatively unpolluted air over the river. If they weren't on the way to pick up a precious artifact on company time, the ride would feel like a date. Oddly, Michael, an alien in every sense of the word, is her line to popular music, the latest memes, and trending forums on X, and she only occasionally feels odd about that. She enjoys drinking from his well of facts on modern earth culture.

But duty calls: after the song finishes, "How did it end up on Staten Island of all places?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    It's a well of almost fifty years he's had time to collect, if not appreciate -- even now, talking about it, there's the obvious disconnection. His people are raptors, not songbirds, even if he has a talent for it nonetheless. Some of them are throwbacks enough to have wings after all. "How does anything end up anywhere," he asks with a shrug, squinting through the barriers of his black aviator shades. Once again, the Brooks Brothers throwback. "I've found and destroyed so many items of alien provenance since I came to this planet. So often, though, they end up in the collections of wealthy fools who think they're magical items or some other ungodly thing." A grunt. "The Ossumodule's an inert plague cell. But it looks like it came out of a Giger painting."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Mouthing those last words to herself silently, Jessica fixes Michael with an appalled scare. "Tell me, they know this back at HQ? Please."

Lacing her fingers together tightly, she stares out the window at a long barge heading under the bridge, not really seeing it. "Or tell me it's completely inert and someone has hung it over their fireplace as a piece of art."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He shakes his head, chuckling as he cuts the sedan's radio from Top 40 to the news. "Nothing like that," Michael says, hands easy on the wheel. "It's...an Ossomudule is something like a living viral colony. A living, fist-sized pod. On contact with biological flesh, anything with bones, it consumes the bone tissue and grows. Saw it in a recent newspaper article on the work of that artist out on Staten Island." Which would be one Klaus Kenna, a local artist working on some particularly interesting 'neo-organic' artwork. Michael, however, is not terribly impressed. "Guy turned the pod into a freakin' Faberge egg or something. Absolutely insane. Anyway if it were active it would've eaten him at the very least."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica, who is not easily shaken, shudders at the image he conjures. She ponders on the potential of a living viral colony loosed on New York. Despite the awful image, a slight smile curves her lips, "Are you saying he could have given his life for art?" The smile submerges into a frown, "Michael, what activates it?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Exposure to certain radiations," he says with a shrug. "Nothing that humanity's developed yet. Dak'aan emanations - that's what we call a specific type of high-energy particles common to stellar cores - and perhaps some forms of quantum entanglement. I'm not a scientist. It's not a weapon, it's just a biological oddity that happens to be dangerous." In that it eats bones. You know. Normal stuff. As for her joke, she gets another grunt. "Given his life for art," Michael echoes dryly. "A human sentiment if I ever heard one."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"What would a Shi'ar know about sacrificing oneself for aesthetics? I ask you?" She crosses her arms and stares down her nose at him, then narrows her eyes in thought.

"Am I being paranoid if I ask if there is some kind of system that could generate that type of radiation? It just seems so odd that something like that would randomly end up on Earth."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    There's a pause there as he shifts lanes. "We die for our families..." Michael finally says, the words coming out slowly in response to traffic. "...or for the Empire. And I honestly don't know. We'll have to get the provenance of the pod once we get out there. I don't really intend to beg. We have the mandate on our side."

Jessica Drew has posed:
The frown deepens, "You do know I was teasing you, don't you? I didn't mean to cut so deeply. Of course, you do. A lot of people here wouldn't." She sighs unhappily at herself.

"We will have to trace it. Maybe it /is/ an accident of some kind. And not purposely seeded near one of the most populous cities on earth. What's our ETA?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    One hand comes off the wheel to rest, if only for a moment, upon her thigh. "You're fine," Michael says, his tone reassuring. "I knew what you meant. I'm just thinking about going to get this damned thing. I hope he doesn't give us trouble. I /really/ don't want to be impolite about this." His hand withdraws to return to the wheel, flesh squeaking softly on leather wrapping. "And if this traffic lets up, it shouldn't be twenty minutes."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Amused, she raises her eyebrows and sits up straight, "Count on me to back up your suave diplomacy and powers of persuasion. If we get to impolite, I can help there, too."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "That's my girl," Michael says with a faint chuckle as he navigates the car across the Verrazzano-Narrows and toward the distant enclave of conservatism that is Staten Island. "Lady in the streets...uh. Bruiser in the streets?"

    Poetry is not a Shi'ar discipline.

    The house of Klaus Kenna is an unassuming thing, a squat bungalow painted a dull green - an anonymous house on a similarly anonymous street in the southern end of the island. "Here we are," Michael says as he pulls the car up to the curb and kills the engine; from the pocket of his jacket he draws a palm-sized disc that projects a pane of barbed Shi'ar glyphs that fills his hand, scrolling down as he squints at the house through his aviators. "Looks like someone's home at least. And I'm picking up signs of the Ossumodule."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Girl is it? Or Lady Bruiser? We need to work on your compliments, Michael." She eyes him askance then sniffs. As they pull up, she goes silent examining the house.

"Hardly the mansion of an art collector," she says dryly.

Lips pursed, she examines what she assumes to be a scanner, then shakes her head. "I won't say it. Nope, I won't say it. We will talk about it later. How do you want to do this? Fast or smart?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Do forgive me, halan," says Michael a bit more gently as he reaches for the door. "Just getting into character." Behind his shades the alien's eyes narrow faintly, then, considering her query. "Little of both, I think. I'll let you take point on this - I'm terrible with artists."

    Michael opens the door as he says this, coming around to wait for her to emerge - once she does, he heads up the short walk toward the house's porch.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica gets out of the car, then pauses on the sidewalk, listening. A distant lawnmower drones one street over taking advantage of the sunny weather. A screen door creaks open nearby, slams followed by the hollow clack of a skateboard hitting a driveway. Nothing comes from the house though she sees movement deep in the house.

Stepping quickly, she catches up to Michael but stays one step behind.

"You know they know we are here. Somehow, I bet they don't think we are selling magazine subscriptions."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Mmmhmm." He's smiling as he comes up to the porch, opening up the screen door and knocking thrice with what can only be described as 'prompt authority'. "Well, let's see if he'll pick up our issue."

    It takes a moment, but when the door opens a broad-chested, good-looking man in his forties smiles out at the two of them. Dark, weathered skin and salt-and-pepper hair lends him an almost professorial air as he looks between the two of them, brows lifting in curiosity.

    "Uh, hello there," Klaus Kenna says gamely as he regards the two of them once more. "Can I help you?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
A step takes Jessica abreast Michael. She keeps a pleasant open expression, hoping to keep the man off balance, but remains silent. She dips her chin in greeting, leaving the sales pitch to Michael. Without seeming to she looks into the house behind the man, spider senses attuned to the slightest movement.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael clears his throat a moment as he sees Jess look past the man, opting to reach into his jacket and withdraw his identification wallet to and display his SHIELD credentials. "I'm Agent Erickson, Mr. Kenna," he begins, his tone professional but pleasant. "This is Agent Drew."

    Kenna blinks slowly at the two of them, apparently surprised. "SHIELD," he repeats, then blinks again as reality catches up with him. "Ah, sure, okay, certainly. What can I do for you, agents?"

    Beyond him, Jessica's senses read nothing -- he lives alone, and at the very least nobody seems to be home with him. A quiet house, naught stirring but dust behind them in the quiet, modern living room beyond.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jess nods a second time, fixing her green eyes on the man, "We just need a moment of your time, sir, and your help with something. Can we explain inside?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Kenna looks once more between the two of them. "Sure," he replies then, stepping away. "Sure. Come on in."

    Kenna's living room is surprisingly modern, not exactly the messy idea one might have of an artist's abode -- and for a sculptor there's a surprising absence of sculpture about to boot. Very large TV, though. "Please," he enjoins with a hand gesturing to a lushly upholstered chintz sofa, a chair positioned nearby. "Would you like something to drink?"

    "Nothing for me, thank you," Michael says as he goes to take one of the ends of the couch.

Jessica Drew has posed:
The difference between the exterior of the house and the interior puzzle Jessica. Electing to stand, she takes a few steps around the room, a slight frown making a line between her eyebrows. Eyebrows raised she sends Michael a meaningful look and then stations herself to Michael's side.

"Oh, and nothing for me, thank you." Gesturing to the room, "I don't see any of your work, Mr. Kenna."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He goes to take a seat in the offside chair, then, crossing his legs and smiling across the way at Jessica. "I like to keep my work partitioned," he explains, folding his hands upon his knee. "Otherwise it consumes you. The studio's in the back; that's where the magic happens." A moment's silence, then, and he speaks again.

    "So. You said you needed my help with something?"

    Michael, finally taking off his sunglasses, tucks them away into his breast pocket where they hang like a black, mirrored flag. "You have in your possession an object, Mister Kenna. About the size and shape of a Faberge egg, made of dull green material?"

    The artist nods, canting his head faintly. Quizzical. "I do. It's a jade sculpture. What about it?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
The man is unexpectedly calm. Head tilted slightly to one side, Jessica reads his heartbeat and does not catch the telltale whiff of anxiety that people have with something to hide. She smiles faintly at the word magic, and nods encouragingly.

"Would you mind showing it to us, Mr. Kanna?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Such magic is regrettably lost on Michael; in the Empire, such a man would have been euthanized the moment he demonstrated such artistic leanings. Dreams, after all, are required for art -- and dreams to the Shi'ar are harbingers of madness. Ah, well. Let him be mad. It's not as if it's the worst thing that Michael's seen madness conjure.

    Kenna is calm, but the artist's curiosity is starting to give way to guarded curiosity. Federal agents asking to see things in one's possession will do that. "Of course," he replies though, rising to his feet. "I bought it when I was on holiday in Cypress a few years ago. I should still have the documentation if you'd like me to get that."

    "We'll get to that," Michael says, tone cool now. "Let's just see it please."

    "All right." With that, the artist departs the living room and goes down a hallway toward the back of the house. Doors open, the sound of rummagings can be heard. Michael looks back to Jessica with a 'what do you think?' sort of look.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Spider sense belies the man's apparent calm. Jessica shakes her head, unwilling to believe the man would be so ready to risk losing a piece of art to the government. She pats her side where she carries a concealed ICER then nods toward the doors that have been opened. Shorthand for he might come back armed. Be alert.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He nods at the motion, goes Michael. He of course has one, but it isn't going to be drawn if the man comes back with a weapon. That's a job for the Raptor.

    But when Kenna returns it isn't with a gun or a blade, it's with something far more potentially dangerous. Resting on a carved wooden stand of vaguely Asiatic appearance that the artist carries in his hand, a polished elongated orb of green material is brought out before them and set upon the coffee table. Just as Michael said, it is something out of Giger's nightmares: ribbed and warped, the lines of its textures suggest bone and antler and calcified brain folds, an unexploded bomb that looks for all the world like a disturbing art project - and despite the presence of federal agents in his living room asking after it, the artist cannot help but look at it with pride and pleasure in his expression. "Well," he says, "There it is."

    "Yes," Michael replies, reaching into his jacket and withdrawing a thin wand of dull silver metal - its tip glows dully as he leans forward to wave it slowly around the dubious treasure as Kenna looks on in curiosity. "You said you got it in Cypress, yes?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
Chills race up Jessica's spine. She feels breathless for a moment and has to work hard to keep a calm demeanor on her face when Kenna sets the object on the table. When he steps back, delight and satisfaction shining in his eyes, the room turns for one dizzying moment.

After clearing her throat, she swallows and looks at Michael, lips pressed tightly together. Threat levels of this measure are rare and far between for her. "Is that...it, Agent Erickson?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "It?" Kenna looks between the two agents, again unsure that he likes what he's hearing. "...what do you mean, 'it'? It's just a sculpture. I would know, right?"

    "SHIELD doesn't come for sculptures, Mr. Kenna." Michael tucks away the wand into his jacket, looking across the way at her. "It's here. And dormant."

    The artist frowns as he looks between the two of them uncomprehending. "Dormant? It's just a sculpture. I would know."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica exhales silently through her nose and repeats the word for confirmation. "Dormant then?"

Face professionally smooth, "In our work, there are sculptures and sculptures, Mr. Kenna."

Rubbing the back of her neck, she examines the piece at a distance as though it were a snake. It is rare for her to react to an inanimate object so strongly; she normally reserves that for hidden snipers or armed assailants.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    This close, one can smell something...off about it. Ozone. Earth. Stone. But something else, something innately biological. Proteins trapped within the core of ribbed calcification. Michael gets to his feet, the stylus tucked away, and he gives Kenna a square look. "You're not going to like this, Mr. Kenna," he informs the man, "But we're going to have to take this with us. I can't go into details, due to matters of national security - but if you know what we are, then you know we wouldn't come here if this were some random sculpture." He flicks a glance to Jessica and back again. "To be blunt, sir, it could have killed you."

    Now Kenna is frowning in earnest. "Killed me," he repeats, doubt written all over his tone. "Can I see your identification again?"

    Michael produces his, nodding for Jessica to do the same. "If you need to call the office while we're here for confirmation, that is your right."

Jessica Drew has posed:
With the speed of spider reflexes, Jessica produces her SHIELD ID from her jacket and holds it out for the man. "Not that you would know, but if we were stealing it, we would have done it without you realizing it. Not to boast," she explains with a modest shrug. "But we prefer to do this more transparently."

She adds, reluctantly, "Agent Erickson is an expert in this matter so we both need to believe his assessment of the danger."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    That certainly doesn't seem to calm him much. "Oh, so you can come steal what you want, is that it? Doesn't look like I have much of a choice here." Kenna shakes his head. "Fine. If it really is dangerous..."

    "It is," Michael says in an attempt to reassure him. "Think of it as having an unexploded grenade on your mantle. It might never go off, but if it does..."

    "Yeah, I get what you're saying." Kenna shakes his head again. "I'm just having a hard time believing what you're telling me. Not like the last ten years or so have been anything normal. Aliens and all." He draws a deep breath. "You all are gonna want to hear about everything, I guess. Where I got it and all. I sure didn't think I was buying a...whatever that thing is."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"The world has changed drastically, Mr. Kenna." Her eyes flicker toward Michael and then to the statue. "You will have to trust us on this. And, yes, everything you can tell us will be of great help in finding out how it got here."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "But that can wait." Michael reaches into his jacket and produces what looks like a handkerchief of dark gold mesh, which he then unfolds into a pouch; without a word he takes up the egg in one end and rolls it into the mouth at the other with a deft demonstration of alien dexterity. Sealing the pouch, and with it now in hand, Michael offers the man his other hand. "We'll be sending someone over to sit down and take your statement and otherwise find out what you know. This, however, has to go into containment."

    Kenna blinks at the flickering of the agent's hands and the one offered him. He doesn't take it. "Uh, sure," he replies with a slow nod. "I...this is all just...so sudden."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"I will apologize for the speed on behalf of SHIELD, Agent Erickson, and myself. You've been fortunate that the object has remained stable. We thank you for your cooperation." Without offering the man her hand she nods to Erickson, then takes a step back and heads for the door.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "You'll hear from us soon," Erickson tells the man, and produces his business card. "If you need anything before then, feel free to call us." With that he leaves as well, leaving the man staring there still turning the moment over in his mind.

    Moving with /urgency/, mind. Considering what's in the bag in his hand. By the time he gets to the car he has opened the trunk where a self-powered refrigerated container awaits for him to extract the egg and put it in, seal and lock it tight.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica moves in sync with Michael to the car to witness 'the egg' being deposited into its refrigerated transport.

After getting into the passenger seat, "Well, that's done. Let's get this back to the office. Then dinner. Okay? What are you in the mood for?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael is quiet as he starts the car; a frown lines his lips as the engine rumbles to life. "Whatever you'd like," he tells her, pulling the car away from the curb.