2279/Good Morning, SHIELD

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Good Morning, SHIELD
Date of Scene: 30 June 2020
Location: Main Foyer: Triskelion
Synopsis: Jane Foster starts orientating Cecily Winters to SHIELD, where she meets several new faces.
Cast of Characters: Jane Foster, Cecily Winters, Dane Whitman, Gothic Lolita




Jane Foster has posed:
    Morning in the Triskelion is never quiet. People come and go according to their routines, though a surprising number of employees act as analysts, specialists, cryptographers, and a host of positions chained to a desk. Or at least arranged similarly in desks. They go through extra security protocols compared to most corporate environments, bound for the lifts in the multistorey building to get where they need to be. The foyer thus isn't empty or quiet, though it has a purposeful buzz of activity overseen by a few pieces of art, the eagle logo of the organization, and a healthy number of guards.
    Jane Foster is famous enough in her own right -- science celebrity counts -- to stand out, partly because she doesn't wear a jump suit or anything out of the ordinary. Chic and professional means a pencil skirt and an attractive blouse, a necklace hung with a long golden lozenge covered in strange writing. It's Babylonian, for all that it matters. A tablet rests against her forearm, propped there while she smartly documents something that could be the latest batch of alerts and field notifications to hunting for words in a word scramble. Every so often she looks up, but the brunettes attention splits neatly between them.
    Another advantage of timed entries with passcards and all that; notifications come straight to her and warn her when certain people show up. Very orderly, that.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    One of the morning arrivals stands out, for certain. Not just the lack of a uniform, being clad in her own blouse, vest, pencil skirt, and stockings combination, but also the fact that Cecily possesses two fluffy white fox ears and three matching fox tails, all five appendages black as if they'd been dipped in ink. She pauses just inside the doors, checking her StarkPhone and looking at a couple of papers. With a nod from a guard, she makes her way to briefly check in with security--and turn in the sidearm in her shoulder holster.

    She takes a breath, looking like she feels naked without it, and moves to scan in her temporary ID and get loaded into the system. At least it's a step up from a visitor's pass at the moment.

Jane Foster has posed:
    As it is, suits and business professional attire rules the day. There are, of course, people in lab coats and people in uniform. They are hardly the majority, though, giving further an impression of government agencies at play. Not so different from a good many glass towers in Lower Manhattan, abutting on the convergence of rivers into the Atlantic. The brunette astronomer taps her screen twice, flicking an app into the aether behind the screen, whatever that may be when one breaks it down past ones and zeroes. The tablet ends up slipped inside a flexible, dark sheath rubberized around the corners for some protection, and she slips it into the small bag at her side. With her identity card clipped to her hip, she approaches the wall of elegant security searching for any signs of contraband, weapons, a passé spoon that doesn't belong there.
    Waiting in queue takes a few minutes more, easier for her being on the other side. As the stream of people flutter past en route wherever they need to go, she offers a courteous nod to one or two here and there. Being somewhat high profile tends to be poorly done in a spook's environment, but they know better than to ask. She approaches Cecily as soon as the woman is free and already collected her things. "Ms. Winters? I'm Doctor Foster."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    As such, no contraband on Cecily. Nothing that she didn't already turn in, anyway. A handgun, several magazines. No spoons. Not today. She does have the proper local permits for it, at the least. She's through the queue and really only has her phone and papers in her hands now. "Ah... Miss Foster..." she purses her lips.

    Then she nods, seeing the name in her communications, "Yes, that's me. Cecily," she smiles gently, "You'd think I'd be used to security, what with the PD and STAR, but here I am..." she laughs quietly. "This is.. a bit higher profile than the other two, I feel... I do feel a bit out of my element, after working on my own for the last couple of years."

Jane Foster has posed:
    Nothing unimpressive for Jane, either, unless that Babylonian design somehow constitutes a shock OT the system. Her tidy bearing becomes all the more apparent with the ease with which she walks, none of the hasty purpose needed to rush off to a lab. Comfortable, as it is, fitting into her surroundings despite it far from being native. Not when the hundreds of social media impressions surrounding her in a given year, or the publicity, so frequently anchor her in an entirely different arc of space. "Doctor," she gently corrects. The badge at her hip shifts slightly with her turning, gesturing to the beauty of the foyer in its spartan array.

"It gets better," she begins, that tone warming. "Once you learn the rhythms and patterns, security becomes more of a breeze. Though I will warn you, the lines get rather long between eight and nine, and right around lunch hour. If you have any flexibility in your schedule, showing up fifteen minutes earlier can make quite the difference with security. Also, taking the stairs instead of the elevators when assigned to lower floors does wonders for your step count and avoiding the crush." She projects that as a shared secret, complete with a friendly tip of her head. "Profile depends very much on what police department you're coming out of. The NYPD has a global profile, just as much as the Metropolitan Police in the UK. Definitely a different world from being an independent operator, though. They really do try to break things down well here, though, by routine and clear labelling. Almost every floor has a guide plan laid out to help you find your way around, so there's no likelihood of wandering accidentally into a lab or a secured area. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    In contrast, Cecily might have been spotted on the news once or twice in the last couple of months but nothing beyond. No big crowds or publicity and that's the way she likes it. Being around such a bustling group, professionals or no, actually seems to make her visibly uncomfortable. There's a nervousness in her body language, her ears constantly swivel and perk and twitch at the noise all around. "Of course, Doctor Foster," she says politely.

    She does stay in step with Jane, though, taking in the look and feel of the room, and purses her lips in a small frown. "Lovely... waiting in line for a stale sandwich... I admit I wasn't looking for a new week-long 9-to-5 when I gave my previous employers permission to forward a reccommendation your way... I'm starting to wonder how well of a fit I will be here, and I haven't even been in the building for fifteen minutes..." she laughs uneasily.

Jane Foster has posed:
    Jane chuckles softly and taps her bag. "I can take a look at the assigned schedule you have, but almost all trainees follow a fairly straightforward schedule at the start. There are always exceptions, but the agency needs to get a bead on your particular skillset while you learn the ropes, as it were. Even our peers in the field take time inside, after all. They need to know protocols, how to make requisitions, learn procedures and the like. Under the current circumstances, it's even more important given how tense matters are at a global level. To quote that British poster, we keep calm and carry on. In fact, it's essential for us to do just that right now instead of pouring out all the manpower into the streets. Imagine the chaos." Her nose mildly wrinkles at the thought, though her tone still exudes that brightness and sunny warmth so much her hallmark. Not always common among scientists and their peers, especially at her level and age, but perhaps that sets her apart. Benefits to being in the public eye nigh constantly.
    "I promise you, the food in the cafeteria is good as anything in New York with a few exceptions and accommodates a variety of different dietary needs. If you have allergies, follow a specific cultural, religious, or medical diet, they can accommodate. Allergies usually get tagged on file, but if you keep kosher or prefer vegan options, we have them all." She leads Cecily deeper through the foyer, indicating one of the discreet but easily read labels indicating a few different directions. "Secret to happy workers: keep them fed. That goes regardless of where you are. One of those truisms." Tucking her hair behind her ear, she inclines her head. "What were you looking for, when you joined? It's natural to be a bit overwhelmed, though you came in with law enforcement, yes? Did you go through the police academy?"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Well, for training day, I can understand a packed schedule. I just... would prefer to not be tethered to a desk all week..." Cecily gives a lopsided, but still nervous smile. "I can understand filling out paperwork and having strategic meetings, of course, don't get me wrong." She sways her tails a little as she walks, still taking in the sights and sounds of the facility as she walks. There's a laugh, "Do you have tacos as good as El Supernatural Mexicano? That's a hard sell, I think..." there's a playful wink.

    Then she shrugs at the question. "Academy. 8 years on the force. Last two years I've been doing my own thing. Mainly because of.." she gestures to her ears. "I honestly don't know what I was expecting... I'm a marksman, I have extensive training and field experience with a..." she purses her lips. "...wide variety of firearms of... various sizes... I worked as a gunsmith and quartermaster and... I can conjure fire in my hands. So... I suppose the military side of SHIELD?"

Jane Foster has posed:
    Jane listens as Cecily explains, those wide, warm brown eyes rarely shifting away from the other woman. All a matter of absorbing the information and piecing it out at lickety-split speeds, appreciating the nuances. A grin for mention of the tacos, and she chuckles. "Definitely a run for their money. Let the chefs know by suggestion or feedback on their site. They take those recommendations seriously. Happy tummies, happy workforce." A grin cracks wider as she guides Cecily to the center of the foyer where light streams through the glass fixtures. The rest is a great deal heavier, concrete and steel, but not there. The better to take in the warm summer glow. "Academy and eight years on the force will serve you well. You'll want to fall back on that training rather than the past two years for a good comparison of what's ahead," she explains, that smile not faltering, but a little more serious. "All trainees into SHIELD, like the military or the police, go through a probationary period and a training period. That's not a week, it's not a day. SHIELD is a complex agency running on multiple different tracks, and anyone new needs to be vetted according to multiple criteria before they see the field. If you thought signing up meant walking out there and shooting down extraterrestrial drones before your first pay period, I apologise; that's just not a reality. Not without clearance from the highest ranks, which I don't have clearance for, so correct me if that wasn't annotated on your file properly. Agent Barton may know more for that than I do, but it's really a better idea to put yourself in the mindset of entering a government agency or an elite law enforcement arm. We all need a baseline of common abilities, and this is a full-time job to pick up unless you're a consultant. Understand I still run the Hayden Planetarium, and I'm its director, among many other things, but SHIELD? Here?" Hand lifted, she draws a circle. "This comes first, even for those of us with additional responsibilities and roles. I'd be the first to admit /my/ transition was entirely nonstandard, and unlike you, I had very few choices about how to proceed. It was rocky, none of the smooth introductions you'll see. That makes me sympathetic, believe me, to how overwhelming or unclear the first few months can be. You're in good hands -- Agent Barton, I trust with my life. Not just because of his proximity to the Avengers but because he knows what he's doing, he's good at doing it, and he won't send us astray. All that is to say, you'll have a locker, a desk, a place to work because we're not outside in the field every hour of every work day. Marksmanship and familiarity with weapons will probably dispose you towards Operations. Especially if you can control or conjure up fire, but again, even the enhanced metahumans go through the same training as the rest of us."
    A softened smile follows that, brief as it is, her gaze lifting up towards her beloved sky again. The filmy sleeve of her shirt skims over her golden bangle that refuses to slip down her arm, the pattern of Eiffel Towers so small it could be mistaken for stars at a distance. "It's not meant to be discouraging. Quite the opposite. Everyone you meet knows the rules at the same general level, and you can count on them. That's part of the process, building a rapport. Here you are one of many and collectively, our little galaxy here holds together and achieves incredible things as a result, much more than most of us could do on our own. Just like the force, we back up one another."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Not quite the 'return to the workforce' I expected, though I certainly didn't expect to be blasting aliens or lamprey-men or whatnot either... but I do have a part-time bodyguard contract to fulfill and a peculiar organization with vicious cyborgs hunting down and kidnapping mutants that's also on my plate, and it's not a very good meal, I'll tell you that.." Cecily says grimly, shaking her head. "Being attached to a desk five days a week does not hold any kind of appeal, if I'm to be telling the truth about anything..."

    There's a long, slow inhale, then a sigh, "But I'll try. I've always been a team player. The 'team mom' even. I'll stick it out and learn, but I do reserve the right to step away, yes? Professionalism involves rules, after all," she nods, smoothing out her skirt.

Jane Foster has posed:
    "What did you expect?" Jane asks, curious. Her eyebrows arch as 'lampreymen' comes to the fore, a delicious little laugh sunny on her lips and full of brightness. "That would suck, wouldn't it?" Bad pun, but it's SHIELD. They exist all around, if you listen long enough. Her hands clasp together with a definite ease. "You have this space alien organization on your plate? I will point out that sort of organization is exactly what SHIELD exists to protect against. You might speak with Agent Barton and provide any notifications to the Deputy Director, as such, and they may have further opinions and instructions. Right now, we're all working towards a common aim in our different ways. R&D handles things different from Ops, to say nothing about Admin or the like, but we do work to facilitate common aims. Like rescuing those citizens plucked up by a tyrant in the sky. It's not the first time we faced such threats, but it's a day ending in Y, last I checked. So definitely a threat day."
    The astrophysicist is quiet for a time, watching her colleagues come and go with discernible purpose in the currents of humanity. Each a life, each a person with wants, dreams, fears. All of them a greater thing. "You can choose to terminate your employment here, yes. The trainee period is part of discovering if this is a good fit. Obviously you won't have clearance to put you in a compromising spot, but we take the measure of new hires and they take measure of us. I think it's reasonable to say it is not for everyone, but for a good many people, SHIELD is beyond their expectations in every way. There are doors to open you might not know exist, and the camaraderie here is special. The vetting process to bring someone in usually eliminates those who wouldn't be an obvious good fit, but some elements like culture, personality, those are softer and take time. Or managing expectations. You won't be likely running with Agent Danvers on the front line in your first week, pending approval from the much higher-ups. Desks are where most of us /do/ function, though. Lab work, SecOps, Comms, all likely to be sitting part of the time. You aren't chained to it; there are still other jobs to be done away. Testing, for one. Orientation, psych profile, debriefings, the like. What were you anticipating in your first weeks here?"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "I'll admit... I'm not sure what I was supposed to expect..." Cecily says with a lift of her shoulders, clasping her hands at her waist. "Any sort of government agency is going to have a bureacracy of sorts, though I usually assume that when being hired for a certain skillset that tends to be the focus. I certainly understand the need for learning the basics of everything first, of course..." she fidgets with her fingers a bit, then her ears go flat against her head as she shakes it slowly.

    "I thrive out of doors. I'm a guardian angel on a rooftop, I'm a vigilant pair of eyes out in the park. I'm only off duty when I'm asleep. Being shot at and injured doing a job that keeps others safe is what I've devoted my last two years to. ...last ten years... the last two just end up with far less hospital time, despite the higher risks." She shrugs helplessly, "I've made a career out of going where I'm needed. Maybe it's the fox in me but walls and halls are stifling. But if I'm needed here and I can do the most good, then I'll try?" There's a little hint of a lopsided smile after, "..if I'm going to be at a desk at least put me on weapon maintenance.."

Jane Foster has posed:
    "Well, naturally. It's rather par for the course, though we do no doubt get people coming in thinking of spy movies, notably James Bond rather than Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. Alas, Le Carre rather comes closer to the truth of it, even if the Cold War is officially behind us." The brunette shrugs her shoulders easily at that, a minute move, enough to send the drift of her hair tumbling down her shoulder blades. "Much like NYPD or any other force in a metropolitan area, there are ranks and hierarchies, further compounded by the different wings in use. You'll find that no matter what organization you enter into. Given the nature of the work, we must have some kind of structured approach because in the end, we're accountable to the people we serve. SHIELD looks for an understanding of that as much as we do different skills. Anyone can learn basic to intermediate firearms, and you can go through specialised programs for just about any sort of professional development. Whether it's speaking Arabic or conflict resolution, negotiations or stunt driving. Those are the easy parts. The soft skills, the ethos that thrives best here, is one where you see yourself in a greater whole and protecting people. The left hand has to know what the right does, even limited by classified information, right?" A wry tinge to her smile shows, and she doesn't have a quality of fidgeting, though she twists the Babylonian gold spindle on her necklace. "It's one thing to have military experience and field know how. I assure you, they've taken note of that. But they need to know you won't run off to take a shot on a gang leader while on a stakeout and a perfect opportunity presents itself, or that you might engage a fleet of drones while other agents are not in range, because the tactical considerations under a senior agent in the field may exceed our own. It's especially true where security and military are involved. No one wants gun-kata practiced mid-operation if it wasn't cleared. I imagine with your background, that's nothing new, is it? You're covering your partners' backs, especially with non-combatant specialists in the field, and you stick to the briefing plan? You act though like we're sitting at a desk forty hours a week, and we aren't. I cannot manage half of my work from in here, on a secure network, and others go where they need or are assigned, too. Nut you get a desk. You have work to do when not on an active mission. We're not spending forty hours a week playing spies or hunting down bad guys, either, otherwise the agency wouldn't really be doing its job with such a high volume of problems."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily is certainly watching those motions, whether consciously or unconsciously it might be difficult to tell. But her eyes do follow that hair for the moment the light catches on them, the faintest hint of a pink tinge rising in her cheeks as she listens. It's a lot to take in, though the pretty face in front of her is more than a little helping keep her at ease. Her body language is still nervous, however. Her lips purse, though, at the hypotheticals, and that little frown returns as she listens some more.

    "I certainly wouldn't call myself a loose cannon. If I'm given a job, I do it, certainly. But how much..." she considers the words to choose, then nods. "...tactical flexibiity is a mission afforded? These may be fringe cases, but what if that gang leader is mugging a group of college kids? Those drones bearing down on unarmed civilians? Letting a few homes burn to establish a firm firebreak is one thing, but lives are another... I can take a few bullets, those people can't."

    Her voice wavers for a moment, lips parted as she breathes before she sucks her lower lip in between her teeth. "As a part of a team, knowing that there is someone available to handle those eventualities is good enough, certainly. Move together, stick to the plan, team B has the other entrance. But then something tosses a wrench into the gears and split-second decisions happen, for better or worse."

    The fox gives a sudden, tired laugh, and presses the heel of her palm against her temple. "...not... trying to be overdramatic... or... overly adversarial over this, not at all. I just... I'm not a glory hound. I hate the limelight, honestly, but... I'm rambling now, aren't I. Too many details in the hypotheticals."

Jane Foster has posed:
    "Naturally," Jane insists with an emphatic nod. "We aren't governed by impossibly inflexible rules. The nature of our work requires an ability to adapt according to the situation, though we rely heavily on some of the standards you probably have exposure to. Frequent communication, so the senior agents or field support can provide necessary updates to respond to conditions on the ground. But we're not six individuals in a team, we're a team with different strengths and roles that supplement one another. Especially where, say, an obvious weakness may be." She gestures and snags her finger in the dropped golden necklace suspending the pendant, tugging on the chain such that the finicky little double Greek whorl clasp gives way almost immediately. Thus the spindle plunges for the ground, bouncing away on the smooth floor.
    "Not again! I swear, I need to bring this to the jeweler for a proper lobster claw or spring ring." Lamentable, even as she takes a few steps forward recover the necklace before it slithers away to start a colony in the pipes. Stooping from the waist, Jane softens the bend in her knees to accommodate the limitations of the pencil skirt. Split back or not, she cannot simply snatch the thing up without hazarding sartorial danger, and so gracefully dips to manage it. "Every plan is made knowing it will not go off exactly as intended, but go off it will with the right encouragement. Oh, get back here."
    Gold chain snatched up, threaded through her fingers like the ambrosial mana of El Dorado's font, she smiles wanly. "Wicked thing. Whatever will I do with you?"
    It's a measured motion from her. "I do not think you are rambling, you're speaking of your experience and your thought patterns. I assure you, a lot of our practice runs put you in different scenarios to test how you manage and that's a good thing. Learning to anticipate your responses in a crisis situation means being ready and knowing what your teammates can and can't do. We cannot be assured of every variable, but we can try to respond based on the most /likely/ ones."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "That is, at least, a load off my mind..." Cecily exhales, shoulders slumping for a moment. She nods, taking in the rest of Jane's statement. "The best sort of team is a varied one, for sure. I have no illusions that I can do absolutely everything, that's for... sure..." she blinks, trailing off for a moment. The fox watches Jane drop her necklace, and her tails pause their waving for a moment. She seems to be stock still, watching this little show that she's suddenly come upon. If she didn't know better, she'd think the good Doctor was flirting with her, or at the least her necklace was plotting something.

    It's impossible to not get caught staring, those pink cheeks returning for a moment. Her shoulders lift, and she straightens out her posture, tails once again waving. The tint of blush, however, remains in place. "It sounds like there's at least a very extensive training regimen, and having more clarity on what's expected of me certainly helps. Do you know what further might be expected of me, actually?" she brings a hand to her shoulder, idly coiling one of her own straight raven locks around a finger.

Jane Foster has posed:
    The s-clasp has its complications, and the unwound spiral needs careful adjustments. Jane doesn't have the tools to make that happen, so rather than risk another accident, she slides the necklace into the neoprene sleeve of her tablet case where no hasty escape is repeated. Alas, Steve McQueen won't have a starring role in a cartoon flight from the clutches of a wily, wicked star-empress. "Pardon that," she says, mildly abashed, her lip bitten for a moment. "I hadn't expected a getaway like that."
    The best treatment for a brief pause of profound uncertainty or awkwardness may be just moving forward, dancing along the stepping stones to the next moment, and she smiles up at Cecily. Perhaps it's the blind eye turned respectfully -- or as Jane seems to take it -- that allows an easy continuation. "That's a very good question. I would expect to be put through your paces over the next few weeks. Nothing too onerous, certainly no pranks. I'll have to double-check your schedule but usually we have assigned days for practices: firearms, for example, general athletics, simple observation, and so forth. Some may be assigned according to need or talent. It makes no sense to put you through an advanced driving course if you're better suited to R&D. Oh, and naturally a check on your first aid skills! We all need some proficiency in CPR, bandaging wounds, and whatnot. You never know. Past that, the ritual hazing tends to be in the cafeteria where you meet your colleagues." She grins. "Taco Tuesdays are the best days."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "If there's some fine tools I can borrow from one of the technicians, I could fix your necklace over lunch, if it's something I can help with. It's not a firing pin or a trigger spring, but I can still take a look at it," Cecily offers, offering up her free hand, wiggling dexterous fingers. "I'm not a jeweler but I'm good with my hands, and I'm used to using fine tools for gunsmith work..." she offers, that tint on her cheeks intensifying slightly at that little lip bite.

    Then it's back to talk of the future. She nods, and nods again, "I admit that I... likely have little need for some of the more physical training, and I'm always happy to take some range time to zero the scopes or make sure my aim is still good. A sniper that has to wear glasses is an oddity, no?" she gives the pair on her face a little nudge upwards with a finger, casting a smile at Jane. "I do know basic first aid but a refresher and further work is always welcome... and I'd much prefer to avoid any kind of hazing..." she sighs, ears and tails wilting a little. "Taco Tuesday is, however, the best day, yes."

Jane Foster has posed:
    "Are you sure? It wouldn't be any trouble?" Jane briefly smiles at that, though the question is a serious one behind the generally good-natured front she presents to the world. "I assure you if anywhere in the world has a screwdriver, it's here. Along with pliers and whatever else they use. Not a lot of shops, though, but that could be due to the parking lot standing in for the state of Delaware in size. See if Delaware's real and if you can tell it apart."
    Never mind the mischief showing through briefly, the professional facade dipping for just a moment to accommodate that flash. "Certainly, though. There should be some kind of tools in the dev area, and you can tell me if they suit what you need. I wish I hadn't kept that silly clasp on it; it's a vintage style that worked when everyone sat still, wore their hair up, and had polyester blouses or dresses so it never mattered. Put something on that, it'll stick forever. If you ever had one of those old couches growing up? I swear they will never biodegrade and they're practically indestructible." Lo, let the 1970s rec room couch at grandma's never be spoken of again.
    "I'll say this, definitely look into first aid and picking up some more advanced options. You'll be an asset in the field, and everyone can use a standby medic in field work. It goes right together with being a dab hand with computers or navigation. Those are skills that never go out of style. Though I leave it to you to tell me about snipers with glasses. I think all the cool ones wear sunglasses in the movies." Light joke, but one keeping the harmony established, especially with her hand waving off the hazing. "I wasn't being so serious. I promise, hazing comes down to asking your name and turkey, beef, or shrimp? We have those beyond tacos now, too, and they're very good with avocado. So, over there, we'll head into the tech side of things. Nothing too deep, but you can see one of the communal workspaces for projects. Sort of a DIY heaven, with a few specialized sets of tools on loan for us to practice with. I've used quite a bit for prototyping."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    The vixen shakes her head. Despite her nervousness earlier, she's still all sorts of warm and kind. It might even come off as a little bit disarming. "No trouble at all, dear," she says gently. "I might be able to jimmy it a little so it stays more snug, at least until you can get a replacement clasp. Or I can machine something for you? If it's a sort of heirloom I would want to take good care of it, after all," she states. Maybe it's that some of her concerns have been talked away, or she's in such lovely and friendly company with Jane, it's hard to tell, but she's in higher spirits now than she was at the outset of things. Even her tails are wagging.

    "No, thankfully, I never had one growing up... but the chief in my precinct had one in his office... All of us preferred to stand if we got called in.." she laughs, good natured and genuine. "I'll see what I can learn. I don't expect field surgery but triage is certainly on the table.." she blinks, "..no pun intended.." she considers. Then her head shakes. "As far as computers and navigation, I'll leave that to others. I don't even drive if I can help it, truthfully.... and I do wear sunglasses. These are prescription lenses that do the fade-in if you're in the sun... highly practical," she states. She's following along in the tour, and taking in the sights around the workshops, nodding, though she does keep drifting her gaze back to her guide.

Jane Foster has posed:
"It's that or staying securely in a pocket until I get home. No trouble, but if it keeps your hands busy, all the better. It mostly just needs to hold together. I promise, not a test of your MacGuyvering skills. I am fairly sure you will find an actual teacher for that." It's not entirely surprising to find the work rooms set up on the main floor occupied, though it's a bit sparse at this hour. Badges need to be swiped to get through the main set of doors, into a place essentially ruled by order. A few work tables and a large number of cabinets, drawers, and metal-fronted chests provide safe havens for a good many different tools. Rules on the wall in a laminated chart are simple about finding and replacing objects where they came from, reporting any issues, and the like. Standard protocol applies.
    Jane indicates with a wave of her hand the table. "Fairly straightforward, we've got the regular tools in a simplified setup here. If you need the bigger spaces or specialized machinery, I guarantee it's somewhere either on this floor or the next one. I'm fairly sure they have a proper carpentry shop, though I use more in the electrical and engineering spaces myself. Quite a bit of R&D involves tinkering and improvements, or we're working on the next iteration of something. A few Teslas run around, though none of them have invented death rays yet. But jury-rigging is a time honored art."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "I can always busy my hands with more than tinkering, really," Cecily says surprisingly playfully. "And worst case I'd just machine you a new clasp... though I think with an s-clasp I can tighten it just so..." she muses aloud, considering the options. "Doesn't neet to be anything fancy or jury-rigged, really..." then she just laughs. "And I try not to jury rig my work. There's the issue of not wanting unexpected failures when dealing with firearms..." she says with a shrug. "That's as far as my engineering skills go, however. Repairs, part replacement, custom jobs... Still..." she looks around, standing at Jane's side. "...a good workshop and organized toolboxes go a long way."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Yeah, but only if you're the one that did the organizing." A familiar-to-Jane-at-least voice calls out from one of the alcoves. Dane Whitman moves around the worktable he's been well...working at...for the last couple of hours, "Every time I try to get something done here it takes half again as long as it would at my own workshop, but still I persist. What's that one particular definition of insanity again?"

Dane offers Jane a warm smile, and extends a hand towards the lady he doesn't know. If he's taken aback by any unusual characteristics of her appearance, he gives no sign of it beyond perhaps a mild curiosity.

"Sorry to interrupt. Dane Whitman. I heard Doctor Foster was assigned a trainee, I'm guessing you're the one?"

Jane Foster has posed:
    With everything more or less labeled unto death, finding the exact wires or pliers or sonic screwdrivers is a matter of reading the different selections. Doors contain mockups inside for what each tray could contain, an OCD delight. Certain minds definitely might find this lovely or outright terrible, really, depending on their predisposition. Jane stays back slightly and gives Cecily room to search for whatever she is looking for, but it won't be blind as she fishes out her necklace from the tablet sleeve. No time like the present to make a few notes on her own, though she shows how the spiralled bulb at the end of the clasp is supposed to catch the chain in a design that clearly made sense around 1971, right up there with orange plaid everything and formica countertops in mustard yellow. Just /why/?
    A bit of a smile shows, though, as Cecily talks of the perils of jury-rigging. "We don't always want to do it, but sometimes you might find yourself in a bind and improvising becomes the next best thing. If you have the opportunity to meet them, Agents Fitz and Simmons make a showpiece out of finding unusual solutions." Ah, the legendary portmanteau, Fitzsimmons, befitting trouble all around. "For weapons, though, I understand. It can be a different situation and far from ideal if something blows up or jams when you need it most. Well, I suppose if you have a sword, jamming up isn't quite the issue." Speaking of swords, her flickering smile breaks into an outright flood with recognition as Dane draws near. "Your own workshop hardly counts. You can set it up as you like. It's the same for me; the labs here are good but they're no place I would really feel comfortable trying to replicate antimatter in a jar." Serious or not, hard to say. "Cecily Winters, indeed, new trainee shared with Agent Barton. She's fixing this." A gesture at her necklace. "Should've known better than to wear it today but this is a great chance for her to have a story about fixing things on her, what, third day?"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily's ears perk at the new voice, and she takes Dane's hand. Her grip is firm, a good two pumps before she lets go and sets back to work looking for the tools she'd need. Or at least something useful to work with. "Oh I have no idea if I'll be able to fix this... you can't fix terrible design... it's a beautiful piece of jewelry though..." she muses, looking over her shoulder and smiling. "Pleasure meeting you, Dane. Yes... quite new here... and rather overwhelmed.. but.." she hunts around and starts making a mess of a workbench.

    "I prefer my home setup as well... I do all my own reloading... I collect any spent brass of mine and I do enjoy retooling rounds for various purposes..." she muses, starting to lose herself in her element. Though she's more keen on weapon tinkering, some basic metalwork isn't beyond her. The fox's tails wave, and she goes to town on some metal bits and a tiny welding torch and cutting torch. Snap. Crackle. Pop. Fusion!

    It's... different. Instead of an S-clasp the two ends of the necklace have a discreet 'capsule'-looking clasp instead now. Much like a stringy lanyard might, but in metal. She holds it up and offers it to Jane. "...magnetic. Strong enough to not pop off when you fidget adorably with it, but enough force and it'll come off if you get it stuck on something..." She gives a sideways smile, ears perked, and gives a tug. The ends come apart, four 'tabs' on each end that connect and interlock with the magnets internally. "...you can find anything in these cabinets..." she marvels.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane watches Cecily work with interest, resisting the urge to either look over a shoulder or offer advice. It's a strongish urge, given his engineering inclinations, but instead he moves back to the table he was working on to put back together his project, one Jane will recognize but to Cecily probably just looks kind of like a...flashlight? Or "Torch" if one is from across the pond.

He's not so far away as to be completely out of the conversation though, and while something Cecily says gives him a thoroughly amused expression for a moment, it schools to something more simply cordial as he adds, "Nice work. Maybe you should've been a jeweler."

Jane Foster has posed:
    Dane's project at least needs to be admired by an onlooker. After all, how will it measure up to all the other ones without someone standing over it and peering at the assembly of wires or pointy bits and sparky bits? Important questions to be answered by the brunette, slipping around to avoid being in Dane's way. Elbowing him while he works with finicky or delicate pieces is bog standard. Unless eye protection is needed she admires from a safe distance, indulging that definite engineering need to appraise. "That looks solid. Like one of those club-flashlights they were selling the other week online." Without missing a beat, she adds, "Mine's blue. But that one looks nicer." Maybe ribbing him gently, maybe not, but her eyes absolutely glow with mischief.
    That gives Cecily time to work without being loomed over, an understandably concerning condition when it comes to being the new girl on the block. The space gives her time to do whatever she prefers. When all seems to be done, including with a torch of the burning kind, she looks back. "Oh? That was quick." Fusion! It takes a moment and then she smiles again. "That's very clever, using magnets. Hopefully that will solve for any unfortunate events to come. Thank you so much, that was very thoughtful of you."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Pretty necklace for a pretty lady," Cecily says with a shrug, bowing her head politely. "You're very welcome...like I said earlier.. I go where I'm needed.. usually that involves doing violene or getting someone home safe for pancakes..." she says with a warm smile. Then she shrugs at Dane, "Working with the fiddly parts of firearm internals has me good at utilitarian stuff... but if you ask me to work with gold filigree and try to make an elegant mount for a hand-cut Norwegian sapphire, I'm going to look at you like your face just melted all over my nachos..." Then she peeks at what he'd been working on.

    "If I may, what does it do? Is it a normal flashlight or does it do a variety of things? The good Doctor was mentioning jury-rigging and ... liberal applications of engineering skills with a loose application of constraints?" Jane will notice a change in the fox, really. She's in one of her elements, and she's... radiant. A difference from the nervous, defensive, if-I-run-for-the-door-can-I-come-back-for-my-gun-later attitude she was wearing like a snuggie earlier.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Oh sure, trying to make me misalign the diodes. Again." Dane mock-laments at Jane's ribbing, but the truth of the matter is that with this particular device he could practically do even the fine work in his sleep. Somewhat comes with the territory when you invented it. "And funny enough, the first iteration of this actually did end up housed in a maglite casing. One of the big ones. Ended up a good bit off-balance and unwieldy, so miniaturization became the order of the day. And week. And about four and a half months before I got it compact enough and weighted properly to be comfortable in hand."

He looks to Cecily and grins, "Not a flashlight, but understandable that's the first impression most people get. It does definitely give off some light, though." He takes a step back, and activates the weapon. Sadly, it does not make the same sound as a lightsaber when the meter-long blade of orange-yellow photons springs into existence...really no sound at all beyond a low hum of power that's barely audible to human ears. But it -looks- like a lightsaber so it's almost as good, right?

"It's a photonic sword. First setting acts as a neural disruptor...generally will knock most people unconscious with a solid hit, up to and including a lot of metahuman level hostiles. Second setting is more like your traditional laser sword. Clean cuts through all but the toughest materials and tends to cauterize as it passes. I try not to use that setting on people directly, though." He shuts the weapon off and tucks it into the also-self-designed quick-release loop at the small of his back where he tends to "hide" it. "Today was mostly just trying to squeeze a few more minutes of power out of it. Will have to do the long-term tests later on."

Jane Foster has posed:
    "Don't blame me if you err, Agent Whitman." Jane's no-nonsense approach to that is laced by good humour, the same kind littering her many appearances on various media, including teasing no less than Reed Richards. Good sport, Mr. Fantastic also seems to have a reasonably good sense of fun. Still, she watches his efforts to transform something particularly inconspicuous into a mesmerizing display of engineering excellence. Hence partly why she might be standing back, aware of what it becomes when it turns on. The world's fanciest flashlight, or the most coveted Star Wars memorabilia this side of Mark Hamill voicing your voicemail message.
    His lamentation doesn't rub off on the cheery brunette, who plays with the clasp with a tug and then the corresponding snap to test the strength of the magnets. As long as they aren't rare earth, all is well. "I appreciate this. It's rather ingenious and foolproof, which around here, is worth something, let me tell you," she adds, merry and delighted. "Thank you again. You're quite safe from anyone asking you to set their engagement rings, though, because fine work probably needs a waiver somewhere."
    Something to be said for trying to be at ease, and finding the way. Casual conversations are a win.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "Oh... oh!" Cecily's surprise is genuine. Her ears lift and perk fully, her tails floof out some, and she stares at the light. "Oh... that is amazing... Not to my tastes, but I'm more of an analog girl anyway..." she pats her empty shoulder holster. "...I'm a gun fox... what can I say? At times, heavy weapons, too..." she confesses with a grin. "I'm sure my dad might be able to help you with your power source issues but I'm not sure how well SHIELD jives with STAR Labs..." she suddenly considers those words. "...I -hope- SHIELD jives ok with STAR Labs... my parents work for them..."

    She sighs, shakes her head, but once again smiles at Jane. "Well, on that note, at least put a good word in for me, if you think I did good work."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane laughs warmly, shaking his head a bit and grinning at Cecily, "Well, I keep practicing with the ICERs at least, and I'm not too bad, but I'll hardly be winning prizes for my marksmanship anytime soon, but when it comes to analog, well...the -other- sword is about as analog as it gets. With a heaping side of magic." Which is all he mentions on the matter right now. "Pretty sure SHIELD's R&D Department has regular contact with STAR Labs. They occasionally consult on our projects, we consult on theirs, and on those occasions when the bad guys decide they like a STAR Labs project a little TOO well or a STAR Labs project turns out a little bit on the dangerous side I'm pretty sure we're on speed dial. As for power sources, I do all right, but if I ever have problems with it I can't sort out myself I'll keep it in mind."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily starts to dutifully put away the tools she'd made use of, making sure she looks at the diagrams and figures out what goes where so the next mad scientist can find the needle-nose snips. "I'm decent with a knife but my hand-to-hand is police maneuvers, really. I'd much rather not be at point blank range..." she casts a smile at Dane. "No swords for me... just firearms. Though I admit I don't know what an ICER is... I've heard the term before?"

Dane Whitman has posed:
"ICERs are SHIELD's standard issue nonlethal firearm. Comes in both pistol and rifle variety but the pistols are far more common. It's kind of like a...very long-range taser, though it works more through biochemical means than electric." He adds, "Fitz and Simmons invented them Pretty handy to have around if you're keen on keeping body counts low. The projectiles aren't as fast as a bullet though, and the recoil and such doesn't feel exactly the same as a live round, but you get used to it." Dane half-shrugs, still smiling, "So...how did you end up here at SHIELD?"

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "I do have a large stock of less-than-lethal riot rounds. Capsules with stun agents. Rubber bullets. Beanbags. So I tend to carry a mix of lethal and LTL rounds, depending on what I run into..." Cecily explains, part of her armory. "They sound useful though I do wonder if I'd be allowed to use my own weapons and munitions, provided they're checked out to be less-than-lethal... I'm not sure what all the protocol here is for that. First day, and all.." she exhales a small sigh. "As far as how I'm here, one of my old superiors in the PD put in a reccommendation... so I suppose I got approved and now I'm here. As... overwhelming as it is."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Oh, non-lethal isn't mandated all the time. Some of us just prefer it, at least as a first resort." Dane explains, "I used to never carry any kind of firearm at all, but I've gotten good enough with the ICER that I usually pack one with me on field ops. I don't have any inherent aversion to firearms, I just don't have remotely the same experience and skill with them as I do uh...well, old-fashioned weapons, I guess you could say." He shrugs, smiling a touch sheepishly.

"Ahhh, so you're a former police officer then? Detective or walking the beat? Or SWAT, I guess would be another choice?" Dane shakes his head, dark eyes alight with wry amusement, "Sorry, last thing you probably want to do is play twenty questions. Either way you must have been good at your job to get recruited here."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily shakes her head, still smiling. "Don't worry, I don't mind answering questions," she says warmly, "It helps people get to know me better, especially if we'll be working together, yes? And... a mix of things. Beat cop, SWAT sniper, and quartermaster work too. So I've done a bit of everything, but I wasn't exactly known for my detective work..." she shrugs her shoulders. "Almost ten years on the force, really... it's good to know I still have friends there who are looking out for me."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Ten years? Did you join up right out of high school? You don't really look old enough, if you don't mind my saying so, or is that just an aspect of your more ah...exceptional features?" I mean it's not like he wouldn't notice the ears and tail and eyes. "If you told me you were bitten by a pack of radioactive foxes around here I'd probably be forced to at least consider the possibility."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "2010 is when I joined up... I was born in '85," Cecily explains casually. She looks down at her tails, then offers Dane a shrug. "It... might be an aspect of the... transformation. I'm in peak physical health and I haven't had any health issues..." she flexes her fingers a little, curling and uncurling them into and out of a fist. "To say nothing of the... regeneration, and the fire."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Not a bad package. Lot of folks around here would probably be pretty happy with regeneration." Dane replies with a chuckle, "So this /was/ a change and not the way you were born? I kind of imagined that might be the case. Either that or you were a supernatural being with a semi-mundane job. Which I suppose might still be the case." He shakes his head, grinning a bit ruefully, "Sorry, I'm probably being kind of rude. I guess it's only fair you ask me a couple questions if you want. I'm not trying to grill you."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Another shrug from the fox, "I don't mind talking about it... these bits are why I quit the force two years ago. Had to sort out... well, coming to terms with it and getting used to it..." her tails swish slowly. "Battle for New York. Just kind of... manifested when shit was going down..." there's a soft chuckle. Then a sigh. "...I'm still getting used to it all. But... if I can survive taking a few bullets on a daily basis, then... I still live to serve and protect."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"I can imagine a change like that would take some getting used to, yeah. Rebalancing yourself both figuratively and literally." Dane nods a bit, though perhaps more to himself than Cecily before noting, "I had a much more subtle change, under some very weird circumstances, but it certainly took me a long way from worrying about where I was going to find my next engineering gig." He adds, "But I kind of slept through the Battle of New York...in a manner of speaking."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily nods, "You can't imagine... or maybe you can... and I only started with one tail. I'm.... assuming that I'll be getting more as I go. It's an oddity, and it's still taking me some work." Another little shrug, though she looks Dane over. "You have me wondering what you meant by sleeping... especially since you mentioned your proficiency with... old-fashioned weapons and all. You did say I could ask you any further questions... Odd person to odd person? Of course, if you have your secrets, I won't pry."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"I don't really make a secret of it around folks here. Or in general really. It's just...likely a lot like you...a weird story. The short version is that I spent ten years living in the body of one of my ancestors during the Crusades. When I came back, two years had passed in the present, give or take, and I'd been...well, I guess you could say buffed up. I hadn't been in -bad- shape but by the time I woke up I was about as physically fit as a body can be. And while I still train a great deal it seems to maintain more or less on it's own. It also came with a magic sword and armor and a flying horse. The laser-sword...and shield...I made myself."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "I... have heard interesting stories of power acquisition... though I admit this is a new one to me. Then again, sprouting fox tails and becoming a kitsune is still wild to me... and I lived it.." Cecily frowns and then nods to Dane. "I seem to have regressed in age a decade and I'm locked in this state. Though I didn't get a magic sword..." she laughs. "Metahuman perks? I can play with fire at least."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"It's apparently a family thing for me. Little did I know...." Dane shrugs a bit at the idea of metahuman perks. "Most of it is indirect...I can see through magical illusions. I can summon the sword, armor, and horse pretty much at will. And that whole "don't seem to fall out of shape" bit." He grins, "Pretty light as far as these kinds of packages go, but I make do."

Jane Foster has posed:
    Jane may be in the background doing more than fiddling with her necklace. No, she has that tablet out of its sleeve, and a report being submitted for the day, documenting the day's events so far. It may not be particularly late, but certain protocols must be followed to the letter, section, and subsection. Special attention requires further documentation in the background, and then a few more checks over schedules, testing, and the various bric-a-brac that requires her to be a responsible overseer of trainees.
    In this, she is rather serious. It takes a while.
    When finally the last happy 'ding!' emanates with a soft chime, she can be utterly trusted to wander herself back into the limelight of Dane and Cecily's presence. "Sorry about that. You never know with these things." A shake of the tablet. "The WiFi signal down here is dodgy today, but at least the filings are in."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "I still don't know how I came upon it..." Cecily shrugs, reaching up and lightly brushing a finger along one of her ears. It twitches. Then it twitches again at the 'ding!' and the fox blinks. "Welcome back, dear," she greets Jane with a smile. "Seems like you have a lot of paperwork to do... I hope I'm not adding too terribly much to your workload."

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    One of the elevators in the lobby chimes softly, before it opens and Lolita steps off it. She is...different. Mostly because her usual love of lace and frills has been replaced with a formfitting set of blue trousers and blue tunic in class SHIELD agent uniform style, with black boots and a similar black belt. Hers looks a bit more reinforced with more leather-ish padding at her shoulders and joints. Even her tiny top hat is gone! However, she does retain her pair of pigtails as her preferred hairstyle of choice, currently held in place with tiny cartoon skulls. Apparently SHIELD regulations do not forbid it.

Dane Whitman has posed:
"I wouldn't worry about it. Showing you the ropes is probably a lot more engrossing than mountains of paperwork or watching telemetry roll by might be." Dane reassures Cecily, finishing cleaning up the workbench he was borrowing now that Jane has reappeared. He glances up at the new arrival giving her a brief once-over but at first glance she's hardly the most unusual thing. Tons of people here he still hasn't met or gotten to know yet, after all.

Jane Foster has posed:
    "Sorry about the delay," Jane adds, a touch sheepish with a raise of her shoulder and a grin to add. "You two are getting along it looks like? Yes, I do have my fair share of paperwork, but nothing unreasonable. My job generates more paper than actual physical results much of the time. Theoretical structures of the universe rarely scrunch down to a size we can roll across the table, no matter what the Men In Black movie suggests. Though I would love a universe on a cat collar."
    She glances over to the elevator bank through the door into the workshop, since the sound inevitably warrants interest. And behold, someone already in SHIELD gear! Lolita's presence gets a wave when she comes nearer. "Hello!" A finger-wave will do, hopefully. With a nudge to Dane, she grins.

Cecily Winters has posed:
    "We're getting along, indeed," Cecily confirms to Jane. She smiles at Dane, and will probably mix their names up at some point in her life here. "Used to doing paperwork, at least... you'd have to imagine how many permits I need to operate as I do with the artillery I own in the city..." she laughs softly and then perks her ears up, seeing the pigtailed woman and her uniform. "Oh, she's cute," she muses aloud, and lifts her hand to wave at GL.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    Lolita turns her head at the wsaves and alters course over to the group, waving back as she arrives. "Ah, my fellow trainee and my upperclassman." she says to Cecily and Dane respectively. "Trainee Winter, Probie Whitman." She then nods politely to Jane. "Agent Foster. A pleasure to meet you all. I am Trainee Gothic Lolita, a most prodigious pleasure." Her eyes twinkle. "Though I'm perfectly happy if we forgo the official ranks and titles if you are."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Guess you've got me at a disadvantage, as I don't recall meeting you before. Gothic Lolita? I do think I saw the notice on your trainee status though...congratulations as those things go." Dane's mildly curious as to why it seemed like only a codename was included on the notice but it's not really his business to question on that score. "Well, on the plus side, Miss Winters, SHIELD agent status helps with a lot of that. Or at least they helped out with my ah...collection...in Staten Island."

Jane Foster has posed:
    Have to love the skulls, but that's another time to determine why. "Agent Lolita, it's wonderful to see you again. This time without a ceiling or another of those tests in action. How are you settling in?" Jane's questions hold a real interest to them, pausing to allow for answers, braiding responses and a measured smile all the same. Dane gets that laugh from her when it comes to Staten Island. "Permitting. Oh goodness, we could be here for hours on that. Fortunately SHIELD has excellent lawyers for vetting that sort of matter, should you ever need to avail yourself of them. I think it falls under the EAP perks?" Fear that she actually knows about it.
    "Call me Jane. Everyone else does, other than the Asgardians. Then I'm Lady Jane, and I feel like a salon when they do."

Cecily Winters has posed:
    Cecily quirks a brow, her fox ears perking at the name. "Well, everyone has their secrets, and I'm no stranger to special names..." She shrugs, and smiles, "Pleased to meet another trainee, dear. I wonder how many more of us there are on the roster. It does make me feel a little less out of my element..." her tails wave slowly as she looks between the three gathered before her. "But, yes. Feel free to just call me Cecily. I... really don't like titles, if I can help it..."

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    "I haven't met you, no, I've been quarantined until recently." Lolita says easily at that, clasping her hands behind her back as she bounces on her toes slightly as she responds to Dane, then smiles at Jane. "Well so far. The new dress code is a bit different for me, but it's much nicer to be serving a purpose than sitting in the recreational lounge all day." she admits freely. "Feel free to call me what you wish...Goth, Lolita, Lol, or Wednesday have been popular so far. The last was from Agent Morse." she adds, her tone dry. She nods to Cecily, her eyes flicking to the ears for a moment. "Not a lot yet that are purely trainees, just the two of us possibly? Agent Whitman here and Tampambulos are Probies, so they outrank us."

Dane Whitman has posed:
"Well, you can just call me Dane because "Probie" sounds like somebody that's had a traumatic experience with little green men." Dane notes to Cecily and Gothic Lolita, "But I can't stick around, I'm afraid. Still technically on duty." He smiles, "Nice meeting you Cecily, Lolita. I'll probably be seeing you around." He grins at Jane and notes, "And I suspect I'll be seeing you later as well." And with a wave, it's his turn to head for the elevator that Gothic Lolita so recently vacated.