5142/Yoohoo, Where's Lady Jane

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Yoohoo, Where's Lady Jane
Date of Scene: 12 February 2021
Location: Medical Ward: Triskelion
Synopsis: Thor finds things are problematic on Midgard with regards to a complication. Jemma wishes she had answers. Jane makes a lovely corpse.
Cast of Characters: Jane Foster, Jemma Simmons, Thor

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane Foster may have the most enviable of blessings present in the world. Women spend thousands on elixirs, lotions, and cosmetics to preserve their beauty. They throw themselves into horrific exercise and dieting regimes to melt off the weight and keep it off, holding themselves up to an impossible standard. Countless dollars spent on going under the knife, in front of a laser, or more dubious methods to halt the ravages of age are all for a waste. Just fall over dead and the problem solves itself.

Dead in /some/ respects, anyway.

The basic technicality that the mortal shell remains at base functioning with assistance from Jemma Simmons' fancy medical equipment ought not to matter very much. In this sense is the Nobel-winning astrophysicist out to win one for biology, too... or possibly literature? Because nothing has changed in days since she arrived here on an emerald byre, save likely the Asgardian tunic and skirt wrapped around her. Presumably. Breathing follows a shallow pattern. The thrilling lack of any brain activity beyond the uttermost minimum for the body to function means no aging, no wrinkles, no pesky bloated days or skinny jeans being mean days. Her heart beats, regular if slow, and for all intents and purposes, she could be a forgotten effigy of herself left around here for nefarious testing purposes. LMD hanging around by accident? Maybe new projection technology?

Either way, it's an easy gig. Just make sure the dust isn't collecting, the IVs keep feeding her, and fleeting immortality is on its way.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Not that Jemma has any intentions on just letting Jane lie there, immortality or no.

The biochemist and doctor has been doing her damnest to try to revive her friend and compatriot. Even *shudder* entertaining mystical and magical avenues in addition to tried and true scientific method. The discovery of Jane's golden bauble upon her wrist being more than just a rather tight-fitting trinket even lead Jemma on a merry little chase, tracking down the unique energy signal it gives off. Which, after a trek through a hospital emergency room, still got Jemma no closer to figuring out what is amiss.

As far as Jemma can tell, Jane is simply not at home. The body is running, everything is working as it should be. There is just no spark of life....no soul. Yet...that is not going to stop the good doctor.

Jemma checks on Jane's mortal shell, making sure everything is on the level. Of course it is. There is absolutely no change. This elicits a sigh. A British voice breaks the silence. "What in the world are we going to do here now, Jane? I am running out of ideas." Yes, talking to a living corpse always helps the thinking process.

Thor has posed:
With his new status as a part of SHIELD, via being recruited as the muscle for their anti-Doppelganger ARMOR division, Thor has gotten something new: relatively free access to the Triskelion. Not that Midgard's best security is necessarily a consideration if he decides he really wants to be somewhere, but knocking with the hammer is something he generally avoids these days, and specifically not something he would consider attempting with his allies in SHIELD.

But when he was told that he now had access to the building, it jogged loose a memory: Dr. Foster was doing some kind of consulting work for SHIELD, wasn't she? Perhaps her allies here might be able to shed some light in his attempts to figure out where she has disappeared to. This is a job for the very best of Asgardian diplomacy.

Three loud slams sound from the hallway, just adjacent to the med lab, then a booming voice resounds at a volume unheard of in the sober halls of the intelligence agency. "Hail, Agents of SHIELD! It is I, Thor, Son of Odin! I was wondering if --- ah, you are engaged in primitive sciences! Some kind of electrically powered weaponry? Allow me to assist!" There's a deafening burst of thunder and the power flickers wildly in this entire wing.

There's a moment of silence, then a sort of general uproar. The same voice rises: "With that, your attacks should be greatly... oh. There appear to be some... deficiencies in this design. I assure you, I---" A crowd of agents rush past the door, and then there's the general cacophony of a confrontation next door.

Jane Foster has posed:
Knocking on a door with Mjolnir is a fantastic way to ensure no more door. Possibly no frame, either, and a good portion of the wall absent. It might cause Nick Fury headaches on more than one level to discover an Asgardian knocking down the foundation piers of the Triskelion, and possibly to resort to extreme measures. Like mead. Or bombs. Or mead bombs.

Has anyone considered those? Time to launch Project: Honeymoon.

In fairness, Thor isn't wrong. After his abandonment of Midgard, it's not like SHIELD failed to show up and utter demands of Jane. Or wrap her into the organization without a great deal of choice in the matter. A simple inquiry can link her to the Hayden Planetarium, but another line of business can affirm she is in fact somewhere in their organization. Proof positive in that she's on a slab here.

Somewhere, Darcy Lewis really is frowny facing over her cup of coffee and jerking to awareness when one of those many sensors throws a reading. It might not be a /useful/ reading for anyone including Jemma, but it amounts to something. She dares to check her email... and nothing. Again. Okay, it's been 8 minutes, but there should be something.

All as Jemma's peace of mind and sanctuary are ignored, shattered in pieces.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
What perfect timing. A little cacophony of chaos ensuing right next door. With a sigh, Jemma stands up to approach the door, poking her head out to see just what the bloody hell is going on. In doing so, she misses whatever one of the multitude of sensors registering anything other than the usual flatness of the past couple of days.

There are two things that SHIELD agents learn of Jemma when they come to the Trisk. One, she is a real gem (pun not intended) almost all the time. She simply does not seem to have a negative bone in her body. However, it is the second point that frighten others. That second point? Do not stand in the way between Jemma and helping who she deems her friends...especially if it is a medical matter. She takes no nonsense from people, including her own patients that think they can circumvent Jemma's tender and very thorough care.

What does this mean for whoever is outside her door? Probably (definitely) a very stern look and reprimand.

Or, rather, it would be, if it wasn't for the fact that she recognizes the God of Thunder when she sees him, which shocks her...and all of her vim and vigour is momentarily forgotten. It is plainly evident as Jemma exclaims "What in the bloody hell is going..." As the eyes lay upon the Asgardian, Jemma's tone shifts. "Ooooh...I, yes. I...hello?" How do you address a god? Sir doesn't seem to cut it. What is the proper protocol?

Jemma just stands, silent, with her head out the door. Then, finally, she finds her voice. "I certainly don't mean to be rude, but could you please keep it down out here? I am performing some delicate work in here and would appreciate the consideration." So much for that righteous anger!

Thor has posed:
Thor is in the middle of being muscled out of the R&D labs, by a quartet of SHIELD onsite security officers who are /really/ not getting paid enough for this nonsense. One is in front of him, arms wrapped around his midsection like an offensive lineman, shoving him, shoes sliding across the floor. A pair behind have got him by one biceps and are dragging him entranceward like a recalcitrant armoire. The last is dangling from an Asgardian forearm by his fingers as Thor gestures grandly.

"Friends, this is unnecessary!" the Avenger assures them in a tone that is intended as gregarious and is likely coming off as unhinged. "I only wish to offer what assistance I can, and perhaps ask a favor in return. I did not realize these devices' energy capacity was so limited, but surely with this new information you can improve their construction!"

As Simmons comes into view, Thor turns to face her, sending all of the agents clinging to him whirling at an angle like the blades on a grass skirt. "Please, dear maiden, explain to these noble Midgardians that they can stop this needless fuss. I was simply hoping someone here might have news of Dr. Jane Foster. I have heard she worked closely with some of the people here."

Jane Foster has posed:
Things might be worse. A few of those agents probably need therapy after having their work surge and spit at the command of that guy related to the other guy half the agency came out to beat down in 2018. Someone will need to clean up afterward and no one in security or SysOps wants to be the ones to deal with that. Straws are drawn. Holidays are bartered.

A phone is ringing from switchboard that no one is answering, either. So much better to review the excitement onscreen!

"Uh... Shi--"
(In Manhattan)

Several miles south in New York, one very irritated astrophysicist flings her hands up in the air and points at a weary intern pushing around a model of Titan. "You! Give me your phone. I need you to dial this number: 212-384-1000. Got it? What! Stop looking at me like that!" Darcy waves her hand. "C'mon, just do it. I'm getting readings off this, okay, and someone needs to know. Dana, are you still there? Go email this screenshot to... um... like everyone in Jane's red favourites folder. Seriously, where is the guy with the pegasus? Or that woman who shakes things?"

"Is that the lady with the cat pictures?"

Darcy throws her hands up. "Yes?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Oh....Thor is asking for Jane. This might get awkward. There is a momentary hesitation that is evident with Jemma, as her mind races to consider how to answer. And...it settles for the truth. At least, part of it. "I...work with Jane. I am Dr. Jemma Simmons. I do have information that may prove useful for you...just as you may be able to assist me."

Another pause, then a bit of that mother bear demeanor bleeds through. "I do ask that you refrain from overloading the energy grid. You will see more clearly when you come in." Oh so mysterious, but the look on Jemma's face? She means business, most definitely.

And, with that, Jemma slides from view, though she does leave the door open for the Son of Odin to enter. At almost the same time, there is a soft chime signaling an email arriving in Jemma's inbox. Though, for the moment, she does not read it, yet. Truly, if it isn't marked with big red letters saying urgent, chances are that Jemma isn't going to see it immediately. After all, now she has to think on how to tell a supremely powerful god that his former paramour is living...but not.

Thor has posed:
After Simmons leaves the hallway and Thor moves to follow, the dangling site security agent decides he's had enough and lets go. He drops to the deck right in the entrance to the medical ward, whips out a taser, and shoots the wires directly into Thor's chest from about two feet away. The thunder god looks down at the clacking contacts in bafflement, then back up at the guard. "Mid-guardians," he repeats, more slowly, wearing just a little bit of a pout. "Because you are guards? That was disarming humor."

He tilts to the side to peer over the man's shoulder at Simmons, and says, "I can assure you that I had no intention of causing you any difficulties. I will not call any more lightning."

After returning to an upright posture, he sighs at the guard, picks him up by the upper arms, and turns to place him back in the hallway. "Excuse me," he says with an extremely friendly grin. He grabs the taser wires and pulls them out of his chestplate, then tosses them underhand, back to the man who shot them at him. "You dropped these." As he turns to enter the lab, the guard drops, jerking, to the floor. "Dr. Simmons, I would be happy to--"

He catches his first glimpse of the young doctor's patient, and his breath catches in his throat. For a second, it's quite visible that he's regretting not coming here weeks  ago, hammer first.

Jane Foster has posed:
A woman asleep differs greatly from one in a medically-induced coma, and a difference from that fundamentally from someone who isn't there, vacating the building. The former moves beyond the mechanical lift and fall of the chest. Fingers curl. Lashes flutter. Lips move. Brain patterns still follow some course of activity with the middle, though the subtler tells of reaction are often known only to monitors peering into the inner, private world otherwise unknown: sparking synapsis and jolted lines vibrating with the slowed brain's attempts to make sense of its environment and altered perceptions.

The latter might be worse. It's empty and riddled by regularity, the heartbeat unchanging, the breathing rate metronomic, the oxygen levels in the blood mildly satisfactory. Any other variations come from accelerants via drugs, not the hollow shell. Pallid lips never move, not even in a smile. It's not one of the great romances of the ancient world or the modern where those dark eyes open and turn instinctively to the fury of the sun. Lambent incandescence applies not at all, the translucent skin with its wealth of blue veins speaking to a lacking vitality. A certain /something/ gone.

If they dealt with the Egyptian Ennead, then perhaps it's fair to say that Jane's ka and ba currently wandered off, one on the wing to eternal lands and the other circling around those beloved to her. Except no feathered soul brushes invisible plumes across the back of Jemma's hand, nor alights briefly before a god of thunder to behold what still can steal her breath even in a breathless environment. A lovely sentiment, but it's a lie.

Any traces of the foul action that felled her were healed, gone. The healer's puissance is rival, in its way, to Jemma's scientific accomplishments. Sleeping Favourably, if not beauty, has no answers to give from a restless sleep broken. Just the dull gleam of gold, the forest-green attire if not replaced by scrubs or a giant JEMMA IS THE BEST t-shirt.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Yes. There really is no need for Jemma to indicate exactly who is her charge in this room....why she was so livid before the sight of the Asgardian took the wind out of her sails. She's been tending to Jane, in her oh-so-stylish attire of Asgardian chic, dressed exactly the same as she was when Amora dropped her off. And yes....there really has been no change in her vitals from the moment that Jemma started recording them. The expression that Jemma possesses at the moment is one of grave concern and fear. Fear for her friend. It is apparent that Jemma has been here frequently....and is beating herself up for not finding answers.

Oh, but then Jemma sees just how affected Thor is, and all that hurt and fear is shoved aside. Years of medical training kick in, as the concerned friend persona is put away and Jemma adopts the role of medical doctor. "As you can see, she is in stable condition, at least physically. However, her essence. Her spirit, if you will. It is simply not there. She is not brain-dead by any means. Otherwise she would not be as stable as she is. I cannot explain it scientifically. Which...is why I have been entertaining other notions."

With that, Jemma turns to regard Thor, speaking plainly. "I feel that her spirit is detached, quite possibly roaming. I cannot explain it, but I feel I know where she might have been. I believe we have been able to track her spirit, but I cannot be certain, simply because we have not had any clear signs that Jane is even aware of our searching. Perhaps....perhaps you might be able to help. Since this may be mystical in nature...and I am no expert in that realm."

The tablet...Jemma's tablet...is sitting on a table, where Jemma has been spending her time. The tracking app is open, the app that she has not told Thor about yet...but the energy in the room is massive enough to essentially wash out any other readings. Another icon, a mail icon with a little red 1, indicates the number of unread emails.

Thor has posed:
Thor moves rapidly to Jane's bedside, standing beside her waist and leaning forward to put a hand to her shoulder and stare searchingly at her face. Especially with the red cape furled neatly behind him, he looks very much the iconic mythical prince, here to awaken the dormant princess with a kiss. Of course, he literally is a mythical prince, but Jane is an astrophysicist, and snogging unconscious women is simply not in his romantic repertoire.

He turns his gaze on Dr. Simmons, and an element of desperation enters his stormy blue eyes. "What can I do for her?" he asks. The thunder, pardon the expression, is gone from his voice. Almost unconsciously, his hand slips down to clutch Jane's, though it is bloodless and unresponsive. His brow creases, and he lifts her hand, staring at her bracelet in puzzlement. "What is...?" he starts to ask, but the runes are read easily enough, by an Asgardian, anyway. "Where did she get this?" he asks Simmons, with sudden urgency.

Jane Foster has posed:
Cool skin, not cold. Dry, not wet. The absence of any scars or mending injuries presents a strange and wholesome truth just as the finely crafted Asgardian clothing speaks its own lie. A very clear statement about someone who lacks the capacity to sing down the Bifrost. Who has no way to acquire these things outside the black market or some very complicated scientific manouevres that very possibly would irritate the All-Father. No one wants a wormhole opening in their back garden.

Snogging unconscious women might also earn him a spear-thunk to the back of the head, a glare from uru, and a British frown of disapproval from the very bright biochemist capable of disassembling things at an atomic level. With panache. And a big microscope.

Ping. Red 2 on a monitor.

The hand is pale and calloused; being a writer and active in fieldwork leaves Jane without the lily-white, pampered hands of, say, a vain enchantress. Thor's dwarfs it.

The static shock, on the other hand, is probably not a feature of a lack of moisturizing cream for all it's winter. Dull gold doesn't even shine mockingly at the god of thunder. See! Just gold like the most beloved of decorations found anywhere in the realm of Asgard, its sister realms of Vanaheim, Alfheim, and even dark, deep Nidavellir. Even the Crown Prince of the line of Bors has fancier trinkets.

Totally gold. Absolutely not something with a haunted echo, sharing muted resonance from deep in the heart of space, a cosmic storm like no other crackling in its own nebulous fugue.

Totally not a snake, either. Or is it?

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The last question is answered first. "I do not know." An honest answer. "She has had the bracelet for as long as I have known her." A beat, then Jemma continues. "I know that it is most likely Asgardian in origin. I know definitely that the bracelet has the same energy signature as your hammer. The exact same. It was this revelation that allowed me to be able to possibly track her essence. Well, at least I believe it to be, since I am rather confident that there should not be more than two of the same energy emissions in New York, yet I keep finding smaller pockets throughout the city. Agent Johnson and I actually traced a path through a hospital emergency room recently. I suspect that it is Jane's spirit, somehow infused with the energy from her bracelet, but I cannot be certain."

Then....the first question is considered. What can Thor do? Jemma sits down in a chair close to her tablet, as she calmly closes the tracking app. Much too much energy for it to work as intended anyways. "I....I don't know what you can do. Are you able to find spirits or determine what has happened? I fear I am treading in waters that I do not know how to navigate. "

Then...a moment as Jemma glances to a monitor, though the ping that just happened or the email that had arrived earlier are both causes for concern. Any change would be something that Jemma would notice...and an email from a known Jane associate? Yeah, even more cause for concern.

Thor has posed:
"I am not a sorcerer," Thor says grimly, still staring at the bracelet, turning it slowly around Jane's wrist to examine it in full. "And my dealings with such have not been pleasant, over the centuries. Perhaps my mother could..." But he is hardly certain, even of that. Frigga can be hard to read, and has not always been forthcoming with her opinions on his romantic entanglements. "If she wishes to help, she will. If not, I will not be able to persuade her."

Looking at Simmons with a penetrating gaze, he asks, "Has Dr. Foster ever shown you indications of possessing the powers of an Asgardian? The invocation on this bracelet should have bestowed upon her the powers of the Valkyrior."

Jane Foster has posed:
A nice, friendly email sits there. Scraped by SHIELD, of course, and its many fancy systems that probably have isolated three files, including the .mat file that insists MatLAB variations that Jane works off are totally not getting out of their box without some approval. Or making heads and tails of by analysts grumbling because their clearance has to fight against just understanding what the hell Jane's numbers, plotting, and details mean. They've had a few years to learn it, and still it doesn't always makes sense.

. . . . .

Darcy Lewis' findings regarding energy fluctuations observed around the Soteira Array in vicinity of Westchester, NY. Moderate deviations on installed monitoring observed through 9:43 p.m. through 10:29 p.m. Sustained effect unknown and location off-limits.

Please advise.

D. Lewis
Assistant to the Director
--The Hayden Planetarium, American Museum of Natural History--

Attached: 021121-ATHENArray-ReadingORX01858.xlsx, 021121-ATHENArray-Spectrumscan.png

( This attachment has been quarantined. Please observe protocol 581.05 and 119.11.3. Report any errors to SecOps with our new helpful intranet page! )

. . . . .

Another mild static shock dances across Thor's fingers. He pokes warm gold and warm gold behaves exactly like it should in all ways except the fundamentally important one. The bracelet can be wobbled on her arm. As a bangle goes, it's uniformly circular and slightly too small to fit over Jane's hand. And absolutely no amount of yanking is going to pull it off. Removing the arm presumably might. Nothing to see there.

No, totally no worry about hearing the hum of the most ancient of storms ever. One that's probably uncannily familiar.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The email hovers into view, the electronic words floating in the black abyss, the white lettering ghostlike. The words are read and possibly even understood. Possibly. But it is the question of Thor that snaps Jemma's attention back to him. The answer is not verbal....but still heard, as her look of shock is as clear as a bell. No, Jemma did not entertain that notion. Nor did she see any indication of Jane becoming a Valkyrie.

The words do come to the scientist. Tremulous and tender...spoken in half disbelief, but wanting so much for it to be true. "I....I did not witness Jane using any sort of power apart from her tenacity. Certainly nothing that would be considered on par with Asgardians. H...however, if my mythology is true, Valkyries are those that escort the spirit of warriors to the halls of Valhalla. And...if so...." Jemma's eyes grow wide as she starts tying threads together. "...then that would explain the energy detections at the local hospitals. Attracted to death, which would be certainly true for the emergency rooms."

As that mind of Jemma's works, the thoughts return back towards the email that Jemma read. The language of the email took a bit of time...but it finally clicked in her head. The email...."She's detected a dimensional anomaly...at the Triskelion." The attention quickly returns to the tablet and the email at hand. "Either a dimensional or energy anomaly...which makes perfect sense since Mjolnir and Jane's bracelet are in the same..." Eyes flit over towards Thor and Jane, so close..."...room....together."

Oh dear. Is the proximity of the two Asgardian relics together causing a rift big enough for Darcy to pick up?

Thor has posed:
Thor frowns at the bangle. "If only..." He does attempt to tug it off, gently, elaborating as he does so, "I know not of this anomaly, but the energy you are detecting is the God Tempest. It was trapped in a nugget of Uru metal by my father, Odin, ages ago." For someone who is generally considered pretty cool and even romantically desirable by the general public, Thor sure does name-drop his own dad a lot.

"That Uru was wrought into Mjolnir by the Dwarves of Nidavellir --- the only people with the skill to do so --- but this bracelet appears to be of the same stuff. It rings with the same power, but enchanted differently."

He finally looks up at Simmons directly. "You are wise, Dr. Simmons. If Jane's spirit is caught up in the power of the Valkyries, that would explain why you find traces of her near places where death comes."

He frowns back down at Undrjarn. "I have two thoughts. First: no distance or barrier in all the realms can keep me from Mjolnir if I will it to me. If Jane's spirit could call to this bracer, we might follow. But so long as it is bound to this body, I do not see how we could shift it. Second: I cannot believe that the Dwarves would have hidden Uru from my father and forged another weapon, but only they could have done so. I should speak with them as soon as I am able. Perhaps they can shed some light on the matter."

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane's wrist isn't particularly large, nor is she a fine-boned waif snapped like matchsticks. In a toe-to-toe fight, there is zero question on the outcome. She's not supernaturally strong or endowed by some inchoate prowess that laughs in the face of Captain America's records benchpressing things.

The bracelet defies everything short of gravity, since deciding to stubbornly stay put on the floor would be a bit inconvenient for its host body. Lying facedown or crumpled in a heap with an anchor? While hilarious in games of Skyfathers, and facepalm worthy for Heimdall up there, it serves very little other purpose.

It's not crackling with an amused laugh at -all-. But if a certain hammer is hanging about, they're speaking in the same thunderous ripple of presence. The same enormous weight distorting space time, bluff good humours, or trouble. Are hammers yappy? Bracelets might have circular logic. For every problem, a nail.

Incidentally, trying to call the bracelet has an interesting effect in that it does absolutely zilch except earn a twinkle. Maybe another zap.

Jane has no answer, of course. Because, countless miles away, a dark elf is staring down a whole /heap/ of trouble and cursing out Odin in the foulest tongue imaginable, trying to understand why he's just punched himself in the face.