6417/The One Where It Happened

The One Where It Happened
Date of Scene:	02 June 2021
Location:	Vault C - Playground
Synopsis:	Daisy and Jemma poke a relic. Loki swings by at the disruption to be old man yelling at clouds. Or, you know, disir.
Cast of Characters:	Jemma Simmons, Daisy Johnson, Jane Foster, Loki
Tinyplot:	1000 Faces of Death

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Jemma Simmons has posed:
As important as it would be to pull stranded agents out of a virtual hellscape that they have no idea is not real, there are other things that are just as important to attend to.

At least, for Jemma.

And Jane Foster is one of those.

Just before the evacuation of the Triskelion, when it was all too apparent that evacuation was inevitable, the scientist had put in a request. To move a certain bio-pod from the medical wing to a secured, secret storage. Also, with that request (an order, really, with the way it was worded) it was stated that under no circumstances should anyone other than Jemma actually open said pod, but to maintain functionality, above all else. That pod was stored in the classified items vault, nestled into a corner. The equipment appeared older, but functional. If anyone other than a certain astrophysicist, a genius engineer, Jemma, or anyone with extremely high level access from the 80's would have seen it, it would have looked almost too old to really be worth saving. But....for those select few, it would be immediately recognizable.

It is a cryo-tube. The same sort that once housed former director Peggy Carter. This one houses the still living form of Jane Foster. And Jemma has come to visit.

"Now, Daisy, try not to be too surprised when you see this. I needed a method to transport Jane to the Playground without too many inquiries. I was able to procure a suitable transfer method that would not arouse suspicion, but also allow to maintain a sort of stasis for Jane." Meaning...she basically is pulling a Steve Rogers on poor Jane. But, at least Jemma ensured the cryo-tube worked first. Upon approaching the corner, Jemma starts the process to open the portable chamber. Considerably faster than before....the biochemist did add some improvements to the process.

The lid opens, revealing the prone form of Jane. Jemma's voice cuts in as she continues to monitor the cryo-tube. "It is not my most preferred method of keeping Jane alive, but it was the one with the least amount of questioning. I didn't tell anyone. I...thought you should know."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Most of Daisy's focus has been on those stranded inside the Framework. Part of her family. But even she knows that too much time around the same issue without taking her mind out, or even focusing on other problems, means the brain will remain on that same hamster wheel without finding a solution.

So when Jemma told her to go over to the Playground for a 'surprise' Daisy took it by immediately making her way over. And of course that she arrives practicing her voice while looking at the screen of her phone. Maybe the beginnings of Skye Starr in the real world? She only needs the diva temper now. But Jemma already knows she has a plan for a concert ... And it needs to look good...

Yet that training stops when she takes note of the cryo tube. Well, hello there. She arches a brow at Jemma. "Please don't tell me you captured the fake Jemms and got her in there.." it's where her mind goes first but then she sees her friend in there, blinking with some surprise. "Ahah, I knew you would had found a way to transport her, just wasn't sure on the *how*." a grin and she approaches the pod, "Heya Jane." she says in a conversationalist tone with the astrophysicist, smiling wistfully and placing one hand on the glass.

"Any news about her?" She asks, glancing over her shoulder at Jemma. "You did mention hearing her voice when .., it happened, don't you?" with 'it' being when Jemma was shot.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane Foster is, for all intents and purposes, AWOL. Darcy can only cover for so long, though the 'temporary absence' from the Hayden Planetarium is nearly half a year long by this point. Not easy to deal with the fact SHIELD fell, and the coverage that might be leveraged on that front is simply *gone*.

Though certainly having a hundred witnesses to her vanishing act in Scotland on the shores of Orkney most definitely seals the missing persons' case, though it's a question if she will have her job or her apartment or really anything. Death is a funny act. Truly dead, signed and sealed, terminates all those processes that make someone a legal entity. Suspension in the state of limbo, however, brings everything grinding to a halt.

The US system unfortunately has protocols for that. For MIA members of the military foremost, and the slow, winding process to get someone declared anything //in absentia// takes a harrowing, long time in the courts. Especially with one exhausted, frustrated scientist on the other end pulling back legally with a decreasing pool of funds. And so it is, almost everywhere that counts, proof that Jane Foster is missing. Absent. Gone, lost like people all over the country just close up shop and fall off the radar.

Of course, there's that little note about Genosha in her files. One of the non-mutant survivors of the fall of the island nation and the death of how many mutants, thanks to Brainiac. A footnote, traipsing through space and time, wherever Thor and Loki choose to tread in short order.

Under glass, though, the body of said woman hasn't changed in time except to thin out with the lack of activity and nutrients or chasing after problems spurred by Superman and others. If a beefcake Captain America or Peggy Rogers, voluptuous esquire, can sleep in an old pod, and barely know the effects, so can she.

Besides, there's another factor at play that neither super serum or failed infinity formula variations can really account for.

Like the metaphysical root of Yggdrasil slammed through her in some fashion. All that to say: Zzzzz. Jane sleeps.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The opening cycle takes a little longer than Jemma would have liked. There is the fact that Jemma's arm is still in a sling. Though, it is a less restrictive one than before. She is healing, albeit with a little assistance that only Jemma Simmons could manage, but, even so, the left arm is not in use today. As the cycle winds down, the hissing of air fills the corner as the seals break, allowing the glass to tip open.

It is only once the glass tips open, to allow Jemma to actually examine Jane without any barriers between the two, that Jemma actually answers the question from Daisy. "That is why we are here. To see if there is anything new." A pause, as Jemma looks down, towards her shoulder, before those brown eyes flicker over towards Daisy. "I did hear her. Advising on the methods I took to save myself. Though, honestly, I do sense she was there mostly to escort me, well, beyond....and was merely waiting for that to happen. As much against her will as my own. If it was not for your prompt arrival..."

The words trail off. Silence looms to a point just before being uncomfortable before Jemma cuts back in. "However, enough of that. We are here to see if there has been any change. Or, even if there will be any change. I certainly hope there is any improvement, but we must be sensible about these things."

Right...sensible? Jemma was the one keeping Jane's body alive for the last six months. In other eyes, that would not be considered 'sensible' at all. Fortunately, Jemma begged to differ.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy takes a step back, folding her arms as the protective glass opens up and they have access to Jane for the examination. Not that Daisy is the best where it comes to medical exams, to the the exception of using her powers. Which she does, taking in a breath, concentrating and letting her awareness wander off to seek out Jane's body, the vibrations. Lungs and heart, taking in the rhythm.

"They sound like her usual." Or more like her signature. Something Daisy could do to those she knew better! A look back to Jemms, mouth jerking to the side as if she wasn't too certain about changes to be coming their way. But eventually she smiles and moves a bit closer to the other side of the pod. "Do you think she may be a captive somewhere? By one of their .., Gods maybe?" a frown. "You know, maybe we let that Thor too easily off the hook." a look up at Jemms. "We should go up to their embassy and knock on the door or to the Avengers mansion. I have my connections with them..., we both do."

Yea, time to intimidate the God of Thunder for some answers?

Jane Foster has posed:
SHIELD is not the land of sensible. Not when WAND peers into ruins of ancient times, and SWORD looked up at the stars in its private spaces of wonder. Not after people have transited time and space so readily, with no apparent fault or harm done. Keeping someone in cold storage who isn't a great hero or agent worth risking the power for, that might be argued, but they waste more in the canteen.

Broken seals -- that Jane punched open, no less, at one point -- give way with a sigh. As far as water cooler talk goes,, this has to be pretty dull. Fallen Fury, the remaining Furiae having hot cocoa or biscuits stolen from a storage closet, hardly the indication of things going very well, now is it? There's no horse on the ceiling, no long-faced knight with a deadly sword at his beck and call asking "No, seriously, have you tried the sequencing gene thing again?" It's a strange, quiet world they occupy full of whispers and halted truths. The clothes are the same; the heartbeat the same; the pulse sluggish but stable at the utmost basic level needed to maintain a person at all. If the ice hasn't swallowed that up. If the frost hasn't ground down all bodily functions to nothing and left her blue-lipped, peaceful, in a sleep that is no sleep at all but a refuge of nightmares beyond telling. No horrified pounding at the glass. No angry cursing, no alarms.

The writing is in the cold, still water, an Arctic glass-smooth sea, giving them nothing.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
A sigh escapes from Jemma's throat. "You're right. These are the usual vitals. Alive..but just not home." Her head hangs, her face obscured by the long strands of her brown hair. There is almost a need, for Jemma to just pound on the cryo-tube. To vent her frustration. A need to almost shout to the heavens as to why. Why is this happening? Which logically leads to what. What can Jemma do to resolve this? And both questions, unspoken as they are, receive the same response.

Nothing

Instead of the pounding, Jemma resorts to a more cerebral response. "I sincerely doubt that literal gods would care to respond to us. I do believe they humour us because we are friends with Jane. Remove that tenuous connection and there is nothing that would beholden Thor or his kind to us." The head lifts up, the hand brushing aside the hair so that Jemma can talk to Daisy freely. "Besides, Thor seemed just as much of a loss as we did. He does not know what is happening. If it was something that a god was doing, it would need to be one greater than him in order for him to not know about it, I would imagine."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"I thought he boasted about being the greatest God of all.." Daisy murmurs, quirking a brow up at it but then lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "What other avenues do we got? Maybe someone in the mystical arts? There's Strange, or Wanda, even Constantine." her arms opening to the side. "And yes, I know you'd prefer us to do this through a scientific method. But what's happening to Jane is something not of this world." more of the dead world!

Daisy makes her way back to be closer to the pod, watching Jane more closely, eyes then setting on that blasted bracelet. "It must be that thing's fault." she says with a frown.

"Keeping her in that state, or having her imprisoned somewhere. I could try to quake it out too." She sets her jaw down, considering it, but it's not as if she will try something so drastic without Jemma's say-so. But then again they are reaching desperate-status mode. And maybe Daisy is frustrated in her own way without that much of a cerebral response to offer besides a more .., aggressive one.

Jane Foster has posed:
Clearly That Thor (TM) is to blame. Maybe Loki. Everyone knows what he did on the cusp of New York, ascendant and furious, trying to take down the city for his own beginnings of an empire. Never trust that dude; Nick Fury could've lost an eye to him! No one wisely trusts aliens, really.

The greatest god of all makes many claims, but he's not offered much hope. Certainly he isn't here, but gallivanting somewhere in the public limelight of the Avengers. Neither is there John Constantine with his luckless ways, talking to the damnation and the doom of a woman lost to the paths of life and death.

The 'blasted' bracelet is as inert as it gets. Gold, mired in ice if the frost is heavy. Doing exactly nothing but being gold, taunting Daisy by going O at her.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Sure, Daisy. Let us just call up Doctor Strange. Ask him for his medical opinion and just casually slip in there that we believe that Jane's essence is being held by what we believe is some sort of Asgardian god with a crush on her and ask really nicely to set her free." The sarcasm is there, but with a half smile. Jemma is somewhat speaking in jest. "I am positive he wouldn't look at us like we grew an extra head and tell us we have lost our senses. Even if he is a supposed sorcerer." Oh, there it is. Jemma's distain for the non-scientific phenomena lumped in as 'magic'. "Still, it is an idea. Though, I certainly would not know what to say to him. You may have to go without me, if we end up going that route."

Well, at least Jemma seems somewhat open to the idea. Still, she is not happy. A fingertip reaches down, tapping on that infernal bracelet. The warmth of the finger leaves a small spot of frost-free gold, as the rest of the bracelet slowly saps in the ambient temperature of the room. "I really didn't get a chance to talk to her, you know. I heard her. Or, at least, I thought I did. It could have been a hallucination brought on by the loss of blood. Really, I am not sure." With that, the look of hope that was once there deflates, leaving Jemma as the weight of the situation finally just claims her. "I really have no answers for this. I wish I did. There is nothing I can do. And...it frightens me."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Mmmhmmm..." Daisy replies, then nods as Jemma goes about asking Strange to be here. He's a contact to SHIELD after all! "Yes, right. Do you see how good the plan is?" then she getting the sarcasm. A bit of a narrow of her eyes and then she lets out a sigh, hands moving to rest on her hips, "I think he's more of a wizard than a sorcerer." she eventually speaks up. "Because he studies his magic, it's not just natural flinging. At least if we go by DND rules." there Daisy goes. Nerding out. Details that in some circles he is called the Sorcerer Supreme.

Amateurs! There should be differences between wizards and sorcerers!

"That bracer is looking at me funny..." She eventually changing the subject, eyeing that damn golden thing but eventually her gaze is torn away from it to look at Jemma. A slow nod. "No, I don't think you hallucinated. I have told you I saw her too right? Up in the skies during a plane hijack. She was talking to a dying person too."

A pause and she shakes her head at Jemms. "There is always something we can do, even if it may be asking for help."

Jane Foster has posed:
Stephen Strange, bound to stare cross-eyed at a scientist and an Inhuman agent on his doorstep? They must have little faith. On the other hand, considering that Jane's been around that Ebony Blade, who is to say it didn't snickersnack her finally? Has anyone asked Eowyn, her dog, where she might be? Or looked for Eowyn?

Fear not, reader. No puppers were harmed in the crafting of this story, only the story itself. Puppers is safely in the arms of Darcy Lewis, and eating a hole through her dwindled budget for snack foods. It all balances.

There should be some kind of way to tell apart Strange from Constantine and Wanda or that warlock guy in space, and it should well be defined as a pointy hat. Clearly the solution is a _hat_. Or hand waving around. Nerdery is a point of success here. Maybe shaking her alive, possibly. Jane is silent on that front and the bracelet doesn't have any opinions, because duh, gold bracelet. It's totally gold. Shiiiiiny gold. At least she doesn't seem to be bothered any in that inert state, no wrinkles, eyes sunken and lightly bruised, but that hasn't changed since Amora dragged her in and she wouldn't wake up.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Another sigh escapes into the void. Jemma is certainly frustrated. "Look, we really have no idea what is going on here. And, honestly, I don't think we would want to bring in outside influences. Even if they are sorcerers." Jemma turns towards Daisy. "Because wizards have hats. Well, at least in Middle-earth." Leave it to Jemma to pull in the Tolkien reference. Another glance is cast towards the bracelet as a frown forms. "Well....we also know that bracelet is seriously powerful. Perhaps, though, if we did some sort of scan to it, we can divine something more from it?"

A shift to Daisy. "Your ability. I heard about the bowl incident. Did that happen because you was matching the harmonics of it? What would happen if you attempted to do that with the bracelet?" It was all grasping at straws now, and it shows. Jemma is entertaining all sorts of improbable theories. "Maybe we get Thor in here and strike it with his hammer? I mean, they are identical energy signatures. Maybe that will do something?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"We have *some* idea." Daisy replies back to Jemma. "We know it's related to the dead, and that it may very well be connected to the valkyries, and what their purpose was. Talking with the dead, harvesting souls?" she looks at the bracer again. "There are clear Asgardian influences here. And lets not forget she was brought in by an Asgardian sorceress too."

She makes her way around the pod to be closer to where the bracer is, resting fingers on it, thoughtful. "Your idea though .. I could try it. Harmonizing with it. I have been learning that my powers aren't simply to vibrate things after all."

"We could try having Thor here and hit it, yes. If this doesn't work." Did Daisy think it would work? A very long shot, but might as well try something.

So she focuses, closes her eyes and lets her senses wander, feeling the material of the bracelet, subtle vibrations going out, a few pings to test as she attempts to understand the bracelet, the metal, resonating with it, a soft WOOOM heard on the room while she continues her focus..

Jane Foster has posed:
Thor might be very interested about smashing and bashing. He might be very interested indeed, followed by his horrified brother coming to yell about badly designed plans and plots.

The pod holds the empty husk, and the bracelet isn't at all privy to what they're up to. It knows nothing of their plans. Or _does_ it? Lurking, hovering, on the edge of reason is something akin to a smart, plucky little shine that's not up to anything at _all_.

No angels contemplate the fate of mortals here. The pings off the metal from the tremor queen markedly ring back as gold, a dense, consistently presence where atoms cluster together nicely. It might be convinced to ring a little even, harmonics of shaking it producing a pretty standard sound of metal being asked to purr like a prayer bowl. Naturally the room and the pod probably vibrate in turn, low and minor, unless someone gets frisky and decides to make a Dazzler concert.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
In this particular moment, Jemma has little control over what is happening. She did ask for Daisy to work her mojo on the bracelet, just to see what happens. And....so far, nothing seems to be happening. Which seems to be the rule for the day. There is a definite frown forming on her expression, as the room starts to hum as Daisy finds that frequency. It is unique, to be certain. However, it doesn't seem to be anything terribly special.

Yet.

"Keep on it, at least for a few moments longer." Why? Well....anything that is worth doing is worth doing longer than a few seconds. "Just...try not to set the vault on fire."

Yeah, Jemma heard of that, too.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Gold, is it? But there's that peculiar harmonics to it. Not just normal gold for sure. Daisy frowns while she focuses even she can't help but say as an aside to Jemma, "That was the bowl's fault, not mine." sure it was, Daisy. Sure it was. An exhale later and she lets her powers flow more openly and towards the bracer. To break it? Maybe she isn't trying it just yet, but she is trying *something*. And that is to tune up with the bracelet.

"The bracelet isn't just gold. There is more to it... I could try and break it but ..." what consequences would it have?

But then again, she may as well try something further than just harmonizing. Give back their Jane, damn it! So she unleashes out her power, the song of the universe she has been learning, the one that makes it all move. And so she does, trying to get the bracer to *move*, or react. But stay inert? It may have to do something more than that if it wants to stay on Jane's arm.

Jane Foster has posed:
The gold is gold. Totally gold.

It insists on being gold despite being made from something older than the heart of stars, forged on a very specific plane, and then embodying the Mother of Storms in all her grandiose wrath. A much nicer version of things, for that tempest toss'd monster isn't the one that brings down the crackling lightning of the Odinson at the drop of a hat.

Attuning herself to the frequency of that bangle where it might really start accelerating matters takes Daisy some time to achieve, seconds that dance around as the atoms keep singing in mournful, pure voices. But this isn't one little Tibetan prayer bowl struck by a hammer and then run in lazy circles. Around and round; the song of the universe *she* sings, in her grace and glory, isn't the same one that Undrjarn knows. Undrjarn's voice is that of the Mother and Maiden, screaming against the imbalance in their final aspect of the Crone. Or it's the baleful wail of the storm raging against the corruption it senses somewhere.

A longing push against an immovable force earns a sound.

Of thunder.

And where there's thunder, there is inevitably a pressure inversion blowing outward and lightning. It doesn't matter they are in a vault. That lots of metal happens to be around. An initial explosive crack rolls outward, followed by scouring waves of ozone that send ball lightning on brachiating forms every which way. It goes straight up through the ceiling, floors, rooftop, pounding a series of runes on her wrist and into the frost of the pod, the glass melting for an exploded knotted sigil pattern that's close enough to Celtic in design to be mistaken. Two burning leaves drop from nowhere, kindled by rot around their stems, the blighted edges purely on fire. Lightning-fire? Good enough.

Loki has posed:
Really, speak of the gods and they sometimes actually appear. Only, like gods, what one wishes is hardly ever what one receives. There's that 'need' and 'want' balance that they so fully believe in.

And sometimes they're just spiteful.

In a splash of light, though not quite as fancy as if travelling via the Heimdall express, a man appears. A lithe, well dressed in an obviously tailored suit man.. god. Dark hair is slicked back away from those piercing green eyes, the aristocratic looking visage, and as he takes a step forward, his accented words are concise, close-clipped,

"I've had just about enough of this."

Loki hadn't ever wanted Jane in the basement of such a pathetic organization such as this. Believe it or not, he too watches the news- SHIELD is 'no more', which is more than an amusement for him.

It's absolutely hilarious.

Ignoring the pair at 'bedside', Loki approaches, looks at Jane and sighs in that 'put upon' sound, asking the still form, "Are you worth it?

"Shall we go?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Well....

As Daisy seeks to 'speak' to Undrjarn...to try to get it to respond to, well, anything, the initial foray was certainly lackluster. But, as Daisy concentrates...and pushes, the thunder that rumbles is unexpected. Enough to get Jemma to sit up, her head up and alert.

Which, honestly, did nothing to prepare the scientist for spheres of blinding bright electricity that somehow do not strike Jemma directly, but the shockwave sure as hell knocks her on her rear. The arms...both of them...fly up in an effort of self protection that will most assuredly send agonizing pain shooting through that still healing joint of hers.

And then *he* arrives.

And Jemma finds she is at a loss for words. After all, what the hell does one say to a god that could snuff one's life like a weak candle flame?

Daisy Johnson has posed:
There it is. Daisy can *feel* something..., another voice in there. Alien for sure but then .., thunder? That was not expected. And nor was the lightning that comes after. It makes her take a step back, easing on the vibrations she was focused on. No fire this time, but lightning... It's an improvement. And like with the bowl it was definitely not her fault. She will blame the bracer for it. Yes.

She is stepping back from the maelstrom of energy until she spots the approaching figure. "How the hell..." she frowns deeply at the man, turning sideways into a protective posture, between Jemma and Jane and just enough to be challenging Loki's 'claim'.

"She isn't going anywhere with the likes of you. You Asgardians already stole her once.." And without results! Yet with all the 'thunder' going on she has to focus on keeping damage to a minimum so her attention leaves Loki a moment and she raises her arms to keep a shield to protect the integrity of the room from further destruction. Hopefully!

Eventually she does ask. "What is going on here?"

Jane Foster has posed:
You slap him first, that's really the best reaction. But being unable to do this, the second best option is an angry bracelet rung in searing, blazing Asgardian runes engraved in light.

Worthy. Life. Death.

Bit of a pretentious git of a relic, isn't it? But so often they are, opinionated and rough. Loki's statements hardly positions him to be much appreciated by the vibrating storm, and it pulses in a swirling orb of light wrapped around that poor, abused pod that has valiantly done its work. It is a very good boy, the pupper of pods.

A burning light that still sings with the furious glories and swooning elegies of an age. Its angry harmonics are audible enough to Jemma and especially Daisy. To Loki, the raw magic roaring around has all the effect of a mother bear in front of a cub, a cat lashing its tail, a glorious mother defending her child. Might have shards of Mother's energy to it, in some slant way.

<<Oh, have you?>> sings the storm, to none, to all, to its sister riding around with a shortened handle in a prince's hand. Well, he got the short end of the... never mind. Old joke.

Then there is Jane herself, pale and prostrate, perfectly unscorched or frozen. When or if Loki touches her, and it takes nothing more than a brush, the world falls apart. Walls crash, black rock before them all stretching through a collision of places. One terraced field of nodding flowers in odd white clusters sweeps far in undulating waves, while nearer at hand a glassy river with a harsh current abruptly finds its opposite bank a welter of stones rising up in colourful steps, strewn in bright frescoes and the occasional sacrificial skull. Quite a lot of those, actually. Smoke rises from another space, one that's nearly as dark and wild, broken canopic jars thrown and scattered over sands being turned increasingly red or charred from the vents broken open. A soupy swirl of mists in one place; in another... ice. A lot of ice, and the occasional fingernail clipping, all of it patched together under sullen lack of sky. The roof of the world is the ceiling of the vault, but likewise made of cruel, twisted stone.

It's rather macabre in every way. A ferry man -- The Ferryman -- stands upon a boat in the middle of that river at a distance, and beyond him rests a dark-eyed hound, enormous and harsh, lurking on a rock. Fat, large crows with bloody beaks circle around and around in the dim light.

And everywhere among trappings of power, cowering ghosts. Wandering haunts. Souls suffering to the pyramid's shadow or feasting in glorious displays among bottles of rum and spilled fruit. This is death, but death is all wrong.

Loki has posed:
Loki does use the maelstrom to advantage, making it look all the world as if it heralds his appearance. He can feel the magicks whipping about him, and it's all he can do to keep that inscrutable expression upon his face; the one that makes him look bored to all that goes on around him, as if he cares not.

After all, why should he? This.. this is a mortal that is somehow bound to Asgard, and so bound to //his// Realm, he is forced to act. Reluctant, however. Every step closer he comes, he approaches with that sense of foreboding.

Is it worth it?

If he doesn't act, what will be the result? Will it in any way benefit him? All these questions, and more, has been roiling around in the Prince's head. The magic wielder that has no little ability with a side order of notariety.

The magic whips around him, both marking him as 'its own' and as 'stranger'. Lavaeteinn tingles there at his side, and finally his attention shifts, albeit briefly, to those mortals within the room.

In tones that sound as if he's reluctant but deigns to speak, he says simply, "She is not your problem. She's ours." The royal 'we'.

Loki steps forward one more step to stand beside the supine form, the essence of magic so thick, he could probably cut it with said runed-dagger.

Loki does touch Jane; ready to carry the stricked figure from her spot and off to somewhere where he can work uninterrupted. "Besides, obviously you can-"

Whatever else he was going to say is pulled from his lungs as the entire world shifts from beneath his feet. Great shocks of magic crack, which is extremely disorienting, even for him. He didn't take her prostrated form which allows, of course, for him to fall on the shifted ground, having lost his footing for the unanticipated shift. He looks up from the ground, his clothing having changed from the Midgardian finely tailored suit to his green and gold leathers. Soon enough, he pushes himself up and off the ground, brushing himself off, his expression grave.

"Well, it appears as if the decision has been made."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"She is not a problem." Daisy says in a firm tone back at the Asgardian. Gods they may be who can snuff out people's lives as if they were fickle flames. But Hell will freeze over before Daisy just lets *anyone* take Jane away. Impulsive as she is sometimes. Well .., not only sometimes.

So Loki goes and touches her? Daisy knows how this goes. Teleportation. So she reaches to place one hand on Jane as well, as if to keep her grounded, over -here-. "And protected by those that are her friends and companions."

The sudden shift has Daisy's dark gaze turn wide, confused with what just happened. What did they just see? Well, Daisy may not be big in mythology. But she at least knows *this*. The Ferryman?

Lips turn to a thin line and she looks slowly at the various souls drifting by.

She casts a look at Loki and then back, staggering back and recoiling from what she just witnessed, "What decision?" not as if she expects an answer.

Loki has posed:
Loki is back upon his feet, looking around at the vista, recognizing it pretty much immediately. He exhales in that //sigh// of his, and once the feeling of dirt is removed from his clothing, he twists back to Daisy. His features wrinkle to amusement, though it never truly reaches those eyes of his as he responds, "And you have been doing an amazing job of helping her." Sarcasm, thy name is Loki Odinson. Or is it Laufeyson today?

"And while she wears that bracer, she is //our// problem." Just like, well, Thor is his problem.

Heh.

"As far as protection, only your conceit and pride hold her here. If you wish her to remain in state forever, then please.. continue to hold her. I'm positive you all can think of something." There's a pause before he finishes, "Eventually." Beat. "Maybe."

There's a shrug that lifts a shoulder and he looks beyond once more, undoubtedly seeing as much as Daisy does, though understanding the portent even more.

"A war between the realms. Perhaps Midgard will remain untouched, perhaps not. I lean more to the 'perhaps not' as Hela has started playing here." Brows rise, and his cadence is mockingly singsong, "Or hadn't you noticed? Oh.. no. You were too busy protecting her. It was me that stepped forward. Me that averted worse. And it will be me that stands between there," and he gestures an arm out towards the Ferryman and beyond, "...and Midgard."

Jane Foster has posed:
He is free to move without claiming the fallen astrophysicist. Daisy being in the way merely superimposes her silhouette against that realm that should not be, or rather like a mythological pastiche between the rum-soaked boneyard and the River Styx, two different pyramids placed in opposition where one clearly fell and the other is triumphant, smoke or not. Fire and ice gather together. What peace may be found here is a rare and fleeting thing, especially with a hand dropped on the unconscious woman's body acting as a living tether to what awful sights lie beyond.

Bats with sharp teeth. Bleeding feathers on a near mummified skeleton, a rearing giant in the distance just out of sight.

The hound turns one yellowed eye and _appraises_. Teeth glimmer black in a grey muzzle, and the fierce, unnatural size of the thing is soon enough duplicated among the mists where a second joins it.

Heat and bitter chill collide, the scent of spoiled flowers, fresh fruit, meat, and dry-rot all blended into a heaving mass. There oddly isn't much sound to be heard, for the dead cry in voices not meant for the living.

The crows cackling are another matter. <<Feast>>. Another croaks. <<Famine.>> A third: <<Why not both?>>

<<He's staring,>> rumbles the wolves in unison, throwing their heads back in a blood-curdling bay. <<Always a voyeuuuuuur.>>

Lightning still hangs in the air in motes, strobing in a swirling pattern around the room, one thin dome radiating off the far from quiescent Undrjarn.

Something else might be claimed but a knell rings, a shuddering gasp pulled across the distance separating the three women and one indeterminate Trickster god from the Underworld.

For a moment, a thin vine rises and the leaves upon it, like those before, are not healthy. The glossy green ash leaves turn black where creeping poison moves through their veins, and the serrated edges drip that sickly, unwelcome sap. One withered bit falls to the ground.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"You already stole her once." Daisy notes, "And now here you are again..." clearly not exactly trusting Loki to have the answers to Jane's liberation. But the Trickster does at least appear sure of what is going on. And a War between the realms? It has her frown. And a few things do start to make sense... Like certain zombies she has come across.

Her eyes have left Loki for now though, perhaps putting him as a 'not immediate' threat. Those creatures, the vine, yea, those take the cake as the more pressing matter, hands now remaining at her side but ready in case this goes south.

"While I am certain you think of yourself as quite the hotshot and undoubtedly believe you are the best to fight this...." She doesn't judge. It's good to be confident, "... doing it alone doesn't seem like the best option for Jane. And if her protection is the priority then you can count on us..." a glance over to Jemma, " ... to help in this matter." fierce loyalty to the two other women here visible in her gaze.

Loki has posed:
"Stole?" Loki *tsks* softly, his lips twisting into a ghost of a smile, "No. My brother did that. You know, Thor. I've not been down here until just now. And do you know why he did it?" There's a soft, unspoken 'hmmmm' that follows in the silence before he deigns to fill it in, "Because he knows that I can help. That I am. I don't expect you to understand, what with your lack of ability to comprehend what it is that is happening here."

Loki looks to the distance, and presses his lips together in annoyance, lifting his hand to create, yes.. a couple of very //large// snakes to serve as guardians, if only for the time where the magic roils about them.

He no longer has contact with Jane, and if the whole room didn't exude magic that was most certainly //not// his own, the Midgardian's posturing would be laughable, as in, he'd actually laugh.

"This is a battle of realms, of magical creatures and //gods//." The last word is stressed, even as he keeps his tones low. "Do you really feel as if you can do anything but die?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Death might be a bit rich considering what they've stepped into. The shuddering display of death in front of them is particularly rich as battles over a field heats up, sending tension deep in the asphodel fields. Some bone structure is slowly being torn down by figures with curling fingers, while excitable hounds circle them, baying and yipping. Rotating among them are figures shking swords and spears tipped in obsidian. The battle is a lopsided affair going back and forth.

The fierce wave of smoke rolls away, thick with incense and yew, balsam, and sap caught in the wood. Moans keen through the space, and something reaches out from the nothingness of that amorphous weight.

Loki's snakes pull them in, the presence lured in, something empty and heavy lurking among the deathly miasma.

Hunger. The crackling of hunger, awful and boundless.

Daisy's senses might tingle to the fact there's *no* motion there, a vibration absent in a shape larger than human but humanoid certainly. A space that distinctly has additional appendages -- two, staggered and skeletal like the wings of a bat without the leathery folds within.

Jane sleeps. Such as she can.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The stir that comes after those snakes are summoned makes Daisy narrow her gaze, to seek beyond. Clearly no simple midgardian because her eyes, senses, appear to focus on that emptiness moving on. It makes her take a step back. Instinct perhaps. But she holds steady a moment later.

"They are moving." Whatever they are. "Your snakes. They seem to be attracting them.." perhaps letting the God reach the conclusion he should dismiss them? Certainly not this midgardian that would suggest a course of action! Just letting it linger...

It might had been a good suggestion, but then those appendages start showing up. It most likely won't help. And they may as well have extra bodies! One does wonder if those snakes have red shirts....

"This is a battle to save Jane." Which is where her priority is, a glance down to the sleeping beauty and back up to Loki. "And if it is what it takes, yes, I am willing to die."

She steps forward, "But there's a big distinction between dying doing what you believe in and rolling over to die. You should know it after your attempted attack at New York." Never surrender. And yes, Daisy still has a chip on her shoulder about *that*.

"Can you take us out of here?" She then asks Loki, "I can try and keep them at bay." the air around seems to -vibrate-. Intense, her hair swirling about her shoulders as she lets her powers expand, around her and beyond, attempting to create a deterrent to those creatures' approach. If it will work? She doesn't know. But she will damn well try.

Loki has posed:
The skittering of dead leaf turned to ash at Loki's feet causes the Prince to look down. He crouches to pick up the dust, to run it through fingers before his expression sets to a grim regard. He looks at it for a couple of heartbeats that seems, to him, to be forever. Is this the Norns giving their prediction?

It's not time. It's not right. It's not..

Loki looks up again from his crouch and rises fully to the the vision that is before him, them. The fighting, the bleak, dark images of death and destruction. Of Hel itself. Glancing back to the supine figure of she that is central to this mess and then the others, and in Daisy's words, he narrows his eyes, the anger showing in those emerald hued windows to the soul. Let's rile the Asgardian, taunt him when he alone potentially has the ability to pull everyone out and to safety.

"Is that smart?" He speaks of his thoughts; whether Daisy understands what he is saying and why, he cares not.

The snakes are present to allow a departure; whatever happens with them, they will surely die eventually.

Loki takes Lavaeteinn from its scabbard beside him, and while Thor has a hammer, his own weapon of choice is much smaller and just as deadly. The Prince kills up close... and personal. "Yes, I can." It's a simple statement, one that holds a touch of pique, even as the creatures of darkness and dread look as if they have discovered their new quarry... them. "Assuming the Tree hasn't become too damaged.." Which would open a host more problems than just teleporting...

Jane Foster has posed:
Has the Tree been corrupted? Has something gone astray on one of those branches, and moreover, who would know?

A certain squirrel running up and down the branches is probably not the most trustworthy messenger. A certain king of Muspelheim would love to take an axe to the trunk, and things of terror and spite eat the roots. A wonder Earth hasn't been relegated down there for all the trouble it causes.

Imagery of a hellacious design collapses a little back as the brunette prostrate in the pod is utterly unaware of it all. The bracelet on her wrist doesn't quite cease glowing as Loki draws his blade, Daisy looks ready to shake the foundations of the building down on them, SHIELD as usual oblivious to everything under their noses instead of in the greater outside world.

The amorphous shapes honing their location aren't visible, but Daisy can sense their absence in a curious way. Seeing where movement isn't can be like having a negative image superimposed over her senses, though they move fast. And, as it happens, in a packlike formation of nothing that involves sparks of rapid assaults and then stillness. A bit like Weeping Angels from Doctor Who, if a little worse. At least those were visible.

Loki's knife doesn't deter them exactly. The snakes send the things, whatever they are, probing and poking at the barrier held up between the falling lightning arc strobing in a dome and the serpents that would hiss and bite and snap.

Jane isn't smiling or lolling, drooling at the ceiling. She is, apparently, as unaware of this as everything else.

It's not time. It's not right. Or is it? When has the Cycle listened to /anyone/ but its own whims? The leaf still smolders, the scent smoky and harshly green.

The first jab is a shock to the senses, if one is still watching the smoky images or the green fields, the burning fields, the placid Styx deceptively calm. Pyramids of skulls and one going up in magma flames, while a number of people party in a boneyard, make for a lurid scene. But the jab pushes through the wavering barrier.

And the hand that comes through is very much not corporeal, or shouldn't be, pale silverish blue. Dead.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Talks of a damaged Tree. Other troubles. Those questions can stay for later. Right now it's all about getting the heck out of here. And protect the Furiae. So a temporary alliance appears to be struck. Daisy nodding sharply at Loki when he says he can help.

She feels the wrongness around them, that .., nothingness. A reversal indeed to how she uses her powers but still valid for sure. It does take her a moment to adjust to this new .., feeling. To how they move. Accompanying their motions just a second late. "They are surrounding us, moving as a pack."

But at least she *feels* the impacts in her barrier. Means there is something there. Some solace. And while she would love nothing more right now than to properly unleash and let these creatures know exactly who they are messing with she also knows the danger it could bring to the Playground itself.

Not that she can't shoot a few blasts here and there, trying to keep those 'weeping angels' at a distance...

Yet it's when that hand starts coming past the barrier is when she says urgently. "We are running out of time!" she moves to stand near Jane, looking at Jemma. "We may need to carry her." at least until Loki is able to stop the dead sipping in through the cracks.

Loki has posed:
Loki is already recalling those spells, the weaving of the magics in order to close the fabric between Realms, between realities. He can do that in his sleep, and usually does. Unfortunately, he's awake, and the creatures are actually clawing and tearing at the veil. It needs a little stronger of measure in order to shut it down completely, and he shakes his head even as deadly talons rake at them.

He can feel them too, surrounding them; though the reminder is appreciated (not)! He doesn't speak on it, however, instead holding tight his dagger and the runes to be called, to be woven into the threads to strengthen the walls are voiced, invoked.. each one louder. For all that Loki has the ability of the All Tongue, this remains in a language far removed, heard in whispers a thousand years ago on distant shores. Even then, spoken in such a strange accent that deems that it //must// be magic.

And it is.

Concern shows upon the spellcaster's angular, aristocratic features; a hint with a twitch here, a motion there as he swings around suddenly to thrust and cut at a claw that seems to want to come too near. It's graceful; nothing like Thor who is more brute force than finesse. His strike is a great deal more light but not any less deadly at the cut.

Ultimately, all he requires is that the curtains close to the view that is just 'outside', with them not looking out, and those without not looking in.

Jane Foster has posed:
The angle of the blade swipes through the luminous perimeter already contracting little by little, though it's certainly not a problem for Undrjarn to keep up that barrer if it had reason. The bracelet's decision to retract its sheeted protection is entirely its own. Maybe the batteries need recharging, or this is its way of encouraging fight over flight. From one perspective, it might seem so.

Alternately it could be flight over fight, making it possible to safely grab a woman who hasn't left her makeshift bed in six months and hobble away at speed. Deadweight really isn't fun.

Something is coming is the wrong instinct. Something is already there.

Hunger flashes into a face on the other side of the obscuring veil that his spell lashes out against, the cutting dagger laden with magic coming to life. Laevateinn is a dangerous thorn, but what it faces is very much prone to laughing -- a hideous, banshee wail of a laugh -- as soon as it breaks the surface of what should be skin.

But it's not. Those skeletal bat wings come into focus flapping at the edges, and then the marked face in a vaguely Aesir cant. Sharp cheekbones are visible under the ram-horned, swept-wing helm covering most of the face. Broken lips form a leering grin around sharp teeth, and when she laughs that awful, ululating keen, the words might well be so distorted it's hard to make them out. All-Tongue or not.

<<Yes, strike back, little imp. Make it hurt. I will refuse all else to devour you first!>>

There is no blood where the blade drives through her blue-skinned hand. What weeps from her into the blade is a weird blend of ephemera, and what Laevateinn does is shudder under that perverse corruption, something twined by an ancient force not unlike Asgard's own, and a dark, evil thread of wrongness.

For Daisy, it's not much different: a stab, a flash of a female warrior with bony wings, and words in a tongue she doesn't know. A challenge, a curse, a tease.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy doesn't need to understand the words to know this is all kinds of wrong. And she can understand the keen laughter. That one of desire for the living. Well ....

"Why don't you laugh at this, bitch?" The Inhuman conjures up her inner strength, hands held together and pointed towards the creature, unleashing a powerful blast of pure vibration towards it.

Lets fight instead of flight then!

Loki has posed:
Oddly enough, it's not so much flight or fight. Not on this level. The creatures are from beyond the veil, and even while they hold some state of corporealness (if that's even a word!), they don't. Sort of like both 'alive' and 'dead' at the same time.

Loki's words of power, the slamming of the curtains and the shoring up of the veil comes louder and louder to his own ears, even if they're only the harshest whispers drawn from his throat.

Laevateinn digs deep into an almost recognizable form, and there is momentary fear in those emerald eyes. It passes, however, as he draws his knife from her face as he is taunted. He's managed something that even his brother hadn't yet achieved... an almost untouchable enemy. There's no hiding from that one on Asgard, on Midgard.. and it all depends how ... active she wishes to be in his culling and subsequent loss of his soul.

Even Loki one day hopes to go to Valhalla, even if everyone there are boors.

Loki does want to move Jane too, however. Get her out and make her a great deal more accessible to him.

With that push of.. energy that Daisy gives off, it gives the younger Prince of Asgard the wiggle room to push at the veil, pushing out those who at least tried to make incursion.

Jane Foster has posed:
Vibrations crash through the veil, and radiate upon the walls. They crackle through the floor, giving the architecture a good thrashing. Plaster and dust spill as the vision of the Underworld vanishes, a signal cut off.

The Ferryman on his boat burns away into a regular old vault wall. Stored equipment piled up here when SHIELD evacuated its usual Triskelion digs under hastened cover of night, relatively, take the place of a ziggurat of skulls and brilliant glazed tiles that depict sacrifice, worship, and a life cycle in jewel tones.

Hunger gives a scream, pain a shadow. It doesn't leak blood, this beast he has repelled, but something more like ichor. A poisoned stain he can suffer to examine later, and find in that something like the inverted Apples of Idunn distilled down to sheer antilife, of sorts, the equation one gets when brewing hatred and stuffing it into a body. The sticky substance carries no iron or cells. Any cell exposed to it just /dies/. Then, a semi-corporeal being fueled by death and hate, very nice. Ring any bells? Perhaps!

The flash surrenders the light and they are left alone with an angry bracelet, an injured scientist, a vibrating warrior, and a sorcerer-prince.

And the kingdoms of death reduced to one.