7016/LDN Calling

LDN Calling
Date of Scene:	20 July 2021
Location:	London - England
Synopsis:	Just a few problems going on.
Cast of Characters:	Daisy Johnson, Jane Foster, Jemma Simmons, Blackagar Boltagon
Tinyplot:	1000 Faces of Death

---

Daisy Johnson has posed:
It had been a while since Jane had been dropped at SHIELD by the Asgardians. Cursed? Dead? In-between? There had been much theory on what was going on with their Furiae friend, but still no definite answers. Something to do with death, and life. The energy of Mjolnir. They had fragments but still no way of waking her up. Or at least ..., until they found that footage from London.

It had been with quite the surprise that they had tracked the energies of the now MISSING bracer on the sleeping beauty they had at SHIELD. It had led them to London. And it was *moving*. Maybe her spirit? When they got the footage though the surprise couldn't had been greater. First, they spotted the King of the Inhumans himself, and then someone who looked like Jane? Flying above the Thames? Answers had to be got!

And a good thing that Daisy had offered Boltagon a secure phone so they could contact, no matter how 'primitive' the King thought their tech to be. Primitive, pfffttt.. Top SHIELD tech!

A meeting had been arranged, in London. No more details given just in case. Besides, they wanted to see what was going on with their own eyes. And with this being a top priority mission of rescuing one of their own they had requisitioned a quinjet for the trip.

"Jemms. Any theories?" There was a part excitement and a part confused about what was going on. Something she expected to have answered today but .., who knows? The quinjet starts approaching the meeting point, still cloaked from prying eyes even as it rumbles through the air, Daisy on the commands.

Jane Foster has posed:
Sometimes you're better off dead,
There's a sword in your hand and you're out of your head,
You think you're mad, too unstable,
Speaking in tongues and spinning wild fables,
Til fate catches you out in London Town,
The Furies ride, a quinjet touching down,
Words to bring in Midnight King softly
Down in London Town.

Down in London Town, a vibrant sight,
The East End hums and the West End sighs,
Down in London Town, the electric night
With East End shows and sunset skies,
Who ever dies?

Too many bodies, whispering voices,
Faces blur past, too many choices.
If, when, why, what?
What mark have you got?
Have you the right steady signal,
(If so, how often?)
Which do you choose, a dark or bright option?

Down in London Town, death walks loud,
The East End burns and West End chills,
The West End seethes with a churning crowd,
The Inhuman king and Fury's girls--
Furiae girls,
Furiae girls!

You get a killer shot or a queen of stone,
Just you wait 'til we get her home,
He writes the future, we've got the past,
Seize the day death outcast
From every plane. Found in a fleeting glance,
A ghost of tomorrow, with one last chance.

Down in London Town, a dead end street,
The Inhuman king and an Aesir girl,
Oh, London Town, where twisted fortunes meet,
Hacker queen and savant healer,
Oh,
Oh,
How far have you been?

It's a song on the lips, sung in the mind, a source of which can be attributed to an escapee of purgatory, a master of heists, a fellow devotee of hanging from a branch of Yggdrasil for nine by nine by nine.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Honestly? Your guess is as good as mine."

The prim and proper voice of one Jemma Simmons intones softly as the quinjet settles into its approach, the cloaking device also extremely effective at masking the engines. Those brown eyes peer out through the front cockpit, taking in all of the familiar sights. At least, familiar to her. "Despite all that we have been through recently, I still as of yet had not had the time nor the inclination to offer sound, rational explanations as to why there are two Jane Fosters in this world. One of which is still hibernating peacefully in a borrowed cryostasis chamber we borrowed from the Triskelion through great pains of discovery." Oh, if only higher ups knew about that! "To discuss at length would only confuse the matter further."

Translation? Mysterious big juju is afoot with possible magic connotations, Jemma doesn't understand it, and she is too stubborn to admit her failure of understanding. Rather simple, really.

"I suppose, the sooner we find this alternate Jane, the sooner we will get our answers."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~I am uncertain,~ Blackagar signs towards Jane as they walk down the streets of London towards the meeting point. There were so many questions that the King had. There is definitely a deep look of thought on his features, a furrowed brow that does not bely the depth of ponderings. As he walks, his hands move in a strange way, sign language but not the American style. Something different, elegant. ~I am familiar with Daisy. I do not know this other one you speak of. But a friend of those who I hold in esteem are worth meeting.~

A deep silent breath is taken while walking and looking at Jane fully, his shoulders lift in a shrug. ~All I know is that they reached out to me.~ This mystery is one that definitely has layers to unravel, perhaps minds coming together begin the process.

Jane Foster has posed:
It might horrify Jemma to know that, in fact, one of their higher ups *does* know about it. She might have spread that fact to precious few, but the right person got it straight from the little birdie.

The irony of that cryostasis chamber being occupied while its original, intended occupant takes a swift descent toward her final destination should not be lost on anyone. Fate is nothing if not an admirer of the unlikely.

However disturbing the uncannily-timed attack on Peggy Carter /or/ the message via primitive, backwater technology a bit above two tin cans connected by a string, Blackagar does not walk alone. Neither does the general indifferent populace of London ignore him or his companion, diverting wide enough for two instead of just mowing down the gap he casts with the disregard usually associated with urban centres.

"She's worth knowing, believe me." The verbal response is only one half of the story, since the song playing through her mind happens to be shared privately with the Midnight King, just as much as she 'hums' a few of the notes in that same sign. At least the part of the second major stanza, since concepts of 'if, when, why, what' are much easier than transporting the notion of a trio of Greek goddesses born from kinslaying into that nuanced language without getting almost ridiculously detailed. Apprehension and exhilaration often make bedfellows, if an odd couple, and they dwell inside her as clearly as the bells of Marylebone.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The meeting was set to be by the Thames, on a more secluded part of the city without many witnesses. Great place for an ambush too! But hey, it's Daisy and Jemms, why would they be anything but honest? The Quinjet is left to pasture by itself and the duo steps out, not exactly dressed in SHIELD uniforms but instead on more casual clothing.

Still, there's the ICER there, along with that expression that tells she isn't too convinced about the whole situation just yet. "No matter what at least we got to come to London, mmm? Maybe we can even visit some place later, mmm? Any suggestions?" she asks Jemma as they wait, Daisy leaning over the balcony and watching the Thames, hand up to brush some hair behind one ear. Always windy in London apparently... Damn english weather..

But before she continues further she spots the approach of the duo, straightening up and lifting her hand in a greeting gesture.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
It might have slipped Peggy's mind to mention that she knew about the situation with Jane and the cryostasis chamber. Of course, that can be forgiven, for Peggy was slightly indisposed while Jemma did was Jemma always does best. Which, in this case, was performing medical miracles to snatch Peggy from the waiting grasp of Death once more. Still, the fact remains that Jemma is not aware that anyone higher up is aware of the situation, through the great pains she has taken to make it so.

It is London...and when in London, do as the Londoners do. Which, for Jemma, means dressing in much the same manner as she usually does, though with the extra knowledge of English weather. Meaning, a windbreaker is added to the ensemble, which also makes for a convenient cover for that ICER Jemma also carries. Not that she doesn't trust this monarch that Daisy said they are meeting...but for everyone else.

HYDRA has long arms. Long, wiggly arms.

"Cardiff is always nice this time of year." The suggestion is given off-handedly, when Daisy asks for suggestions. Of course Jemma would offer that, for multiple reasons that she will not explain immediately. But...then she realizes that Daisy means London proper. "Ah...well, the London Eye would be nice, too. You can get quite a view from there without having to be flying...plus it is rather iconic." Was that a pun?

Maybe.

But...then Daisy's hand is raised in greeting and Jemma looks up expectantly. This...is going to be an interesting meeting.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~This is going to be interesting,~ Blackagar signs to Jane as he spots Daisy via raised hand. He gives her a reassuring look and then proceeds to walk the rest of the distance towards the other two women.

Daisy first gets greeted by his blue eyes, a small upturned eyebrow at the Inhuman woman. Reaching down he produces the writing slate that he uses to communicate with those that do not understand him and after the soft scribbling of the chalk over it, he turns it to show towards both Daisy and Jemma. ~It is good to see you again Daisy. I had begun to worry. You are well?~ That is shown directly towards her before he turns, the writing beneath it directed at Jemma. ~You are the Doctor I have been told of?~

The slate, held against Blackagar's chest would prehaps draw attention to the fact he is dressed far from what one might consider of a Monarch. He wears a simple black T-shirt with no design upon it, only a clean cut of good fabric and a pair of dark blue jeans much the same. Were someone to meet him on the street, nothing would hopefully draw their eyes to him which is the intent.

Jane Foster has posed:
When in London, do as one does. Though 'quiet' in London has been absent for the better part of five hundred years, what constitutes a softer spot on the Thames Embankment probably means mudlarking -- actually getting into the mud on the shore, hunting around for little trinkets from 2,500 years of habitation. Great way to foul your shoes, alas. Jane stays out of the muck.

She nudges Blackagar with her elbow in the lightest of touches, a confirmation of all being well when they draw to a halt like an Old West standoff. Anyone privy to her mind might see the dusty brown town somewhere in Colorado or Arizona, a flash of a spaghetti western caught in her imagination.

"When isn't it?" Jane asides to him as they mirror the SHIELD agents across the way. A smile curls her lips, restrained just a little by the smart move of casing their location to ensure nothing proves amiss. Even she can pick out the unease. The lifeblood of the city remains its connecting link, even in places with dodgy names and not nearly the population concentrated nearby like the Blackfriars Bridge or Waterloo (couldn't escape if you wanted to; Waterloom knowing my fate is to be with you!). Civilisation still presses in, lights burning nearby, the endless murmur of traffic and hissing tyres present.

Then she goes relatively silent, letting Daisy and Jemma answer. After all, they've all the time in the world. Borrowed or not, a nice interlude is perfectly suitable for a summer eve. As far as things go, she looks rather like a Londoner ought, loose sweater sliding off her shoulder to bare the black tanktop strap underneath. Jeans and Chelsea boots replace the knee-high ones she's been wandering around in, since a quick jaunt into Topshop becomes necessary now and then. The loose sleeves conceal her wrists, any signs of a very boring golden bangle doing absolutely nothing at all. Nothing.

It's just a bracelet. So sayeth local bracelet.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"The London Eye?" That has Daisy arch a brow at Jemma, curious. Clearly she hasn't heard of this place? And if there was a pun, it seems to have been lost on her. Tough crowd or something! But maybe her focus is in other thoughts. The woman's brown gaze takes in the duo, first on Blackagar, that reassuring smile being met with a questioning look out of the young Agent. Jaw tightens just so and she nods sharply. "We are fine now after getting out of that hell world." aka, Framework. The world lost a great pop star and regained an Agent. Not all was bad! And Daisy can most likely rock those karaoke nights now.

"But we are *more* curious on what has been going on with you." she looking from Blackagar to 'Jane' and then back, some aprehension on her demeanor.

The hackerette is clearly not convinced yet because she doesn't run to tackle-hug Jane, watching her instead, focused, almost as if reading her. She blinks perhaps a touch surprised. "You look, sound and pretty much 'feel' like Jane but ..., we have her back at the Playground. What's going on?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The confusion prompts a laugh. Jemma points down the river, to what appears to be a gigantic circle standing defiantly against the wind. A giant Ferris wheel. "That is the Eye." No...no fantasy tower with a burning fractal eye watching over all of the empire. Just a really damn tall Ferris wheel.

The hand lowers as Daisy makes with the greetings. Even as Daisy speaks to what can only be this Blackagar that she was referring to, Jemma's eyes are upon Jane. No, there really isn't escaping that critical gaze, as Jemma looks over the form of the familiar Foster. But no...no words from Jemma to Jane quite yet, as the chalkboard is turned towards Jemma's direction.

And...the answer comes back in the form of a smile. "I suppose that someone has been talking." Brown eyes shift from monarch to miracle, then back. Yes, Jemma has ideas on who might have informed his majesty on who she was. A nod, as affirmation, even as Jemma speaks. "Doctor Jemma Simmons, though my friends just call me Jemma." Would Boltagon be considered one of their number? Time will tell.

Back to Jane. "To what Daisy means is that we have a physical body with all the genetic characteristics of Jane Foster resting in a cryostasis chamber that, until quite recently, was sporting a golden bauble about her wrist that was both unique in the energy signature it radiated and that it was impossible to remove from said wrist." A pause, as Jemma's eyes flicker down to the covered wrists. "You wouldn't happen to know where that bracelet might have gotten to, would you?"

Because...yes, Jemma suspects. She has had a lot of practice tracing that particular energy signature...and Jemma has a pretty good idea exactly where the simple golden bauble may be residing.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar nods towards Daisy in obvious relief when she says that she is 'alright', knowing full well the relative nature of such a statement but it is at least something. When Jemma introduces herself to him, the silent man offers an equal smile and nod of greeting as well. The slate is erased, it is written upon again and shown towards Jemma. ~Officially, I am King Blackagar Boltagon of Attilan. King of the Inhumans. Most just call me Your Highness, Blackagar, the Midnight King or if you're feeling very casual, Fred.~ He watches the reading of the sign, and when the last name of 'Fred' is seen there's a clear glint of humor in his blue eyes and a quirk of another warm smile. A joke.

As the questioning towards Jane begins however, a black eyebrow lifts up and he looks between the three women. Writing happens on the slate as he writes, ~If you have Jane at the playground, and Jame is here you make a false assumption. Are you assuming that an individual can only exist in one place at a time?~

Jane Foster has posed:
"Had a little trip," Jane deadpans to that question, a dry tone not without the highest epitome of understatement she can achieve without drawing out equations or parallels to celestial phenomena that only Jemma reliably might entertain. Mostly out of sheer British politeness, that. "Fred. Really? No."

She gives a crooked little curl of her fingers, conveying a hello. Or in Attilanese court speak... a finger curl. Probably means 'door' or 'I bought knee-high socks to strangle the Kree attache with, he will never expect me' or something.

Though a hellworld absent of pop songstress Pikach-- Daisy seems very much a hellish world indeed. Such a reality deserves its celebrity chanteuse. Alas, no comment from fellow karaoke participant Doctor Foster there, considering the question at hand brings a startled look to her countenance and subtly reshapes her features. "How do you have me back at a playground?" Fine lines groove the delicate skin between her eyebrows. "That's a tad macabre, even for... no, especially for us. I can think of better ways to inspire young astronomers." Let it be a joke. A euphemism.

<<Please tell me they put some poster of me up where children play. Or a photograph from one of the marketing shots taken for a book or magazine. This is mortifying.>> As it happens, there are a lot of them floating out there in the Internet where Jane is concerned. She brushes her hair away from her face, stopping when the designated truth is worse than that. <<Oh, fuck.>>

Clamped to her wrist, one bangle worth around $400 to $600 tops, neither flashy or spendy. As anonymous as a worn bit of jewelry gets. Somewhere a cosmic storm unmatched in size and space laughs.

"You what?" Mental mechanics without the pesky interruption of various shock inputs still slow for a breath, three, ten. "You put a cryotube in a //jungle gym//? That you think I'm //in//?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Fred? FRED?! Clearly a coup d'etat needs to happen up on the Moon due to these jokes. Maybe Daisy's way to moon princess will need to be through Maximus. There can be only one and all that. She smirks at Blackagar and shakes her head, "I am assuming nothing but simply trying to get answers. As Jemma says we have a body on a chamber for a good while now that belonged to Jane. And yes, we have been tracking the energy of that thing you are most likely carrying right now with you." she looks towards the woman's wrist even if it may be covered, "We have also witnessed your spirit wandering about in places of death.."

She opens her hands to the sides, "And I mean, you could had called! We have been worried sick and ..., how much do you remember from before?" she asks Jane.

Then to Boltagar, "And how did you two come to meet?", then another pause and she lifting a finger. "Also no more evasive answers!" she warns... Damn english weather is making her cranky.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Jemma, being British, is used to dry humour. Properly spelled with a U, no less. And so, the crack with Fred is taken in stride. "Well, since we just met, I will defer to Blackagar, if you do not mind. Perhaps soon we can progress to 'Fred' basis." Another smile is given towards the monarch, even as Jemma turns towards Jane. "And yes, we placed a pivot point midway upon the cryotube holding what we believe is your corporeal form, at least as what we were lead to believe by a certain Asgardian woman who unceremoniously dropped your body off before disappearing into the aether." A beat before Jemma continues. "It is now being used as a see-saw in the middle of a children's park."

Completely straight face. Curse those Brits and their impeccable comedy skills.

"All joking aside, your physical form is residing in a secret SHIELD facility, under lock and key, with only a select few with access to it. Namely, the two of us here before you presently." Jemma lets that sink in before continuing...

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar simply exchanges a few dry looks when his joke about what to call him drops like a brick. Well, do not hold him at fault for trying to bring a bit of levity to a very serious conversation. However, he does let the slate fall to his side momentarily in order to allow the conversation to continue without his scribblings.

That is until Daisy asks how they came to meet. That warrants an upturned eyebrow towards her with a passive expression. He slowly writes on his slate and turns it to face her. ~The same way many people meet. I asked for directions to the museum.~ There's a hint in the sharp shape of the letters, the crispness of them rather than a flowing script and that expression remains unchanged as he looks at Daisy. Then his blue eyes slowly peel away and return to Jemma.

Jane Foster has posed:
What do you -say- in those situations? More important perhaps is what she doesn't. Words shift in the mind, sung through a taut lamentation for one, two if listening by the door is allowed <<I screamed until my throat bled. I was on my knees with you when she shot you. The whole time, so you wouldn't be alone. Not then, not now. Thanks to that bastard, ripped away before you could even find a glimmer of hope...>>

Her earth-dark eyes shift away to the procession of low buildings cramped along the waterlogged banks. Protections up and down the Thames aim to tame its volatile nature, forcing it to a squiggle between concrete walls and properties steadily being transformed from Victorian terraces to spendy flats while pushing the immigrant community further out. As though in those clusters of lives gathered nearby, humming along in disorderly, happily chaotic fashions, an answer might be found.

Jane Foster is not a person to dwell on failures or assign blame to others. She pulls her sweater back up over the crest of her shoulder and puts her thumb to Blackagar's arm, enough to show resistance. Then, point blank, nudges a bit of debris lightly to Daisy and Jemma with a light kick. The rock strays wide; she is no Neymar, but it comes with a pretty decent amount of force. "Physical," she tells the English doctor. "I've had the bruises and blotches to prove it from a fallen building."

Because buildings do that. Her gaze shifts back to the Midnight King and she mildly frowns at the slate's position, making a simple gesture. ~You are good?~ Just a check-in, that, before she turns back to the skeptical duo of her trinity. "I remember the spear thrust and most that comes after," she sys. Words are still funny, excessive. "My grasp on time is imperfect considering the usual way to measures needed for perception were absent. Captain America gets a little more respect after all this." A hollow joke but one all the same. "Daisy-bean, I fell through existence in multiple pieces. Until recently I didn't even have my name. Other fragments came back and some have not. My body is frozen somewhere, you are saying, and not..." She gestures at herself. "Awkward."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The coincidence of it all is ..., well, Daisy does work with SHIELD. She is used to those one in a million odds. And Blackagar did say he was travelling the world searching for interesting people. So he gets a pass! At least for now. Even if she *does* note that crispness on the letters. So she grins, "I see you got time to teach her the language."

So yes, Daisy was already getting sold to the idea that this was the real one. Or well, Jane with her memories? Yet when Jane starts talking about that particular event that involved life and death for Jemma is when she gets truly taken..

The rest? It's just words that don't really bend her one way or another. Why is that? Because she is already rushing off towards Jane foa hug.. Or is it a tackle?

Maybe it's both! But assuming Jane doesn't flee or punch her in the face she will indeed be getting hugged by an oncoming Daisy. "I have missed you.." she whispers.

Then a look to Jemma. "Get over here." she probably didn't have to say that, with Jemma most likely already being on her way too! Or so she assumes.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Actually, contrary to Daisy's assumption, Jemma isn't rushing in for the embrace. No, she knows that Daisy is the impulsive one, just as Jane is the celebrity and Jemma the so-called brains of this operation. It was the reason for the whole flippant joke, a riff on an 80's television show that evolved to the Furiae that stand before each other currently. All three, whole and conscious. So, Jemma lets Daisy in first.

There are considerations, of course. Tests that even Jemma may not be aware of that she subjugated poor Jane through. Yet...even subconsciously, Jemma knows that this is Jane. Even though the answer means magic and mystical realms and falling through Death's domain itself, which is very much not a thing easily explained away in Jemma's mindset....this is Jane. And, maybe just once, Jemma will allow herself the luxury of not needing a rigid system to explain how things are. Maybe, just maybe, she will allow magic to exist.

For this one time.

But...then Daisy summons. And, of course, Jemma responds. An embrace, given and freely accepted. Yes. This is Jane. The bracelet, as plain as it may appear, does not fool the scientist. She knows the Asgardian trinket, the source of many a sleepless night, by sight, almost as well as Jane would. A fingertip taps the bracelet...singling to it that she knows...then Jemma finally speaks.

"If I give any credence to Thor's prelections, should I start addressing you differently, my dear Jane? Perhaps...as Valkyrie?"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar's eyebrow shoots up, he is uncertain of the intent of Daisy initially but when she sees the embrace unfold, he steps back a pace to allow for room, the following to happen from Jemma but after a longer period of time. There is a slow observation of the interactions as a myriad of thoughts float through his mind. But then slowly he writes on his slate while it is all going on.

This time it is an overall phrase that reads ~Valkyrie?~ Ok, it may be a bit more directed at Jane, but written in a way for both Daisy and Jemma to see as well. Oh there's is an uplifted eyebrow towards Jane and a mild questioning expression. So many pieces of the puzzles are fitting together much more tightly now.

Jane Foster has posed:
Contrary to common golden opinion, the dull bangle doesn't even so much as chime when Jane drops her arms to her side. The urge to hug herself long faded through the rhythms of life's end and sudden, terminal crashes through the barriers separating the Ten Realms from one another. They all have their lies and luxuries indulged for convenience of facing the enormity of what the universe contains.

Which makes Jane pretty easy to bowl over if Daisy tries, since the one of them is considerably stronger and fitter than the other. Astrophysicists don't usually win the battle of the scientists -- that's geologists. She returns the hug, sagging into Daisy, miserable and elated. How can someone be that together? Turns out they can.

"I was pierced by a spear and left to hang for nine moons because some wizened Norseman with a bad attitude tried to backstab a friend," the grumpy Aesir-bound woman says quite flatly. "Whatever Thor wants to poetically call it, let's be frank." Not Fred! "That whole 'From a word to a word I was led to a word / from a work to a work I was led to a work,' is a shite description by a jealous bastard who would sacrifice his own children for knowledge. Never forget it. I notice Thor hasn't willingly flung himself half-dead off the Bifrost, so bargain on who is wiser there. The old man or the golden son?"

She shakes her head, grim frown traced on her lips. "The old Grey Wanderer didn't come when I called, Jemma, so I wouldn't count on it. Loki saw me -- I /know/ he did, just as much as you both did. Did Sif, when it was burning in Sweden?" Important to ask that little detail of horror and loss. Just another to add to the pile.

~Spirits of war and battle. They go with great fighters.~ The nuanced fluidity of the hand signs? They could be pidgin at best, but they make sense all the same with that articulated ease. ~I haven't seen them while I have been trapped outside here.~

"Death has been screwed up on the back end, like software infiltrated by an enemy state. It might look fine from the outside, but... basically it's ransomware operating on a grand scale. National, dimensional, universal? I don't know." Jane shakes her head.