7434/What do Shi'ar eat for breakfast

What do Shi'ar eat for breakfast
Date of Scene:	18 August 2021
Location:	Food Court: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Michael Erickson tells his handler, Jessica, a little about why he is on Earth and what his new armor is capable of.
Cast of Characters:	Jessica Drew, Michael Erickson

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Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica travels on her stomach. Though, she doesn't put herself in the 007 espionage meme of the connoisseur of champagne and fine wines. At first, food exploration was a systematic rebellion against being raised on military rations and super foods to keep her fit and BMI spider thing. It has grown into a way of anchoring her experiences in new countries.

Today's spread is Lebanese. Sometimes, she wants to send the kitchen staff love notes for their efforts. Steefa, labne, manakish, fattoush, chicken livers, real Lebanese pickled turnip and more. Someone was homesick in the kitchen and just took a voyage home.

Jessica's tray is filled with plates of all sizes and would do a hungry athlete justice. She remains almost too thin despite her best efforts. Spider genes and exercise allow her to indulge herself. After snagging a soda water, she takes her tray to a nearby table to wait for Michael.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael, on the other hnd, eats like a...well, not any bird that ever existed on Earth, anyway. More like some kind of ungodly raptor; skipping the Lebansese food entirely he comes with a pair of steak slabs on his plate, loads of steamed vegetables, and a glass each of milk and orange juice. Across the floor he goes after running his card through the reader that tracks visitor meal intake - metrics, metrics, metrics, after all - and then he pauses to collect flatware from a rack before heading off to Jessica's table.

    He settles down across the way from her, tucking in quietly as he begins to dissect his steak with an alarmingly surgical precision. His expression isn't so much grave as it is...thoughtful. Or maybe he's just very serious about that mean he's eating. Rare, rare, rare.

Jessica Drew has posed:
Of course, Jessica is curious about what Shi'ar eat and thoroughly looks over his food before starting on her own. Smiling, she shrugs slightly and starts piling chicken liver on the labne along with a heaping spoon of hummus. Her eyes close momentarily, a smile tipping the edges of her mouth up as she chews."What was the food like where you grew up? Do you miss it?" she asks after she finishes her first few bites. "Do you eat fish, for example?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Mmmhmm." He glances up at the woman a moment before going back to his steak. "Animals of all sorts, really. Fruit, vegetables. We're very much like humans where the food is concerned. I haven't found anything that I'm allergic to." Thoughtfully he pops another morsel of steak into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Which you know is strange, considering we're descended from birds."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"You might like the Lebanese food they have today. Or do spices and such not agree with you? It's not a spicy food, just aromatic." Jess demonstrates by taking another bite. "It's really well done. So steak and steak, generally? And you didn't answer my question, really."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I don't do well with spicy food," Michael says with a chuckle. "Just never have. My family like blander stuff. Of course, now, I knew a guy who would eat...like.../whole agghnal/ with two hands. Just sitting there on the edge of a combat crawler, you know, and just..." He's laughing, about to say more -- and then realizes that she likely has no idea what the hell he's on about. Instead, he clears his throat, and says, "Sorry. Anyway. Spicy food and I don't get along. Which sucks, because I /really/ like it."

Jessica Drew has posed:
With a smile she places a spoonful of labne on his plate. "Not spicy. Savory with za'atar. No fire in the belly." She nods encouragingly, "Really."

An agent walks by that Jess nods to, "Parker." After another bite, "So what's next? Will you be updating SHIELD on what is going on in space?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    His brows perk as she puts the morsel on his place; he peers at it, then pops it into his mouth and considers. "Sour," he says after a moment. "Kinda. I like it, though. S'like yoghurt, right?" He reaches for his juice and takes a sip of it, smacking his lips faintly and nodding along wit what she'd asked him before. "Yeah, that's the idea. I mean, the Empire's a huge place, and I only served in the military ten years before I got sent here - I know people are expecting me to know all kinds of things, but I'm still a soldier more than anything else." He prods at the air in her direction with his fork. "You're my handler, I should be telling you these things."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Try the man'ouche," she says with a funny expression on her face, wondering if he likes being fed like a bird. Clearing her throat, she pinches a piece of chicken liver in some pita bread and pops it in her mouth.

"You probably know more than you think. Right now, helping us interpret what is going on politically will be a huge help. Even if you don't have the big picture or experience as a politician."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I've had that before," he says with a nod, taking a piece and popping it into his mouth. "Mmmm. Had some in Israel when I was on a job, once. Had cheese on it, though, and also some za'atar. What was the name of that cheese..." He trails off, considering. "Sfatit, I think. I'm not good with languages."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jess shoots a puzzled look at him. "You told me you speak, English, French and Spanish, correct? How many Shi'ar dialects do you speak? I wonder if we would need you as a translator."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He chuckles. "Well I speak /some/ French and /some/ Spanish," he points out. "But I speak both forms of my people's language. We have a high form and a common form. Me, I was raised in a noble family, so I /had/ to learn the high form or my mother would have passed out and died."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"After we eat, let's go by the medical section so that they can schedule you for your exams. They'll be routine. People like yourself, like me, get scrutinized closely. I hope you won't mind. You have every right to say when something hurts or seems intrusive. Whether they listen...well, call me. Okay?" Jess looks at him levelly.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Mmmm." He smiles. "If they hurt me, and don't listen, I'll break the machinery." A wink. "Anyway. I do have a question for you, actually." Michael considers a moment, putting his fork down and daubing at the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin. "Why did you say that to her? To Carter. About me. Or, rather, to me in /front/ of Carter."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Head tilted to the side, Jess lays down her fork and looks at him intently. "Why did I say what in front of Carter?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "That my honor, and my...sacrifice." He clears his throat, pausing to take a drink of milk now. "I am not very good at saying thank you. I am a proud man. Mark of my people. But." Michael looks down at the glass in his hand. Wheels turn inside that skull of his. "It was what I needed, all things considered. And it will not be forgotten."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Dropping her eyes, Jess shakes her head, then glances up at him and away. With a faint lift of one shoulder, she says softly, looking at him now, "It felt like the thing to say at that moment. And, I believed it. Wouldn't have said it otherwise. I saw them fire at you." She looks down again, lips pursed in thought, "It seems like you gave up a lot, including a seat on the Shi'ar invading force. The Chief listened and heard. That's a rare and a beautiful thing, Michael."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I get that idea." He shakes his head as he looks down at the steak, slicing another piece free. "As I said, I'm a proud man. And I meant every word that I said about your ability, Agent. I chose you, you know. For all of this."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Chose me?" Eyebrows rise in disbelief, "Been monitoring my progress all along, have you?" She stabs a chicken liver, shaking her head. "I mean...you were just as surprised as I was at that warehouse the first time I ran into you, Red Sentinel. You didn't seem super happy about it either."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I didn't know who you were." Abandoning his food once more, then his fork, Michael folds his hands under his chin. "But what I mean is...I'd made a decision. A while back. That when the time came, and I had to put aside my cover, I'd not trust it with an amateur, well-meaning or otherwise." He leans forward a bit, regarding her with those hard blue eyes. "Aside from Chief Carter, everyone else I've met here - though I'm certain they're very good in their own fields - have not proven themselves half as professional or dedicated to the job. You have real talent, Agent Drew. I'm something of an authority on that. So. Yes. I chose you for my little coming-out party because I knew that of everyone else I've met in SHIELD thus far you were the only one I trusted to handle it."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica pushes her plate away from her, a movement of denial. "Every agent I have introduced you to, I would trust with my life. Just because they were ready to believe you were well meaning and I wasn't doesn't make them any less professional. I want you to know that, Erickson. Not everyone comes from my type of background. Carter understands. She /gets/ it."

A finger stabs the table to underline her words, "She knows we have our lives on the line. The others just don't know about betrayal on the same level that the Chief does and I do. That makes us professional or too suspicious to believe anyone on the first hearing?" She crosses her arms, watching him intently, her expression unreadable which would signal trouble to anyone that knows her.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "And not everyone comes from mine." He shrugs. "I don't mean anything /critical/ about it. Sometimes words slip by me - they know what they're doing, absolutely. Professional was the wrong word to use. But you were the right kind of person for this. I know it."

Jessica Drew has posed:
A mouth twitch becomes a smile and then a laugh. "No. No, they most certainly don't." With a sigh, "So, what do you see us doing next? Do you have access to news about what is going on in space?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Ah, good. Off the hook for the moment. A faint smile crosses his lips at her queston. "Well, I have what data was sent to me by Command, but as I went straight to you and didn't try and play both sides or anything I'm afraid I'm a bit in the dark. I said up at the Xavier house that the Empire wouldn't launch an orbital strike on this planet due to its treaties with the Kree." A beat. "You're familiar with the Kree, I assume."

Jessica Drew has posed:
It must be an cross-species phenomena. Jess catches his relief and pinches her bottom lip between two fingers to stop herself from smiling. Dryly, she replies, "Not as much as I should, obviously. And, not as much as I think I will." She gestures with two fingers, "Go ahead. Tell me."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Ahhh. Education time. Michael sits up a bit, tucking a fist under his chin now. "Well, most of the known universe, at least that local to us in general, is ruled by two major empires, the Kree and the Shi'ar. There's also the Xandariand their Nova empire but they aren't expansionistic in the way that we are. The Kree...well, most of what I could tell you is frankly steeped in propaganda but they are, more or less, like the Shi'ar in that we are two militaristic cultures that essentially have never stopped fighting for thousands of years." He shrugs. "Now the Empire - my Empire - started in another galaxy, so that's done much to keep the two from getting into direct warfare for thousands of years, you see. I'm not from this world /or/ this galaxy.

    "So we don't get along. But the Kree have been here for some time, possibly thousands of years; once we discovered that, Command dispatched agents to monitor this world and various others. As we've established, the honor of watching this planet was mine."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica blinks but keeps her eyes fixed on the man from another Galaxy in front of her. Could things get much stranger? Possibly, but she hopes not just now.

"You are here to monitor the Kree who you don't get along with? I thought you were here to stop whatever it is that Jean Grey is carrying inside her. What have I missed?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Originally," Michael says, taking a sip of milk, "I was dispatched here to monitor the Kree, activities of other offworld races. Humans didn't rate to the Empire, they thought them too primitive - which is stupid, but from a galaxy several thousand years of technological development away, people become blinded." He shakes his head. "It wasn't until 1990 that the planet became much more interested to the Empire, when that fellow Doctor Doom attacked the Baxter Building. Suddenly the technological quotient of the planet became generally elevted, and so my mission changed to one of monitoring the planet's so-called superheroic community as well. But that was 1990. Time of course continues to move on and it wasn't until 2006 when I was made aware of the Phal'kon and its host here on the planet."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Too primitive." Jessica smiles whimsically. "Stone axes and LOX fuel for rockets. I get it." She relaxes back in her seat. "Was I too primitive to be on your monitored list then? Not powerful enough?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael makes a face. "I know how that sounds," he replies, "Trust me. But when you're dealing on a galactic scale..." He shrugs, letting out a faint sigh as he goes to take another bite of steak. "Anyway I'm just one man, I can only monitor so much. Reason I became the Sentinel was to further facilitate observation, but it turned out I rather liked helping people. So. Here we are."

    He pauses a moment. "Anyway," Michael says while chewing a morsel of steak thoughtfully. "I don't deal government agencies. So you weren't on my radar. Until, you know. Now."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jessica toys with the edge of the baklava left untouched on her tray. "One man for the primitives." She looks up and licks the end of her finger, "Is that the usual thing? One person per primitive planet? I'm surprised there are not teams. Or would you be spread too thin?"

With a puzzled look, "You don't do government agencies? You mean you didn't track HYDRA either?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Wasn't necessary for quite some time," he replies. "I mean the original mission was to monitor the Kree, and that wasn't the most difficult thing in the world." Finally he gives up on his steaks and just pushes the plate aside, folding his hads upon the table. "I don't know what the political situtation is back home. When I left, the Majestor was sane, if aloof and distant like all the royals are, and the Empire wasn't worried about humanity as a threat themselves. Like I said, it wasn't until mutants and other offworlders and other people started popping up in the last twenty years that they really started getting interested. When I got here in 'Seventy-five it was all about watching one party."

    "That said," he continues, "I suppose it's possible that there are others. I haven't been told of them, but then again Command probably isn't likely to tell me. Guarantee they don't have my abilities, now, though. So that plays to SHIELD's advantage."

Jessica Drew has posed:
"We should do this in a room where we can record. Tell me how that plays to SHIELD's advantage? We haven't even talked about your new armor yet?" In a neat snatch and chew, Jessica rips the top off of her baklava and pops it in her mouth.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    The mention of the armor directly causes Michael's face to fall somewhat. "Well..." Silence there between them for a moment before he speaks anew. "What happened with that armor should not be possible. It's called a Raptor suit, or simple a Raptor. In Shi'ar society, the Raptors are sort of like a monastic warrior society - a mystical order, you could say. They work to the benefits of teh Empire, regardless of who sits the throne. Hence why they were here to fight the Phal'kon and her allies." Michael looks vaguely uncomfortable now, hands folding upon the table. But he does continue.

    "I only know about the suit's physical capabilities. I know that when I activate the suit, I go somewhere else - it looks like another world, or perhaps dimension. Pods in the shape of diamonds, hanging from an enormous black tree in a kind of void. When I went there, I was healed of my injuries almost immediately - the stories tell of Raptors being able to recover from terrifying injuries. I thought that the suit had advanced medical capabilities, not..." He shakes his head. "The pilot was still in the pod when I took control of the suit. Which means there was no room for him when I manifested. It killed him."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Eyebrows knit as Jessica considers Michael's words. Her eyes widen slightly as he hesitates but she doesn't interrupt. "I'm sorry for the pilot actually, though he might have tried to kill us all," she says, sincerely.

After a long moment in which she finishes the baklava without offering him a piece, "It healed all your injuries and is possibly the strongest single unit of armor on this planet. Even stronger than Iron Man? Possibly?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He shakes his head. "It was him or me," Michael says, though he certainly doesn't sound as if he relishes the situation. "As for Stark, I don't know the capabilities of his suits. I only know mine." A beat. "Shall I tell you?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
Those fine black eyebrows skate to the top of Jessica's forehead. "Hellooooo." She shrugs apologetically and makes a sweeping gesture to encourage him. "It's the reason I asked."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Yeah, but then you wouldn't make those lovely faces." He smirks, shifting away from the grim fate of his armor's former pilot with teasing levity. Or tries to. "Anyway. The artificial intelligence that guides the armor's higher functions hates me now that I am, in fact, reponsible for the death of its chosen partner - so until I can overcome its will, I am capable only of physical feats." He starts ticking off his fingers. "The wings and fingertip claws are razor-sharp, as you experienced, of coure. Thanks to the wings and certain exotic flight units on board the suit, I can fly at transonic speeds in atmosphere, and capable of interstellar flight should I know where I'm going. The armor is capable of lifting twenty-five metric tons, and apply that strength in combat. I, by the way, am only capable of lifting one ton, but most Shi'ar who are in good physical shape can do that on this planet." Well well.

    "Physical material can repel solid slugs, energy bolts, explosives, that sort of thing - I expect artillery could bring it down, but I'm not interested in making that determination. Physical reflexes are well above human, as well, and there are a wide suite of visual sensors built into the armor. Ultimately it's not armor so much as it is a man-sized superhuman robot that I control mentally from....wherever else I end up being." He shrugs. "That's the long and short of it. Advanced capabilities are not yet available to me, as I say."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jess narrows her eyes at Shi'ar for his little foray into flirtation. No. Just no. Not with alien forces still above them and robot suits that can psychically do the bidding of their operator at play. Aghast at the armor's capabilities, "Do you know how many people and how many governments would want that armor, Michael?"

Slowly, still piecing the puzzle together, she asks, "And, it hates you? You mean it could do more if it, ah, loved you or approved of you?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Well they can try and take it but I'll either kill them all or they'll kill me in the process," says Michael with a shrug, "But the armor will just teleport away and not care a whit. And as for your question, yes. If we got along it would allow me access to some truly formidable abilities." He shrugs. "But I am hardly incapable."    

Jessica Drew has posed:
"Well. This is just wonderful." Nothing on her face reflects the words. "You're presence is now SCI (Special Compartmented Information). I likely just earned myself a service demerit for talking about this in the cafeteria." Jessica takes a deep breath which she releases slowly.

"We need to finish this someplace else. In the meantime, seen any good movies lately?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "You assume people can hear you." He shrugs. "Anyway, I'm not going to rat you out." He looks past her to the door. "I don't watch movies. My people believe art to be the symptons of a lesser mind - same for music, though obviously I can sing for cover. We do have theater, though. That being said, we also know that my people are obviously /enormous/ squares, so..." Michael looks back to her. "I'm open to the experience. What movies do you like?"

Jessica Drew has posed:
Squeezing the skin between her eyebrows, Jessica smiles to herself, shaking her head. "You are so...literal, at times, Michael. Isn't theater a kind of art? And acting, too?"

More relaxed, she adds, "I wonder if you would like 'Rashomon'. My tastes are odd in films. I like some of the old stuff. Newer, I don't know. 'Boyhood'? 'Under the Skin'? Who knows? Have you had to see any films to keep your cover?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He blinks at her twice. "Yeah," the alien soldier tells her, "Sorry. I suppose I am. I've never actually seen a movie in a theater, though. Seen plenty of plays on Broadway, though! Just, not musicals." A beat. He leans in a little and says - a good deal more secretive than when he was extolling the virtues of his armor - "I love plays."

Jessica Drew has posed:
It's irresistible. Jessica leans forward, saying in a conspiratorial whisper, "But that's art. I think you might like films." With a smile, "Come on. We need to debrief officially, now that we've eaten." She pushes back her chair, stands, then picks up her tray. "Time to be official."