7443/S.N.R

S.N.R
Date of Scene:	19 August 2021
Location:	Bronx
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Elvis Odell, Shuri

---

Elvis Odell has posed:
    It'd been washed over to the "Department of unamerican activities" which wasn't actually a department, or even a desk within the FBI. It was subtle bureau code for bullshit, bullshit submitted by somebody connected which usually meant an elected office someplace. It's the sort of nothing that Elvis is usually able to paper-work judo her way out from under, but not this time. So she runs the usual searches in the federal database, comes up with nothing and heads down to the local precinct to hit the case files for a few hours which is just as useless.

    She knocks on a few doors, talks to a few informants on the fed payroll but ultimately? Elvis ends the majority of the day with a basket full of nothing but "not my fucking job" garbage, which she'll throw back on the local precinct when she wants to pretend she's helping out. So she parks her department jalopy on a quiet side street, snags her shotgun from the back seat and a few speed loaders.

    Then she's up a fire escape, and soon onto a gravel'n tar rooftop. Hands cupped around her lips as she lights up a fresh cowboy killer. Radio left to scan the local frequencies, she'd struck out in the conventional channels. Elvis was Meta-crime however, she was used to dealing with capes and cape adjacents. Best way to find a local cape she'd figure out years ago, was to head to a rooftop and wait for a crime to happen. Still she parks herself back against an AC unit and sighs. "I came back from the dead for this...."

Shuri has posed:
Well, she'd forced her brother into it. She'd shamed him into starting to help their people in America. And of course he assigne her the job of running it, thinking it was punishment for her running off like that.

But it wasn't. This is what she wanted!

The black Suburban crawls through the neighbourhood, stopping outside the church before disgorging the Wakandan princess. Dressed in something that fits in a bit better (but is still very much a "I could buy this building" outfit anyway) in the form of jeans, a Wakandan-patterned top, and a kind of strangely-colourful overcoat, she steps out of the Suburban and leans inside to talk to her bodyguards.

"You two stay in here. You don't come out for any reason unless there's actual violence happening. Nobody here is going to hurt me, or if they try they can't do anything serious to me. I don't want you two making people afraid of me!"

Ayo and Okaye, the Dora Milaje who've been saddled with the princess' personal security, scowl. But they remain inside. "If you turn off your monitors, too, we will intervene," the say, however, which makes Shuri sigh in disgust but then nod in agreement.

After that exchange, she walks to the basketball court that was the spark of her first engagement here. The gang members hanging out there see her, start catcalling and cut off with a swipe of the leader's arm. "This is the one what helped the deal with the Coyotes. You show her respect!"

"Yes," Shuri says with tall head and arrogant demeanour. "And after he's done with you I start."

This generates some scattered laughter. Most of it nervous. They remember the car-melting laser...

Elvis Odell has posed:
    Well there's action, just not the sort she expected. She makes a few leaps from rooftop to rooftop, before coming to a stop where she's got a better view of things. A place where she can see the suburban, and the basket ball court. Brow furrowing as she watches, casually flipping out her phone to take a snapshot of the SUV for later reference. A few snaps of Shuri as she strides towards the basketball court.

    Not that she's terribly worried about being seen, mind you. Puffing at that cigarette without skipping a beat, silhouetted against the blackened sky beyond. Spying was somebody else's job of course and it's not as if the Bureau didn't have a whole department of sneaky nerds to attend to such things.

Shuri has posed:
The Dora Milaje are sworn to obey.

The King.

And even there they have huge latitude in interpreting their obediance.

Shuri is not the king. They obey her as a courtesy, but his orders override hers.

This is a roundabout way of saying they don't stay in the car when they spot an observer following her.

The first clue that this is the case is when two sets of feet thud to the ground behind Elvis, in a textbook 60 degree arc so she will find it difficult to keep both in focus.

"May we ask," the faux-polite voice of one of the bodyguards says, "precisely why you are following the person you chose to follow?"

It's not really a question. It's more an 'answer or die' kind of deal.

Elvis Odell has posed:
    "Wow, honest to god guard dogs."She turns slowly, cigarette smoke pouring from her nostrils as she eyes the pair. "Do you have your papers, boys?"Her left hand slowly opening that jacket to expose the badge on her belt. Right hand lifting to invite the pair closer. "You are aware of course, that you need to be licensed to operate in the state of New York as body guards yes? Double aware of the fact that I am free to request to see verification that you are indeed licensed, as a law enforcement officer? So lets see your paperwork."

    Shoulders slumped, cigarette smoldering away she's the very picture of chill. Never mind that shotgun held in her right hand, stock braced against her hip in a decidedly casual pose. "I'm Special Agent Elvis O'dell, the meta-crime desk. So lets not get cute, there's no reason not to act like the professionals you clearly are."A slow inhale, followed by a slow exhale. "It'd be an awful shame were I to feel obliged to hurt somebody's feelings."

Shuri has posed:
Ayo snorts and looks across at Oyake. Oyake, too, snorts and looks across at Elvis before producing from a concealed pocket ...

... a red passport. Shit. This is now State Department if it gets pushed any farther.

"I think you will find that dignitaries of the sovereign state of Wakanda are granted permission to be attended by bodyguards," Oyake says. She mimes a flip phone. "You might wish to consult with your superiors about that, however. Just to keep all the i's crossed and t's dotted."

With that accent it's hard to tell if they mangled the idiom accidentally or deliberately. No, wait. With that smug look, it's deliberate.

While Oyake speaks, Ayo moves to the edge of the roof to peer down, keeping Shuri in sight.

Talking of whom, Shuri, nervously greeted by the gang, is beginning to get along with them, though still very visibly stand-offish. (You can take the girl out of the princess, but not the princess out of the girl.) She even tries a shot with the basketball ... which fails to sink to her consternation. A runner sent across the street drags the preacher out who hugs Shuri (Ayo tenses, then relaxes, at this) in greeting.

Then her voice rings up, unnaturally loud.

"You'll find it easier to surveil me from down here, Agent Elvis O'Dell!" she calls up, voice amplified and projected. "And that way my poor bodyguards can relax in the car again instead of standing around on rooftops!"

Elvis Odell has posed:
    "Good to confirm, you are in fact foreign nationals."Elvis offers with a slow exhale. If she's irritated at all, really it's an amazing how well she hides it. She just offers a wry little grin "Hey look man, less work for me."And with that she's off. Taking a single long step off the edge of the roof, and well there's no cool three point landing nor is it particularly quiet but it is both swift and convenient.

    By the time she comes out the street proper she's at least slung that shotgun, flicking one cigarette away only to replace it with another without missing a step. Stopping short of the small gathering with a roll of the shoulders, taking another long drag as she watches. "Special Agent if you please, SHIELD, ATF and the DEA are Agents. FBI and the IRS, we're Special Agents."and there goes the slow exhale.

    "Might I have a word with you in private, so as to allow us to speak plainly?"Right arm resting against that heater holstered under her jacket, as she delicately ashes her cigarette with the left. "I'd rather avoid any potential misunderstandings, of course."

Shuri has posed:
One of the peanut gallery of the anonymous pipes up, "More like VERY SPECIAL Agent, amirite?" which causes a wave of (again nervous) laughter to flow.

The Dora Milaje gaze dourly from above as Elvis does her showy entrance and then disappear from skylining themselves. Exactly how they got down is possibly attested to by gentle thuds down the street, but in short order they're back in their vehicle.

~The credentials scanned and checked out,~ Shuri's earpiece reports from them over comms.

"Oh, I am sorry. Special Agent. The naming conventions of your people are still unfamiliar to me. Please do forgive me."

There's such effusiveness there it's unclear if it's sarcastic or not.

Though it is. At least partially.

"We'll need a quiet room," she says to the leader of the gang, which sparks a series of events that results in the pair having a run-down office (with substance residue of dubious origin) to themselves a short time later.

"What did you wish to ask me?"

Elvis Odell has posed:
    "You're attracting a lot of attention."Elvis states casually. Exchanging one cigarette for another, offering that silver cigarette case over towards Shuri with a lofted brow. "Hoover's ghost is never far away I'm afraid to say, plenty of powerful people more than happy to use us like attack dogs."

    "I'm from meta-crime, this is very far from my usual beat. Funny that this lands on my desk, like somebody wanted to give it to a Special Agent with a long established record of gunfights and closed casket funerals or something."A slow inhale as she finds a clean-ish wall to lean against. "I know what being used feels like, it's part of Federal Service unfortunately. Whilst despite my jacket, I make a concerted effort to avoid any undue violence?"She gives a little shrug.

    "Wouldn't be the slightest stretch for them to go across the street and lean on the DEA, and the Narcs sure as fuck ain't above planting evidence to justify something they really ought not have done. Lots of shadowy little spider holes somebody with Ill will and an elected office might use, and I expect they'll be quick to do so."

Shuri has posed:
"I don't follow," Shuri says. "I am helping a neighbourhood out of the depths. Out of depravity. Out of violence. Why would your officials be opposed to this? Surely what I see out here in this 'Mott Haven' district is not what is intended in this 'land of opportunity', is it?"

She waves out the boarded-over window. "What's out there is a disgrace in the self-proclaimed greatest nation on Earth. If I can help alleviate it and maybe even reverse it with my wealth and my influence, it would be disgusting of me not to try. I am not a colonizer. I do not take my privileges as my rights. I take them as my responsibilities."

And there she goes. Bringing howitzers to a knife fight.

"If you think that your agencies are going to frighten me away from helping these people dig themselves out of the hole they've been cast in, Special Agent, you are sorely mistaken. Every attempt to frighten me off of this project will double the amount of effort I pour into it. We'll then see who blinks first."

Something hints that Shuri has had her eyelids surgically altered to never blink.

Elvis Odell has posed:
    "If you think they've sent just some badge after you now?"Elvis leans forward, exhaling that smoke as flesh and hair gives way to the neat polished bone of her bared skull. Stripped of every semblance of life, her voice drops through the floor in a harsh guttural death rattle. "Look at me very carefully, your Royal Highness."One hand delicately lifting those scuffed up wayfarers free to expose the twin pinpricks of white hung in those empty eye sockets. "Look at what they sent to get you tangled up, in hopes somebody would do something. They sent me here in hopes I would -kill- you, not arrest you."

    Slowly she takes another drag of that cigarette, and well never mind how it works you can -watch- the smoke pour down her neck into her chest. "Do not confuse me with some 9-5 Federal functionary, they sent me here in hopes of something grim. Unfortunately for them, Death does not play favorites or engage in politics. What you should be asking yourself now, Your Majesty is who they send next and after whom."

Shuri has posed:
Give the girl credit. She's young. Inexperienced. Sheltered, even. She definitely starts. There's even the sharp intake that's a scream about to be readied.

But the scream is choked off.

"I killed my first boar when I was twelve years of age," Shuri says, after a moment's collecting herself. "My first human was sixteen. The boar was harder." Not mentioned: she had no tools she didn't make herself when doing the boar while she had arms and armour for the human. "Maybe today would have been the day I did my first ghost."

The fronting is good, but there is still a bit of residual horror in the eyes.

"I don't know why they are so opposed to the improvements in Mott Haven, but I will not be scared by parlour tricks and anonymous cowards who send them." She smiles tightly. "But thank you for the forewarning. It helps in designing the security protocols. You've met my security? We have a few more of them."

Elvis Odell has posed:
    "First they'll come for you, and then those close to you. If all that fails, they'll burn this place to the ground and blame you for it. I'm not telling you to stop, I'm telling you not to get -caught-."Delicately replacing those shades, as that pallid skin returns. "Good intentions gets people killed, take it from an expert in the matter yeah? Most of those who get killed are the innocent."Her voice finally returning to normal thankfully.

    "You do whatever the fuck you want, as long as it's legal I don't care."Reaching inside her jacket to produce a business card which she offers over. "I assure you Your Majesty I'm far stranger and infinitely more terrible than any mere ghost. All meet the ever after as equals, the mighty and the low."Half turning towards the door and pausing to chain up yet another cigarette. "And if anyone coming after you does break law within my jurisdiction, don't be shy. I forever endeavor to be just and fair, I have no problem with reaping the mighty who might be threatened by your activities."

Shuri has posed:
"I will keep that in mind," Shuri says. And while it's worded somewhat dismissively, the body language and tone of voice say otherwise. She will. Keep it in mind.

The card is glanced at. An eyepiece pops into being over her eyes, disconnected from anything as she does so. She hands the card back as the eyepiece vanishes. "I will keep in touch, Special Agent. Thank you for the courtesy visit." While she does this, already the formidable computing horsepower of the Wakandan embassy is putting out its feelers searching for information on:

- Special Agent O'Dell.
- Business interests affiliated with Mott Haven directly, indirectly, or twice-indirectly.
- Political interests affiliated with or motivated against Mott Haven directly, indirectly, or twice-indirectly.
- Family members of any of those found in previous searches, complete with names, addresses, telephone numbers (including private ones if necessary).

"Will you be staying for the pick-up game?"

Elvis Odell has posed:
    There are no shortage of criminal cases she's been involved in, and indeed a hand full of her arrests did come out of the Bronx. No living family members, no social media presence to speak of. She's tagged in other agent's social media from time to time of course, and their own political patchwork is a tangle by itself. Elvis however, is heiress to a Radio broadcasting fortune that went off air in the mid 80s but they did theoretically service the Bronx with radio sports coverage and Big Band music for whatever that's worth.

    Aside from an impressive streak of meta-arrests spanning the East coast, the majority of her online footprint centers around an infamous front page cover from the Miami Herald back in 95' A woman's shape lies slumped over the steering wheel, plainly visible through the open door. Rescue crews and police working on the costumed man that car's pinned to the wall. "The Agony arrested! Hero Fed Dies, details pg.17". Just to round things out, a series of photos of a plainly identifiable Elvis in a torn, mud caked suit stumbling through the front door of a FBI satellite office back in 05'.

    Elvis stands near the door for a moment, pausing at the invitation. "I'm afraid I don't play basketball, but thank you for the invitation. Got a bottle and a hot young thing calling my name. You have fun though, your majesty."And she's out the door, and off to god knows where.