7543/Red Sky: I Broke It

Red Sky: I Broke It
Date of Scene:	25 August 2021
Location:	Kepler 16-B, Cygnus
Synopsis:	A possessed, mentally poisoned Blackagar Boltagon is not only a danger to himself but nearly everyone. Hence why Daisy's help is required... on a gas giant, 245 light years from Earth. Where else do you stash the Midnight King?
Cast of Characters:	Daisy Johnson, Jane Foster, Blackagar Boltagon

---

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The Triskelion. Chez Jemma's suite. Or should we say Daisy and Jemma's suite? It's a good thing these suites have two bedrooms. For roomies! And when Daisy isn't going home to Hell's Kitchen that's where she chooses to bunk at. And today she was busy, reviewing some files on the Secret Warriors.

She is currently sitting at the living room of the suite, feet up and propped on the table as if she owned the place (she co-owns it!) while her fingertips are brushing past some files on a folder. Names for the team.

A discarded box of pasta is to the side, which gives an hint of what she ate for dinner tonight, the earpods on her ears having her hum to some song. Taylor Swift? Yep.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jemma and Daisy may share a suite, though it's doubtful either of them completely live there all the time. A pleasure, really.

Explaining why a glorious pearl-white stallion stands on the ceiling would be uncomfortable for one Mr. Murdock, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. He might be inclined to question Daisy's choice in coworkers, especially when the various senses that he possesses sharpened the shape to 'very large horse' and accoutrements included things like, oh, a wingspan on par with an F-22. Grani will have you know he is faster, too.

Names for the team flicker past. "Penmanship has become distressingly out of fashion. The fine art of calligraphy provides an essential pastime for the intellect," he sighs. A dark, shining eye turns Daisy's way, his ear flicking thoughtfully after that banal excuse for music. 'The Man?' Maybe something off /Evermore?/ He will forgive the latter. "Your monarch has a need of you. Do bring an adequately insulated coat, for that may prove most discomfiting otherwise." He pauses. Grani ruffles his feathers. "Wouldst thou be offended were I to also recommend proper trousers?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Whatever you say, the less I knooow~"

Yes, Daisy is listening to Taylor Swift indeed, in this case the song Willow, singing along to it until there's that large shadow about the room and she ..., pauses. What the... And then the familiar voice of Mr. Horse. "You know..." pause, " ... what's your thing with ceilings, Mr. Horse?" yes, that's what she asks to start the convo with. No jumping out of her chair or going all surprised! She knows the horse by now after all! But then Grani says why he's here and that has Daisy quirking a brow. "My monarch?" she squints her eyes as it considering and then mmmms, "Right, you mean Black Bolt." she gets up to her feet. "Where are we going? So I can prepare myself properly.." she pads over to her room to get ready. Proper pants? How about jeans? And sure, she can get a nice coat to go. "Or is this an emergency of sorts?" she still isn't sure.

"But anyway, how have you been, Mr. Horse?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Willow trees possess kindly dryads and offer appropriate shade, therefore Daisy's singing will be forgiven for the nonce. He must tolerate such matters, after for his role here is an open-shut case. No point in providing a bait and switch about his purpose where Daisy is involved. He rustles his wings and a moment later, a very tall horse reluctantly acknowledges Triskelion ceilings prove not nearly high enough for proud creatures such as himself. His ears brush the ceiling to make his point, though he lowers his head somewhat to regard the Inhuman woman with some degree of solemnity. "I left a perfectly satisfying cup of tea and a promising survey of the Tibetan Plateau behind," he mildly chides.

"An emergency for which whole ecosystems may be at risk." Her question about how much of an engagement this is remains quite clear as he whisks his tail, hurrying her along. "Please hasten equipping yourself properly. Winter raiments only if you have them immediately at hand." He minds his hooves on the floor, aiming not to unsettle any rugs or leave hoofprints all over the carpet. Jemma might have a heart attack. "Regrettably I am not making a proper social call. We can manage a bit of a gab along the way, provided we leave in the next forty-five seconds."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Tibetan plateau? Well, shit. "Is that where he is? Well, of course it must be..." And so Daisy shifts gears even if she already is inside her nice warm coat and jeans. She goes to the closet and opens it to retrieve a closed backpack where the last equipment she used for the snow still is, including all the warm accoutrements of snowwy exploration she had learned to love when she had gone out there with Lara Croft once.

So she takes it out and swings it over her shoulders, stepping out to look at Grani. "I like how you deliver such dire news with that kind of solemnity. Do you ever lose your temper, Mr. Horse?" then it followed by a nod.

"I am ready to go." wherever that was! Jemma will just have to forgive them for the hoofprints on the floor if they happen.

Jane Foster has posed:
Luckily for all, Daisy comes prepared for such adventures. Whatever Grani in all his pearlescent glory needs for an adventure to the high Himalayas, he possesses in spades. Horseshoes present themselves, though he gives himself a proper shake. Instantly, a proper saddle spans his back complete with stirrups, though the complicated contraption serving with reins boasts nothing by way of a bit. Perish the idea; he'd bite anyone who thought otherwise. Twin bosses wrapped around his deep chest afford the connection to the Vanir-made lead.

"My sire serves the All-Father with perfect composure. I am not one of those uppity Asgardian ponies with less wit than a besotted drunkard of a dark elf." His front legs splay so he can drop a proper meter and some, otherwise Daisy might have to sling herself most embarrassingly over his back. "I will bear you, my lady. One caution must be made. Do not leave my back 'ere offering proper warning, should it please you. I care not to explain why you ended up lost so far from your domicile to the lady physic. Her manner with a knife may be implied as particularly ruthless." Well, Jemma's evil half. And that evil half got a hoof to the bonnet of her vehicle, much to her everlasting woe.

His wings shuffle aside for her to clamber up and settle into the saddle. Like a self-driving car, the self-directed horse that would have Gandalf salivating in green-eyed Maia jealousy takes a few steps back. Then he simply runs for the wall.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Don't think you ever told us who your sire actually was." Daisy asks, curious, even as she slings herself up on the horse after a couple of tries. Because no, Daisy never had a dad that brought her to ride ponies when she was a young kid! So right now? It's the first time she is getting up on a horse! Woooo!

The warning does make her hold on tight to the saddle though, legs squeezing. "And oh, she is nice most of the time. Just don't say bad things about Doctor Who." what?

But then whatever Daisy would say next is stopped short when Grani starts running towards a wall. "That's a wa---!" poof.

Jane Foster has posed:
Two plus two is eight-legged, but Grani feels no need to further explain considering the imminent collision. The Triskelion's fine construction may boast a horse-shaped hole and an unconscious agent, one serious head injury notwithstanding. His wings cannot possibly clear the breadth of the room, and yet they do.

A leap and the world splits apart, leaving behind a humid, sweaty summer on New York City's north side. Leaves rustle and his hooves crash down onto a prismatic road thrumming with energy, giving no indication the air is anything but pleasantly warm and breathable. Daisy goes aloft when his wingbeats catch the atmosphere and launch upward, the light tripping pretty fantastic when he beats those feathered pinions to accelerate.

Two seconds later, and they crash through 246 light years as easily as sailing over the Statue of Liberty in a helicopter. Twin stars pirouette one another, perfectly visible there in space, though the smaller red dwarf forms a much less impressive spot on the astronomical horizon compared to its brighter golden companion. That one resembles Sol, the sun. Maybe a comfort.

Maybe not, considering the stormy planet below. It's much too large to be comparable to Earth or Luna. Searing clouds swirl wildly around it, frosty cold. If there is a surface, it's shrouded by the thick veil where tempests are born and die, serpentine bands of streaming water vapor, ammonia, and hints of methane. A somewhat cold, particularly vast place is impressive, if such things can even be comprehended.

Grani wings beyond orbit, and dropping into a dive might be a very slow way to enter the atmosphere. Forget that!

Another rainbow-etched leap and they span a thousand miles in a heartbeat. The Jovian quasi-gas giant's gravity captures them, but he isn't the least bit bothered. "He should be about. Permit me a moment to determine the exact spot, but do enjoy yourself in the meantime."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
As they step out onto ..., another planet(?), Daisy's eyes go wide. "You ain't in Kansas anymore, Daisy..." the young agent mutters to herself while holding on even tighter to the saddle. Then a frown down at Grani. "You should had told me where we were coming to, because---" and then it zips off again, burning through those thousand kilometers to land on the surface. And oh yea, it's cold.

At least she can breathe though! Good thing the horse was considerate like that and didn't forget she is human. Well, Inhuman.

She continues holding on to the saddle, letting her eyes wander the landscape before eventually she closes them, her own powers coming to the fore, getting acquainted to where she is, eyes closing, letting the song envelop the grounds as a low hum, not detectable by human ears, escapes her hands, spreading through, almost as if she was learning about this planet through her powers.

"Have all the moments you want, Mr. Horse. Just don't let me freeze to death." she requests with a faint smile, breaking from her reverie and digging into her pack for her warm gloves.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The ice planet, frozen over with cracks the emerge leading to crevices descending miles towards the core is a barren, frozen wasteland vacant of any sentient life that would dare call this place home. That doesn't change the fact there is an abundance of non-sentient life. Large centipede-like creatures (https://bit.ly/3zjorOv) with multiple spindly legs, vicious-looking beaks and insect-like qualities scatter across the surface, seeking shelter and trying to get into crevices. From a distance, they may look to be rather small, until depth perception comes into play of course.

A point of reference perhaps could be useful. The frame of Blackagar can be seen, running on the surface of the planet and he stands to about as tall as the carapace-covered bodies of the creatures. Their length becoming nearly 20 meters when fully extended and their speed is astonishing. Clearly, the danger must be that Blackagar is on this planet, the creatures some kind of threat to him.

But those initial facts do not fit the reality. The hideous apex creatures are not chasing /after/ the King, they are running away from him. Blackagar it would seem is giving the pursuit, chasing after one that has separated from the rest of the herd and when in range he launches his body at it, tackling the creature to the ground and grabbing it by the tail, turns it over, and slams it in an arcing movement to smash against the ice beneath them. The ice shatters, it breaks and the creature and Inhuman King both begin to fall into the new crevice before he flies out of the hole, turning around with a wild-eyed expression and eerie smile on his face to begin chasing after the next pack of monsters.

Frozen, barren world in the middle of space. Centipede monsters. And Blackagar is... having a good time?

Jane Foster has posed:
"Would you have welcomed such knowledge or spooked at the notion?" Mr. Horse is, at heart, a responsible and respectful horse. Nothing like the flighty twits ferrying around other individuals of importance. His task, bearing a somewhat mortal, requires special care. The halo of warmth and, most important, oxygen around the horse means certain protections get extended to his passenger. Daisy is not bombarded by the magnetism or hyperactive radiation that gas giants and their ice giant cousins throw off regularly. Otherwise neither of them would do very well. -90'C at the warmer reaches of the planet is nothing compared to the cloud tops, where things prove significantly chillier. Bombardment by ice particles might be a problem, but it beats that /other/ planet where it rains corundum -- read rubies and sapphires -- or the other one where the rain comes sideways at 4,500 miles per hour.

Why, Kepler 16-B is positively placid by comparison!

Modulated temperature from the horse actively working and descending in a great spiral also helps. Atmospheric friction normally might reduce both of them to crispy dismembered body parts, but not so with the blessing of Odin, All-Father, Horse-Friend. "When we verily locate him, best to presume that his faculties remain somewhat witless. Think him a dangerous predator and you mayhap understand the gravity of the situation, my lady, The gentleman from Attilan may perceive you on par with a deer or a moose. You mayhap understand the gravity of the situation, my lady, and what we must do to inhibit the harm he might render himself or this hapless place." Grani sounds perplexed, direly bothered by some deeper purpose. "His own wherewithal to distinguish better gradations between individuals appears severely impacted by some foul presence."

The Aesir horse folds his wings slightly and banks, and another of those leaps projects them into the streaming, frost-licked clouds at speeds best not thinking about. "She remains somewhat put out by the turn of events."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"I might had asked for more information on *why* we were going for such a planet." Daisy admits grudgingly before she just chuckles briefly at the situation they find themselves in. Maybe she is going a bit mad too! Just like Blackagar if what Mr. Horse is telling her is true. Not that the horse ever lied to her. It just omits the truth!

The young Inhuman woman finally spots the King fending it off against some kind of centipede-dragon thing. Alien creatures, ugh. At least they aren't spiders. She hates those. Still, some concern appears on her features when she both notes Blackagar going off on some rampage and at what Grani tells her. Blackagar .., hunting?

She cants her head to the side to look more closely, eyes narrowing, trying to detect his expression but they are a touch away. She urges Grani on. "We need to get closer. I can try and figure out if there's something at work here.." at least where it comes to the man's own vibrations and physical being. If it's something mental? Tough luck, Daisy can't check for those.

As they bank in and Grani then leaps forward she again holds on for dear life, "Jane, you mean?" she asks about those last words of Grani. But soon enough as they get close she focuses, letting her powers wander to reach Black Bolt, to sense his vibrations. Eventually she calls out. "King Boltagon!"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The happy-looking frollick of Blackagar continues as he chases after this new herd of beings. His steps leave the ground as soon as feet hit and he is bounding along. Another one is tackled, it screeches into what little atmosphere there is in terror before the King does what he did to the last. Grab it, spin it around, and tosses it flying in some random direction. It is not so much hunting as he looks like a boy at play. About to do the same something catches his attention.

A voice! He recognizes a voice and his wild eyes look up at Daisy and Mr. Horse. The feel of his vibrations is distinctly wrong. Like a poison in his veins, something has contaminated the man and the result is this demeanor and disposition. Be it a radiological, viral, or bacterial agent, he is flat out /wrong/. The demonstration of how wrong he is coming as those blue eyes usually so kind in demeanor looks angry at the flying horse and rider. Long steps are taken and then Blackbolt bounds into the air, heading _straight_ for Daisy and Grini.

He has found new play things.

Jane Foster has posed:
She, as it happens, stands on babysitting duty. Not happy about it, either, the Valkyrie remains very much above the playing field of terrified centipedes. Enormous multi-legged insectoids scampering under thick clouds that blot all image of the stars would themselves be impressive. The desire to hurl a spear through several and possibly take up Kepler 16-B's first barbecue occasionally flits forth. When one scampers in primal terror, cresting over a knife-edged ridge on a near vertical rise, it waves the upper half of its horrible body. Do they spit globs of acid or spray? This one apparently might.

The smarter move for te Valkyrie is circling up and back where the irate bug cannot reach her, but what sort of Asgardian fails to engage when confronted? That one, who soars away before vaporous mist freezes and sticks to her armour.

Jane Foster has posed:
Grani assesses the battlefield and weaves a path free of cracking ice and massive cliffs forged of sharp, serrated walls. He doesn't have much trouble negotiating those hazards, and Daisy on his back precludes lashing out. "Nay, the bright lady of Asgard! You children of Midgard boast no resistance to such perils. 'Tis only by deepest calamity that I sought your aid, my lady, that you might lend your vaunted opinion. You brought such excellent advice about where to seek entertainment and libations!" Yes, the horse values her judgment because of jazz and whiskey. Apparently. "Also that my young battle-maiden resists her own appropriate inclinations to quell these matters of violence. We agreed that perchance your impeccable talents might provide an acceptable outcome whereby he stops being... that."

Because there just are no words. Especially for a horse who can swivel on a doubloon and accelerate at speed, which he does by sweeping those wings back. Quake may live up to her name -- or learn sky-quaking is a thing when the atmosphere is soupy as it is.

---

Vanishing into the cloud-deck is easy. Cumulonimbus clouds roil furiously around the gas giant and the gravity rightly would crush them all without electrons, magic horses or Asgardian make. Blackagar's hunt is mirrored by the winged Valkyrie in the sky. When he goes up, she closes her wings and descends, a falcon at horribly fast speeds dropping out of the fog soaking bloody wet. Stupid clouds. Stupid Kepler 16-B. With luck, she can sideswipe the Silent King or drop down onto his back and ride him like an unbroken horse to the ground. It's playtime, isn't it?

Daisy Johnson has posed:
So much for calling the man to reason by saying his name! Or getting him to see familiar faces! Turns out they must all look like centipedes to be crushed. Ugh. Daisy exhales softly, her breathing crystallizing in the air with the cold that's being felt, "We need to move closer and engage. Find a way to restrain him so we can look at what is affecting him and how to take it out.." and indeed what she finds affecting the man is ..., dire.

"Something *is* eating him from the inside, poison or something else, but what I can tell you is that he just feels wrong. And whatever it is it's something physical, setting him all ..., off from what he normally is." She assesses even as they are moving in.

Hands are already coming up, used almost as a focus, and a return to how she used to need her hands and those gloves to use her powers. Not anymore. But it's still a comfortable crutch that she uses now, her own vibrations set to absort whatever terrible powers Blackagar may try to unleash.

But that's until the Valkyrie comes shooting out of the sky to get face-to-face with Blackagar. It makes Daisy crease her brows. "I imagine that's the Lady you were speaking of, Mr. Horse!" she calls out.

Jane Foster has posed:
"'Tis! She demonstrates a modicum of competency that shall earn less ribbing from the Valkyrior!" Grani crows, for he has small reason to admire his erstwhile charge who is willing to crash into an Inhuman king at speed. Anyone else, that would probably be bone-jarring. Anyone else probably wouldn't suffer the risk.

Crap on toast that Blackagar is in hot pursuit, and the equine tactics do not equal 'fly around as a tempting target.' He strikes his hooves against the solid, freezing air ripped by gale-force winds, and they plunge through for a momentary escape. Twenty kilometers west will do, where they can at least hear for any supersonic bangs of an Aesir or Inhuman breaking the sound barrier.

"Mimir's rotten tooth! A misfortune upon his house to be poisoned. You daresay we need approach nearer to assist with the malady?"

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"If it can even be assisted at this blasted place of a planet!" Daisy speaks up, one hand coming to her head as they teleport -again-. Yea, that's messing with her sense of orientation big time, specially as she was using her vibrations too. "If this is a poison then we need Jemma. Or rather, bring him *to* Jemma." she says down to Grani, leaning forward to almost be resting against the horse's neck. It's warmer there too!

"But we need to know -how- this came to be. Did you find him like this? What was he doing before, any idea?" she questions. Because she is also an Agent! And Agents ask about clues to help solve riddles. And help save people. "Any information will help."

"And how did he get here? Can Blackagar even teleport such distances?" She truly doesn't know much about the extent on Blackagar's powers. But they seem to .., extend far considering she is seeing him flying and kicking ass against giant-ass centipedes. But how will he fare against a valkyrie?

"Also, who is that Valkyrie?" she asks.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar's climbing ascent is indeed intercepted by the Valkyrie, sending him falling back to the ground to tumble end over end and he looks up at the flying shape. He attempts again to seek flight and gets knocked to the ground once more. The posture of the man grows impatient, it grows agitated and he looks at the swooping form. Eyes track and then he growls.

Yes, he growls.

The planet shakes, cascades of energy rolling out in waves from the point of origin. Even the very softest of displeased sounds creating a seismic event that rocks the planetoid. Being a gas giant there is less density to destroy, but it does not mean the absence of that energy from him. It only means there is less things to destroy and less life to be lost. Once more, black eyes attempt to find where the flying horse went. That seemed to be a worthy hunt compared to these centipedes and he wants to hunt. To live free, to run wild. Steps begin again, saying on the ground that is broken further than it was mere moments ago as he tries to find Mr. Horse and his rider.

Jane Foster has posed:
"We would imperil the lady physic by keeping them in proximity if he is conscious. Can you render him unconscious by disrupting his biological functions for minimal long-term harm?" Grani's education makes him sound somewhat akin to a professor humming over the prospects for a clinical study or set of results. He twitches his tail, still put out ever so mildly.

Yes, it is nice to have Daisy leaning on him. She is no trouble whatsoever. "She called me when he was in this state. A day at most?" His grasp of time is not the issue there. "They encountered some peril in the high latitudes of your planet. His behaviour turned erratic, and then inconceivably devolved into that state."

Another plunge through the clouds it not sedate so he can circle around, keeping them harder to track through the clouds. Stupid centipedes cannot fly at least, but there may be other awful sky-serpent dragonflies or worse. It's the Evil Neverending Story. "They were together at the call. What would you choose to do, given the circumstances?" He may try to stop teleporting if she suffers for it.

The stormy atmosphere billows and blows around to the growl, the shapes blown back and the gas collapsing into itself. Rushing atoms in a gaseous state are far too spread out to crack like ice or water, but they absolutely matters for the energetic outburst wrecking everything in sight. That means the Valkyrie goes tumbling too, taking the brunt of pain and discomfort. So be it.

She rolls over backwards and clenches her hand. Odin might be jealous of the golden bolt clasped in her hand, and unlike Thor? She doesn't need to be restricted to hammers. "Fairest king!" she calls out, seductive and haunting as any guardian of the crossroads or washer at the ford might be. One hurled bolt launches for him, her eyes glowing violet in their own right to stare through the lies of the world. Truth hurts. Especially when it shatters into a shrapnel storm, a volley of bolts all winging back on him. Not enough to actually do justifiable damage, but sure turn his attention around if he can be connected. "Mine!"

...maybe land-mine?

Daisy Johnson has posed:
What options do they have here? Knock him out? "I do not believe I am able to knock out King Blackagar, Mr. Horse." she tells him, lips pressed to a line just before her eyes go wide at the shake felt through the planet. Yea. This is no good. Specially if he'd do this back on Earth. "We can work together with the valkyrie and try to subdue him but if this is his reaction to the start of the fight I do not believe this world would be whole much longer. Another option is to draw some blood, bring it back to earth for analysis."

"Regardless, we need to go back to help in the fight." Daisy urging Grani to return to the fray. She even adjusts herself on the saddle to prepare for the jump if it comes.

"This may very well be some kind of alien poison. Lets go!"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar is displeased. He was going to happily just hunt for Mr. Horse. Maybe bat him around some, throw him into a star. It was going to be a nice afternoon. But now he can't find the horse and he keeps getting annoyed by the flying Valkyrie. That attention of his shifts and he looks around when the voice is spoken at him in conjunction with the first lightning bolt striking into his side. Spinning, he looks around. It may not have been mentioned, but the Attilan King is in fact doing all this naked. Don't ask. He must have destroyed his clothes during whatever insanity took him. That spinning motion causes him to slip some and a series of other golden bolts of lightning strike him. No growl, just a furrowing of his brow in deep annoyance. But it's that voice, calling /mine/ to him that peels his attention finally off of the Horse and rider to get him to once more go after the Valkyrie. He isn't running or flying, he's just walking in stalking-styled steps in her direction.

He has lost interest in Horse and rider, allowing for the availability of attack from that end. He keeps going for Valkyrie. There is no finesse of movements, he actually looks almost loping in his movements, as if reaching a point of trying to run on all fours as the regression to a more primitive mindset continues.

Jane Foster has posed:
Grani's not squeamish. Doubt nonetheless seeps into his tone. "Draw blood for analysis? The conditions for such endeavours seem passing unlikely. With the ambient temperature well below freezing, the opportunity for an unsullied specimen may be rather low." He probably is passing aware of the golden light being tossed like radiant sunbeams below, were they not trying to navigate a literal slurry. One moving through a Slurpee machine at 80 miles per hour would be nice.

His wings are damnably white all the same. "I harboured hope that you might disrupt his circulatory system sufficiently to undermine his conscious grasp. Nonetheless, we make do."

Daisy said let's go, and so they shall. At least he knows where his person is, on his back, and his other person down there. A swoop of a battle-hardened steed is very well and good, but he sincerely misses his jazz. Maybe a barrel of mead.

The Valkyrie fighting on her own may well be taunting the happy fun ball. None of this is fun. Her helm guards her face, mouth a cool line beneath it. The spectacular notion to hurl a swarm of energy missiles at Blackagar could prove her undoing, especially when he races after her like some early hominid. Curling her fingers playfully to him, she waits whilst backing away slightly toward the cracked, battered ice field. Cliffs soaring high, a deep slope of ultrafrozen liquid -- water, ammonia, even a bit of methane snow, maybe. Nowhere to go. Boxed in, an easy target for him cannot possibly flee. But that isn't the point. At the last loping strides, she slams the full weight of that bracelet-become-a-hammer into the cliff-face. Cracks radiate and splinter where angry centipedes weren't getting safely away, and so begins the avalanche to bury both of them.

Aw, look, it's the Ice King!

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"I cannot do any of that." Daisy sadly informs Grani with a small shake of her head, "My control over vibrations only goes so far ..., for now." there's always room for improvement! Still, they need to go back in, and fast. She doesn't seem as affected by this teleport now, perhaps getting used to it, legs squeezing further on the horse so she can have her hands free. Daring! But she is hoping she won't fall.

Again she points them towards the ongoing battle, hands pointing towards the naked King (Maybe he is wearing the emperor's new clothes?).

Concussive blasts are sent towards him, from behind, a backstab as any that's ever been seen! But with some luck? It will keep him off-balance and able to be hit fully by that oncoming snow avalanche.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar's running steps suddenly are disrupted as he is hit in the back with concussive waves of energy directed at him by Daisy. Tumbling end over end forward he is just getting to his feet when tons upon tons of snow and ice fall down and over him, covering him and piling over the top as the avalanche engulfs him. The mists rise slowly from the impact and all is calm for a few moments.

That is until the pile of ice and snow erupts outwards, a pile of snow blown up by a firework beneath it and in the crater created stands Blackagar. But he does not look well. His body temperature is overheating, whatever is running through his body is eating him and his metabolism at an accelerated rate. Normal conditions do not apply, he is weary and weak as he starts to try to fly out of the crater but is only able to jump and it is done awkwardly. Again he tries to run for the Horse and rider that has reappeared, but his feet stumble in the snow and he falls.

Climbing to his feet he tries to resume running before he ends up tumbling head over heels and slides into an unmoving lump on the ground. Bare ass up as his face is on the ground.

The planetoid shakes. It rumbles then stills. Again it shakes and rumbles, then stills. The rattling would be considered small by any standard of the Inhuman. But he is worn out, completely exhausted, so his snoring does not destroy the world. Only causes a few earthquakes.

Jane Foster has posed:
Grani is far too much the gentlehorse to ask what Daisy can do. Limitations he would nod to, but she already sounds so unhappy with her circumstances. "Nothing a right spot of tea cannot fix," he replies, "and possibly a century of dedicated practice." The expertise in aerobatics comes to play as he descends from the sky for his rider to perform her feats, sending the coagulated, frozen ground shaking. Proof even enormous gas giants can have a solid surface, though the atmospheric pressure is horrific for anyone protected. Her shaking has a considerable, frighteningly effective range.

Nothing like watching her scythe down the wheat. Mr. Horse's nostrils flare. He sweeps wide over the fallen ice cliffs and field, and the turbulence gets messy when Blackagar complains about being buried like a proper corrupted monarch should. "That's enough from you!" he pertly snaps, the blizzard forcing them into a sudden climb. "Fast to the saddle! Should you tip, I will be there to recover you, my lady. Both hands gripping tight will better a tumble."

The Valkyrie doesn't see any of this, being that she too is caught up in the snowy inversion exploding from the king. Her arms cross over her face, protecting her helmed face. Ice shards evaporate and still sting bitterly. She drops to one knee, wings wrapping around herself as a doubled level of shielding against all that comes raining down that went up.

Mount Blanc-au-Noir is then visible to Daisy and Grani long before she notices, at least to force her upright. The frosty rime clinging to her armour and body could well lead to the wrong very small giant impression, since those lips are very much blue. "Harrowing to return him to Earth if he would wake," she murmurs. To Daisy, it's probably English. "Yet to bring the lady physic to us demands yet another sacrifice. How could one ask it of her or you? For lady scholar, it would be another journey to fetch her."

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"You are too british for your own good, Mr. Horse." And considering the horse is Asgardian, well, how does that even work being 'too British'?! But anyway, Daisy gets downright busy at sending those blasts of force towards Blackagar. Look, he is naked outside with at least -90C. He can most likely survive some avalanche. And so he does! Though before Daisy has to continue launching more attacks the man topples over and falls.

Hands quickly go to the saddle when Grani starts with his flying and flipping up onto a climb and she holds on so as to not get launched back down. Legs squeeze too with the effort of staying astride.

"There!" she points out, seeing first the fallen monarch and then the valkyrie. "Go down, please. I have some real sturdy clothing in my pack. You could go for the trip and then return. I should be able to wait as long as you didn't take .., long?" or so she hopes!

But then she calls out to the valkyrie. "Hey, are you okay? I am Daisy. You are Mr. Horse's rider?" she asks.

Jane Foster has posed:
"The instability across the surface could prove most detrimental for proximity. I assure you, he looks like a miscreant and your welfare remains foremost a matter of concern." Grani would give the horse equivalent of a frown to the unconscious man. His head tossed, rippling white mane a thing of beauty, he sweeps shorter and narrower gyres until alighting on the ground.

"Would your cape not suffice?" Sly remarks to a Valkyrie are never totally wise, but his instruction is rather on par with a tired Batman dealing with the shenanigans of Red Hood. (Just why, Jason, why?) Perhaps Clark beholding what everyone else on Earth gets up to, his patience tried mildly.

His hooves crunch the ice in a most satisfying way. No need to kick at the snowdrifts, though he waits for the Asgardian to come close. So he can wingcheck her, nudging her with the bony leading edge awash in soft flight feathers. It's still windy as can be down here. "Yes," Grani says.

<<His companion.>> Coworkers sound so imprecise. She raises her hand, eyes a violet wash behind the platinum-bright helm. That's a lot of ice, some brushed away with her snowy hand. Not so helpful, that. <<Valkyrie.>> Yes, how original. Odin needs better titles and names. <<Well-met, Daisy. My glad thanks for your willingness to come. His condition is concerning.>> Her head turns in Blackagar's direction. <<Leaving Grani would not be advisable for you. The magnetism generated by a celestial body this size would irrevocably damage your body, if not prove fatal for a short period. A poor situation, either way. Bring the slumberer back or draw out the expert? We could play for time. I do not know if the planet or its parent star would survive that.>>

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Well met then, Valkyrie." Daisy replies with a faint, strained smile, brushing one hand through her hair. She does feel herself quite in luck that she is not out there like the Valkyrie or Blackagar with how she notes those winds sweeping about the helmeted Lady. Still, that concern goes back down to the fallen King, considering their choices. Bring him back or get Jemma here?

In the end she feels they would have a better chance back at the Triskelion. "We bring him back." she says. "There's a chamber at the Triskelion that was used in the past to hold my powers. It can most likely subdue some of these quakes. As for the rest? I am called Quake for a reason." a faint smile. "I can absorb these vibrations while we check what's wrong with him." a look around the desolate place.

"Grani was telling me you came across some threat on an high altitude? Can you tell me what it was? This seems like some kind of virus, or infliction.."

Jane Foster has posed:
<<The projections originate from beyond a geological force. Returning him to a highly concentrated population center in Midgard is too dangerous.>> The helmed woman shakes her head, then stoops to remove the cornflower-blue cloak from her back. Any clothes Daisy carries can be tossed down surely, or Grani might be convinced to lie on the ground. That could be asking a lot of the pegasus, but then he isn't beyond seeing necessity.

<<Could such a chamber be transported to another location on the planet? Transporting somewhere sparsely populated and stable for a short-term solution would ensure no civilians come to harm if he awakens in a bad mood.>> The suggestion she puts forth with deliberate slowness, her thoughts still turning while she has to fight for balance. Hey, Blackagar snoring is still fit to collapse whole cloud formations and send her tottering. The horse isn't much better off on four legs than she is on two.

<<Altitude? Latitude. A possible disturbance caused by an extraterrestrial craft spread out from an impact site. I cannot guide you there precisely without referring to your cartographic charts.>> Earth geography is strange, after all. He cannot just stay there, and she's hurting, fatigued, and outright miserable behind the cool regard. Some psychopomp! <<The exact site was covered in ice. Sentient beings showed deterioration after visiting there. Let's first concern ourselves with his survival and then worry about containment or eradication strategies afterward, Daisy-named-Quake.>>

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"The chamber can be transported." Daisy assures the Valkyrie. It had been done to her, to transport her about during her 'darker' times. And to make sure she didn't harm herself, or others. "We can arrange to meet up at a desert location. I can get you coordinates. To the Mojave desert." hey, it's far from everything! "Though I will note I can absorb vibrations beyond geological forces." she points out. "... within certain limits."

"And I agree, first things first, lets make sure the King is put somewhere safe and then ..., we will figure next steps." she lets out a sigh, rubbing at her face. "Outer planetary rescue of monarchs wasn't really how I thought my afternoon was going to go." she admits. "But I suppose it's fine for my first time outside the planet?" a faint smile.

"Can we all mount up on Grani then and go back? I can then go get the Quinjet." she explains.

Jane Foster has posed:
<<Excellent.>> Relief, then, that something can be done. The surging weather does not particularly invite staying any longer on the exoplanet than absolutely necessary and even her regenerative capabilities don't appreciate adjusting to the weather and the violent storm building in the lower atmosphere. Nor have the centipedes forgotten the existence of the predator, lurking over the lower ridges and escaping from their burrows. Twenty meters of hell on pointed legs do not invite keeping put, so the Valkyrie kneels down to reclaim Blackagar by wrapping him in her cloak. It has length enough offer him privacy and shelter, though insufficient to end up happily burritoed in layers upon layers. In the scheme of things, she possesses a deft hand and no need to subject the slumbering king to anything less than the lightest touch and immediate. <<The Mojave. The one in California, the western side of the American continents?>> North or South, which is which? <<Take the road less travelled by, lady scholar. My alternative shall be the centre of the Australian continent, due south of the Springs of Lady Alice. Take Grani back to your location in search of the lady physic or the chamber, and we will await you.>>

Scooping up a man who can shake the core of a gas giant is no mean feat given that eight Earths could probably be stuffed inside Kepler 16-B, and the mind-boggling size of the place is going to be only memorable when Daisy and Grani take a while to get out of the atmosphere. The secret language of trust extends between warrior and hacker, though the broad copper-gold wings opening leave little doubt that she intends to take her own route.

With Blackagar Boltagon, king of the Inhumans, the prophesied dread of the Kree. No harm, no foul. <<Road be swift and straight to you.>> Humming vibrations from the sleeping man rattle her to the metal feather-tips and she shudders in its thrall. <<Grani, go.>> And with that, she slashes a tear in reality and steps through it with no more than a feather.

The horse looks mildly amused. He stamps at the ground and eyes a centipede emerging. "Shall we give them a fond farewell before making our departure? That one looks particularly plucky..."