7568/...And I Don't Know How to Fix It!

...And I Don't Know How to Fix It!
Date of Scene:	27 August 2021
Location:	Mojave Desert, California
Synopsis:	The Inhuman virus targeting their king has consequences that Jemma, Daisy, and the Valkyrie must deal with.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Blackagar Boltagon, Daisy Johnson, Jemma Simmons

---

Jane Foster has posed:
The Mojave has never been particularly conducive to human life, at least not since the Ice Age drastically changed the microclimate. Human inhabitation remains a thing scarred in the landscape where desperate, intrepid fools carved into the Sierra Nevada for gold, silver or escapes from their lives. Ruins marked failed ventures to make salt from playas, or a go of some other foolish agricultural run.

Given the proximity of Edwards Air Force Base and that little thing called the Hoover Dam, Las Vegas not far behind, the Valkyrie does not land in the southern end of the desert but far more to the north, away from the San Andreas Fault and deep into Death Valley.

<<Daisy, you couldn't have gone with the Outback?>> Words welcome a parched, searing existence no longer bombarded by the radiation of a gas giant or binary stars so far from home.

Blackagar Boltagon remains wrapped in her cloak, carried in her arms. The rent in space closes behind the Aesir, leaving the cool greenery of Vanaheim behind. A convenient stop for a short time to wash the ice and dirt from the man's face with cool water, a precaution while he sleeps. He isn't awake to see her pull back the helm and wash her tear-streaked countenance, or whisper words of regret and grief into one of the great rivers woven through the fecund realm. Those will be said again to him alone, but some hurts must be addressed before duty takes over.

Always duty.

Here heat springs viciously to the fore and any risk of sunburn redoubled. They need somewhere to wait not in the salt-pan playas or the harsh light. People die here all the time underestimating the landscape, and no matter the innate wisdom of the Valkyrior, Jane is still Jane under there. She rises with the Midnight King on a thermal until her sharp sight -- frighteningly acute, this way -- settles on a dark cleft in the mountain face, where there may just be a spring and some respite from the forty degree temperatures. Wings beat, and they dart forward to drop like a feather, softly and smoothly, into that space.

Then, what can she do but wait? Pray? Is prayer worth anything here?

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The toll on his body of running around the frozen world, keeping a shield about himself of energy to prevent being crushed, to survive had been devestating and done at the subconsciouss level. No warning signs or indications that he should consider some kind of retreat to a better climate. That in conjunction with the ravaging of his systems from whatever virus, bacterium, poison... whatever the source was that had taken over his instincts had left Blackagar a worn out disaster.

It had been some time since he ever felt pain, but his body does now. The pain of fire in veins. The pain of a body that has been beaten, bruised, bludgeoned into submission before he could cause more harm. Pain of loss of control which is the furthest but will hit the hardest. All these things keep him in a lump curled over for about an hour after Jane settles them into the mountain crevice.

But then movement begins, a slow uncurling of his body. A sign of life beyond the rising and falling of his chest to show he is in fact breathing. He stirs further, hands sliding as he is apparently attempting to push himself up. Attepting to move for some reason but it is so weak, like a sick child.

Jane Foster has posed:
Forty degrees is a great deal better than -90. Or the deadly pressures for a gas giant, which apparently no longer afflict instant death long before reaching the icy, frozen-gas surface. Small blessings prove so enormously taxing on the body of a man meant to be treated better by nature or erstwhile mortals than presently there.

She gently curls her wings around them both while settled into the niche carved from rock that used to be on the ocean floor, folded and contorted by California's various faultlines pressed, squeezed, and rubbed raw. Protection from the sunset sandstones and granite heating slowly but surely in the sunshine comes from narrow shadows, the bright sweep of her copper wing hardening to a harder density and greater size. Who needs sunscreen when angelic protection works just as well?

They form a pieta of sorts, though not the kind imagined by Michelangelo. He is the king, true, but messiah for the Inhumans and Kree rather than all of mankind. She is no queen of anything, albeit the intercessor with death. Mourning for the living, not the deceased, but Blackagar is stretched across her lap, arm under his neck. The touch isn't impersonal. How could it be? But neither lascivious or demanding, an act of protection. Should he shake the world by merely breathing, he shakes her, too.

Only fair. Only right. Would he seek to push himself up, she curves her arm slightly to pull him upright. The feathers have to move, the better not to be an irritation he smacks into. No one likes hitting their head when sitting. "Slowly," she warns, soft-spoken as ever. "Your endurance was tested to the utmost. You recover, if slowly. Can anything accelerate the process?"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The staggering movements of Blackagar as he tries to move, finding himself being held explaining the various sensations of weight and position. But it does not change the fact that he is attempting to crawl, to gain a bit of distance from Jane. It is not a fleeing attempt, it is a necessity and the sensation that floods from him abruptly explains why. He is _sick_ and is about to be, he is gaining space from her.

Crawling a few feet away he turns over and somehow silently retches, black fluid coming out of his mouth to fall to the rocks beneath him which begin to hiss with an acidic sound as the bile of whatever poison is in Blackagar's body is expelled. A second occurance happens, and the pain in his body can be felt. Agony of a thousand burning needles piercing through him. But when it is done, when it is expunged the flood of relief in him can be felt. The pain begins to subside nearly immediately and is replaced with exhaustion and weakness as he collapses back down in a heap, shivering despite the relative warmth.

To see a near indestructable man brought to his breaking point from illness such as this. It is the worst case of man-flu to date.

Jane Foster has posed:
She will let him go. Nothing holds fast against necessity. The wings curl back and he touches the ground how he will, shrouded still in the darkness of a space cooler, blessedly cooler. Water must be somewhere, or she can break through the rock to bring it up, though the survival skills emphasized by camping in country other than high desert may not help much.

The Valkyrie lends some silent privacy in the vicissitudes of life come undone around him, since she already knows these perils all too well. There are moments stamped in memory that no one permits her to forget, nor would she.

Water is precious, though, and easy enough to make a cup of gold to pass over to him, filled by Vanir springwater to ease the cares. Mineral taste, a hint of green, it's nothing too terribly awful.

"Daisy will be by soon enough," she murmurs, still watching the horizon and him in equal spades. Proper to give him some measure of dignity away from her, and the shards broken within that cut to pieces. The helm's a lucky thing, hiding much of her face.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
In the depth of the Desert, Valkyrie Jane watches over Blackagar as they have found shelter in an outcropping of a rock that shields them from the sun. This place, chosen because it is so far away from any settlements or populations made the greatest sense since at the peak of whatever was impacting the Inhuman King, the world they had been on in deep space was shuddering and groaning from his presence.

To even bring him back to Earth had been a risk, but one they'd accepted and now in that shadowed cleft they wait. A Valkyrie overseeing the man who has just finished silently wretching a substance capable of burning through solid granite and turning it into a liquid state. A task which has brought him to a crippled position and despite his best intentions a soft shudder passes through him, an exhale of breath.

The area for miles around the outcropping shudders, strains, but holds together.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"You know, it's a good thing that I finally know your real name, Grani. Much better than Mr. Horse, if I can be honest." Nothing like a little small talk while they teleport through towards the Triskelion. It partially helps in disguising away her own nervousness to the whole situation, and to keep her mind off from what just happened. Out on another planet? With real alien critters? Certainly not how she expected her afternoon to had went.

"I will get the quinjet ready. Go ahead and get Jemma if you will, Grani. And bring her over so we can go help them." And then using all the authority she does now have with leading the Secret Warriors it doesn't take long for the Jet, along with the containment unit, to be ready. She had made sure they will have at least one ready for such situations. Emergencies when they needed to contain an Inhuman. Even if she had never imagined it would be Blackagar.

When everyone is ready, and whether they go with her or zip through teleportation methods, Daisy will bring the quinjet up and blast full ahead towards the desert, the aircraft cruising the skies at top speeds.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
As for Jemma?

Rather blissfully unaware, at the moment. She is within the R&D lab, her *proper* lab...and working on a project of her own undertaking. A tablet is out, with schematics open on what appears to be some sort of portable device. That device, currently in an unremarkable case just wide enough to be stowed away into one of SHIELD's tactical packs, sits to the left of the tablet, with another smaller device, appearing for all the world like a portable, wrist-mounted computer sitting on the right. The tablet shows a progress bar...possibly uploading content to the wrist device?

Certainly not playing Among Us, that is for certain.

Other items are in close proximity. One of those tactical backpacks, with modifications for Jemma, sits on the floor next to the workstation. The spectrum glasses (now smaller to be somewhat stylish) sit close to the wrist computer. The cryo-gun, seemingly a permanent prototype at this point, has also been appropriated into Jemma's preparatory efforts. And, should another be looking, there seems to be an idea for a tactical outfit, buried underneath the progress bar.

Jemma always did believe in preparation. Perhaps this is her effort to be more useful in remote situations.

So, when a talking horse makes his appearance, there isn't much of a surprise from the scientist. Oh, there is surprise. How often does one get a visit from winged magnificence? Well, with Jemma, it is a little more often than not. And, when Grani vocalizes his intent in his usual manner, there is little questioning. Instead, it is merely packing of the backpack, with the mystery device first, then the glasses, cryo-gun, and wrist device. Finally, a final check for her ICER...and then Jemma slides on Grani's back with an apology and expression of gratitude, then holds on tight.

It's off to the races...

Jane Foster has posed:
The cup of water stands in the shade for Blackagar to take whenever he prefers. Not a great deal of space exists inside the cooler gap in the mountainside, but enough for the Valkyrie to climb around the rocky mass for a clear view over the valley. Unobstructed sightlines demand the occasional review, not the least in case a landslide or unfortunate off-roading vehicle ends up affected by the rumbling. Or if the USAF decides at that moment to send a few fighters out to investigate the epicentres in the same spot, surface level. They might not have a fun time finding a golden-winged woman intercepting them with a smile and shake of her head.

Her eyes glow violet, and then red, sharpening the acute detail to a ludicrous level. Meandering lines sketched by ephemeral rivers are left behind, lives of tourists and engineers and hard-scrabble locals observed as tiny candleflames. The Quinjet may be in stealth mode when it roars over the horizon, but stealth doesn't work very well for this particular Valkyrie, who sacrificed so much to gain a portion of kenning and wisdom. Her wings rustle.

"Someone comes," she says over her shoulder to Blackagar. "You do not have to do this. Would you prefer to be elsewhere?" The concerning state of the venom melting rock down to a liquid state causes her to frown, but with her vision peering deep into the nature of things, a little extra study cannot hurt. Thus, inspected, pulling forth the nature of the thing. The sincere temptation to fry the liquid is overruled by the scientific mind, though Undrjarn has already turned itself into a glittering spear in sympathetic response or its own accord. It has its own will, after all.

Maybe concerning to think she could play at chargers and lances with a plane, though.

Jane Foster has posed:
And Jem's off to the races,
Another of the royal chasers,
Chasing Daisy overland
'Cause every second's wasted
Facing a chance to investigate--

Grani unfairly can outrun a Quinjet. Mach Daisy still doesn't beat being a polite white horse pearlier than the full moon, star-dappled wings tucked to his sides. Giving his previous rider a headstart is only fair, and the woman needing her gear loaded up properly wouldn't seem the hasty sort. Not until Jemma finds her way into the saddle he would rather do without will the Aesir steed twitch a feather or hair out of place. Mostly because he leaps right into a great spring, powerful muscles bunching, and possibly leaving the intrepid scientist afraid of collision with ceiling impending.

--And it can't get out,
Because aliens are crazy, baby,
I need you to come here and get me.
It's worse than that, symbiotic black,
Melting down stones and kings,
Can you resist interstellar things?

The world blurs away in a heartbeat as the hooves strike the in-between spaces of dimensions, descending on a rainbow path cloven through leaves and barely glimpsed apricot skies. Wings beat and they're shuttled in the space of a second across a continent, next emerging in the cloudless blue sky over a brutally wracked desert. Las Vegas is over the horizon, the mountains rearing up in a ragged carpet straightahead and down. The highest peaks may be impressive, but at twenty-thousand feet, not close enough to strike. Lazy spirals dropped in increasingly tight turns, starting wide to low, will eventually lead to landing on a playa. Best make Daisy feel slow!

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Getting the doctor sooner is the wisest choice, correct? Grani's arrival with Jemma to the area coincides with the shaking of the exhale from Blackagar. He struggles with control and in that space his normally brilliant blue eyes look pale and a dim reflection of their normal state. But they are looking, they are searching and seeking attempting to find the presence he feels nearby. A hand lifts towards the Valkyrie, reaching for her before it falls inbetween them, unable to have the strength to even hold it up for an extended period of time.

Hurry oh Secret Warriors Hurry.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
The quinjet certainly isn't as fast as a certain unfair horse. Maybe they should get a legion of those for SHIELD. Now -that- would be something. Alas, they must do with what they have. And that's top of the art Quinjets! She flies the thing alone now, having kept the thing under wraps for now. No need to be creating panic at the King of Inhumans having been attacked by some unknown virus.

Yet soon enough this would need to be known. But right now? The priority was to save Black Bolt. And to contain those blasts. Even at a distance she can sense the rumbling earthquakes, shaking the core of the earth, the quinjet's afterburners at the max while it approaches to begin rounding the area and to eventually land.

Yet with Grani having TP'ed there it will still take a while until she is actually with them after all. But soon!

Jane Foster has posed:
Grani's got things under control on the air side, so the brunette Valkyrie retreats a step. Her wings snap mostly shut behind her, the spear in hand given a sharp look. <<Did I ask you to provide that?>> A chiding comment to the unrepentant, sentient bracelet garners absolutely no response, and she rests the weapon against the rock wall. In arm's reach, but certainly not necessary to hold to the crook of her elbow.

Rather, she sinks down to one knee, and curls her bare fingers around Blackagar's hand, lifting it a little from its fallen position. The other hand smoothly curls through an abbreviated form of language, absent all the particular nuances, but gaining others. <I walk no path without you.> Perhaps he can draw comfort from that, while she tips her helm back. Death Valley is still bloody hot, after all, even when she suffers no effects. Or it simply may be necessary for her to lean forward and press her brow to his, solidarity in a quiet act of benediction. <Missed you. I am sorry for the harm I caused you.>

The helm's back down to conceal her, not that it much matters. Transforming in the middle of the Rockefeller Square Christmas pageant wouldn't connect A to B without being Odin, a rare other few. Back to a soaring pegasus watched by his lady.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
There *might* have been a cry of alarm as the ceiling of the R&D lab gets frightfully close....

...only to dissipate into seemingly an illusion, with only the rainbow path and the gallop of the mystical horse beneath her the only aspects of what could be considered 'real'. It is only a second...but that is all that is needed for Jemma to be stunned to silence. So much so that, upon emerging from the space in between to twenty thousand feet in the air, on top of a now flying steed with nary a safety device to be seen, Jemma does not feel concern at all. Instead, she remains trustworthy of her companion and waits until he reaches their destination.

There might have been a question. In any other circumstance, seeing a winged female standing, helmed, would have certainly sparked inquiries from the scientist. However, as brown eyes flick downward, the immediate need is realized. The winged one Jemma does not know. But, the monarch upon the ground, barely alive? Jemma knows....nevermind the brief exchanges that they had shared in the past.

And, without a single word to the supposed winged goddess(?) before her, Jemma immediately shifts downward, to the desert floor. The backpack slides off...a hand reaching in to the uppermost pocket and fetching the wrist computer first, slapping it on to the left wrist. Then, second, another pocket. For what looks like a scanner.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The scans of Blackagar begin to reveal an internal system that should be far worse off than perhaps it is. Some kind of toxin has ravaged his body, but his cellular structure is rejecting it over time. Health is returning, if slowly, and the potential of recovery is quite clearly there. A heart rate that is growing, strengthing blood pressures, all the indicators one would want to verify can be seen.

But the external does not match the internal. He looks weak, pale, worn out and is struggling despite that to push himself up off the sheltered ground so that he can try to move. The effort is given with a squeeze to the Valkyrie's hand. Strength drawn, pushed back and he fights. Battles to move. That weak hand releases momentarily, fingers curling into a language that others can read.

~I should not have eaten at the place you call Chipotle.~

Daisy Johnson has posed:
As the quinjet begins to land the cloaking on it flickers away, revealing the plane as it makes a vertical landing not far from where the group is, the ground rumbling just a touch. Messages were sent earlier of course. To Jane and Jemma. One to tell her what was going on and the danger the King was in and the latter for her to keep her informed on what was going on.

As the hangar door finally starts to slide open Daisy is there, clicking on a few buttons to the side so a large containment box, easily the size of a small bus is being slid down the hangar by rails. Yes, most likely the containment unit she had referred to earlier.

There is worry in her gaze as she looks across to the group then waves one hand, "How is our patient? Do we still need to get him into the containment unit?" she questions, jumping out to the scorching desert heat.

Jane Foster has posed:
~They would be making meat from aliens. The government would not like that.~ The sharp, soft curl of her fingers presses firmly into Blackagar's hand, though it's not as if the Valkyrie can extend her life to him. Not unless he happens to be on death's door, and the inconvenience would become serious trauma for the inbound SHIELD agents to worry about.

The spear shifts from the wall to her hand, collapsed back into the constituent shimmering plasma that vanishes away. Convenience achieved, the Aesir goddess squares her shoulders and nods to the gap. "Company arrives. 'Twould be unseemly of me not to offer proper greetings, and as necessary, directions to the nearest crossroads or settlement." There might be mirth buried somewhere in her thoughts, though she takes no particular pains to shellac it in too much seriousness. Her footfalls barely touch the rock, balance achieved by the incomparably lovely benefit of clinging to the rough path.

"Hail, lady physic!" Thor would be pleased. Grani perks his ears to the demonstration of proper behaviour as far as he is concerned. Those lessons are coming along nicely with elocution near the top. "Does the lady scholar follow with alacrity?" Cue content horse tail twitched, and the sunlight flashing off the visor and helm molded to her features might be nigh to blinding as she assesses the sky for a Daisy on the run. There's a Quinjet, here's a Quinjet, everywhere a Quinjet.

"The patient reacquired consciousness, though has purged an unwelcome compound able to corrode the native stone. Corrosive qualities that imply its origins beyond this planet," she explains simply enough. "Something more purposeful than a virus, after a fashion, though dependent upon a host for survival. Best to answer for infection of others."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Somewhere on Jemma's person, her phone chimes. In her hurry, she did not put it in silent mode. However, the message that was sent floats into view on the wrist computer, which Jemma shunts to the side with a flick of her finger. Of course she would have the portable computer synced to all of her devices...

The scanning is met with a frown. Yes, there is the unique physiology that Jemma needs to account for, but the fact that there was damage in the first place concerns her. And, as the Asgardian greets her, Jemma finally does pull her attention away from Blackagar to address her. "Hello. If you speak of Daisy, she should be along shortly. She just texted the situation." An indication to the wrist computer...certainly new for those that know Jemma...shows the scientist within that Asgardian glamour what Jemma already determined. That the patient is recovering, albeit slowly.

Then, as an aside, Jemma turns her gaze towards Grani, offering him a slight smile and a nod. "My thanks, good sir, for the expedient travel. I am pleased to see that you have found your companion." For once upon a time, a horse walked in, on the ceiling, looking for his counterpart. A time Jemma remembers well.

As Daisy approaches, Jemma turns her attention back to her impromptu patient. Yet, an answer is given to Daisy. "If we wanted to isolate any possible contagions, I fear that even our illustrious Mr. Horse was too slow, due to no fault of his own." Jemma twists her head, examining the after-effects of the acidic substance that melted the stone. "We need to examine this. The containment unit would not have the proper tools to do so. The most it could provide is a temperature-controlled space in which to expediate recovery time."

As Jemma speaks, she reaches over to unzip a large compartment of her backpack. Without breaking eye contact from the corroded mineral deposit, the hand dips in, pulling out the case that had delayed her departure. "Fortunately, I have anticipated this..."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The mineral decomposition of the rock is gathered, a black ash like substance after it was expelled from his body. Future study will be most insightful and helpful in determining what it is. But even as these things are being discussed the weakened Inhuman tries to move his hand, tries to form words with his hands but fails. Instead, his eyes shift to the Valkyrie. There is a long stare at the woman, blue eyes blinking occassionally before they turn instead to Jemma.

His hand moves, spelling out the words in ASL. ~L-U-N-A. Where is she?~ The request is made into the space and he falls back tiredly again, the exertion wearying him.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Running up to the scene Daisy finds some shelter under that rocky formation. Some shade is certainly welcome. Hands rest on her hips, she already with a bit of sweat after a small while out here. Yes, she *really* should had chosen some better place. Dark gaze assesses Blackagar for a few moments, then a nod towards Jemma and the Valkyrie. "Glad things are shaping up better then .." some relief that perhaps the containment unit won't be needed. Hopefully no more earthquakes produced by the King!

"Thank you both for your help." Daisy then says to both Grani and the valkyrie with a genuine smile, "You have helped us a great deal today."

Daisy casts a look at the substance on the ground, immediately recoiling. A reflex? Or something more? Or perhaps she just *feels* it as something wrong. Whatever it is she seems to let it go after a moment once a shudder runs through her body.

Jane Foster has posed:
Next time, Daisy, take the Outback as the ideal suggestion. It's winter in the southern hemisphere, the coordinates included a shady outcropping and some vestiges of vegetative shelter, and no one has to worry about the Air Force sending a few planes to scout out geological activity centered on shaky ground. That's just a roo hopping, fear not.

Grani almost eagerly hops up onto a rock with the evident ease of an ibex, rather than a full-grown horse. Resplendent wings snap open and flutter for him to presumably get his balance, though generating a breeze and feathered shadows gently upon those not already blessed by such is purely accidental. Purely. He is a conscientious individual like that, and also poised should either Jemma's technology or the destroyed rock have ideas regarding good behaviour. "Most gladly, lady physic. It well behooved us to arrive in the very nick of time, and not a moment longer, else the condition for the gentleman alter overly much. 'Twould be a most untimely thing. Quite wretched, really, when these cases tip." This from a horse who played on an exoplanet, all taken in stride. He oscillates the air back and forth to Daisy's arrival, not a feather askew. "Bold lady scholar! I have done only what a proper scion of my line should do. /Nothing/ like those feckless nincompoops twiddling their ears or prancing about, not a care for Midgard and its fine people." A pause. "And books."

The Valkyrie is busy through most of this posturing. "Go on with you," she murmurs, dismissing her overseer-slash-companion to frolic in the literary district of San Francisco or some dreadful outcome. She moves aside for Jemma and Daisy to occupy more of the shade, no need to hog it! But Blackagar does not leave her sight, or Sight, even when she sits on the boulder above and to his side. Dangling feet are still within reach. "He maintained control over his powers since our return," she reports, mostly to Daisy. Jemma clearly is at work; thus, best not to interfere without clear reason, and what would the Aesir psychopomp have to worry about except, oh, every last soul in existence going haywire?

She gives a passing glance, and then spreads her hands. "He recognizes himself and our whereabouts, while experiencing none of the previous bouts of aggression. You are not in danger with him, but be mindful that whatever substance he absorbed or ingested remains an unknown variable. Your king has been clear on who he is and the elevated concern for his state, which has not diminished his capacity for control." Obviously. They'd be dead otherwise.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The case, new even to Daisy's perception, opens, revealing a rather elaborate array of technology at the base of the case. The lid, however, is also neatly organized, with a stunning array of glass vials on display. It is one of these vials, empty, that Jemma claims, with another hand reaching into her labcoat to extract a pair of gloves.

Pockets are wonderful things, are they not?

With the gloves donned and the vial in hand, Jemma turns to the black residue upon the ground. No contact directly with the substance, only the greatest of care is given to collect a sample of the soil. The vial is sealed...then carefully transferred towards what can only be determined to be the most advanced portable laboratory that Jemma could assemble...for the moment.

"I apologize for the rudimentary nature of the mobile unit. I had intended to refine it more before making a field test. However, beggars cannot be choosers...." The moment of discourse was two-fold. An explanation, of course...but also a pause to see if the substance would eat through her vial before she gets a chance to perform any further exploration. If not, then the vial is inserted into a compartment, which for those in the know appears to be a mass spectrometer, only in miniature.

The fingers flittering over the wrist computer prove the theory true. Jemma is performing a detailed scan of the virus/compound...right there in the desert.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Careful with that.." A brief hiss coming out of Daisy's lips when Jemma starts handling the black residue. She knows she wouldn't need to say that. Jemma is as careful as a Jemma is. But something is just ..., wrong. Jaw tightens but she soon enough composes herself once the sample is secure. It's when her attention goes to the mobile unit.

"Someone has been busy I see.." a faint smile finally coming to her features. News of Blackagar being in recovery? That was good. And when she starts performing the scan a brow quirks, "You don't need the lab anymore? Ooo, I will have to tell Fitz, it will be the ultimate way for him to start coming out *more*." ah yes, the long saga of getting Fitz out of his lab tent.

Attention then goes to Grani and she smiles to him, "Then you honor your lineage, Grani. My thanks again." a deep of her head, respectful. Gaze then to the Valkyrie, "I am glad he finally found you."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The noise around him is louder than it should be, a headache? What is this witchcraft. His gaze is on Valkyrie for some time before he rolls over. There is a look at Jemma working near where he expelled the poison from his body. Concern but he cannot express it. He would wish her care, but he cannot.

Blackagar's eyes close in his mind it is a period of minutes. In reality it is only seconds. Body ravaged there is a need for healing, but that require rest. Requires energy. And he has none. It is why he blinks in and out of awareness; but his hand lifts. He hears a voice and so the pale gaze turns towards Daisy and he signs at her again. The movements of his hands are slow. ~L-U-N-A~

The letters are directed towards Daisy along with a thin smile for her before he nods off once again. The results of the tests which Jemma runs will prove interesting, will support Daisy's hesitation. Whatever this _poison_ is it is wrong, it is unnatural, and it is dangerous to their kind.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The doctor on the scene leans in, those eyes intent on that small screen upon her wrist. The more she stares at the screen, the more her eyebrow furrow. The fingers quicken, as the data continues to populate. Swipes here, a pull from an archive, graphs in miniature in a side-be-side comparison. Every few seconds, those eyes shift from the screen to the Inhuman before her then back. Wellness checks? Perhaps. Though, there is certainly concern, mingled with more than a little admiration for the individual before her. When Jemma does speak again, it is only three words. But, the tone is flat. Ominous.

"Daisy. Step back."

A proper name given to the most noble of steeds? That catches Jemma's attention, prompting her to look up to see if he has deigned to stay despite the Valkyrie's wishes or he has chosen to find a shady library in which to indulge in. "Grani..." The name is said out loud, perhaps as a method to record it in memory. Still, there is a nod and a true smile, fleeting but there, before she returns to her miniature screen.

However, a response to Daisy's inquiry is necessary. "There will be occasions in which the research and development laboratories will be needed. However, given the spatial shortage with the Playground, I felt the need to try to condense as much as possible. The advancement to the very certain potential of more field presence made the need for a more portable unit that much more a necessity." A pause, as Jemma continues to pull data together. "But, yes, Daisy, to echo your observations....I indeed have been busy."

Then...Jemma sits back, keeping her eyes upon Blackagar as she relays her findings. "This is extraterrestrial. Of this, I am certain. There are genetic markers that are alien in origin. Kree, specifically." This is said with the absolute certainty that Jemma can only give. If there is anyone with experience with Kree genomes, it would be her. "And...this is not natural. It is bio-metallic, meaning this was specifically engineered. The particular protein chains would not be possible under normal circumstances."

Ready for even more news? Jemma keeps going. "There appears to be a hook in here. This virus, whatever it is, appears to want to find those that share a particular RNA marker. One only found within Inhumans." A shake of the head. "There is so much in here. Possibly neuro inhibitors?? I cannot be certain as to what exactly the intent is, yet, but I can tell you this was Kree-made...and is meant to target Inhumans."