9010/Monster Watching

Monster Watching
Date of Scene:	08 December 2021
Location:	The Triskelion: Courtyard
Synopsis:	Meeting with Dottie, like two cats growling at one another from atop opposite side of a room, Mike instead reveals his alien nature and offers Dottie an olive branch - and an opportunity. And a snoot of liquor made of dead men but we don't dwell on that.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Erickson, Dottie Underwood

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Michael Erickson has posed:
    Perched on a bench in the courtyard of the Triskelion does Michael sit, surrounded by towering structures - in a black suit that makes him look like he should be bullying UFO victims into staying silent, he sits eating a sandwich, frowning into the middle distance. Lots to think about, apparently. Or, perhaps, he's simply one of those people who, on occasion, just frown at oblivion. And why not? Oblivion is nonsense.

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie appears out of a shadowy corner, lighting a cigarette. No one smokes indoors these days. Her colleagues barely smoke at all. But the chill in the air reminds her of home. She can smell possibly of snow over the smoke of her *papirosa*.

Her lips twitch into a brief grin as she notices Michael visually chastising oblivion.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He isn't, of course, at least not entirely -- he's just staring into space, casing people as they go by. Does he see Dottie? Well, perhaps not at first, but given the womanly monster is top on his brain, he sees her sooner than perhaps he might otherwise. Eyes like ocean ice chips track her approach, and he takes a slow bite of his sandwich as he covers her emergence. Swallows. Speaks. When he does, the accent he uses isn't remotely English; it is, instead, a gutteral thing. Lots of a imaginary apostrophes, vaguely Slavic without actually being so. A Soviet girl would be able to tell.

    "Comrade Underwood," he says after a long moment. "Would you do me the favor of joining me for a bit?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie arches an eyebrow. <<I will assume that there is a reason for your accent that has nothing to do with maligning my mother-tongue,>> she says around her cigarette in quick, fluent Russian.

But still she stalks over to the bench. Something about the sway of her hips speaks to his maleness. But there?s no flirtation in her eyes. Merely a habit so old it?s become an unconscious gesture. ?Agent Erickson,? she gushes girlishly in perfect American tones, warmed slightly golden by the Iowa sun. Her smile splits her expression like razor blade hidden in a candied apple.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    He, of course, doesn't know Russian - but he knows the tone. He simply flicks a smile, waiting for her to sit. And then rolls his eyes.

    "I can only imagine how many people you must have liquidated with that smile," he says, taking another bite of his sandwich. Puts it aside. Lifts the badge around its neck, which reads 'VISITOR'. "I am Cal'hatar," he says, "Of Chandilar, Officer Third Magnitude of the Imperial Armed Forces of the Shi'ar Galactic Empire - intelligence cadres. Formerly, of course. I have adopted humanity's cause rather than that of my people's." He hands the remnant of his sandwich over to her. "Eat," he says then, his voice equal parts commanding and requesting. "Please. You're too thin."

    

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie accepts the sandwich with a laugh. ?Eat, eat, eat! You are too thin,? she says in a generic eastern European accent. ?You sound like somebody?s grandmother.? The latter statement is uttered in her usual dulcet tones, the hint of a teasing smile about her lips. It?s a mask, yes, but a friendly one, with nothing more horrible peering out from behind.

She takes a bite, and raises an eyebrow again, this time pleasantly surprised.

?I?m Darya of the Red Room, or was once, I suppose, if we?re being confessional. I?m not sure she exists anymore. Or if that even matters...? She takes another bite of the sandwich. ?Why??

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I am old," he replies. "Despite how I look. I have been on this planet for fifty years, and before that I aided in the conquest of worlds and the hunting down of rebels and terrorists. If we were in your time of origin, I would be..." He pauses to consider. "GRU Captain. You are wasted here, wandering around as a ghost. I want to claim you as an asset. Neither of us are human in any way that your comrades would understand. We must work together. Otherwise you will eventually turn on these people out of boredom and you will be killed. Which would be a waste of a work of art."

    He takes a small flask out of his jacket, gleaming silver. Uncorks it, takes a swig. "Taste of home," he says. "Mine. It is called askalityah, and comes from a planet where the atmosphere can corrode a body to bone in thirty seconds. Distilled from acidic air, seasoned with millions of years of dissolved life forms. Quite good, you'll like it."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
?I?m also older than I look,? Dottie admits, almost coy, taking the flask. It?s not the worst thing she?s ever tasted. It?s not even the strangest. She catches the floral scent as the flask passes her nose. The alcohol burns, chemical and strong. But she does not coughs. In fact she seems to enjoy it. ?Reminds me of the time the girls tried to make vodka and hid their bucket of spoiling potatoes under the garden rosebushes,? she comments. She takes another sip before passing the flask back.

?And what is it you do?? she asks the Shi?ar.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I killed three men on Stalisyan for that flask," he observes. "And rendered them into the drink. Best use for traitors I ever found." The flask is capped and put back in his jacket. "So. Assuming Chief Carter allows it, will you work with me? I can teach you much, and I expect you can do the same. Amd of course we will end up trying to kill each other at some point." He pauses. "But I think that we will become friends despite it. Will you come be a hunter with me?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
It?s the first time anyone?s offered to try to kill her in a long time. Properly that is. Melina does not want to test her despite her threats. Peggy, who has been the great challenge of her life, has spared her too many times. And would soon become a waddling mother once again. Her husband never could best Dottie, despite all of her work in that quarter becoming seemingly undone. May -- May *could* kill her. And might. But she wouldn?t offer first. Lily Chen...Lily presents a nagging puzzle that Dottie cannot solve.

Still this alien?s offer is delightfully refreshing. ?Why not?? she says with a wicked grin and a glint that has long been absent from her eye.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Can he kill her? Who knows? He looks to her, considering. "I will speak to Chief Carter now. Meditate on reconaissance techniques for field use. Assuming she agrees I will have immediate use for you."

    He leaves her then, with the sandwich and a belly full of dead mens' essence. And the promise of new purpose, of course. What else could a girl ask for?