9063/A Star Is Born

A Star Is Born
Date of Scene:	13 December 2021
Location:	Athletics: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Having successfully fed everyone like someone's crazy space grandmother, Michael works with Jessica and Dottie to get the lady assassin on board.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Erickson, Dottie Underwood, Jessica Drew

---

Michael Erickson has posed:
    It is a polite request that Dottie finds tacked to the wall in one of her corners that she likes to frequent, all the better to lurk in; the envelope has her name - Dasya - in Cyrillic and also something very, very /not/ Cyrillic, a looping and barbed tongue that is not of this earth. Inside, printed on a small piece of card, has been written the address of one of the small practice rooms in the Athletics area of the Triskelion. 9:30pm. That night.

    He is waiting for her, of course. Sitting in a folding chair in the center of the room dressed in athletic clothing, loose black pants and a charcoal-colored singlet. A tattoo on his right shoulder, a vivid, stylized falcon head and black block versions of some of the glyphs handwritten on her envelope wedged beneath it. More in a line down his left inner arm, red block instead. Military tattoos; they don't change, really, regardless of species or armed force. A small duffel on the floor next to him.

    He watches the door. Waiting for her arrival.

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Oh, beautiful monster, Dottie is already there. Early is on time. On time is dead.

"Nice ink," she purrs in his ear.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    So she is. She is. And this, while not /entirely/ expected, only make him smile as she comes winnowing out of the shadows (how DID she get in there?) and purrs in his ear. "If you decide that you want it I will give you one just like it," he says, not getting up. "Did you eat before you came here?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"What is this concern with my appetite, Cal?" She licks her lips. She can't help it. It's been so long since someone has appreciated the sharpness of her teeth.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Our names do not abbreviate like that," he says, looking down at the glyphs marked into his arm. "Answer the question."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"I ate at the last regular meal, Mikey," Dottie teases. "Why?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "I used to lead a reconaissance unit," he replies, keeping his eyes on her now. "Battlefield intelligence. My first command - and, my first mission - upon departing the Academy. We were dispatched to Jatuur, which is one of the last independent worlds out on the Imperial frontier. Well; I will not bore you with the details, but I met starvation out on that place. So did my troops. Since that time, I ensure that anyone that I work with, or that may end up under my command, I ensure that nobody ever does again."

    He looks up at her now. "We hunt together. We fight together. We fight each other. Trust is required. Do you understand?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"I will not eat you unless you are dead," Dottie swears with deadpan sincerity. He could also offer flesh. But she doubts any companion who would offer such freely. The Siberian winters are cold and barren and endless. She does not choose to think of the past. She has been hungry often enough to appreciate what it can do to a body. And what a full belly can do to her enemies. Makes them slow, content. She appreciates what hunger can do before it takes you out.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Good." He ducks to open up his bag, producing a pair of cut sandwiches wrapped in plastic. "Cucumber and foie gras," he says, handing one to her as he ducks to produce a pair of plastic water bottles. "I made it myself."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Dottie takes a half of a sandwich. "Did you raise the duck?" she asks, interested.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "No," he says with a faint smirk. "But it is something I have been learning to do of late. Cooking. I used to go to restaurants a great deal." Michael hands out a bottle of water. "People avoid you in this facility, don't they?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"People are sensible," Dottie says, her smile bright and pointed. She does not have to say that this makes him not people.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "People are cowards," he points out as he unwraps his sandwich, taking a small bite before offering to swap the sandwich with hers having demonstrated its lack of poisoning. "You are one of only three interesting people I have met in this facility. Too many humans embrace their prey instincts too openly. Keeps them from seeing true value in things." Michael looks Dottie over, considering. "What do you want to do with your life, now?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Anything that stops people asking me that question," Dottie says, pausing before sandwich can make it to her lips. She does not squeeze the contents out between her fingers. It takes effort.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "It's a fair question." His brows arch. "But I wonder. Is this the sort of question where they then try and convince you that there's a whole world out there, and you should turn away from all this violence, make a life for yourself, all that?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Escape what made me. Be something new. Be something different. Stop running from the snake, stop running from the bear. Fight them. Hide behind a shield," she sneers. The foie gras oozes slightly from between the bread.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Ah, yes." He smirks very slightly, and goes to take a bite of his own sandwich. "That's not what I'm suggesting. You can only be what you are, Darya, I understand that. Life choices: sabotage? Human intelligence, analysis? Do you wish to go to space? That sort of thing."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"The setting does not matter. I would like to do what I was made to do. I would like to do it without those would do the same,-- who have done the same,-- cringing. I am tired of pretending." Not of being other people, not of hiding in plain site. But she is tired of the sense that those that use her do so with shame, if not regret. She knows her skills. She knows her talents.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "You are a blade, and wish to be used as a blade, in other words." He takes another bite of sandwich. "Alas, working with SHIELD, you would not be able to actively kill people. But I don't mind making them suffer a bit." He pauses, uncapping his water and taking a drink. "Would that suffice?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Is there a point to it?" Dottie asks. "The suffering?" Keenly interested for the moment. Death, when she has caused it, has had a point. She's less fervent about suffering. After all, what pain of suffering cannot be done just as well -- and more cleanly -- with a death?

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "There will be, if it is inflicted." He shrugs. "The nature of the beast, I'm afraid. Soon, Agent Drew is going to come in here, and she is going to be much more wholesome than am and I want to make sure we have an understanding. Neither you nor I kill for no reason. She will not kill at all. Any breaches of SHIELD's policy of nonlethal action without specific duress will make her suffer professionally, and she is putting faith in both of us."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Why do I care?" Dottie asks. "Or more explicitly. I don't. But you think I should. Why?"

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Oh," he replies as he finishes his sandwich, "I don't expect you to care. I expect you to do it anyway. Otherwise this isn't going to work and you're going to spend a lot more time bored out of your mind and nobody wants that, mmm?"

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"We'll see," Dottie says. "No one's offering any better." She shrugs, nonchalant.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael snorts at that. "Well, at any rate. Have you been educated in latest technologies, techniques? Or has SHIELD kept you at arms' length? I dare say I can fill in gaps if you need me to. And certainly we'll have to add to your training, staggeringly massive though it already undoubtedly is. Can you fight in microgravity, Dasya?" Because it always comes back to space-stabbing with him. Always.

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"HYDRA didn't," Dottie assures him. "At least where my body was concerned. And the muscle memory is still in tact." She grins remembering the mall, when she killed a man and all the protocols broke in her head: SHIELD's TAHITI project and HYDRA's Winter Soldier program; the Red Room's pheromones...

She considers for a long moment, looking up at the sky. "I've never been to space, though. I hear it's much like fighting underwater. That I *have* done."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jess is in gym clothes: a form-fitting long-sleeved black leotard top over footless bottoms in shiny lycra that is hard to grab in hand-to-hand combat and a pair of semi-soled shoes that makes wall climbing easy. In reality, she is dressed to not stand out in the environment - she is on a mission of sorts and on lunch break with her homey paper bag lunch, courtesy of Cal'hatar.

She homes in on a glimpse of Michael's profile in time to hear Dottie compare space to underwater fighting.

"Afternoon. Dottie. Michael. Michael told me I could find you here. Did he catch you up on things?" Straight into the subject, Jess figures that Dottie likes small talk as much as she likes pictures with big-eyed clowns weeping.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "It's certainly not unlike it," agrees the Shi'ar, lips quirked in amusement. "But entirely different as well. Besides, your HYDRA training, while a good foundation, will require significant augmentation. High gravity, high-radiation that isn't sacrificial, that sort of thing. Agent Drew and I deal with metahuman threats as much as we will human. I need to ensure that you can break the superman as much as the mortal one."

    And then there's Jess; he quirks a brow as she enters, inclining his head as the /official/ agent arrives. "Agent Drew," he says with a nod. "Thank you for joining us. I was catching her up, yes." Into the bag at his feet, and up comes another sandwich. "Foie gras and cucumber. Do please have some."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
There is a cruel curve to Dottie's smile as Michael mentions breaking superman. Her eyes sparkle with pleasure at the thought.

"What *should* he have caught me up on?" Dottie asks Jessica as she arrives, sounding too too sweet and innocent. Her blue eyes go wide with curiosity. Her mouth loses its edge. There is a false softness about her now.

Jessica Drew has posed:
She's good, Jess thinks as she gives her best wholesome smile in return. After a glance at Michael, "Why that I am your new handler if I decide to take on the job and that you and Michael will be on field ops under my supervision." No white-washing, no wishing. Jess shuts the smile off with the finality of a light switch.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael clears his throat, holding out the sandwich still. "We were largely talking about training and limitations on the scope of lethality," Michael says, brows quirked. "But that was the gist."

Dottie Underwood has posed:
It's cute that Jess thinks she's in charge. Michael at least knows that limiting her lethality on one front will only concentrate it on another. And seems to be prepared for that. Seems to be. Dottie gives a little 'aw shucks' laugh. "What he said."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jess locks eyes with Dottie. "Let me make this clear, Underwood. I am in charge, in so far as I am responsible for outcomes. I don't micro-manage anyone. I can't stand it and I don't like doing it. One of the reasons that you are seldom out in the field is because SHIELD does not go for the kill. When a kill is the mission objective, we bring people in like you. If you want to go on a mission once a year, then keep on pretending that there are no limits." She gives her a small up-to-you shrug.

Michael Erickson has posed:
    Michael clears his throat again. "We have covered that, absolutely." The sandwich is wafted again, crinkling slightly in the plastic.

Dottie Underwood has posed:
"Or," Dottie gives Jess an even smaller shrug, "I can leave. And you can wonder which bodies you come across are mine."

Dottie gives Michael a very sharp look.

Jessica Drew has posed:
"You know the consequences of leaving." Jess takes the sandwich, unwraps it and nods at Michael.

"Nice," she takes a small bite and then a larger one which she chews with obvious pleasure. "You want to live with a target on your ass for the rest of your life?" She shrugs again. "You'll miss some great sandwiches unless you hang with us. I'm a good deal, Dottie."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Agent Drew." Michael smiles. Politely. "I must apologize, and to Miss Underwood, as well -- I think perhaps I misrepresented the situation. Miss Underwood has /volunteered/ to assist, and has agreed to the limitations on lethality. I take full responsibility for any miscommunication." He nods at the sandwich. "You will enjoy it, I think. Mastaka r'ehll, halan."

    Then a look to Dottie, giving her a look that is meant to be...steadying. If you can call it that, with those sharp blue eyes. Calm, despite the situation. An axe-murderer's look of encouragement.

Dottie Underwood has posed:
Jessica's threat of monitoring doesn't phase her. But Michael's look...works. And so Dottie takes a bite of the crumpled sandwich in her hand, and after swallowing, she admits, "It does taste pretty good."

Jessica Drew has posed:
Jess nods her head, long from lauding herself with self-congratulations, takes another bite. "Just like I will volunteer to make sure our mission briefs are adhered to, Michael. Matak r'ehll? We need to have that conversation with me present. I can't second hand this. It is too important."

She holds up the sandwich to Dottie with an invitation, "Yeah, the guy can really cook."

Michael Erickson has posed:
    "Entirely understood, of course," Michael replies, nodding once as he gestres to the sandwich. "And again, I apologize if I have misrepresented Miss Underwood's hand in the sitution. I know that she is somewhat seen as a bit of a booger-man in these halls." A beat. "No, that isn't it. Phal'kon, nyanta mokaal -- ah! Yes. /Bogeyman/." He gives them both another apologetic smile. "On occasion, my English still escapes me."

    He looks at the sandwiches, his own now finished. "You are too kind, both of you. But I thank you."