Owner	Pose
Jessica Drew	As clever as SHIELD agents can be in the field and that is plenty clever, the party planners have gone for retro. The food court is hung with black and orange crepe paper streamers, and frilly paper pumpkins. Sure medical has brought down real skeletons to hang from the ceiling which dangle gruesomely. The tech people have done wonders with spooky lights and some enterprising agent has constructed a maze from office dividers. Pumpkins flicker with candles on the tables set up for the food. Of course, the canteen cooks have put on the dog with gruesome renditions of comfort food. Jessica wasn't sure whether she should come as a princess, Zatanna Zatara or herself and at a friend's urging came as the magician. If she was magic it might explain how she could climb the walls without effort. So uncomfortable in high heels, fishnet stockings (which hurt for your information), top hat and rented tux, she lingers by the blood punch with a full cup.
Gothic Lolita	After the debacle at the Hellfire Club, GL has decided two things. She likes parties, and she likes drinking. Hopefully only one of these will be happening at this WORK RELATED FESTIVITY. Luckily there's no dress code, or she might break it. The mecha strolls into the food court in a way that wouldn't be too out of place at the Hellfire Club. Her torso is covered in a heavy leather overbust corset, cinched tight. Around her hips is a slightly frilly miniskirt that's long enough to be decent, but only in the United States, Western Europe and Japan. Anywhere else she would probably be jailed. Below the skirt is an inch or two of pale ROBOT FLESH before her slashed up thigh-highs start, and on her feet are knee high platform boots with buckles. Honestly, not a costume. Except for the flash of fangs that glint in her grin. This bitch cheating at Halloween over here. She moseys around, poking at the decor with a bland expression falling on her face. "I think the Hellfire Club spoiled me."
Jonathan Sims	Jon has barely been thinking about Halloween this year, and the one costume he put together got rather trashed at the Gotham Fireman's Ball. But he knows the value of social events for team bonding and getting to know people, so he picks up the pieces to come as Rick O'Connell from the Mummy, because it /deeply/ amuses him. Light brown trousers, sturdy belt, white button-up, gun holster (with no gun), a teal scarf 'round his neck. He even puts his contacts in, just for the night.     He looks around at the decor and smiles widely. It may not be impressive, but it has the feel of the parties he got used to in his graduate and post-grad life, down to the real skeletons. He walks in past the office divider maze and then stops and blinks briefly at... is that... he /knows/ Zatanna Zatara, and he opens his mouth to ask what 'Zed' is doing at SHIELD before he realizes that, no, no, that's not /actually/ her. Zatanna's tux fits better, for one thing, let alone the different face.
Jane Foster	Zatanna Zatara is present, which means it cannot be her. Not here, anyway, since no one is paying for her performances. SHIELD is technically a tax-payer funded institute, so that's more than a little expensive to work with. It must be someone else along with others forced into Work-Related Fun. Jane would far rather be doing something else than being pressed for details about 'Your boy...er... brother. Princely brother.' That's because, out of spite or amusement, one Doctor Foster has opted to show up as Loki Odinson. Lady Loki, to be clear, the embossed horns of his ridiculous headdress more diminutive so they do not take someone's eye out. She just plays to type on this one in a modified green uniform like basically everyone in New York saw back in the day. "The Hellfire Club spoils everyone, that's sort of their point," she murmurs to Gothic Lolita.
Jessica Drew	Jessica as Zed, tosses back her dark shoulder-length hair and smooches theatrically with blood-red lips at a nearby agent. While tugging at the edge of her jacket, she wonders how long it will be before she sheds it or the thick vest under it layered on the stiff-fronted shirt. Next time she chooses an outfit, she'll go for a character that wears something light and sheer and deals with the stares. A look behind her and she spots GL and Jane Foster nearby. Hah, a female Loki. How fitting!. She toasts both GL and Jane, campily circling her top hat on a finger for their benefit. "Hello you two! Should they have gone for a Hellfire theme, do you think? SHIELD doesn't strike me as being that Goth or BDSM. Though come to think of it, the latter might be fitting," she smirks with an exaggerated shrug.
Gothic Lolita	"There were jello shots," GoLo says simply. "I turned my toxin limiter down. It was fun. I think I like drinking." She glances at Jess-tanna and smirks a bit. "I think I'm both of those enough for the entire organization." She gives Jane a once over, pursing her lips. "Interesting choice. ... I like it."
Jonathan Sims	Jon actually hesitates a moment at the Loki costume, then sighs and pulls himself together. It's a /party/, Jon. Go... /talk/ to people. Even if they're dressed as something that recurs in your nightmares. Or used to, before the whole Archivist business.     So he steers himself toward the three of them, commenting, "Excellent costumes," he compliments. He has no idea the degree to which GL /isn't/ in costume. To Jessica, "You actually almost had me for a moment, I thought she might have been hired for the night."
Jane Foster	(Scene Set) Gotham, gloom-bound setting, And SHIELD doesn't know that the city is getting The creme de la creme of the Host In a show with everything but Lucifer. --- Night falls and doesn't seem a minute Before the Triskelion has a guest in it At security, asking for "Jessica Drew?" and "Mr. Sims" in no ordinary venue. She's young, twenty, in a hoodie, And the guard lets her go past, wouldn't he? One night in New York and the world's your oyster, An interruption falls on the party, A finger-wiggle in a spycraft cloister. And if you're lucky then it's not Fury Spitting tacks and demanding, "Who is she?" One face's very like another When you're drinking, dancing, looking for a lover. It's strange, it's odd, it's really quite a sight To be looking at Suri, not caught up in the night. --- Ruffling her blonde fringe with black-painted fingers, the girl without a badge moseys through the food court. As costumes go, hers is crap: an oversized hoodie and peter-pan collared dress, some properly stompy boots. Goth, checking in. The only saving grace is her black lipstick and eyeshadow done up Robert Smith-like. Two senior agents engrosssed in a conversation about Area 51 don't even notice her going by as she brushes past, looking around with bright eyes. Another pause by a skeleton sees her popping a ball in its jaws, stuck there like a bright red exclamation point.
Jane Foster	It's a party. Would Loki really be welcome in the place where so many fought a hopeless battle against his invasion attempts, turning back his ideas of ocnquest when he gave them a black eye and bloody nose? The fact 'he' is a she, cinched into an Asgardian-accurate outfit might be just the kind of thing to attract a second look or require additional security checks. Jane brought this on herself. The fur wrapped around her shoulders is hard enough to wrangle from slipping off, too, so one drink will do when she has someone else to catch the faux rug if it falls off. "I may think the better of showing up as a reformed criminal next time," she says, having none of the dripping contempt for mere mortals at the moment. It's not called for. "You make it bearable, the lot of you."     Her breath escapes in a dry laugh. "I'd like to think the day we stage a Hellfire style event, we know the Russians invaded or a senator is visiting. One the director doesn't like." Mustn't be too loud; the whole place is bugged. "But you can give notes and use the digital suggestion box. I'd recommend submitting it from the front desk, just in case." Not helping GoLo stay out of trouble, is she?
Jessica Drew	Jess primps for Jon. The normally reserved agent gives him a sultry look. "It's the dark hair and beautiful face, isn't it?" The pose resolves into a grin and a shake of her head. "Oh, good-o! What about Jane, doesn't she do a mean Loki?" Her last words distracted as she glances over Jon's shoulder at the young girl wandering by. "I take that back about us not being Goth," she comments to the other two agents. "Who's that? Someone's plus one?"
Gothic Lolita	GoLo smirks slightly. "While the jacket is clearly not tailored, you do have the legs for the rest of the outfit, Jessica," the mecha helpfully offers. She grins at Jane's implications. "Why hold it ourselves when we can just ... crash the Hellfire Club's paries. They're open to the public. Unless they aren't, and what kind of spies would we be if we couldn't sneak in?" When the Newcomer is pointed out, GL squints a bit. That girl is stealing her schtick! ... Makeup's on point though.
Jonathan Sims	Jon chuckles at Jessica. "It is." And then he focuses on Jane for a moment, lets himself take in the differences.     "...Alright, /honestly/, it's a good costume. Just terrifying enough, you know? And one can appreciate the irony." He quirks a brow at GL. "/Are/ they now? That's--"     He stops to peer at the girl going by, since everyone else is. He hardly knows everyone around here yet.
Jane Foster	"I'd be shocked if she did not have the legs. How much time do you spend working out?" Jane asks Jess around Gothic Lolita's comment, though she narrows her glittering eyes. Those green contacts are the only way the brown-eyed scientist can even hope to approach an unnatural emerald, and a headache is halfway to forming. "The rest of us are simply blessed." That handwave encompasses exactly her and three rubber bats stuck to the ceiling. One is precariously close to catching a curled golden horn.     Adjusting the fur, she shakes her head. "Imagine how much of a premium the cleaning staff at the Hellfire Club must make. There are so many rooms, I'm surprised they haven't employed a small army. You could hope to hold the Upper West Side for at least a few hours." It's almost convincing in its laconic contempt. Almost.     A few comments littered throughout the partiers otherwise asking after this kid, that car lease, that invasion attempt foiled last month gradually pick up on the one inappropriate skeleton. Titters follow, along with an unamused manager being sent to deal with it. Suri gives a cheeky little smile, black lips and bright sunshine. She crosses her arms and gives her fingers a little tap on her bicep. Tap, tap.
Jessica Drew	"Want to do that sometime? Think they'd let us in, I wouldn't mind being a bad girl for one night. And oh, thanks," she sticks out a fishnet leg, pretending to be /that/ girl, "not more than other agents. "Maybe Spiders get passes?" An agent with a pumpkin pin vying for space with his badge on his business-like white collared shirt insinuates himself through the crowd of costumed agents. Music and dancing has started as the agents begin to let their hair down, and the blood punch is renewed. He finds his quarry. Breathlessly, with the air of a put-upon bureaucrat, "Doesn't anyone have earcoms in tonight? Agent Drew! Oh, Mr. Sims. Did a young girl find you? She was asking for you at the front desk, and then we lost her."
Gothic Lolita	GL cheats like hell to have nice legs. The cheating is being a KILLER ROBOT. It's way less impressive than doing it while made of meat. The mecha's gaze scans the room and her eyes land on Suri. Her head tilts slightly, her blasphemous computer brain scanning the SHIELD database for a picture match. This might take a minute.
Jonathan Sims	Jon turns to blink at the man, then fumbles in his pocket. It's a rookie mistake, but he's a rookie. He pulls out his newly-issued earbud and fits it into his ear, making a mental note to himself to do that from now on.     "A young girl...?" He turns to look for the girl that had gone by, and spots her standing there next to the skeleton. His frown deepens, as the agents around her just kind of... bypass her, not looking at her, not making eye contact.     "That's odd," he says, and looks to the others nearby. "Can you see her?" He points right at Suri.
Jane Foster	Gothic Lolita's search brings up nothing, though combing through the far recesses of all their contacts takes a good three or four minutes to look for parameters that match. Age being the foremost condition brings up: No matches found an awful lot. A /lot/.     Jane smothers a laugh, and she might be up for saying more about Jell-O shots. However, a security guard windng his way down to intercept Jessica enforces a sense of privacy, and Lady Loki turns back to Jon. She taps the horned helm at her temple. "All of you are absolute children. How do you tell yourselves apart except for the grey hair?" she murmurs. Then she looks up to the skeleton. "Yes? Did you forget to file form 275-B? She looks like she's waiting."     How astute of Loki. Which Suri is, very much in her mood of amusement. "Oh, come, I don't bite!"
Jessica Drew	There is no excuse for the level four agent. She fishes her earbud out of the tux pocket and shrugs at the agent. "Nope, had it on me though," she replies holding it up and inserting it in her ear. "Okay," she says not very contritely, "I'm a good agent now. Thank you and sorry. What does she look like? Her name?" Frowning, she shoots Jane an odd look as she channels the God of Mischief. Then with a puzzled expression lifting her eyebrows high, she addresses the Goth girl, "Well that's good to know. Bad business, biting people. Were you looking for us?"
Gothic Lolita	The mecha, still scanning, squints very, very hard at the girl. "I am finding nothing in the SHIELD database. No facial recognition. Nothing. Either she is like me, or she is ... a Threat." The capitalization is implied. She takes a single step forward, her body language immediately shifting from 'Casual Fun Party Goth' to 'I'mma Emancipate Your Teeth'
Jonathan Sims	Jon frowns between Jessica and Gothic Lolita, then takes a few steps toward Suri. He has the vaguest sense of recognition, but he gets that from time to time, so he ignores it as he says, "Like you how?" to GL.     And then, focused on Suri, "Well, you were looking for us. Here we are." As Jessica already noted.
Jane Foster	<Uh. She was a girl with blonde hair. And she looked like she shopped at that mall store my daughter goes to for band t-shirts. Um. Bad Topic or Off Topic. Something. Her mother knows.> Look, the guard, Agent Dui, only has so much capacity for teenaged shopping habits! <She told us she was looking for you. And she's... uh, we're looking. I'll ask Benton where he told her the bench was. She was right over here.> Cameras should help with the research, but they don't. Even keyed in, Gothic Lolita isn't going to get a read on any nice blonde girls sitting in the lobby. Neither will Benton. Suri keeps smiling, her tone friendly and bright. "They sell a lot of plastic teeth this time of year. Good business, and what else are they for except biting?" She eases past the now gag-less skeleton and lets someone go put a sign on him, hastily penned, with 'Do not touch' on a notecard. It may even be effective! "I was and here you are. Your friend is resourceful." A black-tipped thumb wiggles in GoLo's direction politely. "While everyone has their eyes in the punchbowl, I could use your help. Some nasty people pretending to be fun are handing out toxic favours at a party. That leaves about a thirty minute window before things get really bad, far as I can tell." This is not the time to be an irate Asgardian prince(ss)ling. Not when Jane is watching that girl with narrowed eyes, doubtful enough.
Gothic Lolita	"I am an artificial humanoid lifeform," GL replies to Jon. "I am only in the database because I am an agent. Before that, I was a clandestine, pseudo-legal government project." She doesn't shift. She doesn't even blink. Her attention is solely fixated upon Suri. "This sounds more like a job for law enforcement and not an agency like this one."
Jessica Drew	Fingertips to her ear, she is listening to the chatter as the girl speaks to them. Catching GL's Imma-gonna-liberate-some teeth vibe, then feeling more than seeing, LOki/Jane's stance, Jess stays focused on Goth girl, "Whoa up, GL. She might not be a Threat." In professional agent mode now despite the fishnet stockings and lipstick, "Where would that be? Why us? You not being in the database is weird stuff."
Jonathan Sims	Jon hangs back a little, being /very/ much a rookie. "I... recognize her. Vaguely." He's narrowing his eyes. Then he snaps his fingers. "You're. Umm. You were involved in all that... death god business, yes?" Which Jon was /not/ but... he's got some of the memories of it all up in his head. "You're... an angel? I think? It's all a little vague."     To the earbud he murmurs, "We've found her." Which they have, even if the others can't seem to see her.
Jane Foster	Suri can meet an unflinching, unstaring blink without a problem. "Gotham," she explains, a beat lengthening as if to explain everything they need to know right there. She could be answering Jessica, Jon, and GoLo's questions in a go. "Their law enforcement response rates on Devil's Night are abysmal, and they would add to the body count." She gives Jon a little finger-wiggle, hand going back and forth. "Not at all. I'm a messenger telling you about a problem. You are free to choose what to do with it." She strokes a blonde lock behind her ear and then turns as if to go. "One more thing, tell Sam Wilson to pick up his phone the next time it has an unidentified number. I /know/ he's heard the call. That's the message, my job is done. Time to go party, ta!" Whatever that means, she isn't up to explaining so much. Jane doesn't seem to be alogether up for speaking too loud until the blonde girl is going somewhere. "Who wants to be the one who tells Commissioner Gordon that a uni student threw enough shade over his force to kill a houseplant?" she idly asks.
Gothic Lolita	GL backs off just a little. She doesn't take another step forward, but her body language does not slide back into Party mode until the girl leaves. Once she's gone, the mecha goes and fills a glass with punch, slugs it down and fills another. Yeah, she turned that toxin limiter down again. "I don't want to go to Gotham. That place ''sucks''."
Jessica Drew	"You know her, Jon? I'd say let's go but where in Gotham? I'm not mindreader." Jessica tries to keep an eye on the blonde girl who is going to do another disappearing act. Turning to all three, "I get no feeling it's a trap. Least, not from her. What do you say? Should we report this and go official or just go?" Is Jess ensorcelled or just wanting to bust out and have fun?
Jonathan Sims	"I don't know her," Jon says, "I know /of/ her. And I suspect speaking to the Commissioner of Gotham about /anything/ is far above my pay grade." Then he eyes Jessica, and adds, "I'm not one to turn down a divine summons, but you know better than I whether or not to, ahh, 'go official.'"     He's clearly willing, though. He's... grinning, actually. Oh dear.
Jane Foster	Suri smooths over her black dress, stopping by one of the tables laden by snacks. Picking up a marshmallow treat shaped like a ghost on a stick, she takes a bite of the tail while negotiating her way out. You've seen one office party, you've seen them all.     The SHIELD crowd is going to be the unwitting witness for a test of physical fitness. Elevator doors from the food court slide apart and an iPhone alarm chirps loudly with an alarming start. The imitation siren wails a bit too loudly as an agent slaps his hand to his pocket to silence the thing.     "That's comforting to know it's not a trap," 'Lady Loki' says, shrugging her shoulders to pull the fur cloak tighter. The clock on the wall glares with red digits: 11:33. "Getting from here to Gotham in thirty minutes is a tall order, even with the Hyperloop. Unless anyone has suggestions. I find it generally a bad idea to ignore divine summons of any sort, but then we all know Thor ignores any protest otherwise." The arch contempt the real Loki would have is absent.
Jessica Drew	"Wish I really was Zatanna, I'd port us there. Thor where is your magic hammer now?" Jessica quips and puts the top hat on with a florish.      "Do we go all out bad and steal the quinjet? Can you authorize us taking it Jane? You've got more experience with divine summons than I do, I guess."
Jonathan Sims	"I have no knowledge of portals or jets or anything of the sort," Jon notes, trying to moderate his grin. He should not be so excited by the prospect of /jets./ He, too, looks to 'Lady Loki.' He's a rookie; this is far from his call.
Martin Blackwood	Martin comes in and while his outfit *isn't* a costume for him or Jon but for all the others in attendance it would be. Navy trousers and heavy black boots make up the bottom of his outfit, his torso is covered by a grey tee under a blue and grey coat. On the coat are reflective patches and badges of influence. There is also a a grey six pointed cross with a caduceus on the vertical pipe of it on the left brast of the coat.     He enters looking rather tired, EMT shifts are nothing to sneeze at especially around the Halloween season and his first day back on the job was no exception. He smiles though at seeing his friends (including his husband) and makes his way to the group. "How are things going tonight?" he asks the gathering.
Jessica Drew	Jessica shoots Jane a quizzical look for confirmation of what she is about to say, then makes an attempt at bringing Martin up to date, "Um, angel chasing from the sound of it. We need to get to Gotham before midnight. Does that sound right?"
Jane Foster	"The magic hammer doesn't transport people unless you fancy being hurled across the sky." That image really doesn't bear repeating around coworkers. Time to move, and Jane feels to make sure the audacious horned crown still rests in place. No taking an eye out by tilting her head, mkay? "Steal the Quinjet? You overestimate my willingness to commit to a role." Jessica's hopes are probably dashed and raised. Normally she might take the stairs, but unlike a certain blonde girl in a hoodie, she cannot bypass everyone unnoticed, scowling at others. "As a special agent of WAND, which ranks me a bit under Director Palamas, I can commandeer one and ask the Chief's forgiveness later. The pilot comes with the bird unless we're May or Quake." Or Cap, but when Cap needs a bird, who asks?     She gets into the elevator and waits on the other, giving a jab of the button. Absolutely nothing happens because the button is already lit, thank you very much. Soon as everyone has opted to wander in, excluding one buzzed R&D analyst, the doors snap shut and the box moves of its studied accord. Or own accord. Grr.
Jonathan Sims	Jon grins at Martin as he follows Jane. "You don't have your earbud in either? Like Agent Drew said--a maybe-angel showed up and told us," and suddenly his voice pitches higher as if he's imitating Suri without trying to, "'Some nasty people pretending to be fun are handing out toxic favours at a party. That leaves about a thirty minute window before things get really bad, far as I can tell.'"     He blinks and shakes himself as he steps into the elevator. Still not used to that. "So we have until midnight before whatever it is gets bad."
Martin Blackwood	Martin smacks his forehead. "I knew I forgot something after the shift was over..." He reaches into a coat pocket and withdraws a small earbud that he tucks into place as he follows along. "An... angel? Like... glowy and wings and everything?" he asks as he steps into the elevator. "And we have..." he checks his watch, "Less than 30 minutes to get to what might be a mass murder in progress? Lovely..." he shakes his head again. "Never a dull moment..." he murmurs and seems to notice the pair with them.     "Ms. Zatara what are you--" he stops. No. Not Zatanna. A very, very good rendition of the Homo Magi's outfit and look but under it all he can see the bits of Agent Drew under it all. "Agent Drew... I honestly almost didn't recognize you."     He peers at the other and a hitch catches in his thoat. He *knows* it's not Loki. He can see Agent Foster in disguise but the armor and the horns are too much a close match for the man who was responsible for his daughter's death. For his lingering injury. He swallows the panic and rage that the outfit draws in him and nods. "Agent Foster a very... ironic look for you, isn't it?" he says. He's trying to be nice. He really is.
Jane Foster	Midnight, time's a-ticking. One minute for the elevator to lurch to the operations floor instead of ground level shaves off a moment. Loki's feminine counterpart -- and not a variant -- will snap heads, but not much that the brunette can do about it. If it helps Martin feel better, the Asgardian outfit is most definitely tailored to a woman and not a precise duplicate of the horrible time in New York where she, too, fought. Retinal scans and fingerprints go through with their usual trouble. It takes a badge and fussing with a security guard to let her pass, a familiar enough ordeal that neither Jane or the guard grumble. "Subfloor two. We have a hot target, authorize Stargazer," she says clearly to whatever hears her. "What? No, no wings and halo."     Zigzagging through a hallway and layers of security brings them into one of the built-in hangars. Collecting a scrambling pilot drags the countdown further. "The point was irony. It was this or Amidala, and the Star Wars joke among SWORD is begging for it. We're scrambling for Gotham, that means everyone in and buckled down to make deadline. Flight suits go, we'll be approaching under stealth." Because no thank you, upsetting Batman.
Jessica Drew	Jess twacks the brim of her top hat with a grin for Martin's benefit. "Nope, just us agents."     Standing next to Jane, Jessica rocks in her high heels with a cat-ate-the-canary grin, saying with satisfaction, "I knew you'd do it. Not steal it. But pull rank. This night is getting better and better." She gives the scientist a happy nod then glances at the others in the elevator, her glance sliding over the buzzed reveler, "We've got everybody we need." She kicks off her heels mid-way to the quinjet, "I hate these things. They're like having bound feet."
Jonathan Sims	"She was in the Archive," Jon says to Martin, tapping the side of his forehead. Then he shuts up, following along through the corridors and onto the jet, eyes /just/ a little wide. Just a little.     Aside to Jessica, "I used to wear lifts to seem taller before my last growth spurt and I /hated/ them, I can't imagine."
Martin Blackwood	Martin slips off the coat as he goes, revealing his side-arm holster underneath. New York is one of those cities where EMTs get to carry guns... because safety. He nods to Jon's quip about lifts.     "And now you're a practical giant, he says to the taller man and I'm still the short one." He doesn't seem to mind though. "Do we have any clue what sort of numbers we're looking at here? he asks both for Stargazer's and Jessica's ears as much for the Archivists.
Jane Foster	The Quinjet isn't the newest generation, but plenty suited to its task, one the pilot can manage. When the team settles in, he turns on the comms while running through the start-up routine, which involves working holographic projections more than flipping switches. "So where are we..."     The projection flashes. Shapes resolve, a coastline and grid lines resolving into fine detail. Targets ring in around a blipping beacon. Rocking back into his seat, he grips the yoke. "Huh. Fine. Guess that solves that. [ansi(hx,Gotham)]     The ride is, in effect, short. Under cloaking technology and authorized in limited airspace, the Quinjet can punch over distances that no commercial liner gets to match. The Atlantic Coast blurs by until the gloomy night blossoms into lighted streets and dull patches around the Narrows indicating they have reached the Jersey-Delaware line. Following the map, the pilot swings them around to the northeast, cutting over parks and industrial sites that haven't benefited from development after No Man's Land. Or the Great Depression. It's the sort of place where warehouses and factories outnumber houses, though their map hones in a bend of the North Gotham River close to the Gotham Herald. About a block down lie churches, a couple of brownstones, nothing too fancy.     "Last stop, Bergen Street Urbarail Station," Jane deadpans.
Jessica Drew	Once belted in beside Sims, she commiserates over shoes and lifts, "Terrible things." Eyeing him up and down, "You're height is fine now." Shaking her head in mock despair, she adds, "No accounting for teenaged self image, right?"     "To answer your earlier question, no idea what we are heading into. I'm changing into tac gear here in a second," she is unbuckling as she talks, then makes a swaying walk back toward the lockers that line one wall of the quinjet. Some minutes later, she reemerges costumed as (super) Agent Drew, in armored form-fitting tac gear, a H&K MP adapted to ICER rounds hanging from the belt at her waist.
Jonathan Sims	Jon, having changed into his very first set of tac gear, fiddles with his cuffs as a nervous tic during the /very/ fast flight. Then he peers out at the area they're approaching, sighs. "Gotham never changes," he murmurs, and it's a lament more than anything.
Martin Blackwood	Martin slips on his own tactical gear, adding a higher caliber pistol to pair with his Sig Sauer. "I keep thinking it's something mystical that keeps it looking like a throwback from the 30s" he says as he settles in next to Jon.     "You're going to be okay. This isn't your first rodeo--so to speak--and I'm here and agents Drew and Foster are quite the handful on their own. We're all going to be fine" he is clearly downgrading himself from the likes of the other two even though his own skills have been shown to be useful on their own.
Jane Foster	Gotham never changes, a rusted-out streetscape more swathed in shadow than light. Trash accumulates on the sidewalks. A few cars hunker by the street, ignoring the "NO PARKING" signs. More are piled into the parking lot once occupied by a brick church in poor repair. Noise rolls through the air, the decibels absolutely shrill and pounding with base, but no cops are citing violations of an ordinance. Light strobes through the foggy stained-glass window turned east, but the squat building ringed in weeds and cracked concrete otherwise doesn't look promising. Neither do the faded brownstones, the flats clearly occupied. The area isn't welcoming or high class.     Flat brick stairs lead up to a barred door with a few sheets of plywood kicked over. An old handpainted sign reads SEEKING HOPE CHAPEL with chipped times, Pastor Abraham Almeida supposedly in charge. It's not likely. Hallowe'en has the feel of a pounding rave rattling the bats in the belfry there, with shadows cavorting in the night. Someone has brought along a bubbling glass object that's half hookah, half smoke machine, to add to the ambiance with smoke gone greenish before a chemical glowstick.     The drop from the Quinjet requires walking down the block from the rail station, and the pilot keeps the plane hovering within fairly easy reach. Jane cues her commslink after hitting the ground, pulling glasses down to protect her sight. "Mystical, in Gotham? I thought it wasn't allowed. We get a pass with Zeesica Drewtara?" she murmurs, and gauges the chain-link fence looped around the property, the higher buildings. 11:54. Not much time. "Recommendations on approach? Drew, move ahead and see if you sense anything? Blackwood, are you able to get us numbers in any way, or are we going to party looking plucky?"
Jessica Drew	The booming bass tickles the bottom of Jessica's feet. She walks next to the others, craning her head, disbelief written into her face at the state of the streets and the lack of police presence. She stops to gaze up at the derelict church behind the fencing, muttering in return, "Hey, I forgot my top hat and wand."     She springs, rattling the loose fencing as she clambers up the side with spider ease. At the top, "Nothing yet, Jane. Not that they are going to hear us coming. I'm on comms people." Then, drops over the side to skirt the steps and look for other openings.
Jonathan Sims	"You'd be surprised," Jon says to Jane. "I'll check and see if it /is/ 'mystical.' Just... give me a moment." He's been practicing, but he still has to close his eyes to do this, if only for a slow-looking blink.     When he opens his eyes, the Third Eye is open too. He scans the area. His eyes pass over the church, hallowed ground once, which has a vague air of sanctity, faith, and desperate appeal. Despair erodes that, the slow grinding weariness of poverty, neglect, and generational problems. Spiked darkness sticks out like oil spills, thick with gluttony and indulgence, coated by a thin sheen of suffering. The spills all wrap together like tentacles, spots thicker than others, united in a net.     "There's... something here," he confirms, reaching up a hand to indicate something the others cannot see. "Thick and dark, a... net of sorts, I don't know if it's just nasty energy or something more purposeful. The church is... holding against it, to a degree."
Martin Blackwood	Martin nods to Jane and then there's a moment's concentration and a green-blue glow envelopes him before he winks out of sight (too all but Jon.) He moves forward, gently opening the door to the church and slipping in. "I'll try to get us a headcount" he says softly over the comm. "Tell you what I see once I get settled..."     He finds a relatively dark corner and whispers out his findings. "Lots of bodies. I'd say around 50." The beat of the music is a constant undertone in his comm. "Most of them doped on something... your guess is as good as mine on what. A lot of them have tattoos on them."     There's a pause as a couple stumbles near him. After he waits for them to move on to whatever illicit activity they were going for he continues. "Temporary things. Looks like two groups. One, is a spiked arrow emerging from a hemisphere. The other is a pair of crossed arrows. Mean anything to any of you?" he asks.
Jane Foster	The church keeps shaking with the music inside, the crescendo of rough industrial music crossed with electronic hymns of a darker persuasion. Celebrating Hallowe'en in hallowed style invokes a crowd happy to throw itself with abandon into the culminating force of the night. No one's DJing. They have glowsticks and the occasional joint skunking up the air, but largely the crowd jumps and grinds rather than dances. Marks worn aplenty stand out, stuck to arms, pasted to thighs and calves, any place a tattoo might normally go. A few smart-alecs wear two or three on their cheeks or forehead. Little pointed arrows spiked from a half-circle or a pair of crossed arrows predominate as a design to spot in the dark. The sense of wrongness takes very little work for Jess to feel or find. To the average person, the club feels unwelcome; a kind of 'screw off' vibe that doesn't invite someone in. Fifty souls in there; the Aesir side of the woman can do the math. <<Too many. White supremacist hate groups come immediately to mind, but not a perfect match.>> The warning comes audibly over the commlink. Then she shakes her head, ICER palmed under her long fur mantle. Director Furry? There's a horrible costume mix. "Barring Agent Drew telling us otherwise, let's roll. Keep an eye on the windows and for anyone high or drunk." Jane isn't perturbed by the announcement that she shows. Time to play to part, since she still vaguely looks like Loki. Throw her hair back and walk in like she owns the place, right? A thrust of her hand to the plywood over the door, which isn't nailed down, won't actually threaten anyone but it lets her in. Very unexciting!
Jessica Drew	Straight up a wall to a window not completely covered in plywood, Jessica can feel the body heat and music knifing through the opening as she pokes her head in to drop to the floor in a crouch. Short of a bomb, no one would notice her. Two feet from her four people dance in a gyrating circle, limbs loose as puppets on misguided strings, crashing into each other with abandon. Jessica straightens slowly, straining to see into the crowd. A whiff of poppers hit her, making her heart race momentarily before her natural poison defenses kick in to control it. Sidling, she moves into the crowd alert for danger. Everyone is completely buzzed. Karooming into each other, trodding over feet. She gets knocked into a man, with the predatory face of a wolf who disappears from view as someone dances between them. A constellation of menace begins to take shape as Jessica sights the occasional man or woman not under the influence of whatever makes the others dance, watching over the dancers. Hand to her throat, she comms, "It's like a flock of sheep with wolf shepherds. Look out for the ones who don't look drunk."
Jonathan Sims	Jon's stomach twists at 'white supremacists' but he sticks to Jane's side, falling into place a little behind and to the side so he maybe looks like a minion or something. Loki had minions, right? He doesn't remember if Loki had minions. It hardly matters. He can follow in her wake as she barges on in.     He scans the crowd, looking for the ones who don't look as bad off as the rest. Murmurs to the comms, "The tattoos correspond to the dark spikes I'm seeing. Dark magic, maybe. Timed to go off at midnight?" They need to stop this, however they can.
Martin Blackwood	<What's the magic tied to... the music?> he asks over the comm, moving through the crowd under his viel, trying to see how many of the "wolves" there are. <Would stopping it stop whatever they have planned? Or...> He looks up, trying to see if the place had a sprinkler system. Maybe the temporary tattoos could be washed off if that was the catalyst.     He kicks himself. Even if the building did have a sprinkler system, likley it would've been disabled after the place was shut down and condemned.     Slipping along another wall, he waits to see what Jane's play is before making a move himself.
Jane Foster	Tick. Tock. 11:57. The strings tighten, darkness throbbing and snapping like a rolling wave. Sticky weight settles in a pressure cooker cloud. The air in the church, already stinking with weed, sweat, and decay, becomes that much harder to breathe in the ecstatic pinnacle fo the music. Loki had minions, peons, those bowed to his will and glorious purpose, so at least the Lady has two. <Best guess is the music or an item. Can you simulate an airhorn or siren?> It's wishful thinking. She winnows through the initial flailing mass of limbs on the outskirt as the tempo for the music pounds a skull-hammering beat that percolates right into the bones. A dancer slams up against her, baring teeth and waving his arms, twisting around. The clashing metal percussion slashes through the thickening air. He knocks her back a step and she swivels away, fighting for balance. Unlike Jess, the chance to trip is real, and setting off a mosh pit isn't her style. <Kill the sound system. Bad odds for starting a fight. Drew, suggestions?> Bad odds for a fight, except there's a part of her that wants to so very, very badly. Something is happening. A building coil turns, tightened like a spring, practically vibrating. Six wolves among the masses might be felt or seen by their actions, more coordinated, less violent shifting. They are scattered to the edges of the crowd, pushing in, tending the flock. Tattoos imprinted on the skin glow a little brighter, and the sizzling glowsticks being waved around add to the incandescent green glow -- so damn eerie, definitely intense.
Jessica Drew	<"Nope, not a one. Going to pull some plugs here though"> The knots of dancers thicken around the speakers. Ants glued together in a feeding frenzy on the food spilling from the 6-foot speakers.     An elbow takes Jess in the side, she grabs the offending arm twisting it, then uses a dancer's shoulder for leverage to get up on the stage. Where she meets a man with stone cold eyes and strange glowing tattoos. Jess grins like he is an old friend and knifes her hand into the side of his neck, dropping him like a sack. With a quick look around her, she steps over him to behind a speaker that has a twisted mess of electrical cords feeding it. NO time to think it through, she announces over coms, <"Here goes."> She yanks at cords with no science only awareness of the time. Sparks arc in the air.
Jonathan Sims	<It's the tattoos,> Jon says into the comms with a tone of absolute assurance. He's dodging revelers, trying to stick near Jane, even as Jess is yanking out cords. <I don't know if I can--wait, Martin, can you give me an /illusion/ of a sprinkler system that I can then manifest into reality?> Water and all, would be the idea.
Jane Foster	Sound drops with a fizzle and a squeal. A minute to midnight and the booming beat goes falling away, giving out the halcyon shriek of metal and a hiss. The dancers lost in their wild throes are slow to react, if they notice at all. It's a nasty high that eats into perception. But the wolves aren't high and one breaks into hissing words, a cadence broken by clapped hands and stamped feet that another picks up, and another, three of them rapidly rolling out the groove. Seconds and syncopated fury, begin.
Martin Blackwood	Martin was trying to work though if auditory things were in his control when Jon gives him a more tested illusion. "Oh sure but... can you do that? I can make the sprinklers real but the water?" he asks. There isn't much time to work it out so instead he crooks his hands into familiar shapes and rings of blue-green light form around them and his wrists as he extends his Will to the ceiling.     The hiss and pitch and whine of the speakers dying gives him a moment's pause but he grits his teeth and focuses on the seeming created. There is a moment's flicker of blue green light above and then a full on sprinkler system appears, after another moment the heads of the dispersal units being to spin and what *looks like* water starts to fall upon the crowd. There's no actual feeling or substance to the illusory liquid though. That much is beyond the man's abilties. He could actualise a puddle of water but individual droplets from a system... his brain can't split that many ways, yet.
Jonathan Sims	Everything Jon has done so far, magically, has been about taking an idea and making it real. What little he managed to catch of his cousin Sasha's magic was the same--not a channeling of power or a use of magic words or gestures, although the words and gestures focus the will. No, this is about imagining a thing on the Astral Plane, a thing only in the mind, and then making it manifest on this plane through an application of will. And he doesn't know what he's doing yet, doesn't even really know that he's doing it like this at all.     What he knows is that everything he's done so far has been a deliberate copy of someone else's work. So making his husband's illusion /real/? Well, that's an obvious leap.     There's a squeal and a hiss and Jon ducks his head, puts his hands to his ears. And then there's thumping, thumping clapping, and... they have to /stop/ this. He pulls his left hand away from his ear, splays it toward the sprinkler system, shouts, "/Uat!/" The ancient Egyptian word for water. By force of his will, making the sprinklers that Martin created real, long enough to wash away the tattoos. And pray they made it in time.