Owner	Pose
Michael Erickson	At this point, certain weapons he uses are on regular display - his great-great-grandfather's plasma pistol, old in the days of his homeland but light-years ahead of anything on this world, barks long lances of incandescent white gas through the air, burning holes through target dummies and expending the rest of their fury on the insulating material that lines the high-energy booths at the end of the range. One hand behind his back, he holds the weapon like a duellist, snapping off shot after shot with magnificent accuracy. Must have been a Hell of a soldier in his day, when on the field. Under SHIELD's, well, shield, he has yet to really come to violence.     But his face is set, expression grave, as if he were on that field again, as if leading met into battle. Perhaps, in his mind, he is once more.
Jessica Drew	Re-qualification time has arrived, requiring a certain amount of range time clocked in for field agents like Drew. Nothing demanding about it, the Agent enjoys competing against herself. She is much less exotic than her asset whom she is joining on the range; she has checked out her usual field guns, a P-90 and a H & K MP, all with standard rounds. ICER rounds do cost more than regular ammunition and will continue to be expensive until most of the world reverts to using them. Michael should be expecting her. Not wanting to startle him while he is concentrating, she has the control booth signal him. Black hair drawn back into a ponytail to keep it out of her way, Jess joins him wearing the standard field ops tactical, form-fitting black carbon mesh armor and steel-tipped boots.
Michael Erickson	Michael wears no armor, of course, just his usual black suit - which is a change from the grey, and makes him look as if he should be tracking down UFO witnesses in the Fifties rather than be here. Perhaps, at some point, he /did/, albeit in the Seventies instead. One shot, then another, a blast of heat like that from a revved-up hair dryer follows every shot, that and a faint smell of ozone from the magnetic bottles served up by the weapon to do its work. "Hello," he says as Jessica joins him, dutifully toggling the safety on the sleek weapon and sheathing it away in the shoulder rig worn beneath his suit jacket. He steps aside for her, leaning in the corner of the booth, eyeing her tactical gear. "Dressed for battle, are you?"
Jessica Drew	"Hello, Erickson," she returns, watching him stow his weapons, as unusual as they are, per operating procedures. "I like to shoot in what I wear in the field, gets me in the mood, helps install automatic responses. She sniffs and looks at what he has laid out to shoot today. "What do they call those in Shi'ar and are they really the equivalent of firing an arquebus to a P-90? She double checks her H &K before laying it on the table then, unslings the rifle to lay next to it. "I'm surprised SHIELD hasn't taken those to the laboratory yet," she observes, lifting her chin to indicate his exotic weapons.
Michael Erickson	"I've let them look at most of them," he answers, looking down the row as she preps her gear. "But they don't 'take' anything. These are my weapons. Especially..." He pats the lump under his jacket. "This one. Family heirloom. We've talked about it, remember? The plasma weapon? Partially sentient?"
Jessica Drew	"We /have/ talked about it." Jess considers for a moment, while she loads her first clip into the H&K. "Then they were fast about it. I was ninety percent certain they would keep their word. I was wondering if the technology would have needed more time for them to study is all." She takes what is popularly known as the 'fighter stance' to fire. She leans slightly forward with her arms straight out, bringing the sight up to eye level. It has become automatic for her to be square to the target, feet shoulder width apart with her right foot slightly behind the left, knees somewhat flexed to absorb the recoil. She squeezes off a shot then empties the clip before lowering the gun to listen to Michael.
Michael Erickson	"If they didn't keep their word," Michael says casually, "All of SHIELD would know about it. I don't work with liars." Hilarious, considering that's something of his /job/ until recently. He waits until she empties the magazine through the gun, ear protectors still quite firmly on, and then continues.     "The pistol's a few hundred years old," he adds, "To answer your previous question - but it's very special. Most Shi'ar weapons are sentient to some degree or another, but in a very specialized way. My blaster is equal parts tool and weapon, with an intelligence that can follow both functions. It remains more advanced and flexible than most weapons in the Shi'ar personal arsenal, if not perhaps as powerful than some modern guns."
Jessica Drew	"So do you consider it sentient like you would a dog, for example? Or like an AI? Do you talk?" Still maintain her stance , she lowers her gun and to turn and look at him with a faint lift of her eyebrows and a smile, though the questions are meant seriously. She is genuinely curious about his relation to the weapons, aware of his relationship with the armor that in some regards rules his life now.
Michael Erickson	"More like a horse," he replies. "We don't talk, no. But I've been trained to monitor its functions, and it has holographic interface to give information as I require it." A pause. "I'm sorry about the Jupiter thing. We hadn't gotten to talk yet, and the Chief called me in on the night I was coming to talk to you. I wasn't trying to shut you out."
Jessica Drew	Jessica turns away, sighing heavily through her nose before shooting another clip at the target, then reading the results on the screen showing a close up of the spread. She stops and lays the gun down after discharging the spent clip. With a noncommittal shrug, she replies, "I didn't think you did it on purpose, though to be honest with you, it doesn't make me look like Agent Brilliant keeping track of her asset. Not being able to go into space makes it problematic. They might consider giving you another agent for that"
Michael Erickson	"I made it clear that you were going to be informed, just she called me first." Michael and Jessica stand down at the end of the range, in one of the energy-absorbing aisles meant for advanced weaponry to be tested. Dressed in a black suit, Michael himself is tucked into a corner, looking on as Jessica tests her issued arms in full tactical gear. "She knew you were doing your job. We'd just finished talking about how much I admire your professional capacity. But since we're on the subject..."     Michael pauses a moment. "If you're game, I'd like to request that I train you on how to use pressure suits and operate in space. Other planets. I know it's not your normal purview, but with an increase of alien threats going on, it makes sense that SHIELD and SWORD will be working together more often. You never know, right?" A beat. "And it would resolve any such issues in the future. I have offworld friends, after all. I'd hate for you to miss out on nonsense I get up to outside of SHIELD operations."
Jessica Drew	"If I'm game?!?" Jess regards him fixedly for a moment. "You mean that, don't you? Have you already asked?" She picks up a clip and snaps it into place then lays the gun back down. With a frown, "That still doesn't help the fact that I didn't know where you were or why." The sentence is punctuated with a short explosive sigh, as angry as she has been with him since SHIELD accepted him as a consultant. Voice even, "That is water under the bridge now. I /do/ need to know about operations that you are undertaking especially if they result in corpses. Was that your doing, by the way?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon's been using the far aisles for his own practice, because magic is /weird/ and he doesn't know whether or not any given attempt to throw it around is going to result in a bang or a whimper. Sometimes he just winds up with crystal shards littering the target area, sometimes he summons up a whole gout of fire, and where does that leave a normal aisle? Burned down, possibly. Better not to risk it.     When the control booth informs him there's already people down in that area he decides to walk in without pulling out his own full "combat gear," instead wearing his normal suit, collapsable staff hooked to a loop at his belt as if it were a baton. He's curious, truth be told, what they might be using the aisle for. And he's visible enough, coming along, to allow for people to stop private conversation before he gets there.
Michael Erickson	"I believe 'If you're game' would indicate I hadn't done it yet," Michael points out dryly. "And that I was asking your permission. And Jessica -- you're my handler, and I'm a friendly asset, not another agent. It's not your job to know everything I'm doing every day of your life. I check in. But I'm not going to tell you if I'm going down to the corner store or checking out a new park; that's what Jupiter is for me, being able to cross intersteller distances. I just went to look at the biggest planet in the star system, and see what it was like. How was I to know I was going to run into some ancient industrial platform?" A beat. "And I didn't kill the man, not originally. I just disabled what he had become when it and the other drones were dispatched to kill me for trespassing."     And then there's another fellow coming - Michael falls swiftly silent as he sees Jon coming, jerking his chin the other man's way before looking to Jessica. "Who's that?"
Jessica Drew	"Jonathan Sims," she says quietly, hoping Michael can lip read. She taps her noise cancellers and shrugs at him, narrowing her eyes with a firm promise that they will finish the conversation privately in the look she broadcasts at him. "One of the WAND types. Seems alright. Been on two operations with him." When he is nearly even with them, she lifts a hand and waves. "Weapon testing are you?" She searches him for something resembling what Erickson is using, her gaze settling uncertainly on the baton.
Jonathan Sims	"Ahh, Agent Drew and... Erickson, right? Michael Erickson?" Jon remembers them, evidently, from a month or so ago. "Still wearing the visitor's badge I see." He says it wryly, like he's offering condolences.     "Didn't mean to interrupt. I suppose you could call it weapons testing?" He does, indeed, lift the baton off its loop on his belt. "I need to stretch my arm a bit, missed almost two weeks of practice. What about you two...?"     He shakes the baton firmly and it extends out, snapping into something more like a quarterstaff with a small ankh at the top. Neat trick.
Michael Erickson	Jessica's refresher causes switches to click into place in his brain; Michael nods once to the other man as he arrives, looking down at the badge around his neck. "I'm not an agent," he points out. "So I'm rather always going to wear it until that changes. Hello, Mister Sims. It's good to see you again." He's going to be murdered later, you see. Think of him fondly when he's gone.
Jessica Drew	Something in Jessica's stance agrees with Michael's unspoken assessment. They are in agreement which brings a tight satisfied smile to the Agent's lips. "No, you are fine. Michael uses this alley for his special weapons and I'm racking hours up for requalification," the smile flickers into something smugger, "and keeping an eye on him. Do we get to see what you can do with your, ah, ankh?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon actually grimaces at the ankh. "It wasn't my idea," he notes. "The man who gave it to me is rather... ostentatious. But... if you like? I'll admit I was curious to see alien weaponry. Not that I know much about /human/ weaponry, but..." He shrugs, and then rolls his right shoulder as if working out stiffness. "This," he shakes the staff, "is imbued with magic. Technically anyone could use it for the most basic attacks, if you'd like to give it a try. I'd been using it to focus my own magic, but I was injured on an op, so I've been practicing, ahh... smaller magical effects."
Michael Erickson	Michael makes a faint face at the mention of magic - very faint - but he peers at the looped cross atop the stff all the same. "Draining stuff, sorcery," he agrees with a nod. "Perhaps you should have some small arms training to supplement it, Mr. Sims. In the Empire, mystics tend to carry at least some form of small blaster to back up their sorcerous abilities."     He glances Jessica's way, too, reading her expression. But he doesn't mention further.
Jessica Drew	The offhanded tilt of her head and lift of a shoulder suggests that Jessica has decided to class magic in the category of just another weapon to get us from x to y. "Nothing ostentatious about it if it works. Would you prefer it looks like a tennis racket or a baton like Morse uses? Could it?" She pushes her fingers into the tender spot between collarbone and shoulder, "Injuries there take a lot of time, all those nerves. And does that affect what you can channel through your arm or the arc of motion?" Looking intrigued, "I mean, if I could use it, too, does it matter?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon nods to Michael. "I've been practicing with ICERs," he says, "but I already had a certain degree of familiarity... Agent Blackwood was rather insistent I at least be able to aim and fire a gun, should it ever be necessary. But... Drew got it in one. Partly, it's a matter of the injury not getting stiff. I heal fast, so I have to be more careful. But... here, let me..." He glances between the two of them. Hesitates. Does he /want/ to show them the entire outfit?     He decides against it, for now, and instead positions himself in front of one of the target bays, giving the others plenty of berth. He holds the staff in front of him for a moment, then starts going through a series of movements, almost like martial arts kata. Except that these movements involve spinning the staff around, moving it with his arms and body in long sweeping arcs that each end pointing at the target down-range. The need for practice is clear--the full series of movements is about six blasts, and he only hits with three. It's almost like a dance, the movements, back and forth, then around in a circle, the final motion bringing him facing forward, spinning the staff once more, the butt of it hitting the ground and a final pair of energy blasts firing from its tip. These hit the target, regardless of the aim.     The blasts themselves are a kind of yellow-orange, and it's clear why he used the energy bay--they burn what they hit, they'd go right through normal paper.
Michael Erickson	Michael watches Jon's demonstration with a remarkably dispassionate expression, considering what is on display - perhaps he has a good poker face, or he's just used to such unusual phenomena. He nods all the same, remaining silent. For now.
Jessica Drew	Jessica watches intensely, unimpressed with the source but interested in the result. She will reserve awe for another time, being pragmatic in the extreme like many field agents. Nodding at Michael, "Magic, huh. It's something like your plasma gun, isn't it? Can we compare the burn marks?" She taps a button that opens the mic to the control room, "This is Alley x6. We would like to compare results with target 35067 and the following two targets, please." "Copy that," comes the prompt reply. "Want to try? Then I can put a bullet in the next target just for funsies."
Jonathan Sims	Jon chuckles, rolling his right shoulder again while pressing his hand to it, to keep it stable. "Go on, then," he says, stepping back a bit. "I mean, energy's energy--the only real difference is what's fueling it. I don't know how a plasma gun works, but I'm manifesting energy from the Astral Plane onto the physical through an effort of will."     And then he has to ask, as he makes sure he's far enough away to give space to fire, "How /does/ your plasma gun work? In, ahh, general terms if it's classified, I suppose."
Michael Erickson	The target data comes up thus: thermal penetration from a high-temperature source, the damage from which manifesting as channels burned straight through the foam-and-alloy target dummies. The effects of a weapon of war, certainly. "It consdenses gas taken from the atmosphere," Michael explains, without actually drawing the weapon (wherever he's got it stashed). "And purifies it into hydrogen, which it then stores in an internal reservoir. Flash-lases the gas into plasma when the trigger is squeezed, which is then projected as a beam or lance of the stuff. Burns through metal, flesh, plastic, whatever." A beat. "My model is beyond a military weapon, however, as it has the ability to perform tool functionalities. Cutting, welding, that sort of thing. It's quite old." A nod at the staff. "Perhaps not as old as that, but. There you are."
Jessica Drew	"That old old plasm pistol is like an arquebus compared the weapons the Shi'ar carry now," she lifts the weapon and carefully loads a mag into the PN P-90 before squaring her stance, one foot slightly back and knees flexed for recoil. She flips a switch putting it into single shot mode then brings it up to her shoulder to fire. Finally, she squeezes off several rounds. "Control, compare the last three targets for penetration, please," she calls after lowering the weapon. "Is it tiring to channel energy from the astral plane? I figure you wouldn't ever run out of "ammunition," she asks after removing the unfinished mag from the gun and laying it down.
Jonathan Sims	Jon listens to Michael's explanation with fascination. "Like a Swiss Army knife, but a gun. A Swiss Army gun." He grins. "This staff isn't really all that old... the /idea/ of it is, certainly, but the staff itself? Very new. Made for me personally. I have a... /very/ rich friend."     He nods to Jessica. "Quite. That's part of what I have to practice... improving my stamina and my will, just like any other sort of training." He holds the staff out. "Want to give it a try?"
Michael Erickson	"I see." Michael nods at Jon's estimation. "And you're not entirely wrong. It's an elegant, flexible weapon. Though...not quite an arquebus." He makes a faint face. "I did say it was still more advanced than most Shi'ar hand weapons. Just perhaps not quite as strong on a regular basis."     In terms of penetration, the plasma pistol wins out, having gone through the target entirely. The P-90 is second, and the flame sparks, as desribed by Jon, are in last place as they go for surface burn rather than deep penetration.
Jessica Drew	Whistling silently as the results are compared, the Agent nods thoughtfully, "Interesting for tactics. Like tanks and bazookas for results. I would love to try it, Jon. Or should I say, doctor?" She walks to his side. "Explain to me how I concentrate or where I concentrate, please."
Jonathan Sims	"Either is fine, or just 'Sims' I suppose," Jon says. He hands over the staff and says, "Really, you just... point the ankh at the target and will the staff to fire. You can say something if you like. 'Fire!'" He grins. "Sometimes that helps. The staff thing is... half-instinctual? Like I know some of what I'm supposed to be doing already." He frowns, a bit uncomfortably, then shakes himself. "For the parts that aren't, I find a word helps."     He steps back a bit, to give her room. "Not surprised the staff's the lowest on there... maybe with time and practice. I've seen magic do some /very/ impressive things, but the magus has to do all the work. With technology, well, someone else did the research and the building. It's nice that way. But of course you have to be able to aim."
Michael Erickson	"Ah, yes," says Michael, "Though I will point out that since you work with your mind, I assume that your imagination will be the limit. Not so with my pistol, which while powerful, remains still limited in function." He eyes Jessica now, as if trying to imagine her as a magus. The mind does boggle.
Jessica Drew	Jessica takes the ankh and looks at it carefully, then at her hand. From her expression you would think she had grown a 6th finger. Though, mind-body-object control is not foreign to the agent. The spider mutant understands something about willing spider webbing. She lifts the ankh several times, testing the weight. Then swings it overhanded, feeling how it displaces air. After she takes several paces back as though she were going to throw a spear, she nods. "Right,"under her breath. She takes several deep breathes, eyes fixed on the distant target. At the end of three quick steps, Jess swings the weapon in a swift arc overhead to center on the bullseye. "Fire," she orders through gritted teeth.".
Jonathan Sims	A silver bolt of energy shoots out from the tip of the staff, hitting the target quite neatly. It's /clearly/ not as powerful as the energy bolts Jon was shooting, but it'd probably hurt if it hit someone.     "Huh," Jon says. "I've never seen anyone else do it before. I suppose it makes sense, the color. It's blessed by a moon god, after all. Good job, though. I hadn't really thought to use it like that." He looks impressed.
Michael Erickson	"Agent Drew has great force of will," Michael replies, quirking a brow with the observation. "And excellent focus. I am not surprised that she's able to make use of such power." He looks over at Jon, curious. "I still say you should carry a handgun, at least. Just in case you deal with things that magic cannot affect."
Jessica Drew	Again, that look at her hand as though it sprouted a new finger. She hikes an eyebrow at Michael bragging and shakes her head at the accolade. "Well," she says smiling at the result, glance moving between the two men. "It is an odd sensation, I must say. Something like shooting webbing," the latter said more diffidently. Talking about her own abilities doesn't come easily to her. "Can Michael try, Sims?"
Jonathan Sims	"That she does," Jon agrees, grinning. The mention of webbing spurs a brief frown, however, and he says swiftly, "As I said, I /do/ carry a sidearm. But some things are impervious to non-magical damage, and it's... I don't know, it feels /right/, somehow, to use a staff." He shrugs. "Backup is /always/ good, however, yes."     At the question of whether Michael can try, Jon nods almost eagerly. "Curious to see what you make of it. Go ahead."
Michael Erickson	"Sorry," he says, squinting at the staff as Jon agrees to take the staff; he reaches for it, fingers pausing within millimeters, but finally takes it in hand. "You /did/ say that, I apologize. I was listening." Holding the staff in hand now, he simply...stares at it, frowning as he weighs the thing in his hand. Examining it. The long body of it, now unfurled. The looped cross, recognized but whose meaning is lost to him given a general lack of human historical knowledge. "In the Empire," he says after a moment's contemplation, his eyes remaining on the staff in his hand, "Sorcerors are rare. The most powerful are akin to themselves, and stand usually amongst the aristocracy. Lesser sorcerors are arranged into units and enter the military, where they deal with incorporeal or other, what you would call supernatural foes. They work in chorus, actually. It's quite interesting to behold.     He says 'interesting', but there's actually very little wonder in his tone. It's more...colder. Hollow. He has seen the things those brave soldiers fought. What they were. How they often killed member of the chorus in the most terrifying ways.     But.     Michael turns to regard the distant target, taking up the staff in his hand - and, brandishing it like a priest might a scepter of office, takes a step forward to bellow a word that is /not/ at all in any earthly language - gutteral, almost barbed. At the utterance, his focused will snaps forward as if an invisible beam, projected by his mind through the loop in the cross. It is there where a bolt of crackling black force leaps forth, a ray of raw entropy that strikes the surface of the dummy and begins to scour away layers of atoms, blasting to dust that which once was and leaving a uniform strip of clean white matter where the paint and surface layers were stripped away. Cleansed of color, where the plastic should be gray. Gleaming and polished in terrible, complete destruction. His will has ever always been bent to destructive means; powerful as it is, it is this disintegrating force that his mind, ever seeking to purify monstrosity from the universe, manifests. But it only lasts a moment, that coruscating ray of cold, yawning blackness, and with a deep sigh he releases his mind's hold on the staff and hands it back to Jon.     "Unsurprising," he observes, though the tinge of bitterness in his voice is unmistakeable. "Thank you, Mister Sims."
Jessica Drew	Jessica's face registers surprise at the black beam, her mouth opens in a silent exclamation. Sims had said it was blessed by the power of Khonshu. Not that she had heard of that particular deity before today, she had expected a color like her own. Her areas of expertise lie in other realms. Where her beam had pierced, Michael's cleanses. Mouth shut now, she looks expectantly at them both."Did that surprise you, Sims?" Concern wrinkling her forehead, she regards, Michael, "Why do you say that? It worked, didn't it? We are both fighters so it makes sense we can wield weapons, doesn't it?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon watches this in /utter/ fascination, eyes very wide as if trying to take in every moment. Then his eyes narrow thoughtfully. He nods briefly as he takes the staff, turning it over in his hands. "Not really. Perhaps it's because he's not human. He can use the staff, but he's not drawing on the same... power. The same blessing. Maybe his own will, overriding a bit." A pause. "Or perhaps he's just more... in tune with certain darker aspects of Khonshu. His light can be a cleansing light, and he guards those who walk the night. It makes sense, in a way."     He keeps frowning at the staff. "Perhaps we should have something like that," he says softly. "A... magic brigade, or something. I'm fighting alongside /children/, because who else is there? WAND, yes, but nobody... /knows/ about that. They take up arms against the darkness, because they think they have to." He sighs. "I don't know where I'd fit in such a setup. I'm a healer, or I was. I don't /want/ to fight, to kill." He laughs. "Except the part that does, of course. I know I'm not making sense. I'm... in all honesty, I came out here today because I'm /angry/, and this is a wonderful way to channel that. I'm usually not angry enough to want to punch a wall, but..." He laughs again, shakes his head. "Children. How do the Shi'ar treat your children, hmm?"
Michael Erickson	"I carry my gods with me," Michael says darkly in response to Jessica's question. "I simply wish that my people would, at some point, actually be infused with something other than utter destruction." Because, of course, that's what that was - not just damage, but annihilation.     He looks to Jon, brows arched. "We treat them well. Harming one's children is a sign of social and mental deficiency that in the Empire tends to be purged." Annihilation, again.
Jessica Drew	"Fighting by the light of the Moon, or should I say with the God's blessing?" Jess looks at Jon for confirmation. "Would they have to be magic users to be effective or could they be like we are," she gestures to Michael and herself, "trained to fight?" They remind me of the Romans, at times, though less even less hedonistic," she comments anecdotally, looking at each of them in turn. Confused at Jon's question and his reference to fighting with children, "Who fights with children? Certainly not SHIELD." A pause. "Well, not often or by preference."
Jonathan Sims	"No," Jon says bitterly, "not SHIELD. Others out there. Costumed vigilates, mystic groups..." He shakes his head. "Children. 17, 16, even younger. Fighting crime, because they think they have to. Risking their lives against demons and vampires because they think they /have/ to. And then today..." He stares down at his left hand, flexes it. Shakes his head, biting back whatever he was going to say.     "Magic users, I should think. The staff can do that, but even without the staff..." He turns to the target bay, raises his left hand, and whispers a word. 'Fire,' in Ancient Egyptian. Fire springs /right/ from his hand, a gout of it blasting down the bay like a flamethrower. Not nearly what Michael did, with the staff, not so targeted nor destructive, but manifested from absolutely nothing.     "What good are the gods of my people, that all they give me is /that/ in the face of the horrors in the world?"
Michael Erickson	Michael is, of course, a much older man than the two of them - sometimes, he feels positively /ancient/ when hearing people speaking thus. He thinks of his training, of the soldiers he once led into battle. Heaves a quiet sigh.     "Jon," he says after a moment, laying a hand upon the man's shoulder, "I find that if you must struggle to destroy, your gods have given you the power to create, and along with that, mercy. My gods gave me none of that; I must struggle /not/ to. That little display with your staff clearly demonstrates that. My friend, I promise you, you are not remotely weak with such gifts in your arsenal."     He looks to Jessica, then. "I'm getting hungry. Do you want to go? I still need to tell you about Jupiter."
Jessica Drew	"Oh, the young ones," with sadness in her slow words. "I was young when I started training and on the streets for Hydra at sixteen. Not by choice. I admire them for their spirit but they shouldn't be there. We should be." She gives Jon an odd look and then walks away from the men, a green glow enrobing her hands. She throws both hands upward lobbing twin amorphous orbs of energy at the distant target. It dissolves before reaching it. "It's not a distance weapon," she says, off-handedly over her shoulder. "Bio-electricity. I can only do so much before I'm drained. But ask Bobbi Morse. It packs a wallop."
Jonathan Sims	Jon frowns at the hand on his shoulder for a moment. "Mercy," he murmurs. "Water /is/ easier than almost anything else." He conjures a small ball of it into his hand, easy as breathing, far easier than the fire. "I just wish I could think what to do with it." He watches Jessica's display, brow furrowing slightly as he lets the water trickle through his fingers and then back up and around into his palm.     "I'm sorry," he says, "that the both of you have... suffered what you have. I suppose I should give the boilerplate 'I'm a therapist, if you ever need to talk.' If not... well." He smiles. "I suggest you go eat, and talk about Jupiter." Michael gave him something to think about, it seems.
Michael Erickson	"Aye," Michael says, and in his voice a certain accent surfaces. Just a hint of it. "And if you wish to underestimate the power of water, I say to you is: 'Hail, Atlantis!'" Another pat on the younger man's shoulder and Michael departs, gesturing for Jessica to follow if she wishes. There's food awaiting. And likely a lot more questions to be asked, most likely from her of him. Such is the life of the alien.
Jessica Drew	"Oh! That kind of doctor. Thank you, but no thank you, doctor. I'm not saying I don't need it but after quite a lot of work with the clinicians here, I've had my fill of doctors of any discipline. Believe me, it is nothing personal." With a brief, bright smile, at Michael, "Hungry are you? When are you not? I'm ready to pack up and listen to the music of the spheres." Checking that the P-90's magazine is cleared from the weapon and the the H&K is empty, she holders the gun and shoulders the rifle. "Thank you for allowing us to use your ankh, Doctor. It was...it was enlightening and odd at the same time."
Jonathan Sims	Jon's staring at the water, thoughtfully, and he rather abruptly tosses it down the firing bay. It stops a little ways in front of the target, spreads out, to become a curtain of water--or perhaps a shield.     "Be well," he calls, "And thank you for the demonstration. I'm always up for hearing more about your people--and I'd love to see more of your abilities, Agent Drew."     He spins his staff, sending a series of bolts of yellow-orange energy at the shield of water he's maintaining down near the target.     The shield holds under the barrage. His expression becomes... speculative.