World Tree MUSH

  The headquarters building of the Strategic Homeland, Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division was originally in New York City, but after the Battle for New York, operations were packed up and moved over to Washington, D.C.

  Although locals weren't crazy about the development at first, the advent of the World Tree has shifted public opinion on the extra-governmental agency. The chaos has settled down lately, and life has resumed something of a normal rhythm in the heart of the city.

  People have stopped spooking at the weirdness, these days; especially with the Vines leading here and there. There's more security -- but strangers are welcome, as long as they don't assault anyone or break any laws. (The instant they do, half a dozen different governmental factions will vie to dogpile on the offender.)

  Located conveniently near the agency's headquarters is a small old-school diner. The building is a local anchor; it's been around long enough that the waitresses tend to know the regulars, and vice-versa. More importantly, it's open all hours of the day or night, and like any real diner worth its salt, they make mean milkshakes and sundaes.

  So, that's where Agent Anneka Stojespal is. It's a quarter past three in the morning, which means she either couldn't sleep, or she's just landed from another mission and she's unwinding now that she's off the clock.

  In front of her is a cup of coffee and a modest stack of non-classified paperwork, which she occasionally jots half-heartedly at. Her phone is on the table in front of her. She checks it from time to time, but the paperwork seems to hold her interest more... in the 'not really' sort of way, to go by her bored expression.

  An offer to meet may or may not have been left with Dante to show up at the diner's address. It may or may not have been sent by the clinical and impersonal AI stuffed into Anneka's assigned quinjet.

  ...Actually, Anneka may or may not know anything about a meet-up, knowing that AI...

    It turns out that the Jersey Devil was very much real, and very very ravenous. After a hunt in Jersey for 'anonymous clients', Dante was eager to get a burger and some shuteye. Maybe a strawberry malt while he was at it. So he was riding down the highway when his phone went off. Stopping to check, Dante quirked his eyebrow. "...sure, why not?" Then, he went on to continue down the road.

    Weird how he just happened to be in the right area for this. With weapons kept on the bike, just in case the waiters got really antsy over a white haired guy in a red coat brandishing a sword the length of a teenage girl that could split a horse in twain. He scans the diner before spying Anneka, the eyepatch was a pretty dead giveaway.

    "Yo." He greets with a tired grin, "Another one of those nights, eh?"

  There's no sign of the quinjet, so presumably it's in a classified hangar surrounded by armed guards and swarming with technicians. Then again, it isn't like there would be room to park it, unless it perched on a roof somewhere. Thankfully Val is not perched on a ceiling. That would be kind of creepy.

  The eyepatch is noticeable, but the scars are more so. So is the olive flight suit; it looks like Anneka must have turned up here fresh off a quinjet, or maybe fresh out of the agency's headquarters building.

  She glances up the instant the door opens. There's a bell tied to it. Hard not to notice.

  The pilot arches a brow.

  "Hunh. Didn't know you had business here." She gestures to the opposite side of the booth she's in. "Have a seat." It isn't like there's anybody else, here, except for minimal staff. "Food here's decent. Just tell them not to overcook it, unless you like eating charcoal."

  Hm. Yep. Val must have made an executive decision. She doesn't seem to know.

    Settling for a medium-well burger and fries with a strawberry malt, Dante grabs a seat. Make that with EXTRA fries, in case Anneka wants anything. Dante's got a healthy enough apatite either way. "Turns out the Jersey Devil's real in this world. Ain't that weird?"

    He gets himself comfortable, hanging his coat on a rack. His Panterra t-shirt's got some fresh holes in it, that might need patching, not to mention wounds that are very quickly healing.

    "So, what's new with you?" He asks, slurping his strawberry malt while trying to sneak a peek at whatever reports Anneka's got.

  The pilot's attention is mostly on the paperwork even as she carries on half a conversation, and as the hamburger-fries platter is set down, she notes how many of them are there and deftly plucks one from the plate, crunching idly and jotting notes. She's writing with her right hand, but even the fingers of that hand are as scarred as her face. Both the pain and the physical therapy must have been off the charts, but it's old, healed wounds -- a decade or more, maybe.

  Anneka glances up, briefly, snorting. "Jersey Devil? Mhm. Somebody else's jurisdiction, though." Probably SWORD, or WAND; she never paid much attention to the agency's sister-divisions. A hand scoops up the papers, a single tap against the table straightens all of them in a single gesture, and they're tucked into a briefcase at her feet before the pilot stretches, lacing fingers over her head and grimacing at the series of snap-crackle-pop issued from her spine. "Damn. Been sitting here too long..."

  "Not much, aside from running diagnostics. Always with the diagnostics. Val is very new; she's only been operational for six months to a year." She leans back against her seat, swilling around her coffee cup and eyeing the sludge. "Just got in from a flight; and I'll be taking off again tonight. Agent Philip Coulson is always going somewhere, these days, with Vines and all." She pauses, resting her elbow on the table and rubbing at her good eye and yawning. "Always there is something to investigate; SHIELD is stretched far too thin."

  A hand is then held up for Another Cup of Coffee.

  "What about you?" She jerks her chin to indicate his torn shirt and fresh wounds. "Looks like you have had more interesting a night than paperwork."

    Dante takes a bite out of his burger. It's pretty much how he expected, frozen hamburger patty on a grill with au jus sauce with bog standard ingredients. It's not gourmet but it'll fill Dante's stomach. He can't help but take notice Anneka's wear and tear. She's definitely had a very long career in the field. Pilots might've gotten the reputation of being 'the chair force' but Anneka's career wasn't behind a desk, no sir.

    He shrugs a shoulder. "I got a call about it, figured I'd poke around the place and wound up running into the usual paranormal crap." He explains in between bites, and he winces at the pop from Anneka's spine. Dante can't help but remember Nell Goldstein, his old gunsmith, when he looks at her. Same attitude, same 'look'...it feels like it's been so long since she died. Every time he fires Ebony and Ivory, Dante thinks of her, and how she died in the fire.

    Dante just nods along, not bothering to ask too many questions about Val. AI is just...well, it's science fiction to Dante, and he knows it.

    "I got a job lined up in a week or so. Gonna look into something in Prague, there's been some disappearances. I'm willing to bet it's demons, usually is in my experience."

  The briefcase's latches are neatly snapped in a single deft gesture, and as Anneka straightens, she drains the rest of her coffee cup. Going by the face she pulls, it's stone dead cold, and not very tasty. Ew.

  "You'll find plenty of paranormal crap in this world." Anneka's gesture is somewhere between resignation and soul-deep fatigue. "Probably the adjacent ones, too. I haven't looked into those too much. SHIELD's still spread much too thin to look at anything too closely."

  She glances up to listen to his explanation. Prague? "Here." She fishes into a pocket on her flight suit, producing a simple business card. "Call me when you go." The simple card is slid across the table. It's white, quality cardstock, embossed and printed with the SHIELD roundel, Anneka's name, official title (field agent, pilot), headquarters' address, and contact information (there's a phone number and an e-mail address). "I'm sure I can get clearance to investigate. I have business I can follow up on in the area, too."

    Dante makes a face as Anneka chugs that coffee down. He remembers the motor oil crap they called java back when he met Anneka, and winces in sympathy. His milkshake is pretty pulpy too, and has sprinkles in it. Yum yum. Slurping it loudly, Dante takes a handful of fries before dunking them in the shake and chowing down.

    "Yeah, I hear the actual no-jokes God of Thunder is a superhero around here. That's pretty crazy, him and Loki duking it out in Manhattan...I hear they're brothers too, which is...odd." The mythology dork in Dante still can't understand that.

    He takes the card and tucks it in his wallet, "THanks. Honestly I just figured having you help would make travel a lot easier, what with the superplane. You ever try traveling with a demonic greatsword? It makes the airline security pretty nervous." Dante chuckles a little. "Y'know, I'm curious about somethin', speaking of Eastern Europe. You don't strike me as US born. You a naturalized citizen?" It seems like SHIELD recruits from everywhere, with a free green card to go along with it for foreigners.

  "Thor? He is here. Maybe not in the city, but sometimes he is known to help SHIELD." Anneka pauses to snipe another fry. Oh, good, they're actually crisp today and not soggy. "Loki, too, but I do not much like to see him around. Where Loki goes, always there is trouble. They are brothers, I think, but that is all I know. I have not met them personally."

  Glancing over to the empty diner, Anneka's lone eye drifts back Dante's way. She snorts. "You bother to take it to airports? Idiot. You don't fly aboard civilian aircraft with something like that. Of course they will be nervous; what do you expect?"

  Speaking of Eastern Europe, he says, and she tilts her head slowly. "You are right; I am not from here." She rests her elbows on the table, hands laced, chin resting over scarred and unscarred fingers. "I was born elsewhere. The agency has permitted me to stay." They also have a nice set of fake papers for her, but she doesn't mention that part. "Why do you ask?"

    "Must make the church real confused." Dante says, and he gladly lets Anneka have some fries. They're crispy and seasoned with salts. Dipping a few in ketchup, Dante snorts. "There's a chart somewhere that says 'DId Loki do it?' and it almost always leads to 'yes', and that's just the Norse myths in general."

    "I dunno, sometimes I just have it checked for luggage as opposed to a carryon." Dante flashes his most irritatingly cheeky smirk.

    "Call me curious, is all. You don't have to answer, we all got our skeletons in the closet."

  "I think if they know what is good for them, they stay out of it. Since the Battle of New York, many things have changed, for people. Some of them know now what lurks in the dark; in the night." Chomp. Anneka demolishes a few more fries. "Well, you are not wrong. When things do not add up, I would not be surprised if there were official procedure to rule out Loki's involvement." It'd be practical, anyway. He is a god of mischief.

  She shrugs. "And you are not stopped? Stupid security. They should, even if you are checking that. Well, ride the quinjet any time. I do not care as long as you secure your cargo properly. Flights can be..." The woman trails off and snorts. "Rough."

  When he mentions skeletons in the closet, her eye rolls over to cast him a bland, bland look. She seems to be studying him for a moment. Evidently deeming him to be no threat to her professional life, she finally tips her head in an almost-shrug. "Maybe someday, I will tell you. All you need to know for now is, I am Sokovian." Will he spot the lie? It comes so naturally; rolls so easily off the tongue, and it isn't a complete fabrication. She's spent enough time there affecting their dialect that her own accent is undetermined, although definitely of strong Eastern European origin. It almost sounds as though she may be from even further east. "I have family there."

  "Pretty countryside. Wasp's nest of HYDRA presence, though. Someday maybe we will flush them all out and destroy them like the vermin they are."

    "In fairness, the tales are a thousand years old, or more. Some stuff is gonna be wrong regardless." Dante concedes. "You know how it is. Mythology's just a loooooong game of telephone told around the campfire." Slurp. "One of these days I'd love to meet 'em, it'd make a good mark off the bucket list."

    Dante just chuckles. "I'm used to rough rides, no worries there. I gave up things being 'gentle' a long time ago, being a demon hunter and all."

    His head tilts as Anneka tells him about Sokovia, listening intently. He's never heard of Sokovia, probably some Soviet breakaway state in this world. Regardless of whether he spots the lie, Dante says nothing for a good bit until he raises an eyebrow. "HYDRA? Bad guys, I assume?"

  "Several thousand. Depending on which ones you look at." The agent shuffles her briefcase over so it's leaning against one of her ankles, folding scarred and unscarred hands over the table. He'd like to meet them, he says. "Don't look at me. I do not know either of them, and only from time to time do we have cause to work with Thor. I would not mind meeting him, someday. He sounds..." Anneka pauses. Frowns. "Colourful."

  It's one word, anyway.

  To the question, she nods, once, curtly. "Hm. Something like that. Terrorists, mostly. Global, and insidious; they have been around for thousands of years, from what I am to understand." Anneka's voice changes when she talks about them. It's lower and more threatening. Guttural; like a wolf growling, and the accent is a little stronger. Almost identifiable, closer than it was, but not quite. "Nothing is sacred to those bastards."

    Dante chuckles. "I dunno, I think we'd be kindred spirits in a way." Probably the opposite of that, Dante.

    He does listen with a curious look, finishing off his burger and sliding the fries toward Anneka while he polishes off his milkshake. Ancient terrorist cult, that's...hm. Reminds him of that bunch he ran into in Fortuna, a dark sect of the Order of the Sword that misinterpreted Sparda's intentions CONSIDERABLY. "What's their usual motive? They the 'kick in the door and bomb a bank' type, or are they more subtle?"

  The pilot folds her arms and side-eyes the demon hunter, frowning. To go by her expression, maybe being kindred spirits to wild party Asgardians might not be the most desirable thing.

  When Dante slides the fries over, Anneka wastes no time in finishing them off -- as a pilot, she knows the inherent value in Eat When You Can. So she does.

  "No. HYDRA are not thugs, although they like them, and there are many in their employ." Those fries went pretty quick. For all her speed at packing them away, and for all that she only has one eye and no depth perception, Anneka is fastidious and precise. "There are those. Many of them are more subtle, though. Insidious." Her tone is one of hatred; cold. "They have hands in nearly every society. Bases of operation. Running rampant like the vermin they are--"

  Before she can go on any further, her phone buzzes. Anneka pulls a face, scooping it up; a brief glimpse might confirm 'AGENT COULSON' popping up on screen.

  She answers it and twists to aside to Dante in the same breath. "Sorry. I have to take this. Let me know when you are planning to go; I will make necessary arrangements on my side. Agent Philip Coulson. Yes. I was going to call."

  Just in case he's still around, Anneka waves a dismissive hand. "See you around, Dante," she asides.