World Tree MUSH

  A message has been left for Morrigan Lor'osa. Agents Coulson and Stojespal of SHIELD would like to talk to her. The coordinates left for her lead to the countryside just outside of Polyuchyn, north of the underfunded but plucky Feathergrass Air Base. Here, the grassy plain gives way to scenic slot canyons as the terrain climbs towards distant mountain ranges.

  Mist rises from the deep, vertical canyons as the sun sinks slowly behind the horizon. It's all quite scenic.

  And then something big punches through the mist, leaving a hole behind it. It's not an antiquated fighter jet, like the kind that are flown from Feathergrass, but a quinjet. It's definitely SHIELD, then.

  Swivelling in midair, it turns towards the nearest cliff, where the coordinates conveniently lead. The landing is smooth, so smooth; and the aircraft is utterly silent. The only change is that the running lights chase each other in sedate patterns once it's touched down, and with a hiss, the cargo ramp aft flicks open.

  Out strolls Anneka with her helmet tucked under her arm. An unlit cigarette dangles from her lower lip, and she's still wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses balanced over her eyepatch. Behind her follows Coulson, carrying three generic thermoses and a paper bag. They're talking in low voices, voices indistinct, but they look relaxed. He's half-smiling, and must have said something either funny or stupid; Anneka's laugh pierces through the mist for a fleeting instant.

  It's there they wait, distributing thermoses; Anneka takes one, and balances another in the crook of her elbow, while Coulson cracks his open and takes a drink.

  Ahhh, coffee.

    "Master, you have a message."
    "Huh. I wonder who it could be." Morrigan says as she crawls out from under the carriage of her 2003 Ford Windstar, covered in oil and grease.
    "Agents Phillip Coulson and Anneka Stojespal of SHIELD." Mary Contrary answers her master chipperly.
    Morrigan can't help but blink at this as she makes a motion of her hand and the grease, grime, and oil of and car effluvium is suddenly cleaned from her face and clothes.
    "Huh. Is it about the spooky thing with the Ghost of Stojespals Past?"
    "Probably!" The Shinki chirps.
    "Alright well we probably shouldn't keep them waiting, pull up the meeting spot on the GPS." Morrigan muses as she climbs into the driver seat and the tow get rolling.
    So it's not long before the old grey van comes puttering down the road to the designated meeting spot, rolling to a stop in front of the landed quinjet, before the door swings open.
    Morrigan takes a second to unfasten her seatbelt and let Mary perch on her shoulder before steepping out.
    "Soooo, Agent. Agent. To what do I owe the pleasure? ... This isn't about me impersonating an agent is it?"

  At the sound of an approaching vehicle, Anneka grins as the old Ford Windstar comes rolling up the nearest thing that serves as a road. Literally a dirt trail. This is pretty far out in the boondocks, although not suspiciously far. It's a ways out from Feathergrass Air Base, which means--

space2)Thunder rolls in the distance, behind a leaden sky.

  Anneka turns to look, rapt.

  Not thunder. Three Sokovian fighter jets punch out of the clouds Anneka had just piloted through, split into a team of two chasing one in a high-speed daredevil game of defender and aggressor. Afterburners flare as the fighter shriek by, and just as quickly they punch into the clouds again, lost once the thunder of their turbofans fades.

  It takes Anneka a few seconds to snap out of it and turn back. She looks like she'd rather be up there.

  "Call me Anneka, if you want." The pilot waves a hand, striding loose-limbed down the rest of the ramp and reaching for a lighter. Silver, enameled with a quinjet; with a practised flick she lights her cigarette once they're out a ways from the quinjet. "Maybe Anna, but that is maybe too common, I think."

  Taking a drag, she exhales a wreath of smoke. "I won't waste your time, because I do not appreciate that bullshit myself, either." The cigarette carton is offered. Smoke? "It is not about that. Though, now that we are on that subject: Do not do that. If you do it here, it makes trouble for me, and then I have to turn your ass in. That will be my only warning."

  "Actually, the reason we're here is because we have a job offer for you." Coulson doesn't wear a pair of aviators. He does carry a small manila envelope, though. "I'll get right down to business. You have a knack for this kind of stuff, and frankly, SHIELD is stretched pretty thin. We could use a hand with these anomalies in Polyuchyn, and the best way to make this easy for everyone is to afford you temporary agent status."

  Anneka rolls her cigarette to the other side of her mouth. "Wanna be a real agent?" she drawls, ruined somewhat by that strong Eastern European accent. It could be the local language spoken in Sokovia, Ukrainian, but it could also be Russian, or something else entirely. It's hard to say where exactly this woman actually comes from, but she probably is deliberately obfuscating it. "You won't get shit for security clearance, and I'm going to have to be glued to you any time you're anywhere near a SHIELD facility, but it's a way in."

  "We were thinking about extending the same offer to Miss Kamoya," Coulson adds.

  "You in?" Anneka grins; arches her lone red brow.

    The sound of jets screaming through the sky above causes Mary to dive off Morrigan's shoulder and hide in the Warlock's robes. To her credit, Morrigan lets her shinki cower for the moment.
    "Anneka, got it." Morrigan says, dropping the moniker of Agent in favor of something a little more casual as she politely declines the offered cigarette, before holding her palms up placatingly.
    "Got it, got it, no more playing secret agent and spy."
    But then her brow quirks.
    "A job offer?" This clearly has her attention as she folds her arms across her chest.
    "Well yes, this kind of thing is in my wheelhouse so to speak." She considers before the caveats come in. No clearance and Anneka will be watching her like a hawk but...
    "Oh, Lian's a good person to work with, that's for sure. We worked together on a previous supernatural incident in the past, so I can vouch for her at least."
    As for the job itself...
    "Well... I'm going to be in the area for a bit investigating on my own. ... Might as well make it official."

  "You'll have access to any areas that SHIELD does." Coulson hands Morrigan the envelope. It's relatively small, maybe the size of a hardcover book. Inside it is an official identification card, although there's a note attached to it that basically says 'go get your photo taken at this address in Polyuchyn.' There's also a lanyard to attach it to, or the stereotypical government goon leather flip-cover case with the SHIELD roundel in metal on the outside. There's also a veritable stack of papers waiting for Morrigan's signature. Most of it is liability, as well as putting in contract that she'd better defer to SHIELD authority on agency-sanctioned SHIELD operations.

  The very last one is not like the others. It's a hand-written contract. Anneka's handwriting is tiny but precise, and there are two paragraphs; one in Cyrillic -- imprecise Ukrainian, specifically, and a lack of fluency might seem strange in spite of her ostensibly Sokovian name -- and one in equally strangely precise English. It stipulates that any messes made aboard the aircraft by the Warlock will be cleaned up by the Warlock. That page, too, is waiting for a signature and date on the line. Is she serious? Going by her expression, yes; yes she is.

  "There's no hurry on signing those," Coulson adds, flicking a hand to indicate the folder. "You can take them home and look them over before signing if you want to, but I'd suggest getting these back to us quickly."

  "I'm heading out again as soon as I can round up the appropriate mediums, psychics, fortune-tellers, and charlatans," Anneka states, blandly. "I need two more fortune-tellers and a charlatan." Deadpan. So deadpan. She shifts back to a more conversational tone. "More seriously, I want to be sure I have at least you and Lian Kamoya present. We will also be bringing Sally Petrovna." Beat. "Rusalka Stojespal." Something twitches near her left eye. She inadvertently gave something up, but it's not clear what. "Polyuchyn is her family's land, so she will be attending as representative."

  Anneka reaches into a pocket and produces a stainless steel pen. A nice one. One that can probably be used at thirty thousand feet, and yet still roll just as smoothly at sea level. Just in case Morrigan does want to sign all that stuff now.

    With the envelope handed over, Morrigan begins to casually flip through it while Coulson and Anneka speak. "Huh. Huhhhh. Huh. Neat. Okay. I see."
    Oh look at that she gets her own badge.
    Then there's everything she needs to sign.
    The Warlock whistles. It's a lot to be sure.
    "I'll give these a read-over and have the answer back to you by tomorrow." She decides, before flashing Anneka a sharp-toothed grin, "With me and Kamoya on board you won't need any of those types."
    But moving on, she can at least sign the contrat about keeping the quinjet tidy, so she does that.
    "Huh, so that girl- Sally- this is her turf? Good to know."
    The pen is handed back as Morrigan lightly taps the huddled mass in her robes, prompting Mary to poke her head out, before she hands the documents to her shinki to hold onto.
    To her credit, Mary is able to lift the file and floats her way into the car with it.

  Anneka stands where she is, waiting patiently for Morrigan to read through the information. She smokes, but other than that, she doesn't move very much. The patient hunter. Might be she's clumsy and a little out of her element on the ground, but the sky is where she really shines. No-brainer, given that flight helmet she carries around so much.

  "Good. I will pick it up when you have finished. You can leave it at House Stojespal. One of the house servants will give it to me; we are staying there, for the time being." Anneka flicks a hand back in the direction of Polyuchyn. The manor is faintly visible even from the beginnings of the foothills. "Closest base of operation."

  Which brings the topic around to...

  "Rusalka Stojespal is the next heiress of the Stojespal barony. They are the ruling aristocracy in these parts, before the modern country lines were drawn on the maps." Anneka gestures toward the hills. "Sally Petrovna is well-liked. Having her with us will make investigation a little easier. How to say...? She will grease the wheels."

  There's a sense that Anneka isn't saying something, maybe something significant, but she grins, amicably. At least, amicably if not for the horrific scarring. To most people. Maybe not a Warlock! "In effect, this is Stojespal land. All of Polyuchyn. Aside from easing our task, it is a courtesy to House Stojespal to invite a representative along. We are in their territory, after all."

  Coulson discretely answers his phone, bending away from the others. Anneka frowns, before shaking her head. "Sorry. We are leaving, soon, I think, but thank you. You will be paid a stipend, too; we will arrange that later. You may want to back that van away." She grins again. "I would not want to scratch the paint."