World Tree MUSH

  It isn't long before night falls over the town of Polyuchyn. As a gentle blanket of twilight draws across the horizon, the first hints of stars glimmer above. Townsfolk wind down their festivities. Lights wink on in the plaza, one by one, and in the long shadows one familial guest of honour has slipped away from the square.

  Anneka Stojespal proved her allegiance long ago by saving Rusalka's life. For that, she was taken into the family. Its matriarchs ensured her complicated past would not be a problem -- at least, not here. The debt is one the true Stojespals have never forgotten.

  Slowly climbing the hill to the manor, the redhead's pace is unhurried; nonchalant. Walking alone at night doesn't seem to bother her. She has an ICER pistol concealed under it.

  The possibility of assault doesn't bother her, but something does. Her usual focus isn't there. She's distracted. Her eye wanders the darkening sky. Anneka Stojespal is searching for some unknown thing in her life, and she's been looking for years. In these quiet times, she can lose herself in her own inner unrest.

  Maybe she's looking for closure: The scars she wears are a mark of HYDRA's long shadow over her. To want to resolve that anxious unknown is only natural.

  Or, maybe she craves companionship. The pilot has cut herself off from the rest of the world. Voluntarily, lest associating with her put anyone at risk, and it had almost been the end of her. She wants company. A sense of belonging. Companionship, and perhaps also the love that had been ripped away from her, fourteen years ago... but there are some things she can't have back.

  Cigarette smoke trails behind her, and the glow of a cherry is the only light about her person.

  She walks alone, in more than one sense.

  Or so she may think.

    The night beckons, with the dark reds and violets of twilight and the setting sun. High above, a half-moon shines amidst the stars, sharing its light with the world. It's a quiet time, before the fireflies make their appearance, and to Rusalka it's one of the most beautiful.

    Out for a walk around the manor, to take in the warm evening, Rusalka takes in the evening with a smile. Still dressed in her festival vyshyvanka and vest, albeit the red heels swapped with her usual t-strap sneakers, the Stojespal scion rounds a corner of the old stone fortress and lets her fingers trail across the rock face.

    It's an old building, its foundation centuries old. All that these stones have seen, Sally wonders, the long history written in them. It doesn't take long before she recognizes a familiar face at a distance - Anneka's walk alone, away from the family's after-party celebration. Mostly a thing for the older folks, Rusalka thinks, while the younger members of the family often sneak away for more salacious celebrations.

    The Sokovian heiress sets off across the grounds, walking through the carefully manicured grass and leaving barely a footprint behind. It doesn't take long to reach the pilot, and Sally gives a small wave in greeting.

    "Aunt Anneka. I am surprised to see you out and about tonight, I thought you would be with the others." With the old folks. "I hope I am not interrupting anything?"

  Every so often, that single eye lifts to the half-moon and its muted light, though only briefly. Wherever Anneka is bound, she keeps half her attention on the road. It wouldn't do to trip and land on her face. If she did something so graceless, she has no doubt she'd be lectured by Grandmother Dragana. The family will tolerate a certain degree of unculturedness... but their limits and their patience only extend so far. Anneka at least tries to uphold the ruse, even if the lifestyle is completely alien to her.

  She isn't paying that much attention to who's around her, though, and so Rusalka catches her by surprise. Her aunt doesn't startle -- nothing so crude. She does arch her red brow, though. Wouldn't Sally be out driving on a night like this?

  Rusalka's question is considered with a slow squint. I hope I am not interrupting anything?

  The pilot shakes her head. Though her hair is still in its careful braid, some of it has begun to unravel, and it ghosts her movement.

  "No. I was only walking." Anneka jerks her chin to indicate the manor. "I was going there, but I think I would have turned around. I do not feel like sleeping... Agent Philip Coulson does not plan on leaving for some weeks, so he will not need me to pilot the Valkyrie." She frowns, rolling the cigarette to the other side of her mouth. "Truth be told... I do not have anything to do right now."

  She glances back to the manor.

  "I do not remember the last time I attended something like that." The unscarred half of her mouth curls up in a smile that's almost hesitant; awkward, in the manner of an expression rarely worn. "Thank you, Sally Petrovna. I... had fun." She seems surprised by the truth of the statement.

    The lifestyle of the rich and infamous might well be completely alien, but Anneka at least tries to fit in amongst the members of the Stojespal clan. Rusalka, less so; the family's age-old trappings of traditions and duty chafe the girl's free-spiritedness. But just as they are willing to tolerate her occasionally rambunctious nature, they are just as willing to accomodate Anneka's.

    Wouldn't Rusalka prefer to be on the road? Yes, though tonight such privileges are less easy to come by. She still has to appear and make her presence known among the party; she'd begged off for a short walk to clear her head and get some proper atmosphere.

    Anneka mentions the festival's after-party at the manor, and Rusalka nods gently. "I do not feel like sleeping either, even after a day like today. Nothing to do?" she echoes. "That is a strange statement from you; it seems as if you always have something happening." The last is said with a grin, a gentle jibe to ease the mood.

    "I take it Agent Coulson is staying for a while over this business of Valentina Maximova. Hopefully that can be resolved soon; the idea of her ghost...it is disturbing, to think about that sort of thing." And to consider what other ghosts might be out there besides Valentina. Her father, for one...

    "Oh ho?" Rusalka's mien turns downright feline, as she clasps her hands behind her and leans in to peer closely at Anneka. "The festival agrees with you. Fun is mandatory at such a thing, of course," she adds with a mock seriousness. "And the party afterward, well. That is mandatory as well, but at least we put in our appearances. I was half debating going for a drive, but I think it's better to stay around the manor. I may end up being summoned to greet family I barely know," she adds with a sigh.

  "Even I have nothing to do, sometimes," the pilot sniffs disdainfully. "I know it may be hard to believe."

  Regarding Coulson, she shakes her head and shrugs at the same time. "Oh. The murder? Tak. Yes. Also, no." She pauses to puff on her cigarette. The smoke carries the scent of tobacco; but also cloves and spices, too. "Officially, this is not an agency problem. Unofficially, Philip Coulson would like to help. If he can find any sign of HYDRA involvement, it will become an agency problem."

  Her lone eye slides towards the manor again. "Hopefully," she agrees, a little distracted. Her head shakes as she returns to reality. "Hunh. I can't imagine it." Seeing ghosts, that is. "That would be terrifying."

  To be haunted by the ghosts of--

  Her eye narrows immediately at Rusalka's feline mien. That's not a good sign. It never is. "What? No. It is not. I left when it was not fun any more. I do not have so much patience for endless 'family' discussions." She looks away, exhaling a jet of smoke. "I am not one of you. Not really."

  "If you decide to go for a drive, I will go with you. Or, I can see if I can sneak away for a flight with one of the antiques at Feathergrass." The pilot tilts her head, thoughtful, folding her arms. Scarred fingers tap against the opposite sleeve. "Hmmm. The two-seat trainer, maybe, if you care to see Khoro's bountiful fiends from up there." Grinning, Anneka jerks a thumb skyward. "Irja Grigorievna might even let me."

  At Sally's resigned sigh, Anneka's mouth twists. "Probably you and me both. Appearances, in my case."

    Hard to believe, perhaps. One might even consider Anneka to be a mere human, but she has shown to be tougher than that particular label. The sniff gets a smirk from Rusalka, who can't help but take amusement at her adoptive aunt's comment. "I suppose everyone does at some point in their life...but I could hardly speak to such a thing. Absolutely always it seems there is some meeting to attend or someone to meet, even on a regular day."

    Shrug. "And then at least I can usually find an escape, rather than being chained up in the manor like a statue to be admired." At this she sits on the grass, stretching her legs out in front of her and gazing back up to look at Anneka before turning her eyes to the moon.

    HYDRA. Rusalka has heard of them; not just from Agent Coulson and Anneka but from her family as well. Her great-grandmother was an admirer of the exploits of Captain America and the Howling Commandos back when she was young. Leading a partisan band of anti-fascist fighters against the Nazis, one took their entertainment where they could. HYDRA was not just on the western front, after all.

    "I thought they were only an organization of the past, under Hitler's control. His secret wonderweapons and so on," she says, the family's education showing. "And that it died with him," she adds.

    "Ghosts? Absolutely I agree with you. I also would not like to die and find myself stuck here, haunting this place. Do you think ghosts are truly real?" A little philosophy in the late evening fills the air, and Rusalka lies back gently against the grass, letting her arms spread as she stares upward into the night sky.

    "You are one as they are, for all I care," she says. "Even an adopted member of the family is still family, despite what the circumstances are. But I suppose it is probably best to avoid such things...though I suppose it is about time for the family elders to retreat and talk amongst themselves. Probably telling and retelling old war stories," she postulates. Something occupies their time after the festival.

    A drive? "Tempting...perhaps once great-grandmother has retired for the evening. That is when things wind down, and I should be able to get away. Just a nice leisurely cruise, something to unwind the day." The offer of a ride in the backseat of a fighter at the air base gets her nose to wrinkle. "You have been trying to get me aboard one of those for a long time, and I am not about to let you turn me into jello in the rear seat!" Hmpf, snerk-giggle. "As much as you talk about true speed, and how you love flying through the Howl...I think you just want to hear me scream in terror. Don't you, Aunt Anneka."

  The grit and determination to survive are entirely human. They just happen to be driving factors behind Anneka Stojespal's personality. "Of course everyone does at some point in their lives, but you are different, my dear." The one-eyed woman takes a moment to regard Sally. "And of course there is always someone to meet. You are a Stojespal, and to hear your mother tell it, Stojespal blood's as old as this land." The pilot gestures, almost dismissively.

  Anneka watches as Rusalka settles on the grass, and after a moment's consideration, she eases herself down as well, though her descent is slower and more stiff overall. Once she's down she arranges her skirt beneath herself.

  That blue eye is sharp as a hawk when she looks back to the heiress.

  "No." HYDRA is not just an organisation of the past. "They may have started that way, but like any vermin, they have found ways to survive the long years. I am certain Grandmother Dragana would be ever so happy to learn that." Anneka glances sidelong towards the manor. "Then again, I would not be surprised if already she knew." That eye slides back to Sally. "But HYDRA did not die with him."

  "Agent Philip Coulson is here because he suspects their involvement, at the end of the day. How, I do not know; he has not shared that with me." She flicks a hand, dismissively. "That is his way, but I trust his instincts. He will find what evidence he needs... if I do not find it first."

  Do you think ghosts are truly real?

  "I do not want to," she states simply. "I felt something, but I did not see Valentina Maximova, myself. I am content to leave such matters with those like Lian Kamoya, or Talia Kyras." Lying back, she folds her hands beneath the back of her head, cigarette dangling awkwardly from her lower lip. "It is not for me." Her voice softens. "...There are too many I do not want to see again."

  "It is not so simple as that." Anneka mumbles around her cigarette, eyeing Sally sidelong. "They still come from a different world than I do, Sally Petrovna. There are things I should know, if I were truly one of them, that I do not. It is better for me to avoid such gatherings, lest a slip give me away to some nosy offshoot of the family who wants to get ahead." Never mind that Anneka is under the matriarch's own protection. To the subject matter, she grunts. "Maybe. I am not privy to those meetings... though I would like to speak with Grandmother Dragana and Irja Grigorievna sooner or later. I have things I need to discuss with them."

  I think you just want to hear me scream in terror. Don't you, Aunt Anneka.

  "No." Her eye closes, and she puffs smoke. "I am too tired for that. Actually, I have something in mind, but I will need your help for it. Your mother and your great-grandmother, too. I will not lie... I suspect HYDRA's involvement in all of this as much as Philip Coulson does. I think they have a base of operations somewhere here in the valley, perhaps even near Polyuchyn. It would make sense. We know that they have had active cells somewhere in the region in past times. We just need to find it."

  "I want to take you through Khoro's Howl. Not to scare you," she clarifies, "but I will need a second pair of eyes to search. You, or someone else, but I trust your eyes. I will have my hands full piloting and making sure we do not die. So. I will have to secure permission from your mother to use one of Feathergrass' charming antiques, because the Valkyrie would attract too much attention."

  That, and she wouldn't have the patience for the Valkyrie's attitude under those circumstances. She sighs, pulling herself upright to go tamp the remains of her cigarette out on the concrete, leaving it in a decorative stone ashtray.

  "So." The pilot settles on the grass again. "Until Irja Grigorievna and Grandmother Dragana have finished swapping lies over vodka and entertaining their guests for the night, I will wait. I am patient."

  ...Sometimes.

    Anneka brings up the long history of the Stojespal family, while Rusalka nods slowly. "Old as the stones, I hear from the old folks. The legends go back forever; even the rusalka. I have no idea how long that's been a thing..." She makes a sour face at the mention of the mermaid's story and recollections of her part in it.

    Anneka settles in, and the Sokovian heiress shifts a little bit to sit closer to the woman. Rusalka watches the slow stiffness, and winces a little; she should have found a chair - but then they'd still be in the manor, and unable to have this little chat on the lawn.

    She gets a lesson in modern history, and nods slowly. "If great-grandmother learned that...though I suspect it is something she already knows, at least as far as their existence. Where they are is something else." If the Stojespal matriarch knew that, she'd probably have already burned it to the ground.

    "It is...I do not know. The idea of being able to communicate with them, if they are truly 'ghosts' or simply..." It's not a topic that comes easy to the engineer, and she finds it difficult to really process such a concept. "Simply echoes of something, not..." Sigh. There's a bit of moisture in her eyes as she quietly admits something. "I would like to see my father again, but at the same time, to discover he has...been around all this time..." That way lies unpleasant thoughts, and she shakes her head with both fists to her eyes.

    She's totally not on the edge of crying at that.

    A short sniffle and a hard swallow later, Rusalka listens and sighs softly. "I suppose you are correct. Even if it has been several years that you've been with us, there are still...there are branches of the family that would not accept an outsider among them. Fortunately this is not one of them; there are a few others that have been raised to the blood." Sally rubs her hands dry on her skirt, then plucks at a bit of grass. "Still, at least you have a good excuse to get away from the socializing," Sally adds with a wry grin.

    The pilot explains the situation in the Howl, and her desire to have another pair of eyes search. It's frankly a significantly different reason than she'd expected, and - "Wait, you mean...a HYDRA operation, here in Sokovia?" That's more than enough to bring her out of the melancholy moment, and she sits up to stare at the pilot. "That is why Agent Coulson is still investigating, then. If it is true, then as you say, it is a SHIELD matter."

    Rusalka waits a moment while her adoptive aunt takes care of the ashes, then nods when she sits. "Yes. I will fly with you, and we will search. Mother...will have to cover for us," she adds. "Maybe she could call it a training flight for you, and a family fly-along for me. It would be one way to hide what we are doing. I have had offers to fly along with other pilots," Rusalka explains, "though I question their motives and desires. Jocks," she adds derisively.

  "Old as stones," Anneka agrees, looking up to the sky. "Probably I would assume hundreds of years. Something like that. As old as the hills and the wheat fields."

  A breeze stirs the grass, and rustles her hair. Anneka smiles. "It is a nice night, anyway."

  Talk turns towards more serious things. The smile falls off her face, and the pilot stares unseeingly at the first glimmer of stars. Her gaze hardens. "I suspect Grandmother Dragana already knows. If she does not, I do not think she would be surprised." Her head shakes. "Where they are... that is the million dollar question, isn't it?"

  Ghosts. Her expression twists again at mention of them, and she glances aside to Rusalka. "I think maybe it is not something I would want." Her eye turns back to the sky. "Some mysteries I can live with. I do not know what happened to my Misha, but I know probably he did not die well." Anneka sighs smoke. "I always wish I had more time with him... but I would not want to talk to him, I think."

  Her voice is quiet; thoughtful. "Also... it would not be him."

  The heiress shakes her head, with her fists at her eyes. Anneka reaches out and lays a comforting hand on Sally's shoulder.

  "I always have an excuse." The pilot raises her brow. "'Agency business.'" After all, they don't have to know it isn't necessarily orders from Coulson on the other end of the line. "And if I needed him to, if it were important, I am sure Philip Coulson would not mind a little rescuing." The benefits of being a good, solid agent: Her professional reputation is sterling.

  "Here in Sokovia." Her mouth tightens. Anneka doesn't quite scowl, but she doesn't need to. That lone eye is sharp. "I know, Sally Petrovna. I know. I do not like the idea any more than you do. Believe me. This is why Philip Coulson is not in Washington. No, it is not a SHIELD matter -- at least, not yet -- but I am hoping to make it one."

  The woman heaves a world-weary sigh. "I hate being right about things like this."

  "Good. I was worried I would have to ask someone from Feathergrass, and I do not think they would be sufficiently... focused." That is to say, she's bound to terrify them with her flying. At least Rusalka knows what to expect, and she's stay on point with HYDRA involvement on the line.

  Other pilots?

  "Probably they want to impress you. Heh. Dumbasses. If they knew anything about you, they would know you like to drive. Drivers like control. Ceding it to another, heh, that is not your style any more than it is mine."

  She smiles, fondly; a little bittersweetly. "Though... it worked for Misha."

    The breeze is enough to stir Rusalka's hair as well, as she'd managed to shed the flower headband that had been stuck on her head for the party. Right now the headband is tucked away on a dresser, and Sally's hair flows free in the breeze. And, occasionally, attacking her dignity by her bangs getting in her mouth.

    Oh well, at least nobody's around to tease her for it.

    "It is a nice night, yes. No rain for a few days, enough to enjoy the festival's after-parties." She lays back down, extending one hand straight up and splaying her fingers to capture the moon.

    Dragana knows...probably. It may be the kinds of things the older adults talk about in the evening, discussions of the state of the country and how it affects Polyuchyn, and what to do about it. Old people discussions, Sally thinks. A million-dollar question indeed...and she's glad she doesn't have to be the one to answer it. What would she do if she were on Dragana's war council?

    She clutches the moon, setting the question aside. Not for her, at least not yet. Not ever, if she could have her own way. But life is slowly robbing her of any escape...oh well. She sits back up, accepting the hand on her shoulder, and nods a whispered thanks.

    There's a soft laugh as Anneka says "Agency business." While SHIELD isn't a Sokovian agency, she's sure it's possible somehow to get things approved to work together. It becomes a lot easier when the base commander is directly connected to the family, and can easily write in whatever excuse she's willing to.

    "No. No, I will fly with you, as long as you are sane with your flying. I am quite 'impressed' already with your skill," she adds, emphasizing the word Anneka had used with a smirk on her face. "And you are right. Control...and being a part of the machine. I hate having to sit in the back," she adds, thinking of too many trips where one of the staff took care of chauffeur duties.

    "You've never really mentioned him, Misha I mean. The good times, there had to be some. Tell me about him?" It's the voice of a little girl asking about a family member she's never met. Maybe Misha and her father had something in common, maybe not, but she wants to hear a story.

  Some of the braid that had kept Anneka's hair tidy is a lot less tidy, now that the festivities have wound down for the day. It's starting to unravel as the breeze tugs at it. The few flowers she'd managed to braid into it have stayed, though, and they still carry faint scent. The pilot lets her eye slide closed as she listens to her adoptive niece.

  For a few seconds she withdraws into the company of her own thoughts. What little vodka she'd partaken of in the festival is finally beginning to slow her down, in tandem with the late hour. The sound of Sally's voice brings her back, and she eyes the girl thoughtfully.

  "For those who care for that sort of thing." No after-parties for her. She barely allowed herself to be dragged to this festival. Although she's under the protection of the agency, the pilot is still evasive and indirect and seems to be incredibly uncomfortable in any kind of public eye. For a time, there was a price on her head -- a story Rusalka knows some of, but not all; only that HYDRA is deeply interested in the one-eyed woman, for whatever reason.

  She doesn't have the clout to attend Dragana's war council, though. Not yet. Or, perhaps the matriarchs are saving that council for a more opportune time, when Anneka can speak freely.

  "If she knows, she has not indicated so to me." Anneka shifts, folding her hands behind her head, and closes her eye. "I would only be surprised if she did not know."

  Sally's laugh at agency business earns a grind rom the older woman. It's not a perfect system, but occasionally, she can wring it for what she needs with a minimum of fuss. In this case, it would expedite finding out what became of Valentina Maximova. For that, Anneka is willing to tug on a few agency strings.

  "I am always sane with my flying." Anneka twists her head to regard Sally from the corner of her eye. "Just because you do not think I am in control does not mean I am not. I am a professional," she sniffs. While it's unrealistic to say she's never been in accidents, particularly with that kind of scarring, her performance record is still very good. Anyway, the wreck that earned her those scars was a fluke. Her aircraft was sabotaged by HYDRA.

  "Well, perhaps your mother can dig up a trainer with tandem seating." She grins. "Then you can look out the cockpit glass all you like."

  Tell me about him?

  She's silent for so long it seems like she might not talk about it, but after a moment, Anneka begins to speak. Her voice is uncharacteristically soft; her words slow.

  "I do not like to think about Mikhael Nikolayevich very much. Oh, do not mistake me, Sally Petrovna. I enjoyed my time with him. Only... we did not have enough of it." No more than Rusalka and her father. Her tone is one of melancholy resignation. "Anyway, I made my peace with his death a long time ago, but I still miss him terribly."

  "He was a Navy pilot." Not Sokovian, but the place Anneka originally hails from. Only the Stojespal matriarchs and the highest echelon of SHIELD security are privy to that information. Grinning, the pilot looks up at the stars. "We met when he accidentally spilled his drink on me trying to defend my honour in a bar, but we hit it off after that. He had a good sense of humour. I think you would have liked that about him. He was a kind man, and I liked that about him, too." The sound of her voice is interrupted by a soft laugh. "I liked a lot of things about him. I think maybe I would have married that idiot, if we'd had more time."

  "But... that part of my life is over, inzhya," she says gently. Little engineer, she calls Sally; a fond nickname. "When they took me out of my medically-induced coma, he was already dead. They told me he crashed; that he overshot his carrier deck and plunged into the North Sea, but I do not believe it. Always my Misha was careful. If he did not think it was safe to land, he would not have tried."

  "Something about his death was not right, either... I believe his aircraft was sabotaged. In point of fact, Sally Petrovna, I think it was sabotaged by the same people who sabotaged my plane. I am reasonably confident that HYDRA murdered my fiancee, and while I have no evidence, I have made it my life's mission to find some."

    There's a strong beauty in her friend's looks, and Rusalka can't help but appreciate the look of the flowers. The flowers in her hair give Anneka the look of someone younger than her years might show, a girl's fancy of an ornament that lends youth to the pilot, at least in Rusalka's view.

    Vodka is something she doesn't allow herself - a beer, or celebratory champagne perhaps. Something not nearly so potent an alcohol; even as a social drink she's still a lightweight. What she'd had at the festival has since worn off, giving her a clear head for the evening - and thankfully those bad ideas had gone with the alcohol.

    Definitely abstaining for a while, she thinks.

    The price on her head, Rusalka knows a little of. It's why she's never asked the pilot about her previous life, knowing that some things must remain secret.

    There's a sudden unexpected giggle from the girl, a child's laughter at a momentary thought. "Great-grandmother knows. She knows everything going on, I am sure of it. I have never been able to surprise her; some in the family say even the wind whispers to her. She has certainly never let me get away with anything, and has always been right there if I tried." Having a scary ancestor has its downsides sometimes.

    "No, I think you are in control. I think you know precisely how fast and how high you are. Right to the absolute limit, and you know your safety margins and dabble in them." Rusalka looks over at the redhead, eyes the color of the deep blue evening sky. There's a proud, almost haughty look on her face. "Just as I, with driving. I know precisely what I am doing and how fast I am going, even if the person in the passenger seat is panicking. We are alike, in that."

    Would Anneka give her future co-pilot a wild rollercoaster ride? Rusalka suspects that such a thing is in her future, even as much as Anneka was unimpressed with her driving skills. "But you will not do such a thing for this, because you need me looking around. Not my face buried in a paper bag," she adds with a laugh.

    That laugh trails off as her companion tells a short, sad story, and Sally reaches her hand over to cover Anneka's own. The scars she can feel, but there's others that go deep. She's quiet for a while after the pilot finishes, but finally breaks the silence.

    "Such a thing...I would want to seek the fascists as well. HYDRA, you say. I guess mother knows of this or else you wouldn't tell me, I apologize for asking. I didn't know..." That hand on Anneka's own gives the scarred fingers a squeeze. "I will do what I can to help you achieve a reckoning with them. Mother and the rest may have already done so, but I swear upon the honor unyielding of the family to support you."

    Big words for a single girl to promise.

  The pilot glances aside at the sudden giggle, and she can't help but think that Sally isn't wrong. That old she-wolf Dragana knows almost everything that happens within her territory. Never mind that she was the first to start picking apart the story of the false Stojespal within their midst, before it had even been told over vodka and cigarettes.

  It's hard not to think of Dragana as omnipresent, but...

  "No," Anneka says softly; distractedly. "Absolutely she is close to that, but even she does not know everything."

  "I would not be Philip Coulson's personal pilot if I did not know how fast I was flying, or how high." Snorting, the redhead looks up to the stars. "I never forget that, or where I am going. Which way I am facing." Even when it's dark, her ability to just know that borders on uncanny. "That is right. Absolutely you do; I think you know precisely how fast you are driving." Her agreement is a little distracted. She's somewhat tipsy.

  "Tempting as it may be to give you a thrill-ride, no. I will want you at your sharpest. To that end, it will be the smoothest damned flight of your life, and that takes skill, too." Her grin isn't quite ghoulish, but it approaches that point. Just a bit. "If you bury your face in a paper bag, then I will consider it a failure on my part."

  Her hand turns, just far enough to squeeze Sally's. It's a silent acknowledgement and thank-you, without drawing attention to it.

  Anneka is silent long enough that Sally may wonder if she's finally passed out, but no; the pilot is only thoughtful. Moonlight reflects from her lone eye, fixed on the stars.

  "...Hunh. I would not tell you if I did not want you knowing. Would I? Besides, I am smart enough not to go behind the backs of Irja Grigorievna... or Grandmother Dragana. She would know." A hand raises listlessly, flicking a dismissal. "Anyway, with all you have been through, you are old enough to know, I think." Her voice quiets. "Thank you, Sally Petrovna."

  Big words, but it's the intent behind them that's touching.

  "Be careful what you say, my dear." That eye slides closed. "You do not know what you wish for, in this. I do not know all the details, either, and this may be much more to bite off than you may have bargained for."

    It's hard not to think of the Stojespal matriarch as anything but omnipresent as well. With the amount of "fingers in pies" she has, Dragana's network of informants is widespread indeed. Maybe she doesn't know everything - but she makes it a point to try, and let nothing escape.

    "You know where you are at all times. That is good...I sometimes wish I could be that. To go somewhere, to just...to know a thing so well. And yes, I am very precise with my speed. No tickets yet, despite some significant attempts to do so." Whether Rusalka means she outran and evaded the police is up for debate, but she's certainly got a clean driving record.

    The girl continues. "And do not think I won't hold you to that. I am trusting you implicitly, flying with you. I hate being a passenger, but I will permit it this one time. So that is that," she adds, cementing the deal.

    She watches for a short time the other woman's gaze, following it up to the stars. The Big Dipper, leading to the North Star, those she can find easily enough. Orion, with its belt of stars, is another easy spot. But the truth is that she only knows a little of the night sky, just enough to orientate herself if she needed to.

    "I suppose you are right," Rusalka adds. "I belive mother would support your plan, but only if she were informed ahead of time." Asking forgiveness is much worse than asking permission. "You are welcome, aunt Anneka. Thank you for telling me." One more piece of the story that makes up Anneka Stojespal, and the woman behind that mask.

    As to the latter part of Anneka's words, there's a small 'hmpf' given. "I have sworn a vow, I will see it through. Even if I am not as traditional as some might like," she says with a distasteful expression, "I still respect my family too much to use that lightly." Lessons learned go unspoken.

  When the barony has been in the hands of one's ancestral lineage since time out of mind, one tends to have very good information networks. Those networks are deeply entrenched in the culture and social flavour of Sokovia, and in general, they're very accurate. It isn't surprising that Dragana Stojespal knows so much about so many things.

  "Mmn." Anneka does know where she is at all times, and the sound she makes is one of agreement. Flying demands that kind of orientation. "That is right. As much as you know where you are on the road, inzhya. I always know where I am, in the sky, as long as I can see the sun and the stars. I learned to navigate by them..." The woman grins. "Probably before you were born."

  No tickets yet, despite some significant attempts to do so. That earns a lifted brow, and Anneka's expression turns bland. "Please tell me you have not been running from police cruisers, Sally Petrovna. I have too much on my plate already and I know Irja Grigorievna will find a way to kill me if I look the other way and she finds out. Think of your aunt."

  "I am a professional." The pilot snorts. "You will not be uncomfortable." That's all she'll say about the job ahead. There isn't much Anneka values more than her hard-won skills, and sometimes. Even flying steady can be a challenge, from time to time. Weather conditions aren't always cooperative.

  Anneka narrows her eye. She listens in silence, aside from a low, thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. It's possible that the commander would support the plan. In that she has some confidence, but in that, Sally is right. Irja would only cooperate if she knew ahead of time.

  "Tell her I would like a meeting. I want to talk to you, Irja Grigorievna, and Grandmother Dragana. I want all three of you to hear what I have to say, and it is easier if you are all in the same place."

  Thank you for telling me.

  Anneka frowns, but it seems more an expression of weariness. "You are family, Sally Petrovna." The woman's tone is puzzled. Of course I would, hangs the unspoken statement. Why wouldn't she?

  Comfortable silence settles.

  "I think I am a little drunk," the one-eyed woman observes cheerfully. "Tell your grandmother the vintage is excellent this year."

    "Navigating by the stars... how very old-school," the girl jibes. Probably before she was born? "Definitely. Did they have propellers on those planes back then, or did you have to ride flying dinosaurs?" Maybe the wine is getting to her too, but she can't help giggle at her own joke.

    Sally shakes her head though. "And no, I have not been running from police cars. How many Ferraris are there in this bumpkin land? No, I have been stopped quite a few times, harassed by police looking for graft from a rich target. Not everyone likes the Stojespal family, after all. They never made their accusations stick, however. I am far too careful for that." Telemetry from her car was sufficient to answer any charges.

    It's nonchalant, but it speaks to the limits of the Stojespal power. They may have control of Polyuchyn, but the barony is still a local thing, and they have enemies.

    "I will tell her," she adds. "And...thank you." Silence settles, and she's content to enjoy it. The sound of crickets echoes though the family land, and underlines Anneka's last comment. "A little? Perhaps, yes." It's not the kind of admission the other woman would make easily, certainly. "Shall we go back, then?" Rusalka climbs to her feet, holding out a hand to the pilot. "We shouldn't be gone for too long, I suppose. People will wonder what happened to us..." Ah, the trappings of a barony.

  "Do not scoff at methods only because they are old. Sometimes that is because they are reliable." Thanks to her missing eye Anneka is forced to rely on instrumentation as a matter of course. Even she needs contingency plans when something breaks, though, and the ability to plot her course and location independent of GPS is pretty useful. "You may scoff at the old ways, inzhya, with your fancy computer-governed systems, but what happens when they fail? Then you only have the tools up here." The woman taps a forefinger to a temple.

  She snorts. "Do not add more years to me than I already have, Sally Petrovna; I am not that old. Actually, I have never piloted a prop plane. I learned on modern turbofans, thank you very much."

  "Good. If you were, I might be forced to have an unpleasant conversation with your mother." Yeah, Anneka isn't dumb enough to seriously cross Irja. Or Dragana. Sorry, Sally. She tilts her head slightly at the next, sighing and shaking her head. "I know." That the Stojespal have enemies, that is. "I have been lucky, myself, so far." With so many secrets, she might make a tempting target for the enemies of House Stojespal.

  And... thank you.

  "You are welcome."

  Comfortable silence falls again, punctuated by early summer crickets; far in the distance, there's a plaintive howl that might be a wolf, or just a lonely farmer's dog. It's hard to say from so far.

  "A little," Anneka confirms. "It takes more than that to make me drunk."

  The proffered hand is gripped and used to haul herself upright. Anneka stumbles a little once she's up, twisting to brush grass from her back, and smooths out her skirt. "Probably not, no. They will not wonder so much about me, but they will be very curious about where you have gone." She looks toward the manor, regarding the battered old building fondly. "You think your mother and Grandmother Dragana will have time to talk tonight...?"

    Sometimes old methods are reliable. Rusalka can't help but suppose she's right, even if some old methods might be the deep magic of trying to fold a street map back after it's been opened. "As long as I do not have to boil newts or such other arcane strangenesses. But I understand what you mean. Knowing where you are, especially on a track, is most important."

    She considers Anneka's remark, thinking. "I suppose I learned with BMWs, on the family motor pool. Not the typical 'first car' I suppose; the same sort of learning with the best technology available." In a way, anyways.

    "Hmpf. I have had plenty of unpleasant conversations already, and they were not my fault. Not even that time," she adds with distaste at a certain event. Being picked on by the police looking for an easy payoff in a corrupt Eastern European country was bad enough, but being harangued for trying to be a professional and committing the mistake of running out of gas? Alright, she'd been challenged, and had much on her mind at the time, but still. The Stojespal scion is allowed no mistakes, and holds herself to that just as hard as her family does.

    More than that to get Anneka drunk, hm? Though it seems the wine - and vodka - at the festival had been more potent than anyone saw. The men lined up performing the prisyadka kick-dance that turned into a duel between teams had made for a memorable moment in the afternoon.

    Once Anneka's standing, she'll take a moment to pat off grass bits from her rear, then straighten her vest properly. The maids can take care of cleaning it, when she gets changed for bed. "There. Tonight? If it is about what is going on with...ghosts...I suspect they will be more than happy to talk. I think mother is getting anxious with these reports."

  Much like Pandora's Box, there's no amount of origami that will coax an unfolded street map back into place. Fortunately, knowing her place by the sun and stars doesn't require any magic on Anneka's part; just careful observation. "What? No. What do you think I am; some uneducated barbarian?" One supposes she could be seen that way by the rest of the family, as something of an outsider. "Working in three dimensions instead of two makes it even more important that always I know where I am."

  Not the typical first car, Sally confesses, and her adoptive aunt snorts. "Not really." The woman considers for a moment. "I still remember the first time I went up on my own. It was like magic," she confesses, with a fond smile. "That blue above was no longer above me. It was all around me. At that moment, the sky became where I belong. I knew, in my heart, that I was home."

  That time, Rusalka comments, and Anneka can't help but grin. "I had never seen you beg before."

  That dance-off had been entertaining. Even more entertaining since Anneka had been halfway into her festival vodka at the time, gleefully (and loudly) encouraging one of the two teams.

  "Tonight," she confirms, the remembered festivities sliding from her face like snow in summer. "There is no better time than tonight." A beckoning gesture is given as the one-eyed woman starts to walk toward the house. "I do not know that it is about ghosts." The admission she gives with a shrug. "It is about Valentina Maximova, and why this is suddenly becoming an issue years after Valentina Maximova's disappearance. Something is going on, inzhya, and it is up to us to get to the bottom of it with the help of our Jedi friends, if no one else can."

  The woman shrugs again, smoothing her skirt. "I do not blame her for being anxious. Certainly I would be, in her position." Anneka scowls. "Hell. I am anxious, and I know more than most of Polyuchyn does..."

    "No, not you. I was just joking," she adds. An uneducated barbarian Anneka is not; no knuckle-dragging moron would be allowed anywhere near high performance aircraft. "It's just that I tire of traditions and history, and sometimes it seems like I am the only one."

    The blue was all around...it's a poetic phrase, Rusalka admits, and it's something that she can understand. "For me it was the same. I was eleven, the first time my father let me drive." Before Anneka had joined the family. "Just on the family grounds," she adds, before the other woman can protest. "He sat in the passenger seat and navigated, and I felt...alive. Connected. I suppose the same way you must have felt then, when you first went up."

    Hmpf. She has the dignity of an affronted cat when Irja mentions begging, even if it's true. At least her grounding had not been permanent, even if the embarrassment had lingered.

    She follows the pilot to the manor, striding along the green grasses. Something is going on...something macabre, Rusalka can't shake the feeling. She nods at the mention of the Jedi, thinking back to the meeting they'd had with Lian Kamoya about the Force and what Jedi were.

    The pair don't even make it back to the house before the family butler appears outdoors. His message is short and simple - Dragana and Irja are calling a meeting of some of the family, and the presence of the two is required in the billiard room.

  "That is understandable." Anneka takes a moment more to brush grass from her skirt. "That environment has stifled you all of your life." It's why, she suspects, the girl had taken so readily to driving. Like Anneka's connection to flight, driving gives the heiress a much-needed sense of personal agency and freedom. It's only natural to want that.

  I was eleven, the first time my father let me drive.

  "Heh, heh. I am to gather that to this day, Irja Grigorievna knows nothing of this. Do not worry. I will not tell her."

  The older woman strides along, unhurried, as they climb the slope toward the manor. Crickets chirp in the distance. A warm breeze stirs Anneka's hair; she pauses a moment to inhale, deeply, and let it go slowly. She listens as she does.

  I suppose the same way you must have felt then, when you first went up.

  Anneka glances up at the stars, eye hooding. She looks lost in thought for a few moments as she looks inward; calls up that memory, so old, and smiles faintly.

  "I wish I could feel like that again. The first time I felt the ascent... that press of gravity; of feeling the wind, and even fighting it. Absolutely then I knew that was my purpose." Her voice quiets. "I am only glad I had that, after HYDRA. I would not have survived without it."

  Anneka arches a brow when the butler is there to greet them; the fact that the matriarchs are calling a meeting doesn't seem to surprise her in the least. "Thank you," she asides to the man as they pass by, and she flicks a quick but significant glance back to Sally. Something is afoot, if the matriarchs got around to this before even Anneka could seek counsel.

  Crossing through the house to the billiards room doesn't take long. Anneka stops just before the door, though, taking a few seconds to straighten herself up as much as she can, not to mention a futile attempt to neaten up her hair a little.

  One does not appear before the dragon without looking sharp, after all.

    Following Anneka back to the house, Sally falls in line behind the pilot. The butler's words were simple, a request to see both of the women from the family gathered for a meeting. She knows it's much deeper than a request, since it was handled so formally.

    Conversation continues as they pass through the building, up to the second floor's billiards room. "I get it...I understand that tradition is important; I have had plenty enough lectures to not learn that by now. But sometimes..." How can she put this. "Racing is about advancement and development, constantly pushing the edge. It is where I am most alive; if we were that traditional we'd probably still have chariots." Hyperbole, but her point is obvious.

    Blue eyes meet as Anneka promises to keep the secret, and she can't help but grin. Rusalka can't help but wonder if her mother knows and only pretends not to, or if her father managed to keep that secret. Certainly she'd never let slip herself.

    She stops at the door as the older pilot does, taking a moment to adjust her hairband and keep her bangs back. Once Anneka is ready, she'll open the door and lead them into the room, where the others are waiting.

    It's a mixed bag of people, as well. Dragana and Irja are both there, of course. Maxim Abramov, their head of security. Several uncles and aunts as well, some new faces that haven't been seen before. Everyone seated around a small table next to the billiards table, with two chairs left empty - obviously theirs.

    "Greetings." Dragana stands for the two newcomers, and Rusalka drops into a habitual curtsy for her great grandmother. "There are refreshments. Sit; please. There is much to discuss." The center of the table has several bottles and glasses, there's also cigarettes - Irja's preferred brand. Rusalka takes her chair and sits, as the baroness speaks up.

    "Of the situation with Valentina Maximovna, what have you learned so far?"
    

  "Sometimes tradition can help, and sometimes it can smother," Anneka observes, reaching up to straighten her hair a little more. "I understand. Most times, I would much rather be flying. I am at home in the cockpit. It is the last place I feel alive, most days. All of this--" She gestures to the hall around them, "--is not who I am."

  That single eye rakes across the room, silently taking a second or two to identify. There's the Commander, and the old dragon. Maxim, the old bear, with his formal suit and formal frown. A few brothers and sisters of Irja that she doesn't know. A circle around the billiard table... and two empty chairs.

  The bow Anneka affects is for Dragana and Irja alone. That done, she strides smoothly to her seat and takes it, head held high. Considering she's an outsider, her show of confidence is convincing, at least to the matriarchs in the know. Then again, Maxim may know. He's as close to an insider as an outsider gets, excepting Anneka's own unique position.

  Dragana greets them, and Anneka inclines her head formally to the wisened old woman. "Grandmother Dragana. Irja Grigorievna." Nobody else earns direct acknowledgement, although she nods to the others in question; even Maxim.

  When indicated, the pilot eyes the refreshments, quickly taking stock. Bottles, glasses; ooh, cigarettes, and Irja's preferred brand happens to be Anneka's preferred brand. One is taken and deftly lit, and the silent pause as the pilot takes a long draw is all the commentary needed on how welcome that was. For a fleeting moment her scarred face is content.

  Pouring herself a shot of house vodka, she eyes the other woman, and there's not so much a grimace as she knocks the shot back before answering.

  "A good vintage this year, Grandmother Dragana." Her grin is short-lived, and she exhales a wreath of smoke, single eye sharp. "I have learned a few things, and also not enough. I am afraid information is hard to come by."

  "First of all... I am sorry to say that Valentina Maximova was murdered. I do not yet know who her killer was, but I can say that I suspect HYDRA's greasy little fingerprints all over this." Her mouth twists. "I have been contracting offworld help to investigate; people gifted with the senses to... heh. I apologise. This is going to sound ridiculous. These people, these Jedi, are able to communicate with Valentina Maximova's spirit. Ghost. Earthly remains. Whatever you want to call it."

  Another shot of vodka is poured; held up and regarded with feline disinterest. "She knows she was murdered, and she has in so many words said so. But she does not remember much. I am trying to bring the Jedi back to speak with her again."

  "I would know who is responsible."

  Something about the mildness of her tone is chilling, and all the suggestion needed to know what she intends to do once Valentina's murderer is revealed.

    That poses a good question, Rusalka thinks. Anneka knows who she is and what she is. The heiress...knows what she /wants/ but has she truly discovered herself? A strangely philosophical thought, her mind surprising her this late evening. Maybe it's just leftovers of the wine she'd had earlier, a last alcohol-fueled thought on the way to the extinction of sobriety.

    A few familiar faces, a few new ones, this council of elders. Rusalka takes the sudden change in mood of her adopted aunt with a little twinge of surprise; for someone who doesn't feel part of the family, she has the same stiff-necked pride as the others - and fits in quite well among them. There's a few knowing nods as Anneka sits tall, the others weighing this newcomer as one with guts.

    Irja merely regards her with a cool eye. Dragana simply grins, looking for all the world like a wolf in its lair. Rusalka's mother takes the time to light her own cigarette, slipping it into a long cigarette holder held precisely with one hand. The family waits to hear what Anneka has to say...

    ...and say she does. It's the calm, matter of fact delivery of the situation that gets the most reaction; it's so smoothly delivered it is as if the pilot practiced this. A few whispered murmurs between the others, and one woman's mien cracks ever so slightly with moist eyes. Dragana rests one hand on her shoulder. "This is not yet the mourning time, Lena. Soon, yes. Not now." And then attention turns back to the Russian pilot.

    "These Jedi...they have such power, eh. I was aware they were special, and our recent partnership has borne fruit. I understand these are the same two that we assisted in liberating a work camp? This is good."

    "Less so, grandmother." Dragana just lifts an eye as Irja butts in. "We have only just brought these Jedi into our debt. I do not want to equal things between us and lose that leverage so quickly. Anneka." Her expression doesn't change, but Dragana smirks a little.

    Irja switches her attention to the woman sharing her taste in cigarettes. "You say they can communicate with spirits. That is how you learned that she was murdered, not merely disappeared? That Valentina Maximova is the source of these ghost stories, haunting Polyuchyn?" The Air Force's official position was not to acknowledge anything, chalking the visions up to hallucinations from strong drink. But too many reports had come of...something.

    Lena breaks in with a carefully controlled, stony voice. "Did my daughter tell them why?"
    

  The gamble apparently pays off. There are nods of approval at Anneka's posturing. She may not be one of these people, but she has had to teach herself how to play the game. Not all of these people are aware of her actual identity. To her knowledge, only the matriarchs are aware of the full story.

  Although she doesn't respond immediately, taking a long and languid draw on her cigarette, her eye does drift over to the mother of the slain. That lone eye is the dark blue of an autumn sky, that unique colour when the aircraft clears the cloud deck; where the air is thin and the horizon stretches on all sides.

  Her mouth twists in a smile. With her scarring, the expression is hideous, but it's the coldness in her eye that makes it unsettling.

  Whoever Valentina Maximova's killer is, they've crossed a line.

  They besmirched the good name of the family that took her in. They went after kin. Now, heaven help them, because the wolf is on the warpath.

  "I do not know that Valentina Maximova is the source of every report and story, Irja Grigorievna," Anneka observes. The pilot watches smoke drift from her cigarette's cherry, holding it loosely between her index and middle finger. Her hooded eye watches the others with feline disinterest. "Let us not forget how very many of them there are. I am hoping further investigation will answer that, but for right now, I do not have the information."

  That blue eye slides over to Lena. She shakes her head.

  "I cannot hear her. I do not know. They did not mention, though, so I can only assume that Valentina Maximova did not say." There is a tiredness about her expression that has nothing to do with the physical, or with the late hour. It's the world-weariness of dealing with a grieving mother who had to bury her child -- an agony no one should ever have to do. The pilot's expression softens, and she leans forward just a hair, as though to offer support. "I am looking into it, Lena Grigorievna. You will be one of the first to know, as soon as I discover anything more."

  She straightens again, face stern. Her eye sweeps the table again, silent for a few seconds, fierce as a hawk. "I have a suspicion as to who is behind all of this, but I do not yet have any proof. Although we are looking for it, I must also pay attention to the agency, too. Until my suspicions are proven, I cannot claim agency involvement. That means I do not have the help of Agent Philip Coulson unless he is acting on his own time."

  The smile that flickers across her scarred face is almost hesitant; fleeting. "He is doing what he can, but there is only so much that he can do without agency backing, at least until I have proof."

    The only ones that know the whole story are Irja and Dragana. The rest, including the security chief, only know the basic story - that when assassins came to take the life of Irja's husband and daughter, the woman who became Anneka Stojespal stood in the way and saved Rusalka. It's a blood debt, one that they understand - and the family understands not talking about their past.

    Even Irja and Dragana have skeletons in their closet.

    The baroness shows an emotion for the first time, one of surprise and curiosity - only in her body language; her face is as impassive as ever while she leans forward to rest her elbows on the table and lace her fingers together. "That is not something I had expected to hear. The possibility that there are others..." She shakes her head, frowning.

    "I believe these 'Jedi' as you called them may become more valuable to us than I'd hoped. Rusalka Petrovna told me a little about them, how their senses are attuned to this...Force. Frankly," she adds, taking a long draw on her own cigarette and tapping the ash into a tray nearby, "I find them more useful than they may find us." This is not a woman that likes to be on the giving side of a debt, as much as she struggles to keep the family in favor.

    Cobalt blue eyes, the color of Stojespal blood some whisper, gaze back at the pilot. "If it is true, and Valentina Maximova's ghost is not alone...I cannot see that being unrelated. Other missing persons cases must be investigated. I understand that your Agent Coulson has encountered...difficulties with his dealings with the local police. They are uncooperative, because it involves us."

    That gaze hardens, as Irja continues. "The Stojespal family is not the only barony of Sokovia, and we do not...see eye to eye, in some things."

    And then comes the armor-piercing question. "Speak your suspicions. They will go unheard past this table," she adds, sparing a glance to Rusalka to emphasize that. Sally, for her part, fidgets uncomfortably before nodding. It isn't as if she's a tattletale or anything, but she is here only by invitation to the war council. Normally she would be left to herself, while the family elders meet.
    

  "I do not like it either, Irja Grigorievna," Anneka murmurs. "The thought of more unsolved cases... I plan on looking into it as soon as I am able."

  To the matter of the Jedi, the pilot shakes her head.

  "I think you are right -- we need them more than they need us. It is only convenient that my work with SHIELD aligns with them." She makes no secret of her alignment to the agency, even if she's still wearing festival clothing; even if she still has flowers braided in her hair. "It may encourage further cooperation."

  The smile Anneka flashes is faint. "It is not often Philip Coulson encounters such difficulties. Ordinarily he has a way about him in such matters. I am, to some extent, somewhat surprised."

  Hmm. On the receiving side of bureaucratic ire. It isn't a new position for her, and her smile twists as it sours. "I am no stranger to hardship and difficulty, Irja Grigorievna. Leave it to Philip Coulson and I. Once we have gathered more evidence, we will sort this out."

  Speak your suspicions. They will go unheard past this table.

  The one-eyed woman rolls the cigarette to the other side of her mouth, thoughtful as she studies the matriarchs; the aunts, the uncles. Finally she eyes Rusalka, as though she were weighing something.

  "I think we are agreed here, everyone at this table, that HYDRA is an unwelcome intruder to be cast out where it is found." She taps the ashes of her cigarette into the tray before continuing. A bland look is cast to the Stojespal faces around the table.

  Anneka lingers longest on Sally, Irja, Dragana, and Lena.

  "I have my suspicions that they are involved. I do not yet know how, and the burden of proof is on me, but if I can establish a connection I will have the agency backing I need. Enough to expose these bastards and cast them out of Sokovia."

  Her gaze lifts, and the arch of her lone red brow is clear: Any questions?

    "Good. I know it is a lot to ask of you, Anneka Ivanovna, but I would see you solving these cases." Irja glances around to the others, weighing their reactions to the matter. It isn't hard to see the various family members all agree on the idea. "I am aware of your skillset, and that it may not be the most applicable. But your connections are invaluable, and your determination is laudable." Perhaps Anneka is not a trained detective, but she has other assets that will see this through.

    "As for the Jedi, find out more about them. Rusalka Petrovna, while Anneka Ivanovna searches, you will continue contact with these people. Assist them, earn their favor. I fear we may need their abilities in the future."

    Rusalka blinks, then nods. "Yes, mother. I believe I can approach them and make friends," she says.

    Dragana settles back in her chair, eyeing Anneka with a gaze that still sparkles of vigor and youth despite her advanced age. "Do not be surprised. I have already spoken with our people in the police; Philip Coulson will receive assistance. He is smart enough, I assume, to recognize his true allies. We may not entirely own the national police," she says with a wistful sigh, "but enough of them are obedient to us. I will see to that."

    And now it comes down to the gorilla in the room. The reactions from the others range from surprise to hatred, Dragana herself grimacing in distaste. "A foul stench that deserves nothing but extermination. You are correct, of course. I have fought them before...if HYDRA has returned to us, then they are a poison to be cured." And the Stojespal family intends to be the antidote.

    Dragana falls quiet, and Irja's gaze focuses on the Russian pilot. "Search and destroy, Anneka Ivanovna. Find your proof and strike down our enemy. You will have the full backing of the family." A full chorus of nods follows this...Rusalka included.
    

  "Professionally speaking, this is so far outside my skills that I don't know why I was even assigned to this work." Anneka doesn't shrug, but her tone of voice suggests the sentiment. "My skills are not really applicable at all. I am a pilot; I fly quinjets for a living. I cannot even speak with Valentina Maximova without intermediaries." Her head shakes faintly. "I will use what help from the agency I can get. I will have answers, and blood, Lena Grigorievna."

  Her eye drifts to Irja while the Baroness gives Rusalka fresh marching orders. To befriend the foreigners and learn from them; to curry their favour. Anneka frowns.

  "Carefully," she appends lightly to Irja's orders, and it's the only caution she gives. "Unfortunately I cannot be there for you at all times."

  The old dragon's voice almost brings the pilot to twitch. When she looks up, she thins her lips, lone eye solemn. "Absolutely he will appreciate that. Thank you, Grandmother Dragana." Anneka inclines her head, slightly. "I will tell him."

  As various Stojespals around the table jeer and scoff at the mention of HYDRA, Anneka's lips curve into the faintest of half-smiles. Their animosity seems to warm her. "They're insane. There is no limit to the lows they will sink to. This I know." The aunts and uncles may not understand why she runs a scarred hand over the ruined side of her face, but Irja and Dragana will. 

  Search and destroy, Anneka Ivanovna.

  "That is my intent. I have asked for Philip Coulson's help in a lead that may be useful to us." Her shotglass is eyed for a moment and refilled. "Then let me request this," she mumbles around her cigarette. "Let me have the use of the guest suite indefinitely, if I may, and Philip Coulson. I do not know how long this will take us, and--" Sleeping on the talking quinjet would be weird, "--I do not want him to be uncomfortable in the field. There is room to sleep aboard the quinjet, but it is not... comfortable. Absolutely it is like sleeping on a concrete floor. I need him sharp." Anneka shakes her head, sobering. "He will have to do all of the things I cannot."

  The pilot taps her chin, thoughtful. "Oh... and I would like permission to store the Valkyrie at Feathergrass while this is all ongoing. It would be less conspicuous that way... if that is permissible, Baroness."

    "Perhaps it was your connections to Sokovia that led to your assignment," Irja replies. "And perhaps someone suspected...otherworldly involvement, though that does not yet seem to be the case. Certainly they are involved now, but the reports of sightings. Well, if they are to be taken at hand, their origin is local." It's a hard assessment, and one that's direct and to the point.

    Lena meanwhile looks up and nods. "Thank you, Anneka Ivanovna. I will remember this."

    There's a nod from Rusalka. "Carefully," she repeats. To a point, anyway. "I know it can be dangerous, but-"

    "She will remain protected," Maxim says. It's the only thing he's mentioned at all, taking in everything he's heard at the meeting.

    Sally shrugs, as if to say 'I can't escape it.'

    Irja nods, as the rest of the family shares a mutual reaction to the idea of HYDRA's presence. "I place no limits on your search. I only ask that your information, as you learn it, is placed before us in council. As far as the guest suite, you may take your choice of rooms. The house staff already knows to tend service to you and to Agent Coulson."

    She turns to face the security chief. "Maxim Abramov, SHIELD did not see fit to provide sufficient security to our guest. See to it that Agent Coulson is protected. Publicly. I want it known that this House is supporting their actions, despite what the other barons may think."

    "He will be as well." His mind is already on rotating schedules and who and how to assign house thugs to protect both Agent Coulson and Rusalka. A few notes get made in his ledger book, and he nods once.

    Irja gives a slight smile. "Good. As far as your request to station the...'Valkyrie' you said? It is approved; you may move it to an empty hangar at your leisure." To be fair, there's a lot of empty hangars at the airfield. There's also things like parking and storage fees, fuel to purchase, and a host of other things that Feathergrass would normally bill to the government, and wait forever in bureaucratic hell for. No small part of Irja's approval comes from the fact they can send the charges to SHIELD for payment.

    Plans within plans, these Stojespals.

  "I do not know. I am only a pilot. Director Fury does not share with me his motivations." Anneka slowly shakes her head. "I would believe the nature of the case might have something to do with it. Most likely? They see there is a problem, and Philip Coulson and I happen to be the closest agents to assign."

  The idea of HYDRA fermenting plans out of sight here, in this second home, is enough to turn the one-eyed woman's stomach. Her expression twists as Irja makes her assessment, but she offers no actual protest. It's probably true. Who knows how long they've been operating out of sight â?? or who else their machinations have affected?

  The pilot regards Lena Grigorievna for a long moment, smoking her cigarette and considering. It's a long, long moment that she considers the mother of the dead, smoking in thoughtful silence.

  At length Anneka inclines her head in a gesture of respect to Lena; she will find justice for Valentina Maximova, even if she was not actually related by blood to the girl.

  When the security chief pipes up, Anneka turns to focus a look on the man. It isn't precisely that she's looking down her nose at him, but the way she looks at him, it's a bit like a hunting eagle staring at its prey. Rusalka had better be protected, that look seems to say.

  "Of course." Eventually her gaze slides back to Irja, focused. That red brow arches. "May I bring Philip Coulson to these meetings? I do not doubt that he will want to relay his findings directly. It would be better if we did not have any intermediaries of any kind, I think, for our planning." Anneka pauses long enough to take a long drag, before pulling the cigarette from her mouth and regarding it with her lone eye hooded. "This is excellent," she comments offhandedly, "and I would like to make one last request."

  "I want a security detail of my own. Not that I don't trust my own agency, but because I want to send HYDRA the message." The pilot exhales a wreath of smoke. "If SHIELD is investigating them, they are not at all above silencing the one doing the investigating." Her voice goes very cold. "I am not going to give them the satisfaction."

  As far as the guest suite, you may take your choice of rooms. The pilot grins. "Ah. Good. Thank you." She glances to Maxim. "Please thank them for me, if you would be so kind?"

  Ah, excellent, a safe place to park the Valkyrie. It's better to store it somewhere that has at least a modicum of security enforcement. Less chance of curious passers-by examining the technology they're not supposed to know exists... yet. "Thank you, Irja Grigorievna. It would be better to keep it somewhere secure... and Maxim Abramov, I would appreciate additional guards posted there. I will taxi the Valkyrie into Hangar Four."

  Her eye slides back to Irja, and she's speculative as she rubs her chin. "Where do we go, now, Irja Grigorievna...?"

  Briefly, she regards the rest of the room, eye lingering on each, before turning back to Irja and Dragana. Her head bows, respectfully. "May I speak privately before we disperse for the night...?"

    Whatever the discretion of Director Fury was, it turned out for the better. Maybe the head of SHIELD operates on different levels, seeing through things and putting what turns out to be the right person at the right time. Irja considers this, gaze boring into Anneka as she explains, weighing just what kind of man this woman trusts as a superior.

    Her impression is positive, if a bit scary.

    Lena manages to maintain her composure, family business being business. She looks back at Anneka, blinking back tears for a daughter lost too soon, and nods a thanks to Anneka's respect. She has lost a daughter, but intends to gain an answer, and if possible vengeance.

    Maxim meanwhile simply nods to Anneka, knowing precisely what that look means. He doesn't flinch, staring back like the veritable wolverine staring down an attempted predator - before smiling and nodding to the pilot. "She will be," he says, to both Irja and Anneka. It's almost amusing to him to see the protective instincts in both women, and he knows he's going to have them both breathing down his neck.

    "And you will have it," Maxim says. "Something public, then. I have several of our fighters that I can assign to you. With your permission, Baroness?"

    "Given." This from Irja, who smiles at the compliment of cigarettes. "If you are correct, Anneka Ivanovna, HYDRA will be aware of your movements if they are not already. They are quite dedicated to their efforts, if history has any bearing." The baroness takes a long pull from her own cigarette before quashing the last bits of it in the ashtray, and nods.

    "The Valkyrie will be well-protected. I have enough reliable guards to set up a rotation for twenty-four hour protection for your aircraft. Our facilities are at your leisure, of course."

    Dragana lifts a hand, a simple gesture as if brushing something away. Meeting over, it says, and says a lot about the family power the old woman still maintains even without the official title. It's a gesture that says things are finished, and acknowledges Anneka's request.

    Once they're alone, the rest of the family having returned to the gaggle of an after-party out in the other rooms, the Stojespal matriarch and the Air Force officer remain. "Speak your mind, Anneka Ivanovna. We are private here," Irja adds, knowing the house is occasionally swept for listening devices.

    "What is it you wish to say, that you could not in front of the others?"

  Smoking her cigarette, Anneka appears to feign indifference under Irja's study. No doubt she knows it's there. Her instincts surely must be sharp if she's dodged HYDRA for this long.

  She plays her part, this one-eyed survivor that they've taken into their house and family. As Lena looks back to her, her expression remains stony. This woman will grant vengeance if she's able. Of that Lena need not doubt.

  Apparently Maxim's answer satisfies her sense of challenge. He's right, too. He definitely won't get any peace from the overprotective aunt.

  "Already probably HYDRA is aware of my movements, or they have guessed this is what I might do. They are unreasonably dedicated to their efforts." Calmly, Anneka crushes the remainder of her cigarette in the ashtray, watching the sullen glow of the cherry wink out. "Technically it is not my aircraft." Everyone knows she wouldn't choose that sassy bucket of bolts. She would've chosen a standard model; one that doesn't talk back. "I am only assigned to it. I expect ground crews and maintenance engineers will be brought in, soon..."

  She trails off as she watches the others file out, cast along on their way by an errant flick of the matriarch's wisened hand. None stop or complain. That's good. Dragana still appears to hold influence over this lot.

  "Thank you." Anneka dips her head.

  Whether the thanks is in response to the airfield or the private audience is hard to say.

  We are private, here, Irja remarks, and the words bring the pilot to slump very slightly. Anneka let's put a breath she'd been half-holding,letting it whistle through her teeth. The sound is tired.

  What is it you wish to say, that you could not in front of the others?

  She seems to choose her words carefully, speaking with slow deliberation. "It is more important now than ever that I am one of you. With HYDRA sniffing around, I worry that they will try to use you against me. I do not know who I have managed to piss off, but they have not forgotten it."

  Anneka pours herself a shot, but doesn't drink it yet. Instead she lifts the glass, examining it. A fine vintage.

  "Raisa Ivanovna is dead." Her smile is crooked; it feels alien to speak her own name. "She has been dead for fourteen years... it is funny, in a way. I suppose I am just another ghost haunting this place."

  "To health," she mutters, draining her shotglass. "I want to take Sally Petrovna up. There is an area of Khoro's Howl that looks suspicious from the satellite images Philip Coulson has found. Since the Valkyrie would be too conspicuous, may I impose on you to borrow a two-seat trainer outfitted with a camera? Perhaps an aggressor squadron operation, or a squadron challenge, to further obfuscate."

    "So you do strongly suspect HYDRA." This from the Air Force officer after the room is emptied, only the pilot and the two Stojespal women remaining. "This is a serious situation if you are correct. Now that we are alone, I must know your suspicions and what lies behind them."

    Irja gestures to the vodka, a way of saying 'go right ahead' before pouring her own after Anneka does. "I am concerned of using go-betweens in our...investigation of Valentina Maximova's ghost. Or any other ghosts, for that matter, whoever these other reports are. How do we know we can trust these Jedi, and know for sure what is being said?"

    It's a suspicious mind, but one that seeks answers. There's no admonishment from Dragana, either - the old woman sees things the same way. The question is there to find out more of what kind of people Anneka is working with.

    Dragana finally speaks, as the old woman pours a shot of her own. There's not a single tremor in old, worn hands as she handles the bottle. "The dead are the dead. We who live have little to fear from them. You say that our old enemy is not dead; as my granddaughter has said - what makes up your suspicions, what makes you so sure?" She can see the confidence and belief in the claim from Anneka, and wants to know more. Why, the ancient question. 

    "To health," both women echo, and Irja finally comes to a decision. "I permit it. I will write it as a training mission, familiarization with the aircraft. If HYDRA is aware of the presence of a SHIELD pilot, they will not be surprised by such a request. The details will be handled; you are at your leisure when you wish to fly."

  "I do," Anneka echoes. There is no hesitation in her answer as she pours herself a shot of vodka, once given leave to do so. She tosses it back without hesitation, too; the only sign to its potency is a slight twist of her mouth. "All I need, now, is the opportunity to prove it. It is a serious situation, and that is why I wished to speak to you alone."

  That lone blue eye sweeps the two women, before turning back to Irja. Shrugging, she shakes her head, before reaching for another cigarette. Producing a silver-plated lighter from her pocket enamelled with a fighter on it, she flicks it in a single practised gesture before dropping it back into a pocket.

  How do they know they can trust the consultants?

  "I can bring them here, if that will allay your suspicions, Irja Grigorievna. The Jedi seem to want to help for the simple purpose of helping, and the Warlock... mmm." Anneka regards her cigarette through hooded eye. "I think she is curious to see how this turns out. Even if she may not be trustworthy, we need her skillset, right now. I am flying blind." The last is given in a frustrated sigh.

  "If it helps any, they can confirm Valentina Maximova's appearance. I had never met her, so this will mean more to you than to me: Apparently she looked like me." The pilot swipes a hand at her scars, impatient. "Before this. They have said that much; you may judge for yourselves if that is true." Her gaze flits between Irja and Dragana, curious.

  It's not exactly a scientific test, but maybe it can help verify the offworlders' accounts.

  "That is right. Our old enemy is not dead. It has never been dead. It is very good at going underground and hiding, only to return later like a plague of summer locusts." Anneka sniffs disdainfully, but sobers, looking the Stojespal matriarchs in the eye.

  "You both know my history," she states, low and cold. "You know I refused a recruitment offer, and my life has gone to hell since then. They poisoned my friends, my reputation. They murdered my family. They killed my lover." A hand gestures to indicate her scars. "Then they sabotaged my aircraft. What they did to me, I was years in recovery, and I will never be the same."

  "I know that they are involved." She shakes her head; exhales smoke. "I cannot say how, or why, or for what gain, but I know it, here." A hand settles over her heart, scarred fingers laid over embroidered flowers. "What I need to know is what they are doing, here, and why. I will stop them if it is the last thing that I do... but before I can try, I must have answers."

  Irja gives her permission, and Anneka nods, once, curtly. "Good. Thank you. I will of course be flying with the utmost safety, with such precious cargo." That is to say, Rusalka. "I believe it will give us the opportunity to gather what evidence we may need to expose a regional presence." The pilot regards her cigarette. "If we can do that, I will be on my way to proving their involvement in all of this."

  "If I can fix them to a location, it is possible we can bring a team to infiltrate it... and in that, the Jedi and the Warlock will also be most useful. Thank you, Irja Grigorievna; Grandmother Dragana."

  Yet the woman looks troubled, subtle as it may be. Her gaze remains down and her eye hooded, something restless in the way she toys with her house cigarette.

    The two women wait patiently while Anneka takes her cigarette, letting her light and draw a puff before speaking.

    "The opportunity to prove your suspicions will not be easy to come by," says the Air Force officer. Irja may not have fought HYDRA herself, not as Dragana has done, but she was raised on the stories. The old woman simply nods, knowing the difficulty of what Anneka intends to attempt. "HYDRA is not known for its foolishness."

    There's a long pause as Irja weighs the options, whether to meet the Jedi and Warlock or not. "I will consider that request. I am hesitant to meet these Jedi of yours, even if they are altruistics as you say. Everyone has their motives, and...there are no truly altruistic people, especially with their powers." Maybe it's a suspicious mindset, but it's one that has stood the officer in good stead. "And I do not wish to be in their debt that strongly, to ask personally for their help."

    She reaches for a cigarette of her own, but doesn't light it - merely tapping it against the table as a distraction while she thinks. "For now, I will ask you to be our go-between. If it comes time to meet with them, then I will do so, but I believe it is too early yet."

    Dragana smiles. "A good choice. I do not trust altruists; everyone has motivations of their own. Whether they are personal or something the Jedi have sworn to, we will find this out and then decide on our future. Rusalka Petrovna has already become acquainted with them; she will continue to learn more about them. That will answer how we approach them."

    "And yes," Irja adds, "you do resemble the woman Valentina Maximova may have grown into. A surprising likeness, I think." 

    And to Anneka's explanation of her surety, both women nod in acceptance. The old woman speaks up. "Find them, and we will all have a hand in their destruction. Use whatever means you must, even if it includes these foreigners from beyond the World Tree. Eliminating HYDRA is more important than family status and the games of assistance." 

    Irja gives a glance to her grandmother, but remains silent as the old woman speaks. "Fix their location. We will deal with them as we have done in the old days."

  Grinning, the pilot rolls the cigarette to the other side of her mouth. The expression is a little ghastly with how much scarring she'd sustained. "You think I do not know that?" She seems amused rather than annoyed. "Thank you, but I know I am in danger, Irja Grigorievna. I have been in danger every day of the past fourteen years of my life."

  Her voice is mild, though. She knows they know. They know she knows, for that matter. Her tone is almost like sharing a private joke.

  To the Jedi, Anneka only tips her head in noncommittal gesture. "We will see. Time will show their true colours. As to debts... I will ask them if I must. I have nothing to lose; so, I do not mind going between."

  She glances up as Irja reveals that she does look quite like the fallen Stojespal. "That is surprising. I do not share any blood with House Stojespal; we all know that."

  Find them, and we will all have a hand in their destruction.

  Anneka looks down at her cigarette, eye hooded. Her regard and tone of voice are both deceptively mild. "Irja Grigorievna. Grandmother Dragana." She glances back to the old woman, and there is steel and cold fire in that eye. "You know that I will be more than happy to expose those monsters."

  "Only..."

  She glances up to the two women again, frowning. "I am worried. Sally Petrovna is already more involved than I would like. Association with me is dangerous. If HYDRA discovers who I really am... well. They have a long memory."

  Her gaze drops to the cigarette in her hands. "Putting aside the impossible situation of my own life... I cannot have children, and never will. Sally Petrovna is the closest to a daughter I will ever have." She glances up again. Unease is an uncharacteristic look on this fierce, scarred campaigner. "I worry about placing her in danger. I cannot protect her at all times. Nor would I want anything to happen to either of you."

    "I fear that if you are right, we are all in danger. But that has never stopped the family in the past, and there have been...shall we say, times of great peril," Irja replies, sharing in the joke. "My greatest concern is whether or not family has fallen under HYDRA's sway, either from the main branch of the family or especially the side branches. Not all of them would be considered trustworthy," the officer admits.

    It's a dark admission, but one only made between the three women.

    Dragana speaks up on the matter of Anneka's looks. "Child, I have seen stranger things in this land than doppelgangers. Perhaps Valentina Maximova would have resembled you, certainly there is some connection. If not blood, perhaps your souls." It's true that the cadet was born to fly, just like Anneka. Perhaps that was why they turned out so alike.

    The talk turns to Rusalka, and Irja takes a moment to pour herself a shot and down it quickly and precisely, as if a machine. "I would not worry about protecting her. My daughter is intelligent, more so than anyone she knows." There's a small smile on the woman's lips, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "She will be protected, and will learn to protect herself. Teach her these things, even as I have tried. She can be...willful."

    Protecting themselves is not something the Stojespal women consider; the two are used to threats and dealing with them. They walk the razor path of the nobility, and assumed the dangers with the title.

    "We will be fine, but thank you for your concern."

  "If I am right, or if they figure out who I really am, then da--yes--we are all in danger." Anneka's expression is grave. "They are not looking for Anneka Stojespal, but they are looking for Raisa Ivanovna. If they manage to connect the dots... well." She shrugs, spreading her hands in helpless gesture. "Probably we are all of us fucked, in that case. I do not doubt."

  Irja follows up by commenting on the family's defiance, and Anneka grins, sharp and predatory. "In that, I have something in common with your Khoro. I would like nothing more than to go hunting for these foolish bastards and teach them something of respect." Or, you know, just wreak destruction on them until they stop being awful. "I understand your concerns, and to be honest, I share them. It is why I wished to speak to you both alone."

  "You two and Sally Petrovna I trust, absolutely. The others... I do not know them well enough. Lena Grigorievna, however, I think I will be able to trust." The pilot toys with her cigarette, eyeing it distractedly. "She will owe me a debt after I have secured her vengeance for Valentina Maximova. I will have to think on how to use it, but I think maybe I will need it, if this really does involve HYDRA."

  She shakes her head and taps ash into the tray, though she arches her brow at Dragana's observation, studying the old woman for a long moment. Slowly that lone eye narrows thoughtfully. "I thought as much." Sometimes, she says stuff that might seem strange coming from her. "From what I have been told, Valentina Maximova lived to fly. I know something of that." The admission is soft. "I do not always have much left otherwise."

  "Still. It is strange that we would look so alike. It was enough to unsettle the Warlock. We do not know each other well, but I am given the impression Agent Lor'osa is not someone easily unsettled." An idle observation, as she smokes her house cigarette.

  That lone eye turns to Irja.

  "I will protect her with my life." It's the quiet tone Anneka uses that marks her words as genuine. She makes no boasts; she only states simple fact. "As I said... she is like a daughter to me. Of course I will protect her for as long as I can."

  We will be fine, but thank you for your concern.

  "Heh." She exhales smoke, slowly. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that..."

    "If they find you, they will find us with you." Irja gives it as a nonchalant reply, her trust in her family's power rock solid. "You have stood for Stojespal in the past, and it will be repaid."

    Dragana pipes up. "You would like her, I daresay. You both have a stubborn streak." The old woman laughs softly, rocking back in her chair a little at the strange comment.

    The baroness smiles. She's heard many of the stories of the wolf goddess of Polyuchyn; she's willing to indulge her grandmother in one more. But Anneka's statement gets an eyebrow raised. "She has a good taste in those she trusts," she says. "and a fortunate luck that has served her well."

    The cigarette holder gets set down, as Irja stands. "I believe that concludes things. We should rejoin the others, or they will become talkative amongst themselves." She extends a hand to Anneka, one of promise and agreement.

    "While you are watching out for my daughter, Anneka Ivanovna, be watching for yourself as well. Rusalka Petrovna would be displeased if anything happened to you."