World Tree MUSH

  Dusk falls over remote Polyuchyn, a small town located in Sokovia's hinterlands. Having managed to escape the destruction visited on Novi Grad, it has a lot of history in its architecture. Polyuchyn boasts a charming town square with a fountain, quaint bed-and-breakfasts, quiet roads, and a single dilapidated airbase.

  Polyuchyn's also had a bit more SHIELD presence than usual, lately.

  A high grassy hill overlooks Feathergrass Airbase's runways. Nearby, dirt trails lead in and out of the area, down to the airbase, and eventually to Vines, further out.

  From here the airbase looks quiet save for one hangar with extra security. They're wearing SHIELD uniforms, and the agency roundel has been painted onto the hangar door... and... huh. Is that Lola parked in front of the hangar?

  Up on the hill is a folding card table. A bottle of vodka, a shotglass, a cigarette smouldering in its ashtray; all of these pin down maps and notes and newspaper clippings to the table.

  In the chair a figure in a SHIELD flight suit hunches over a trumpet, playing long, legato jazz so blue as to break the heart. It's not quite the familiar big band swing of World War II. There's enough there to recognise, but music like this doesn't happen without intimate knowledge of the blues. The belling voice of the trumpet carries far into the distance.

  Long red hair glows like fire in the dying light: A woman, most probably, her downturned face hidden by her hair. The trumpet quiets every time an aircraft passes by overhead or comes in for a landing, the woman looking up to watch.

  There's something odd about her right side, but the lighting is too poor to make out details from far away.

    It's not every day an American soldier is seen in Sokovia; let alone a place as remote as Polyuchyn. But after a freak accident involving a vine and a different quinjet, here he is. Now, Steve Rogers isn't the kind of person who would let a change of scenery throw him off, especially in a world as similar to earth as he knows it.
    Coming across an airbase that happens to have the SHIELD logo painted on one of the hangar doors is kind of a big windfall. 
    Rather than approach the airbase directly, the first Avenger regards the military installation from a slight distance. As far as he knows this may not even be his SHIELD.
    It's the sound of soulful, heartbreaking, jazz that pulls the soldier's attention from the base, blue eyes shifting from the SHIELD logo painted on the hangar door to the card table and its lone occupant.
    There. That's who he's going to talk to.
    Boots carrying him on a course for the lonely little table and jazzy musician, the American soldier stops a respectful distance away.
    "I don't think I've heard playing quite like that before." He says, before awkwardly realizing his words could possibly be misconstrued. "Don't get me wrong, it's not bad at all. I'm just more used to something with a little more... Swing."
    This, coming from a literal fossil wearing the Stars and Stripes with an American flag practically emblazoned on the shield slung on his back, should hopefully be introduction enough to a member of SHIELD, but Steve doesn't simply assume that is his free ticket in.
    He introduces himself. Politely.
    "Ma'am. Steve Rogers. I sort of work for SHIELD."

  Strangers in a strange land. These two may have more in common than they know.

  The music stops as a voice carries over the hill. Looking over, the woman with the trumpet leans forward to study the interloper. Why her face looks off is clear as she turns her head: A patch covers her right eye, and it's burn scar tissue from her hairline down past her collar. Even the fingers of her right hand where they rest over the trumpet valves are scarred.

  Raising a brow, she draws in a breath to scold this intruder, but the words die on her lips. She turns to fully face him and stares. That's not an agency lackey, nor is it one of Base Commander Irja's minions.

  The woman blinks hard and utters a startled tangle of what sounds like Russian; something to the effect of holy crap. As though to cover her slip, she stands, staring even harder. That is... Captain Freaking America.

  It takes a few seconds for the woman to reboot her brain. Shaking her head as though to clear it, she tilts her head, eyeing him a little more.

  "I did not think Agent Philip Coulson was able to call you in. I did not know he was even trying." She stands, passing the trumpet to her right hand and awkwardly offering her left to shake. "SHIELD Agent Anneka Stojespal. I know your reputation, but you do not know me. A pleasure, sir."

  Her tone is rough, grizzled from years of drink and smoke, and her accent is unclear. It sounds almost Eastern European, but there are also elements of Russian, as well as the Ukrainian spoken in Sokovia. It's almost as though she's consciously trying to hide where she's from.

  The woman frowns. "Swing?"

  Raising the trumpet, she licks dry lips as the last sunlight gleams off the lead pipe and bell. "Fine," she mumbles around the mouthpiece, but she's grinning as she does. "Everyone is critic."

  From it pours something that may be more familiar to Steve. Although it lacks the rest of the band, the first few bars of American Patrol she plays would be instantly recognisable to one who lived through the war during which it was written.

  As the notes fade away, she lowers the horn to examine Steve more closely; she has a habit of keeping her head turned further to the right, perhaps to compensate for her blind side. "That is more to your liking, Kapitan?" Straightening, she shakes her head, setting the trumpet on the table and folding her arms. "I cannot think why you would need to talk to me. I am only a quinjet pilot. But. What can I do for you, Steve Rogers?" The use of his full name seems more a token of respect than anything else.

    Steve is neither an agency lackey nor the Base Commander?s minion, indeed. And for a beat, he stands there looking some kind of mix of sheepish and awkward while Anneka rallies from her initial shock from just seeing him. Nevertheless, when the trumpet is shifted over, he takes the offered hand for a shake. His grip is firm, but not overbearingly so. The kind of grip that belies the man's true strength and shows a capability for restraint and gentleness where it is needed.
    Like not crushing a friendly hand.
    "Pleasure's mine, Agent Stojespal." He says, maintaining the politeness of yester-year in almost every word and action, and showing absolutely no sign of recoiling from the sight of the Agent's scarred face.
    The pleasure is doubly Steve's when Anneka begins to play her trumpet once again, the familiar tune bringing a wistful look to the Captain?s expression for a moment, until the music comes to an end.
    "A bit more to my liking, yes." He admits. "It's like a little piece of back home." He says, lips quirking into a wan smile. But there's something about what Anneka had said previously that makes the man clear his throat.
    "About that." Steve begins. "About Agent Coulson... He didn't."
    Technically as far as Steve knows, Phillip Coulson was killed in action by the Trickster God, Loki, just before the Battle of New York. He'll be surprised soon enough, here, but for the moment his eyes turn downcast at the memory, thinking about another casualty of war.
    But Steve doesn?t linger on that too long. This is a new world. Coulson may very well be alive and kicking here. There's a reason he approached Anneka however.
    "As far as I know" I don't think you're with my SHIELD." He says. "Or, well, that I'm with yours, I mean."
    "It's something about this whole... World Tree. I ended up getting pulled through one of those Vine things and ended up here."
    That might explain it. He's another Steve from another world. And he showed up looking for the first sign of friendly faces and ended up finding another SHIELD entirely.
    Awkward.

  There's something about a firm handshake that imparts its true strength. The way Anneka eyes the man for a brief instant is wary. She can feel that he isn't going to go past that threshold, but the power is there. He really is a "super-soldier."

  The fact that he doesn't stare earns a faint arch of one brow. No? She's quite used to it; it's always surprising when someone doesn't. A point in his favour.

  "I have heard some of your story, but I do not know all the details. What I do know is that you were alive when these songs were written." The fingers of one hand drum restlessly against the opposite forearm. Tilting her head, Anneka studies the man more closely. "I have made a hobby of studying your American jazz. It is a fascinating genre. There is nothing like it, where I come from."

  About that. About Agent Coulson... He didn't.

  Anneka looks momentarily puzzled by that, but before she can do much more than tilt her head at the discrepancy, Steve moves on. She listens, and after a moment, the situation becomes clearer.

  Ah, so this is not actually Steve Rogers -- not the one she knows by reputation.

  "Now that is interesting." The statement is droll. Sweeping together some of the scattered papers on the table, she pins them under her trumpet before turning to focus on Steve. She may only have one eye, but it's sharp. "So you are from the World Tree. That makes sense. I did not think Agent Philip Coulson would be able to call you in; not with an unofficial operation."

  She taps her chin, frowning thoughtfully. "Well, explaining this is going to be fun, too." Sighing, she settles back down in her chair, resting her elbows over her knees and studying Captain America curiously. "No, probably not I am from your SHIELD. I am sure this is my world; I have not left for a week or so."

  "I am sure also that you are who you say you are." Leaning back in her chair, she folds her arms. "Technically, you are not in SHIELD's employ, as far as I am aware. And I know something of your history, Steve Rogers."

  Thoughtful silence falls for a few seconds. Now that she has this proverbial gift dropped into her lap, what's she going to do with it?

  "You want to help me with a little project?" She grins, nastily. "In return, maybe I can find you somewhere to stay. Absolutely a hot meal."

  There's a short pause.

  "It involves HYDRA."

    That's right. Agent Coulson didn't call him in. If anything, Cap sort of just... Showed up.
    These things apparently happen in the World Tree. But here he is, in a world not his own, looking for comfort in the arms of an organization very much like the one he knows from back home, at least as far as he can tell, anyway. 
    But then. But then; Anneka says the literal magic words. 'It involves HYDRA'. In an instant the super soldier's gaze hardens, lips thinning into a firm line, and the pilot has the Captain's rapt attention. 
    Well. If she's certain he is who he says he is? he doesn't need to say how much he dislikes HYDRA on principle. 
    "I'm in."
    There's no hesitation, no second thinking on the matter. It certainly is a shock to learn that after all his hard work during the War that HYDRA still exists- even on another world- but that is enough to garner the American's ire almost instantly. 
    "I may not be in your SHIELD's employ but HYDRA is the enemy of all that's good and just. I can't sit by and just let them do as they please. I hate bullies, no matter where they come from."
    It looks like that settles it. The Captain is back in action against an old enemy. All it took were those magic little words to get his attention. 
    "You may not have authority, but I figure you could put me through to someone who is. I don't think my SHIELD would mind me being 'on loan' to a brother agency."
    He probably will need some new equipment. At least a gun or two if he's going to throw his lot in with SHIELD. ... Again.

  For all the headaches and paperworks it may cause, sometimes the Vines are a boon. Sometimes one can find the right tool at the right time to deal with a shared problem. Serendipity is a wonderful thing.

  Even if she weren't sure about this particular Steve Rogers, the topic of their shared enemy would solve it. She lifts her chin, and there's a light in that blue eye; a kind of savage glee. This here is a man who hates HYDRA as much as she does.

  ...but HYDRA is the enemy of all that's good and just.

  "Yes." The word is a hiss. "Nothing good can come of those psychotic monsters. They are worse than any bully I have ever known. I will destroy them if it is the last thing I ever do." Her sudden grin is savage. "If it is the last thing I do, I will dismantle them."

  Anneka's expression cools back to neutrality, and she tilts her head as he comments on authority. "Hunh. You are right. I do not have any authority. But I know someone who does: Agent Philip Coulson will smooth things over for you. I do not even need to ask. I already know his answer."

  She falls silent, glancing over her shoulder at the airbase. "If you came from a Vine," she says softly, "then probably you do not know where you are. You are in Polyuchyn, Sokovia. This is Feathergrass Airbase." Gesturing down the hill with a flick of scarred fingers, she looks toward the runway lights as they wink on in the dark. "Officially, SHIELD does not have a base in this area. Unofficially... House Stojespal an ally, and they wish to root out and destroy this spreading cancer almost as much as I do."

  "I have been trying to uncover locations that they have been using. There are cells within Sokovian borders. I intend to find them, and to burn them as I burned." Reaching past the trumpet, she withdraws a carton of cigarettes from the mess of papers, fishing a lighter out of her pocket.

  The carton is tipped towards Steve in offer. Her grin is shadowed. "I have a feeling we are going to get along very well, Steve Rogers."

    Vines sure are a headache. Steve doesn't know the half of it yet, but he'll come to learn eventually. Nevertheless his vehemence on the matter should prove his commitment to the cause. HYDRA has to go, plain and simple, and if they still exist in this world... Then his work isn't done.
    Though Anneka's particular fervor on the matter catches even the Captain slightly off guard, he manages to not show his particular slight shock at how... Serious she is.
    Because in th end? He agrees with her.
    He wants to see HYDRA dismantled, entirely, too.
    "... Philip Coulson? He's... Here?" He sounds a little incredulous to hear it, but then again if this is another world... "Huh..." Murmured as he shakes his head, politely declining the offered cigarette.
    Hey may come from a time from before the Surgeon General declared them as hazardous to one's health, but smoking was never for him. And his augmented body would probably nullify the effect of nicotine entirely, anyway.
    "Yeah. I think we'll get along just fine." He agrees, head dipping in a nod.
    "So." He begins, deciding on a new course of conversation. "Sokovia, huh."
    He could stand to learn a little more about where he is.

  There are no cracks in her facade when she speaks of HYDRA. Anneka is dead serious about this. A hatred simmers beneath the surface like a carefully-nurtured, banked embers waiting to be fanned into a conflagration. Whatever they did to this woman, it was serious. Maybe they were responsible for the scars.

  At his comment on Coulson, she squints a little, tilting her head as she shrugs off his refusal, tapping out a cigarette and lighting it in a single movement. Its efficiency speaks to decades of familiarity.

  So, then. Sokovia.

  Turning, Anneka sweeps a bunch of papers aside, moving her trumpet to pin them beneath it. She reaches into a pocket to produce a phone, using the light of the camera flash to find a particular document. A reasonably modern map is plucked from the pile and offered to Steve flat on the table, their location tapped with a forefinger. "We are just north of where Polyuchyn is on this map."

  She slides her finger just a little further north, where a canyon trench is marked off in elevation mapping. "This is Khoro's Howl, a canyon system that cuts down from the foothills and into the valley. It is a national park, but it is also mostly wilderness, too remote and unstable to build on."

  Releasing the map, she flicks a hand back to the airfield. "The pilots here use it as a rite of passage, flying like breakneck idiots through the slot canyons; it is very foggy, most times." There's that hint of a savage grin again. "I think HYDRA is hiding in there, somewhere, or just on the other side of it. I will confirm it this week."

  "I intend to take a trainer aircraft up; a two-seater with one of House Stojespal in the back to photograph. It will be disguised as a training mission: I will simultaneously be flying against three of Feathergrass Airbase's best pilots." The grin widens. "Once I have the location confirmed... we will investigate. Once it is confirmed to be HYDRA, and I already suspect that is exactly what it is... I will have agency support for rooting these bastards out of Polyuchyn once and for all." What about the rest of Sokovia? One day at a time.

  "Actually, though, I am from the Washington branch." She eyes him, thoughtful. "After the Battle of New York, SHIELD moved all of its New York operations to Washington. Quarters are tight, but the agency is still keeping on." Exhaling a wreath of smoke (and away from Steve), she considers him, leaning back in her chair. "Think you would be interested in lending a hand once we pin the bastards' location down? I would be glad for your assistance, Steve Rogers."

    That's a serious hate. And while Steve's distate for HYDRA is up there, he gets the sense that it's just as personal for Anneka as it is for him.
    He doesn't ask about the scars.
    Then. Anneka pulls out a smartphone and uses it as a flashlight.
    "... That's kind of a funny shaped flashlight isn't it?" He says, not quite understanding what the object truly is, due to the massive gap in the era he's from versus... The era it is now.
    Boy does he have a lot to learn.
    Nevertheless he leans over once it's time to look at the map, blue eyes following the agent's finger as she explains precisely where he is and precisely where she thinks the HYDRA base to be. And he cocks a brow.
    "That'll be some training mission." He muses.
    The Battle of New York, though, just mentioning it brings a grim look to the Captain's face.
    "It was a tough battle." ... "The shawarma's good though."
    What does that have to do with anything? No one will ever know as he moves right along.
    "Of course. I already said I'm in, didn't I?"

  Anneka follows Steve's line of sight down to the phone in her hand. She's about to protest that it isn't a flashlight, but she cuts herself off. Yeah nope that's a cell phone. She glances between Steve and her trumpet. 1940s music, 1940s mindset. Maybe she'd better save the smart phone conversation for another day.

  The pilot swallows.

  "Uh huh. Yeah. It was cheap." It's not a lie, necessarily.

  "It's going to be an aggressor flight." That lunatic grin creeps back into her face. "I'll be fielding a three-on-one while Sally Petrovna photographs for me where I tell her. Most probably HYDRA knows there is an agency presence here." She thumbs at the airbase down the hill. "I tried to tell them not to paint the roundel on the hangar, but here we are."

  She shakes her head at mention of the Battle of New York. "I was not in the city when it happened. I was part of the cleanup crew, though." Something in her expression looks unspeakably world-weary. "I heard about Agent Philip Coulson, and so many others. The lists of victims were released. And when names were not on the list, rumour filled in the rest. So. Imagine my surprise when I am reassigned to his team four years ago." She eyes Steve thoughtfully. "He is... still dead in your world, isn't he?" Her voice softens. "I am sorry."

  I already said I'm in, didn't I?

  "You did." Anneka grins. "I think this is going to be fun. Although if you were to uncover any other places these cancerous fucks are hiding, I will be happy to accompany you." Puffing smoke, the pilot glances at the darkened sky, where the first stars start to glimmer. "I fly a quinjet. For SHIELD. And not just any quinjet..." She gestures down towards the agency-marked hangar down the hill. "That one."

    It's... Probably best to save the smartphone conversation for another time, yes. But getting told that the 'flashlight' was cheap seems to be a good enough answer for him. But. Something Anneka says makes the Captain blink.
    "I'm sorry." He says, sounding obviously disbelieving. "Did you just say 'still dead'. ... As in 'he gets better'?"
    That's what Steve focus on the most in this conversation. "... Can people do that? Is that... Is that a thing now?"
    Needless to say, he's balking a bit.
    But he rallies well enough considering the topic of conversation.
    "If I uncover any other places where they are you'll be the first to know."
    And then. The quinjet.
    "You fly one of those huh? Not bad."

  Anneka seems to think about Steve's question for a moment. As in, he gets better? The slow spread of her grin is easy to miss, at first, but the force of it causes the scars to crease. Apparently that question is genuinely amusing.

  "I did say 'still dead.' Oh. Yes. He was killed in action, during the Battle of New York, I am to understand." The pilot takes one last luxuriously long draw on her cigarette before tapping it into the ashtray and leaving it. It's down to the filter. "I do not know much about what happened; I am only a Level Five, Provisional agent... so there are a lot of holes in the story I will never know. He can tell you the story himself, later; or not. But I am sure he will want to talk to you at some point."

  Something something bloody collectible cards.

  "I do not think it is normal, no." Her voice drops, and she eyes him, shaking her head. "It was all very mysterious, and to be honest, I think it was unusual, even for SHIELD."

  You fly one of those huh? Not bad.

  "I wish I flew one of those." Scowling, the woman glances back to the distant hangar. "I used to fly one of those. I got assigned to a new quinjet, and it's a back-talking piece of shit the techs refuse to believe talks back." She snorts, before glancing back to Steve. "It isn't all bad, though. She's silent. And she can take us in wherever the HYDRA vermin hides. I can show you around, some time. Once Agent Philip Coulson has a chance to talk to you, I think you will have clearance to go wherever you like, here."

    "Ah."
    So Coulson, here, came back from the dead. While that is fairly heartening to know it's also quite... Baffling to say the least. Maybe he can have a good talk with Phil and find out.
    But for now, the Captain moves on from that. He knows all about the cards.
    They're a vintage set.
    "... Well I'm glad for him?"
    Very mysterious. Very unusual even for SHIELD. ... Sounds about right.
    He pauses.
    "Your quinjet talks back to you?"
    Oh boy, the things he doesn't know.

  Oh boy. There are a great many things Steve doesn't know. It looks like a crash course in the modern era may be necessary sooner rather than later. In a fleeting moment of uncertainty, Anneka chews at her lower lip, glancing from Steve to the airfield and back again. The one-eyed pilot sighs.

  "You... are going to have a lot to learn, here." Anneka regards the time-lost man blandly. "Why don't you come down the hill with me, Steve Rogers? I will introduce you, we can establish your affiliation with this SHIELD, and maybe I can find you a place to stay."

  Sweeping her papers and maps in hand, she starts sorting them, stopping to return her trumpet back to its case with clear reverence. "My quinjet is a highly experimental prototype that, for SOME reason, Director Fury thought would be a good idea to shove a personality into." The scorn in her voice makes her opinion clear. "That was bad enough, but then the bastard goes and assigns Agent Philip Coulson to it, and he is never allowed to drive. So that means me," she growls, and though it sounds hostile there's an undercurrent of exasperated affection. These people are all she's got. "I'll introduce you to it later. It is the Valkyrie... but we call it Val."

  It's not long before Anneka gathers up her things; the table and chair apparently live on this hilltop. "Follow me," she states cheerfully, as she starts downhill.