World Tree MUSH

  Although Feathergrass Airbase isn't formally a SHIELD facility, it's been serving as a base of operations for some time now. After a whirlwind of appointments, evaluations, and discussion from medical personnel all the way up to a slightly baffled Agent Coulsonand Director Fury themselves, Steve has been given a security pass that will get him anywhere he wants to get within the agency facilities in Sokovia.

  Agent Anneka Stojespal is inside the hangar, which is one of the predictable haunts to find her when she isn't on the job. Right now it looks like she's just cleaning up. There are piles of stuff everywhere inside the hangar, tools and supplies and whatnot, and it looks like she's using a hand truck to arrange the mess into something approaching order against the far wall. The sleek quinjet is parked and silent, its lights off, but the interior lights are on. It's not entirely depowered. And occasionally, the computerised voice sounds from the bracelet to offer 'helpful' advice.

  Anneka ignores it with extreme prejudice.

  The pilot is wearing a black halter top tucked into a pair of faded cargo pants and scuffed combat boots, hair thrown into a hasty, messy, shower-damp braid.

  If Steve had any questions or further concerns, or wanted to check up on the agency's progress with this newest set of parameters, well -- he knows where to find her.

    After the raid on the HYDRA base, Steve has largely... Tried to do some exploring. He has a lot of catching up to do after being on ice for so long and then being woken up and thrown right into the Battle of New York... The down time is... It's... Strange for him. Uncomfortable almost. So he's filled it with as much sightseeing around Polyuchyn as he possibly can before returning to the life he knows- that being on an actve base. Though even now it feels strange to have the credentials to go almost anywhere he pleases.
    Even if he is, technically, a Captain.
    So Steve eventually finds his way into the hangar, and on spying Anneka in her native environment, makes his way over to her.
    "So. How are you feeling? After the raid I mean." Smooth opener, Steve.

  After the raid on the HYDRA base, Anneka has largely spent her time buried under maintenance, study, and scattered efforts to formulate a plan for moving forward. Most of it has involved collaborating with the rest of the agency, and a lot of heroic bureaucratic battling on part of one Phil Coulson. Once it became clear that HYDRA was involved, though, everything got a whole lot easier.

  Anneka looks up from bringing another load halfway to the pile against the wall, blinking owlishly.

  "Steve Rogers." Oh. Company. "What?" The word is a croak, suggesting she wasn't expecting that for an opening salvo. "Oh. Uh." She frowns, as though she has to actively think of an answer to the question.

  How is she feeling?

  Grunting, she sets her shoulder and one leg to the hand truck to shove it forward, and the twist reveals why she doesn't usually wear this sort of clothing: The fire-damage does indeed plunge down past her collar, and everything visible on the right side beneath the halter top is correspondingly scarred. It goes all the way through to her fingertips.

  "Don't know what you mean." She stomps on the kickstand to shove the load off the hand truck and against the wall, turning. "But if I have to think about it... better. That base is gone and they will not have it back." Her grin is just a little dangerous as she turns to wheel the hand truck over to the piles, stooping to prepare another stack of boxes to load. They sound like they have something metal inside. Spare parts, maybe. "I have been talking to Agent Philip Coulson. This was a good start, but it is not the base I was looking for. There is another, somewhere. In all of the data I found, I did not come across anything involving Valentina Maximova."

  "I did, however, find a few interesting things. Have a seat," she adds, tossing her chin to indicate a folding card table and folding metal chairs near the parked quinjet. "Don't worry. Val's running diagnostics. Won't bite."

  There's a long pause.

  "I think."

    "I said, how are you holding up, after the raid." Steve repeats in the face of Anneka's croaked reply, but he does not sit when she bids him to do so. "Okay, so I guess you're fine then." He concedes after a moment when she evades the question and gives him that almost manic smile.
    "Interesting things?" Cap does ask as he moves to help Anneka with the hand truck out of sheer force of habit, helping load it up as needed.
    "Not the base you were looking for, huh." So that means there's another one out there. Somewhere. Before he pauses.
    "Val?"
    Oh. Oh dear. He hasn't been OFFICIALLY introduced, has he?

  "Interesting things," Anneka agrees, putting aside her hand truck once she unloads its stack of boxes. "I found a few papers that do not trace back to Valentina Maximova, but to something different. I think HYDRA is being used, here, somehow, and I am making it my business to find out how and why."

  Val?

  She points behind him, to the quinjet.

  "Behold the Valkyrie. First and only in her series; she is based on an ordinary quinjet, but she is categorically superior in every way. Agent Philip Coulson told you about the Battle of New York, da? Director Fury thinks if there is another alien invasion like that, we will save many lives if our quinjets can act quickly and autonomously to rescue civilians. Our pilots would be stretched thin in a hypothetical invasion."

  She pauses.

  "If the aliens come back, our quinjets can fly themselves."

  Maybe it's easier to show instead of tell. Anneka turns toward the open cargo ramp, beckoning for Steve to follow her into the open cargo ramp. Inside, it's dark and quiet, smelling of industrial cleaner. Striding through to the cockpit, Anneka plunks into the pilot's chair, keying in a series of commands as her hands dance over the controls.

  As soft blue running lights bloom to life and the subtle hum of its systems fills the silence, a smooth and feminine voice speaks into the aircraft interior. It is definitely not Anneka and has no accent whatsoever.

  <<Good evening, Captain Stojespal.>>

  Light scans past and through Steve as the Valkyrie scans him. Anneka drums her fingers on the pilot's console, waiting with a thread of impatience.

  <<Initialisation complete. All systems normal. Uplink to SHIELD databases complete.>>

  "...That is Val." Anneka jerks a thumb towards the cockpit. "Val, say hello to Steve Rogers."

  <<Good evening, Provisional Captain Rogers.>>

  ...That's the rank this Director Fury gave him for the sake of bureaucratic expediency, anyway.

    "Mn." Steve murmurs as his attention is turned toward the quinjet. He's seen THOSE before, but the super soldier frowns.
    "He didn't need to tell me about the Battle of New York, I lived it." He points out, before quirking a brow.
    They can fly themselves now?" He asks before following Anneka into the into the aircraft.
    "And they can talk now, too, huh." Muttered as Val greets her desginated pilot.
    "... Hello, Val."
    And greets him to boot. By rank no less.
    At least she hasn't sassed him. And considering how polite he usually is, she probably will never have reason to.
    "So you're one of those... Artificial intelligences, right?" He asks, genuinely curious.

  Anneka sighs and folds her arms as Steve questions the quinjet. She has the mannerisms of someone barely able to hold onto their patience. Apparently the pilot does not get along with her plane.

  <<That is incorrect, Provisional Captain Rogers. Standard model SHIELD quinjets do not possess any inherent ability to pilot with any degree of complexity beyond modern navigational autopilot systems. To date, with its current level of funding and agency support, Project VALKYRIE has produced only one functional prototype.>>

  Anneka jerks her thumb toward the cabin. Yep, you guessed it, that lone prototype is none other than Val.

  "So you're one of those... Artificial intelligences, right?"

  <<My primary functions have been split across a number of control modules and subsystems. These are designed to handle different facets of functionalities, such as navigational suites, informational databases, intelligence-gathering subroutines, combat operations, and basic civilian piloting.>>

  Anneka rolls her eye. Despite only having one of them, she manages to make it effective. "What it is saying is... it can function by itself, and what it's not saying is that it can also learn. Of course, it is still... what is that phrase? 'Highly experimental.'"

    'Highly experimental', Anneka says. The highly experimental quinjet AI is talking to him and Steve can do little more than stare at the controls and consoles.
    Actually, is that where he should be looking? Finding himself questioning such a thing he glances around the rest of the quinjet's interior.
    Back in his day the smartest computer around was ENIAC.
    This is a little bit different.
    "So Val is the only working quinjet that's..." Well... "Like Val, then?"
    It would seem so, and there's the fact that the thing can learn, too, that makes Steve's brow arch.
    "Huh. Neat."

  "Officially, Val is the only prototype in production," Anneka states, flicking a hand to indicate the quinjet around them. "Unofficially, I have no idea. My security clearance is..." She squints as though looking for the right word, "Provisional. They don't tell the pilots anything and half the time I have less than that to work from." She seems a little grumpy about that.

  There's a short pause.

  An arm raises to point at the roof of the cockpit. "You can look there if you want. It's what I do. It hasn't correct me yet."

  "As to that... there could be more." The woman shrugs. "I do not know. Absolutely I would think this quinjet is too expensive to have more than one prototype until they are very sure how it is supposed to work."

  Huh. Neat.

  "What is interesting to me is how they managed to pull so much speed and agility out of a normal quinjet. The Valkyrie is faster, more agile, and also more armoured."

    Anneka points out where to look. Steve looks there; at the roof of the cockpit. Hopefully Val won't correct him and make him feel like a fool. But he follows the topic of conversation well enough.
    "So Val is the only Val you know about." He says. Which makes sense due to Anneka's lacking security credentials and all. "And how long before they're sure this works? How long have you been flying Val, here?"
    Idle curiosity there, as the pilot details just how much better than the average quinjet this particular model is.

  Chances are Val doesn't actually care where the meat popsicles are looking. It certainly doesn't comment on where Steve wants to look, nor does it seem interested in correcting Anneka. This time.

  So Val is the only Val you know about. Anneka shrugs, as though she isn't going to argue with that. "Heh. I don't know. I think they don't know, either, but they refuse to say that." A hand is flicked dismissively. "I have been piloting this piece of shit for over a year. Before that, I was flying Agent Philip Coulson where he wishes aboard a normal quinjet."

  Beat.

  "I miss the quinjets that don't talk," she grumbles. A hand is flicked as she turns, ushering Steve back off the fancy talking jet. It's creepy and she knows it's listening in. Anneka pulls a face. "...I also miss the quinjets that don't listen."

  "Come on. Let's walk down to town; it is not far at all. I can buy you a drink. Probably you have a lot of questions, if you are really from the 1940s. I can do my best to answer them." Or more personal questions, if he wants to dig into motivation a little. Or swap HYDRA stories. "Or just walk. A nice night out. I am more or less done in the hangar anyway. If Agent Philip Coulson needs anything else he will call for me."

    "Val doesn't seem that bad."
    Steve will never know, will he? At least not in this moment as he's led back off the quinjet.
    For now though, he decides it best to take Anneka up on her offer. "A soda, sure." ... "They still have malt shops right?"
    Because alcohol doesn't really affect him. At all. He just burns clean through it as soon as he drinks it, so that would be pointless. But it is true, he has missed a lot since the 40's.
    "You have no idea how many questions I have."

  "You don't have to work with it every day of the week," Anneka growls, head tilting faintly toward the right to keep Steve in her field of vision. She doesn't seem to consciously move to keep him out of her blind spot; she just seems to instinctively know where to be to watch him. "It is the definition of 'malicious compliance.'"

  They still have malt shops right?

  "I do not know what you are talking about." The pilot squints, scowling just a little. "Is that some obscure American slang? Absolutely I have learned as much English as I can but there are still things I do not know." Shaking her head, she strides out of the hangar, off the base, and down the gravel road.

  "Probably you know the town better than I do at this point." Right outside of Feathergrass there isn't much, and it's a modest walk down to the village of Polyuchyn. Anneka reaches into her pockets, producing both cigarette and match. A scrape-hiss, the stink of sulphur, and soon a thin streamer of smoke trails her. It smells different than the usual American brands of choice. Earthier.

  For a woman of such unremarkably average height, Anneka has a long stride. There's a restless energy to her stiff-limbed walk, although she seems to be at least somewhat trying not to leave Steve in the dust.

  "So?" She glances over, head lolling slightly to the side. "Ask. I have not been in America for very long, myself, so I may not know. In those cases probably you are better off asking Agent Philip Coulson." A hand is waved again, this time more relaxed. "There are things he does not know... but those things are rare."

  Slipping her hands into her pockets, she heaves a sigh of smoke. "What do you want to know?" Her eye slides sideways to regard Steve, curious. "I will do my best to answer."

    'You don't have to work with it every day of the week. It is the definition of malicious compliance'. Anneka says.
    "... Oh." Steve murmurs a little glumly. That's not what he had been expecting, not at all.
    Nevertheless the two start to move and Steve is able to keep up with Anneka easily. He's a pretty big guy with a long stride of his own, but his gait isn't as... Antsy as her own. It's the solid, sure-footed gait of a career soldier.
    And then it turns out there are no malt shops.
    "... Oh..." That's even more depressing.
    But then she bids him ask away, and where does he start?
    "Music." Captain America says matter of factly. "Let's start with how much music has changed since I've been on ice."

  "Sorry," Anneka sighs, tilting her head and glancing back at Steve with arched brow. "I do not like to be the bearer of bad news. Maybe we can find you something similar, although here maybe in Sokovia, not so much." The woman rubs at the back of her neck, almost sheepish. "Still. It will be something to look for, if Agent Philip Coulson is ever reassigned somewhere else. Probably not here, though."

  She slips her hands into her pockets, looking at the road ahead. There's surety in her stride; after so much rehabilitation, she can almost fake having the depth perception she's been missing for over a decade.

  Music, he says, and she rolls her cigarette to the other side of her mouth, eye hooding as she considers. Let's start with how much music has changed since I've been on ice.

  And then she snorts a laugh.

  "Probably you are not going to like the answer to that question, I think."

  Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her cell phone, fiddling with it as she squints into the light of its screen. After a few seconds, it starts playing music. It sounds tinny. In fact it sounds almost like a transistor radio, all treble, though not feeble.

  It's playing jazz. Dave Brubeck, in fact; the minor strains of the cool and suave, worldwide-iconic Take Five.

  "This was written in 1959. It is jazz, like the swing you like... but jazz moved away from swing, from what I have studied." She grins around her cigarette. "I have taken to studying your American jazz music in the years since I fled my homeland. I find it interesting. We do not have anything quite like it. and something in it..."

  She looks up to the darkening sky, single eye hooding. "I feel it, if that makes any sense."

  Her eye opens, and she looks back to Steve. "It must be hard, to suddenly find yourself so out of place." Despite the natural roughness of her voice, there's sympathy in her tone, and maybe a little empathy. "I am sorry. If there is ever anything you need, you can always ask me. I know something of what it is to be a stranger in a strange land, though... not like this." A hand is waved to indicate Steve himself. "Still. I am not completely unfamiliar with what you are going through."

    Unfortunately. As much as Anneka dislikes being the bearer of bad news. She's about to be the bearer of bad news.
    "What? Is it that bad?"
    'Probably you are not going to like the answer to that question, I think.'
    Oh dear, that doesn't sound good.
    Then once again Anneka produces her phone.
    "... Why are you pulling out your flashlight?" He asks at the sight of it.
    Lo and behold it starts playing music, leaving the fossilized soldier to stare somewhat owlishly.
    But he gives the music playing a listen. Jazz. More jazz. Though not like the jazz he's used to; it's not BAD.
    "I don't see what's so bad news about that." He says, at first, clueless about the super cheery pop music of this day and age.
    Let's hope he never finds out about that.
    It will be a sad and painful day.
    Nevertheless, he does dip his head in a nod.
    "It's... Very different, to say the least. But the best I can do is just... Try to acclimate to how things are now."

  The pilot can't help but grin as Steve marvels some more over the wonders of modern technology. It's clear even to her that he's taken off his guard by the fact that her 'flashlight' is able to play music. She's... going to have to break him in gently.

  "That is because I am playing jazz for you. I know that you are familiar with some of it, like swing." When the song finishes she slips the phone back into her pocket. "That is... not always what is popular, but we will introduce other genres to you... later." Much later. Slipping her hands into her pockets, she looks up to the sky as she walks, puffing smoke, mindful to do so away from Steve. "Da," she says, very quietly. "I understand that well. I had to do the same, when I first came here."

  "Not to Sokovia," Anneka clarifies. "To America. When I turned down HYDRA, it became personal. I do not know why... but it was clear I did not have anything left, there. They were very thorough," she growls, low.

  After a moment she glances back to Steve, as though suddenly aware she'd spoken. "...Sorry." She looks to the road ahead. More softly, she adds, "We have some common ground, you and I. I am glad you came here, and not to Washington, or New York." That lone eye hardens. "I think maybe we can get more done, here. Take the fight to them, for once in my damn life."

  ...It's hardly a mystery who she's talking about.