World Tree MUSH

  Dawn came and went hours ago. Late morning finds Agent Anneka Stojespal at a patio table of Polyuchyn's finest tea house. Tucked off the main avenue and overlooked by the distant but monolithic House Stojespal, it's a popular venue, though never too crowded.

  Arms folded and chin tucked into the crook of an elbow, her eye is closed, both paperwork and tea forgotten. Today it's a white tee-shirt tucked into belted jeans, bomber jacket, and steel-toed boots. Civilian fare, except her dog tags. They're oddly curled. Charred. No super-secret agency papers, today, either. These are only expense reports. Mostly they're to do with fuel and ground crew requisitions. The Valkyrie is an expensive date.

  It looks like Anneka's been sleeping over it for a little while. She doesn't see the man across the table from her. The man is dead. Of that there is no question. He's soaked through. Not a single drop blots the cobbles underfoot.

  A hair younger than the quinjet pilot, the dead man wears a flight suit, identifying flags and patches torn off. Only half the embroidered name is there: "M. MAK--," the rest torn like the flags. He's clean-shaven, short blonde hair slicked back, and dead-white eyes that stand out too much from the shadows they're sunk into. A pair of aviator sunglasses perch at the crown of his head.

  The man doesn't move; only watches over Anneka as she sleeps.

    After dealing with the crazed events of the kingdom of Veldora, Morrigan had some work to do.
    Some people got 'thank you' cards for helping Morrigan figure out what the hell was going on in that spooky kingdom of lies, deceit, and false idols.
    Some other people, people like Anneka Stojespal, get personal visits.
    So it's back to Polyuchyn with the Warlock. After showing up at the airbase and asking around, someone pointed Morrigan in the direction of the tea house, and so here she is walking right up to Anneka's table where the woman sits, sleeping and.
    Morrigan does a goddamn double take at what she sees there WITH Anneka.
    "Psst. Psssst. Agent Stojespal. Anneka. *Anneka*." She tries to subtly whisper the agent awake without scaring the phantom off.

  Movement draws the spirit's attention. The dead man looks over, watching Morrigan with what appears to be mild curiosity, but he doesn't move to stop the Warlock. He does kinda give her the stink-eye a little, though. Maybe, being dead and all, he can discern a little of what powers her.

  The agent, for her part, shudders awake with a snort and a cough. She squints at Morrigan for a second or two before pulling herself upright, squinting a moment more to force her eye to focus.

  "What?" It's the usual croak, but it's slightly less grumpy than it usually is. Yawning, Anneka reaches up to rub at her face. "What is it?" There's a bleary pause. "Why are you in Sokovia?"

    Oh. Oh he can see her. That is more than slightly unnerving, and Mary Contrary, Morrigan's shinki familiar ducks off the woman's shoulder to hide in her backpack when the spirit turns to look their way.
    It's as Anneka begins to rouse that Morrigan clears her throat.
    "Don't act surprised. And don't make any sudden movements..." She says very firmly.
    "But there is an host-gay ooming-lay over your able-tay." She says. Dead serious.
    Why is she in Sokovia though that is a good question and she will get to that: "Weeeeeell I thought I'd pay my favorite agent a visit as thanks for helping me out in dealing with an evil nation's evil machinations. ... But I see you're busy being spooked with a Class One Hauntening.

  Don't act surprised. Anneka's squint deepens at that cryptic statement. And don't make any sudden movements... That qualifier doesn't help out any, and just as Anneka's on the verge of growling something, the Warlock continues on. Unfortunately, she isn't well-versed in Pig Latin.

  "A what? Doing what? Over my what?" Her head tilts a little. Oh, a Class One Hauntening. Didn't Morrigan say something like that when the ghost of Valentina Maximova had revealed herself and tried to make contact?

  "Is it Valentina Maximova?" This time she sounds curious. At length she shakes her head and blows out a sigh. "I hope she is not angry. I have not been able to find any more information, and not for lack of trying." Anneka finally looks up and gestures to the chair (which the ghost happens to be sitting in, and who looks up to regard Morrigan blandly, not quite unlike the way Anneka did after Morrigan busted out her fake agent alias). "Have a seat. Coffee? Breakfast?"

    Well. To her credit, Morrigan tried to be subtle. But when Anneka seems to not be fluent in Pig Latin, the Warlock holds a hand up to indicate Anneka stay as still as possible.
    "There's another ghost." She confirms, eldritch green glowing eyes flicking to the drowned man before she shakes her head.
    "It's not her. This one's a man. M. Mak-something." She says before turning her head enough to nod to the phantom in acknowledgement of his ... Dubious existence, right as Anneka motions for the chair.
    "..."
    "Morrigan takes the seat NEXT to Anneka, instead of the phantom-infested chair.
    "A coffee would be lovely after this week's debacle."

  It might be that the drowned man can't speak, or simply chooses not to, but at least he seems to be peaceable enough. He only regards both women calmly. There's no malice in those dead eyes. He doesn't move from his chair. Without noticing him at all, Anneka reaches for her coffee cup, taking a sip, scowling, and sliding it to the table's edge. Apparently it's stone dead cold--

  The colour drains from Anneka the instant Morrigan speaks that partial name. She looks for a moment almost as pale as the dead man. Clearly she recognises it, although her expression never changes, as though she were in part trying to hide her reaction.

  Then she looks at the chair Morrigan chose, and the one she had offered; eye flicking between the two before squinting at the phantom-infested chair.

  The dead man smiles, faintly; fondly.

  It isn't long before the coffee's delivered. It gives Anneka a brief respite to busy herself with doctoring hers. (Sweetener; cream.)

    Well. This is awkward.
    Morrigan has her fair experience with angry spirits and spooks and ghosts and gribblies. But she's never sat down opposite one at a coffee table before.
    "Do you know him?" She does ask when she spies how pale the agent turns by the time the coffee arrives. Morrigan picks her mug right up and takes a sip, black, without so much as batting an eye.
    "Or does he know you, judging from the smile you probably can't see." She does consider, rubbing ner chin with her free hand.

  Do you know him? The ghost rests an elbow on the table, and props his chin into his hand. Or does he know you, judging from the smile you probably can't see?

  Anneka somehow manages to go even paler. She makes a croaking sound before resolving it into words. For an instant the way the pilot gauges whether to lie or not is transparent. She has the air of an animal backed into a corner, flexing its claws, deciding whether it has the strength to fight or the opportunity for flight.

  Finally her shoulders slump: She's chosen to tell the truth, because Morrigan has the ability to find out. Or just ask the dead man.

  "Yes." The word is barely a whisper, and she looks a little haggard. "'M. Mak' is Mikhael Nikolayevich Makarov." Anneka swallows against a dry throat. "He... he was a Navy pilot."

  The dead man's eyebrow raises, as though in silent prompt.

  Unfortunately for him, she doesn't go on; at least not until prompted (by the living).

    'He... He was a Navy pilot.'
    "Ah. That explains how he drowned to death." Morrigan says csually as she sips her piping hot coffee as though it were an ordinary Polyuchyn morning. As though sitting at cafe tables with the dead were as regular an occurrence for her as anything else.
    Jade eyes fall half-lidded as she side-eyes the living pilot for a beat. "Mhm?" Morrigan prompts for the dead man, waiting to hear more, herself, head tilting to the slightest of angles to nudge Anneka on with her curiosity.
    "He's sitting there soaked to the bone, poor thing.

  So casually Morrigan mentions how he died. Anneka's gaze drops away, and for a few seconds she looks like she's trying to find the right words. The dead man watches her carefully, a little thoughtfully, leaning back and cupping his chin in his hand. His dead eyes flit between Morrigan and Anneka, listening curiously.

  When prompted, the living pilot glances back, though it's reluctant and she doesn't quite meet Morrigan's eyes.

  "When he tried to land on his carrier after a routine exercise, his aircraft's arresting cable failed. Do you know how jets land on carriers, Morrigan Lor'osa? They are seized by the tail with a cable that is made to withstand tremendous strain." Anneka gestures expansively, and then snaps both hands together, as though holding a short rope. "In effect, it stops a jet from passing over the edge of the deck at speeds that would hurl it into the sea."

  Her smile is wan.

  "It is my hope that my Misha never felt a thing, and died as soon as his jet struck the water." She looks up. Even though she can't see the ghost, she looks like she might as well be able to. Anneka licks dry lips, and fixes that blue eye on the Warlock. Her voice drops to a whisper. "Is... is that really him?"

  The ghost lounges back in his chair, looks at Morrigan, and nods. For the first time, he looks a little sad.

    It's not that Morrigan means to be callous or insensitive. She simply has no grasp of the finer details of the situation. Of what happened.
    "Mmmh." She murmurs, not interrupting as Anneka explains the process by which jets land on aircraft carriers- which Morrigan knows at least, are not long enough to provided adequate landing or takeoff space in most cases.
    The cable 'failed'.
    Hearing that makes the Warlock purse her lips as Anneka's hands come back together.
    'my Misha' is very telling. Is it really him though?
    he phantom nods, and wordlessly Morrigan nods back to the dead man as she sets her coffee down.
    "I could tell you. Or I could show you." She says, tracing her fingers around the rim of her mug, fingertips glowing a faint green tint as she concentrates for a moment.
    She can't make Anneka SEE the ghost exactly as she does. But she can show Anneka what she sees, as she concentrates for a moment, weaving an illusion; a second chair next to the actual one with the dead man in it. And then a silent image of the man himself; though Morrigan takes some liberties. The illusionary pilot isn't soaked to the bone as he sits there wordlessly for a moment, before Morrigan releases the illusion and it fades away.
    "He nodded, by the way. It's him."

  The pilot blinks twice, owlishly, looking down as the rim of Morrigan's mug starts to glow green. A brow arches in feline disinterest as though to say, now that's interesting, but the fact that she doesn't look away from it as Morrigan speaks is pretty telling. She's fascinated. Look it's glowing okay?

  Anneka looks up as the Warlock offers to share her perceptions. Her expression falls as the threads of the illusory figure weave together; once the dead man's features are identifiable, her eye closes.

  The actual dead man watches all of this, quietly, and his dead eyes look to Morrigan with approval. That was really quite decent of her, to spare Anneka the unnecessary discomfort of showing him as he was when he died. Mikhael bows his head, blank eyes closing briefly. The gesture is clear: Thank you.

  "Great God." Anneka abruptly wrenches her head sideways, facing the fire-ravaged scarring and patch to Morrigan; the way she draws in a breath suggests she's violently squelching the urge to... cry? "Now I know HYDRA is involved. Son of a bitch."

  "Morrigan Lor'osa. Forgive me." The pilot shakes her head, but still doesn't quite look straight at Morrigan yet. "I--should explain to you. What we are dealing with. And why." Her head shakes. "And maybe, I think, also, why there are ghosts in Sokovia."

    With the illusion gone, Morrigan dips her head in a nod to the dead man. She has done her moral duty, or something here. She's not quite sure, really, but it looks like Anneka recognizes him and he is in fact the real Misha that she once knew and possibly loved.
    Yep, that'll do it alright, when Annka looks away.
    HYDRA. That's... Has Morrigan heard that name before? She racks her brain trying to remember if Anneka had ever brought it up before around her.
    "Please, do enlighten me.

  The dead man, meanwhile, leans forward in his chair as Anneka turns her face away. His frown is almost thoughtful, though not quite puzzled. When he tilts his head, though, there's something a little like a baffled puppy in the gesture.

  Slowly, Anneka straightens. Her expression has gone stony. The mask is back on; the portcullis has slammed back down.

  "HYDRA. They are a group of evil, psychotic, and psychotic evil insane bastards who have cooked up ways to rule the world since time out of mind." Anneka's voice is bitter. "Or something to that effect. Fourteen years ago, they tried to recruit me. I did not appreciate their attempt and told them, in exacting detail, what they could go do with it."

  She reaches for her fresh cup of coffee, wrapping her hands around it and letting the warmth seep in. "Probably I think they did not like hearing 'no.' They ruined my life. Friends of mine disappeared. My parents died in a suspicious car accident. My father, he loved to drive, and he was a good driver." Her mouth sets into a grim line. "So. Then. Two weeks after I said no to their obscenely generous offer, I lifted off in a new prototype, and my flight plan was over Siberia."

  Anneka's grin is ghastly; wolfish. "My turbines fell off the wings. And then my ejection seat failed. And then my cockpit ignited," she rasps, jabbing a finger at the ruin of the right side of her face. "That is what did this. And two weeks later, while I was in a medically-induced coma, maybe probably dying, my Misha's arrestor cable fails. Mechanical failure, that was not common in his wing. His wing was known for the good condition of their machines."

  "He overshot the deck. Died instantly."

  Why is the ghost of Mikhael Nikolayevich shaking his head and looking urgently like he has something to say?

    Leaning back in her seat, Morrigan has done what she can for the dead. Now it's time to see what she can do for the living as Anneka looks so shaken. So she listens. She listens as her fellow agent tells her of SHIELD's greatest antagonist, HYDRA. And the 'offer' they had made her.
    And the results Anneka had seen when she declined that offer.
    "Mmmh..." It's a grave noise that builds in the Warlock's throat, eldritch glowing eyes falling half-lidded before she looks to the dead man as she shakes his head. Oh dear.
    Morrigan has an idea of what he wants to say. But dare she say it to Anneka?
    That might be a tough pill to swallow.
    "... Hold that thought. I think he has something to say." she says as gently as possible to the pilot at her side, as she looks to the ghost.
    Can he even speak?
    And hopefully it's not what Morrigan thinks he's going to say.

  Once again the pilot blinks, owlishly, as the Warlock forestalls any comment from her. He has something to say? Her head tilts to one side as she reaches into a pocket. True to her word, she'll wait, eyeing the empty chair warily.

  Plucking a cigarette carton, she taps one out, pockets it, lights it, and then pockets the lighter in nearly one movement. She does, at least, keep the smoke as much away from Morrigan as she can.

  The dead man looks glum. He tries to open his mouth to say something, but all that comes out for Morrigan's senses is... seawater. Well, that's kind of awkward, but if she listens, she might hear the faint hint of words.

  I do not think I am dead. It's faint, watery, and really hard to hear, but he is trying to speak, even if it means choking on seawater. He's dead, so he doesn't actually need to breathe any more, right? Maybe I do not know how to explain, but... His smile is wan. Tell Raisa Ivanovna... I forgive her. I knew... I knew she could not be there. I was with her, in the hospital, after she crashed.

  Anneka's eyes dart between Morrigan and the empty chair, frowning.

  "Is he saying something?"

    Oh thank god, Morrigan doesn't have to tell Anneka that her lover died a slow miserable drowning death.
    The Warlock visibly relaxes for a beat as she listens to the supposedly dead man.
    No, no, she's pretty sure he's dead.
    She won't tell him that though.
    "Those'll kill you, you know." She does comment idly on the cigarette before turning back to listen to the dead man and his watery choked words.
    "Mmh."
    Sitting back in her seat, the Warlock purses her lips as she sets her hands on her knees.
    Raisa Ivanova, huh.
    "He says he forgives you. That he knew you couldn't be there. He was with you in the hospital after your crash." Morrigan says as gently as possible.

  This time it's the dead man's turn to glance back and forth between the two women. He doesn't seem to have much to say this time, though, instead shifting his weight in his chair. It causes his flight suit to make squishy, sloshy sounds and leak more seawater, although the ground stays dry.

  Anneka's blue eye flicks back to Morrigan at the warning, and she simply stares, for a long moment. Those'll kill you, you know. She's silent for so long it almost seems like she might not have understood.

  "I should be so lucky." The mutter is soft, but the dead man apparently hears it, shaking his head as though in distress. She frowns as she takes a long, abrupt drag, listening to what statements Morrigan relays.

  I could not believe what had happened to her. The pain she must have been in... she never woke up, not as long as I was there. Two weeks after she crashed, she was still unconscious. He shakes his head, and even though it's so hard for him to call up his voice, it sounds sad. There is nothing she could have done anyway. She's right, you know. I died as soon as I hit the water. But I do not think that was the end of it.

  If Anneka ignores the tear that slips from her good eye, maybe nobody else will see it, either. Aside from staunchly not making eye contact with Morrigan, she looks like she's putting up a good front, considering the kind of emotional weight she must be dealing with.

  "Of course he was with me." Her voice is soft. "I must have scared him half to death. I know you were there, Mishenka, but I still wanted to say goodbye." The pilot seems to deflate, just a little.

  Something is wrong, though. I do not feel right. I feel as though I am pulled--

  And in what might be a jarring effect for Morrigan, the spirit suddenly shouts, hauled backward as though yanked by a rope. He vanishes. The silence he leaves behind might seem deafening for a moment, broken by Anneka's voice. She seems oblivious to the whole 'spirit' thing.

  Exhaling smoke, the one-eyed woman shakes her head. "I am sorry. I did not mean to drag you into the convolutions of my past." She grins around her cigarette, sourly. "I would not wish it on anyone."

    "He's shaking his head." Morrigan points out right after Anneka says she should be so lucky. Sipping on the last of her coffee she sets the mug down. "He waited for you. Said you didn't wake up as long as he was there in the hospital with you." She points out, tracing her fingers around the rim of the mug, this time without the lights.
    "If it's any consolation he really did die as soon as he hit the water.
    But then she sits up abruptly as the the dead man is so suddenly pulled away and in seeming distress.
    "Mmmh... He's gone." Is all she says, opting to not tell Anneka that it is under some pretty bleak seeming circumstances.
    "I've been dragged into worse." She does say though. "I mean I apparently sold my soul to a world-devouring Thing From The Far Plane and had no clue. So there's that."

  Said you didn't wake up as long as he was there in the hospital with you. Here Anneka shakes her head. "No. He would not have. I did not wake up again for another year, I think." She frowns. "I am not sure. I lost some time, then."

  He's gone. Anneka frowns a little deeper. Where did he go? Where does one go when one is dead? More importantly...

  I mean I apparently sold my soul to a world-devouring Thing From The Far Plane and had no clue. So there's that.

  "...okay." The pilot's croak is baffled. "Well. I should maybe start at the beginning. Forgive my duplicity, but I am not Anneka Stojespal. Well. I am, but... it is... complicated. I was Raisa Ivanovna Yakovleva, in another life. Then HYDRA cut that life short. So then when I saved Rusalka Stojespal's life, I became Anneka Stojespal." She shakes her head. "I am afraid to find out what HYDRA is really doing with these pilots, and..."

  "And my Misha is still dead, fourteen years later." Anneka sighs, shoulders slumping. "Oh, I do not even know what in hell to do with this. Morrigan. I am in over my head. Can I count on you to help me unravel this god damned awful mystery?"

    A whole year. Damn. That's pretty bleak. But then Anneka says she'll give the truth.
    "I know." Morrigan says pretty blandly. "That's the name he used when he referred to you." Added as explanation.
    "But I make it a point not to pry into associates' personal matters without good reason." She says matter of factly as she folds her hands together, but continues to listen.
    "Oh Anneka. Nice girl, that one. That explains a lot." She does muse before folding her arms across her chest.
    "Well. As a fellow agent of SHIELD, I'd be a pretty bad agent, and a worse friend, if I said no, I think."

  "Of course he did." Anneka shakes her head, reaching for her cup and draining it. She sets the empty cup aside. "I did not become a Stojespal until after he was dead. He would only know my real name." Her mouth twitches. It's too wan to be a smile. "To him, I was Raya."

  To Morrigan, she nods. "I appreciate your discretion in this matter. I cannot promise you will not attract HYDRA's attention, being involved in this, though I suppose you are accustomed to..." She gives the Warlock a once-over with that lone blue eye, "...inconvenience."

  "Thank you, Morrigan Lor'osa." Anneka manages a half-smile, but it fades. "If you hear from my Misha again... please call me. I do not care what time it is. Thank you."