Crew 8B

July 18, 2018:

Captain Marvel is overseeing the flight line at the Triskelion during Hell's Kitchen disaster relief efforts and meets with the promising young agent Merrow.

Triskelion, New York City


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Thor, Atli


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Logging Started: 7/18/2018 5:10:07 PM

"Alright, you're good! Go, go, go!"
Captain Marvel's gloved fist hammers the cockpit of the transport just loud enough for the pilots within to hear it as she gestures up and whirls her hand in signal for lift off. Her voice can only barely be heard on the communicator before the roar of the engines take over and the VTOL transport lifts off the tarmac of the Triskelion Flight Line.
The superhero, in full colorful regalia, is commanding the flight deck for this shift. A favor to SHIELD from it's child organization SWORD to use its poster child wunderkind to rally the troops. After days of triple shifts, nothing picks up aching backs and flagging morale like a famous celebrity hero.

She hovers in the air, a hand moving to the side of her head to better hear voices over the comms. Even as she focuses her attention on chatter she slowly hovers sideways to allow the next transport to taxi into position, free hand waving it on.
While she was never an operations tech on the flight line back in the Force, she did receive ample training, and as Captain she oversaw the operations of dozens of hotshot pilots. If she can wrangle a pack of Airforce flyboys even tie their own Goddamned shoes she can make Agents fly straight.

Earlier in the week she spent several hours doing physical heavy lifting in the wreckage of Hell's Kitchen, assisting in rescue operations as long as time permitted. Just about everyone in tights in the western seaboard did something to help and if Captain Marvel's fame was to count for anything, it was to show the world that SHIELD was doing something about this mess.
But heroes are good for more than just extreme manual labor as it turns out and coordinating a flight line takes a hell of a lot of expertise.
And to be honest, it feels -good- to hear the roar of engines again. Working in space one never hears a damn thing except the faint sounds vibrations of engines through bulkheads and that's hardly the same. The throaty roar of combustion flinging multi-ton vehicles? Oh she lived for that and still yearns to hear it.

The roar of VTOL engines and aircraft originally bothered the long, tapered ears of the agent codenamed Merrow, but it's become one of many noises that she's learned how to tune out over the last year, focusing herself on the mission— or in this case, the ongoing efforts to clean up and investigate the attacks in Hell's Kitchen. Drawing the straw on being both a powered person and a low-ranking agent, it's meant she's spent her own fair share of time working, from being a walking, breathing source of free potable water to water-blasting streets to help get them cleaned up and usable for the bigger crews to move in and work.

Disembarking from one of the recent-landing quinjets, the young agent carries a large container balanced on one shoulder, lugging a second large container with wheels behind her on the other. Slinging one after the other onto a trolley manned by support staff with a couple of heavy thunks, Sloane looks like a bit of a mess— if only just dusty, dirty, and dinged at the edges; her hair's matted down with dust, and the legs of her costume-slash-sleeveless wetsuit are somewhere around a dingy gray.

It's smart to clear the tarmac, but it takes her more than a moment to do so— her hands instead press to the small of her back while she walks, wincing until she can feel bones in her spine pop and crack. Fiery orange eyes blinking a bit of exhaustion out of her eyes, she stops short of Carol while fishing her phone out of her pocket — not for messages, but to synch up with the Triskelion. "Shift's over, ma'am, so after they finish unloading the rest of the load, we'll—"

No, it hasn't quite clicked with the young Inhuman to whom she's speaking. It's only after that, only /then/ she looks up, right up at Captain Marvel, her long fang-like incisors briefly exposed as her mouth forms an 'o.'

"— holy shit."

One of the great advantages of this gig is that it can be extremely easy to remember the names of the people you work with. SHIELD has thousands of Agents but when one of them has clearance to wear the tights and have a callsign it really makes a name jump out.
Well except for that one guy who had the lack of sense to unironically go by 'The New Hotness'. He was made to hold to that name for a month until he sufficiently begged to change it.

Captain Marvel notices the young superhero exiting the most recent Quinjet arrival. She continues waving the VTOL Transport along into position while beginning to descend silently towards her. By the time the veteran hero is addressed she's floated into conversation distance, barking, "You're good! Go, Go, Go!" Rolling her red-gloved hand quickly. She then spares the wetsuited Agent a look, taking her in at a glance, "What's that?" Carol repeats, holding a hand to her ear in the wake of the roaring engine which manages to silence the last part of Merrow's statement. Though she does catch the look with some hidden mirth. Herself her suit is pristine, hardly a bit of dirt on it but her condition is rarely short of 'spectacular' unless she's been in a serious dust-up. She remains patient, waiting for the Agent to finish the statement. Thankfully there's a few moments of relative quiet.. If an active flight line could ever be called 'quiet'.. More like they can actually talk loudly and hear one another.

Oh, but what a month for the names and the humor and the jokes.

'What's that?' Carol repeats, and it shakes Sloane out of her moment of surprise. Blinking, she looks down at her phone, thumbing in a few quick notes before confirming her work and swiping it off the screen with a flick of her finger. "Sorry, ma'am!" the scaly Inhuman says, raising her voice a bit to be heard over the — dying-out — thrusters in the near distance.

"Sorry," Sloane repeats, holding her phone up a bit to gesture to the trolley rolling at a steady clip for the main building. "Crew 8B, coming off-duty and checking in, Captain. Our equipment is being checked in now and we'll be ready to head back out in the morning."

It's one of those briefly awkward silences following right on the heels of the check-in report, like she isn't quite sure what to say.

"… It's nice to meet you, too, Captain."

Oh there's always the awkwardness in situations like these. Captain Marvel has become an old hand at these things, having gone through whole phases of 'I don't deserve this', 'I deserve this', 'Does this kid know what she's getting into?' etc. There's a moment where sky steel blue eyes meet orange fire. That moment is all Carol needs to know. Hardly a telepath or some application of cosmic awareness. No, the Captain can identify a good kid when she sees one.
Captain Marvel's boots touch the evening-cooling tarmac. The taller woman reaches over to plant a firm hand on Merrow's shoulder rousing a small dust cloud, a gesture somewhere between reassurance and pride. "Roger, Merrow. Good work out there today, a lot of people depend on us and you aren't letting them down. Keep it up!" A sincere smile, "Get a hot shower, some shuteye and get ready for tomorrow!" Walking and talking as she escorts the young hero towards the Triskelion proper across the tarmac.
Yes. She knows the girl's name. Truth be told there aren't all that many superhumans on SHIELD's payroll and Merrow has been in a lot of SHIELD's PR work. That and.. She sticks out. Heroes do that.

Fortunately, she's able to shake off the most of the dazzle and awe pretty quickly, having done this before with the likes of Captain America and Tony Stark in the past. The hand on her shoulder's taken with an odd amount of comfort; the weight of the hand more calming and welcome than heavy crates or mortar and rubble. It also serves as a pretty firm reminder that she's pretty much beat on her feet.

Sloane grins. "Y'got it, Cap."

Walking with Carol, her hands shift to her waist, untying the sleeves of a short-cropped jacket. Made to match with the wetsuit, it's pretty much a dusty mess right now, something that'll have to be run through an industrial cleaner or two — or soaked through at least a few times with her powers — to get all of it out, slinging it over her shoulder. The weather's cooling off, but it's still warm enough that she doesn't need it.

"All due respect, I had heard you had been helping out down here, but I didn't realize they'd be sending someone like you down here to help out? I mean, I heard you were stationed in space. Which is cool, I mean. I've been." The ginger's brow furrows, iridescent blue scales cresting her brow shifting. "… sort of."

In Captain Danvers' estimation there's enough time to hold a short conversation with the Agent, not that she wants to brush aside the young hero but the flight line waits for no man nor woman. It's still clear that there's a small army of voices over comms that Carol listens to with some multitasking expertise while she clearly follows Merrow's conversation.
With a laugh, Carol pats Merrow on the shoulder once more before her arm returns to her side, "Space is pretty cool!" She declares with more whimsy than is proper for her station, but she'll do nothing to diminish anyone's eagerness in the space program, "Oh have you been up to the Peak?" The station in orbit above New York isn't one of SWORD's best kept secrets but Merrow has high enough rank to know of its existence, "When I heard what happened to Hell's Kitchen they couldn't keep me away. We up in the sky may have different priorities than Agents on the ground but we're all in this together when disasters like this happen." There is a certain grimness in the cast of her features, but she knows the less said the better. She wants nothing more than to get her hands on whatever monsters were behind that massacre but that isn't her task. She has great faith in the army of Agents assigned to that task, however, even if inaction galls her.

The second clap on the shoulder helps defuse the remaining awkwardness and tension; Sloane laughs too before her head lists to one side, the length of her ponytail swishing off back and forth. "Well— no. It was more like on the back of a goat. … from space."

The agent's head cants to look at Carol, her eyes half-lidded and adding in a very knowing tone, "Asgardians."

Hearing Carol's reason, Sloane nods. "They held me in reserve until we knew what was going on. As soon as I got out there I've had to run doubles and triples with the clean-up crews and putting out fires. I feel like I dried myself out as much as I yanked the water outta the air."

Captain Marvel stops in mid-step, largely made possible by the power of flight otherwise she would have tripped.
She then turns on her heel directly towards Sloane, looking her in the eye as prideful mirth drains away into neutral disbelief, "A goat. From space. Asgardian."
Planting her hands on her hips, she bows her head and lets out a long sigh that wouldn't be out of place on a steam engine's exhaust. Shoulders threatening to slump like she just flew three laps around Planet Earth she then continues in a plain, if markedly annoyed, tone, "Alright which one was it. Was it Thor?"

The disaster effort recounting is tabled for just the moment as this Caprinae Encounter is of direct interest to the Special Agent of SWORD.

The integrated boots of her suit scuff against the tarmac as Sloane stops a half-step later, turning to face Carol. The agent's mouth pulls further and further into a grin that is far too wholly amused that this much of a story is actually getting *Captain Marvel* to stop dead in her tracks.

"Atli Wodansdottir. Red hair, this tall," Sloane says, holding up her hand. "She's documented. And drunk." Her eyes shift from the superhero to the ground, the grin passing into a frown. "A lot."

She looks back at Carol, brows scrunching. It's not quite worry on her face, but she's certainly trying to give the situation some kind of faux gravitas and trying to not start laughing while adding, "Like 'I think her internal organs are pickled.'"

The agent shrugs. "She's pretty harmless, and more than willing to lend a hand. She actually helped us a lot in the past, like that whole city-wide blackout over the winter."

"Yeah that sounds like an Asgardian.." Carol mutters, holding her first two fingers to a point just below her ear. A series of holographic images play out within the corner of her vision as SHIELD's files on Atli scroll into her side view. Captain Marvel's expression is mostly exhausted rather than worried per se. Blue eyes follow script as she makes a few complex gestures, apparently adding notes as she goes along.
"Its true a number of them are real helpful. Thor is a hero in every sense of the term. It's just unfortunate that isn't always the case.. And sometimes someone meaning to do good can do a whole lot more harm than they intend if they aren't careful. That goes triple for people born with all the strength and power of a modern battle tank."
She finishes her notes and sweeps away the screens with a sharp salute-like gesture. Already she can hear the SHIELD air traffic controller giving Carol the next Quinjets arrival information and she returns to walking and talking, "Just do me a favor and if you see her again, try to keep her out of trouble." Offering Merrow a sheepish half-smile that fully understands the impossible task she just doled out as she begins escorting the younger Agent off the tarmac.

Quick to resume the walking, Sloane can't help but give the motion — and the holographic display — a long stare, thinking how that could be pretty useful on the job. Of course, she's still trying to find headphones that don't hurt or earbuds that actually stay in her ears.

"I met him once, but it was just the one time — it was for a mission. I didn't actually expect him to be there, it was just kind of … y'know. You show up and then everything just goes really, really weird," the Inhuman says, shaking her head.

"I'll totally do favors for Captain Marvel," Sloane says, grinning and pointing a fingergun at Carol, "but I will totally make absolutely every /not/ a promise 'cause keeping tabs on that girl is like wrangling a bag of crazy cats. That's got a pet goat."

After a moment, she glances back — at the city, at the busywork happening on the tarmac, and beyond. "If you need a hand out there, let me know. I'll do whatever I can to come help out, Captain."

Perhaps the technology is incentive enough to rise in the ranks. Its true, SHIELD gives its best toys for its top Agents and that is doubly true of the often science-fiction seeming technology that SWORD has.
Captain Marvel wryly half-smiles as she muses, "Yeah that sounds like Thor." As she continues her escort she then can't help but laugh, closing her eyes and tilting her head back at the 'bag of cats' description, "I cannot blame you for that one. Well!" Stopping then at the edge of the flight area, "Here we are." Gesturing to the Triskelion proper and the promise of the commissary and rack time beyond.
Nodding to Merrow she replies sincerely, "Thank you Merrow. We'll need you out there again tomorrow. The people of this city depend on you. If there's anything else you can help with, I will absolutely let you know. Now rest up!"

She states as she then lifts off the ground with a single step, as if grabbing onto an invisible rope ladder attached to a helicopter. Her attention instantly switching to the comms at her ear as the Quinjet in question can be seen just beyond the New York skyline and Captain Marvel rises to greet the next team returning from the grim work of cleaning a disaster and all the horrible loss beneath the rubble.

"Will-do, ma'am," Sloane says, giving a rather half-hearted salute, letting a bit of the exhaustion settle into her muscles and bones. Watching Carol push up and off the ground, her ascent and return to work is watched with no small amount of awe; she knows very few folks that can actually fly, even if she's met with folks who run fast enough to stride on water or martial arts geniuses.

"Cool," she says to herself, then slings her jacket around the back of her neck, clutching the sleeves with either hand. She's got plans, and good lord she's going to just put off the paperwork as long as possible.

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