Story [AoS, E-Branch] Mary Formal and Liz Merrick - Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

IC: Agents Mary Formal, Liz Merrick
8th Floor, East Wing, Unit 27, International District, Triskelion, NY


Agent Formal quietly massaged where Liz had elbowed her, then leaned into her friend to give herself enough room to release her right leg from under herself, and put it over the front of the sofa, her own datapad bleeping once.

She picked it up and activated the screen, spying a discreet red 'alert' icon at the top, over one of a series of dropdown menus.
"Hello?" She murmured, curious, deftly swiping her finger over the screen to make a couple of selections. An overhead map of the SHIELD base appeared in the top third of her datapad screen, light blue lines against a black background, with a red spot pulsing red at the far left outskirts of the map.

"What is it?" Merrick asked, distracted from costume appreciation.

"I'm not sure. I think there is an alert at the main gate, or at least a gate. Map has it flagged as Annex. What's an Annex?" She tapped at the comm device affixed to her ear. "Jocasta, what is going on at the main gate?"

Please do not concern yourself, Agent. The matter is being handled. The computer politely gave her the brush-off.

Mary sighed. "Look, I'm not saying that I'm going to go over and interfere; I'm just asking what it is about. I know SHIELD is one big happy family, but you are recruiting people from different agencies, different backgrounds. Some of them, some of us, might need a little more lead time before trouble strikes, you know?"

The A.I. was silent too long, prompting the Arcan to plough ahead with something that had been bothering her. "Like back at MTAC, the Metaphysics Building. When you announced our visitor-"

Doctor Scarletpebble.

"Precisely. Telling us that we have a visitor when is he is already standing in the open doorway, is what some of us would count as a bit sodding late, Jocasta. You're supposed to have the brain the size of a planet...no wait, that's-."

"That's Marvin." Liz whispered.

Who is Marvin? Jocasta queried, prompting the E-Branch pair to flash each other concerned glances.

"Never mind. Point is, you see and hear everything-"

"And have ears like a frakking bat!"

"-and you should be able to spot if we are going to have company and still give us time to decide if we want to meet them. We just need to find a neat middle ground between alerts at the gates, and someone standing over my bed with an AR-15 in my mouth. Fact is, Jocasta, you have the lead time of a Starfleet science officer: Warp core breach in three seconds, Captain! Sodding tell us earlier!"

Liz pressed back against the cushions, hand over her mouth to stifle her laughing.

Agent Merrick?

Liz looked up, setting her datapad into her lap. "As regards visitors and intruders, Agent Formal's last four words are all you need to know."

Sodding tell you earlier?

"Yeah, that's all we ask."

"Oh that was good." The telepath sighed with pleasure, uncrossing her legs and padding towards the closest work area, her bare feet leaving shallow impressions on the carpet.

Mary looked towards her flat-mate. "Liz, you starting work early?"

"Yeah, I'm a bit concerned that there is a Department of Metaphysical Research."

"How so?"

"SHIELD deal primarily with threats to the planet, Extinction Level Events. Them creating an entire separate department for metaphysical matters, suggests to me there are more than just vampires out there." Liz pulled the wheeled secretarial-type chair back from the work desk and sat in it, facing the personal computer.

"Make sure your hands are dry before you start messing with that thing." Mary called in warning.

Liz, who had been reaching for the power button, drew it back. "Oh yeah." She wiped her hands and fingers on the towel she was wearing. "E-Branch didn't create a separate department for the paranormal stuff; what about the U.N.C.L.E.?"

"No, we don't have a separate team for it either. Look, you probably shouldn't mess around with electrical equipment before you have dried yourself thoroughly."

Liz peered over her shoulder, raising a mischievous eyebrow. "Thoroughly?"

"Off," Mary clarified hastily. "I meant 'off'. Dried yourself off."

To be continued...

 

fun with Jocasta (is she related to that Jedi-archivist)

 

The Games Master used the name for the SHIELD' artificial intelligence.

I would not be surprised if he used the archivist's name.

 

IC: Agents Liz Merrick, Mary Formal, International District, Triskelion, NY


Liz was towelling herself in the top part of the residence, even though neither of them had specified which level they preferred.

Agent Merrick?

Liz looked up, surprised how quickly she got used to this feat of technology. “Yes, Jocasta?”

STAR bike detected. Entering International district now.

Merrick smiled. “Star bike? The courier from the uniform place?”

Affirmative. Do you wish the courier to come to your door, or drop the package at the security barriers downstairs?

“Left with security, please. I’ll go down and collect it. How long do I have?”

Three minutes, Agent.

Seated on the edge of her bed, she swivelled to the open valise that she was sharing it with, pulling out two items that were quick to put on, stepping into and pulling up a white tennis skirt and quickly putting on a chequered shirt, then throwing to the floor her favourite flip-flops, the ones each adorned with the yellow petals of a plastic dandelion.

She headed out the bedroom and down the steps, and even though she wasn't really a skirt wearer, delighting each time the pleated affair billowed out with captured air with each descent; finding her fellow agent still on the sofa like she was glued to it, having her own good old natter with the A.I.

-have Clearance Rating Zaire. The melodic artificial voice was saying, pronouncing the last word as “zye-ear”.

“Is that the American way of saying ‘Zed’?”

The US-English for ‘Zed’ is ‘Zee’, Agent Formal. However, SHIELD uses the Greek alphabet for most of its security levels.

“Then how am I ‘Zaire’? Pretty sure that isn't anywhere in the Greek alphabet. Hold on a sec’, Jocasta.” Mary stared at her, open mouthed as she stepped off the bottom stair. “What the hell have you got on your feet?”

Liz raised an eyebrow, noting that her colleague had not gone for the easy target. “They’re my flip-flops.”

“They’re a fashion crime.”

“Thanks. Remind me to criticise your clothing sometime.” She stopped in front of the sofa, only noticing from the slight tug on her hair that she was still wearing the towel turban. Ignoring it for now, she put a palm out. “Our stuff is going to be arriving downstairs soon, so I’ll need my security card.”

“Our stuff?” Mary echoed, fishing the cards out of the uniform’s subtle breast pocket, checking which one wasn’t hers and handing it over. “Never mind, I guess I’ll find out soon anyway.”

“Thanks.” Liz headed for the doorway. She checked herself before stepping out into the hallway, heading to the lifts.

* * * *

Twenty minutes later, the metal bracers were on the bedroom dresser, the segments of polished metal reflecting the multiple colours of her small cosmetics bottles, while the dark-haired telepath admired the black uniform that enveloped her like a second skin, more comfortable than the blue version, though that had been comfy enough, the material was either thicker or multiple layered in places which provided a different level of support.

Black fingerless gloves that went inside the bracers, and an optional hip holster for her Browning, were on the dresser too, along with a small half-kilo brown-and-white bag of self-raising'. She was definitely impressed with the S.T.A.R. service. Thought of everything.

Her fingers ran down the black material of her sleeves, while she admired the thin yellow piping that if it was meant for road safety at night, would only have worked in the Model T Ford days.

“Note to self. Don’t wear this at night.” Who was she kidding? She could hardly back off from an op to go and change.

The utility belt had boxy metal pouches at the sides, resting on her hips, connected at the front with a metal O-ring; in contrast to the one that she had ordered for Mary downstairs, which had flatter metal pouches in lemon-yellow, more reminiscent of the weights that SCUBA divers wore to reduce their buoyancy. The colour went with the blue uniform style that the picky U.N.C.L.E. agent favoured.

She looked down past them at the sable-coloured leather boots which encased the suit's pants-legs up to her knees, narrowing her eyes to re-check them carefully for any more tell-tale flour fingerprints.

Satisfied, Merrick felt like a new woman, and ready for whatever SHIELD threw at her.

To be continued...

 

IC: Agents Liz Merrick, Mary Formal, International District, Triskelion, NY


Liz was in one of the offices that their apartment had, on the upper level with the bedroom where she had changed into her new uniform.

She marvelled at how quickly she was settling in, giving a lot of credit to Agent Niedermayer.

The brunette sat before the personal computer, fingers tapping search parameters into the keyboard, checking what SHIELD knew of E-Branch’s most secret affairs. She knew that Jocasta would likely be monitoring her every keystroke, so everything that she asked about would go, by name, onto the A.I.’s servers, but that was a far cry from knowing what each thing was.

“Incoming.” Her partner’s voice announced from the landing, the twin of the secretarial chair that she was sitting on, rolling gently over the office’ un-carpeted flooring, stopping a few inches short of hers. Mary, still in her belted SHIELD dress, followed it in, turned it to face Liz’ desk, and sat down.

The telepath glanced down. “You brought that all the way up from your office?”

Mary’s eyebrows flashed up for a second. “My office only has the one seat; I figured yours would be the same.”

“They’re not the lightest things!”

“It was that or sit on your lap.”

Liz smirked, then tapped a finger onto her open notepad, laying with a biro to the right of the keyboard. “I’m just saying. Okay, with the security clearance I have, I have been doing searches to see what they have on our people. They have nothing for “necroscope”, but they are aware of Jake! He has an Interpol file.”

“Interpol?”

“International Police.”

Mary gently smacked her friend on the arm. “I know what it means.”

“Well, I can never tell with you; I remember when you did not know what a washer dryer was.”

“Like I said, I know what it means. But do they still exist? I haven’t heard of them since that first Hitman movie.”

“Well, they are nothing to do with maypole, if that is your next question.” Liz tapped her notebook with a nail again. “Seems they know he had some fun in the Mediterranean with the Sicilian mob. Over that girl he lost, Natasha. Their last note is that he disappeared from the high security Italian jail that the authorities put him in.” She suppressed a shudder. Out in Australia, she had been mind-spying on Jake while he slept, on orders of course, and witnessed his re-lived memories of an act of revenge against one of the mobsters. It had not been pretty.

“That'll be the night that he turned up at E-Branch headquarters.” Formal recounted. Jake Cutter had materialised out of thin air, inside the locked office known as 'Harry's Room', which had been the haunt of the original Necroscope, Harry Keogh. E-Branch had conscripted him right there, eager to have anyone with Powers on their side, for when the vampires came calling.

“Yeah.” Liz noticed Mary registering her shudder, and figured the older woman would understand the reason for it. “Y-you want to know...”

The Arcan looked sharply at her friend. Was she sure that she could not read her mind? Liz did look shaken, but whether is was because she knew more about Jake’s past, or because she could read Mary’s alien mind, she had not the slightest clue. Hoping it was the former, she gently used her left hand to pull Liz jaw, so that she faced her, and put the index finger from her right hand to Merrick’s lips. “Shhh. I would not ask you. You wanted it to be between us girls, remember?” This was a promise that they had agreed during the Australian mission to hunt down the trace of a Great Vampire. “And I’m sure that did not include a supercomputer with the brain the size of-”

“Thts Marvn.” Liz mumbled around the finger, making no move to push it away, or lean back from it.

“Oh yeah, thanks.” She took her finger back, complete with Liz’ spittle. She continued speaking as she looked about for somewhere to wipe it. “As soon as I start a sentence about supercomputers, it feels natural to add the brain line. Oh yeah, speaking of brains, there is some sort of brain drain going on. Very intelligent people, leaders in their respective fields, going missing in the United States' national park system under mysterious circumstances. Jocasta’s got me on Security Clearance Zaire, so I’m cleared for the same level of wierd chatter that you can get through a basic internet search. And it’s not new; this missing people issue has been going on for decades.”

“What, those vast areas of wilderness? Sure they weren’t taken by mountain lions?”

“Apparently, there would be a scene. And animal attacks are one of several factors excluded from this profile, along with any indication of criminal activity, suicidal tendencies among the vics. Searchers and helicopters aren’t finding anything for weeks, if ever. Canines cannot follow a scent trail. Berries and granite fields feature in a lot of the cases. Depending on the location, there seems to be a specific demographic going missing. All kids, or all men, or all women. Anyone recovered alive is unable to say what happened to them; either because they are too young-”

Merrick looked up sharply. “Whoa there, horsey.”

“Horsey?”

“Sorry, that was my cowgirl impression.”

Mary blinked, considering this for a second. “And the world thanks you, Cool Hand Liz.”

“Too young to say what happened, you said. How young?”

“For this particular profile, as young as two is not uncommon.”

“TWO?! How the **** do you lose a two-year-old in a national park? How far can a-”

Both women snapped their heads around at simultaneous chimes from elsewhere in the apartment, one fainter than the other.

“If that was meant to censor me, it was a couple seconds too late.” Liz observed.

“Plus, it had an echo.” The Arcan swivelled her chair to face the open doorway and rose out of it. “I’ll check our datapads.”

A short time later, she returned, clasping in one hand, both Liz’ and her own datapads, collected from the upstairs bedroom, and the downstairs couch, respectively.
“We got mail. Peter. Uh, Liaison Agent Niedermayer.”

Mary paused in the doorway, leaning on the frame to her left, moved her ‘pad to the top, woke it up and tapped in her pin. “He’s invited us to a Dugan’s Tavern.” A smile lit up her face as she read the message. “Aw, bwess his liddle heart; he’s trying to make us feel at home by calling it a ‘tavern’.”

The seated Liz frowned up at her from under furrowed eyebrows. Don’t they have taverns here? I thought it was pubs they didn’t have.”

Mary shrugged, murmuring as she concentrated on her phone. “And me with nothing to wear. Guess I'll be putting that call through to CMS after all.”

“CMS?”

"Costumers, Manhattan South." The blonde Arcan looked down at her team-mate. “Peter's amnesia about Batman gave me an idea for an experiment. Anyway, he says Happy Hour is at 6pm local time, and he hopes to see us there. I have a worse social life than your chair, so I’m game. How about you? Maybe your limo driver will be there.”

Liz brightened, then narrowed her eyes with intent. “ Oh, I will make sure he’s there.” She stretched a hand towards the standing agent, waggling her fingers. “Pass my phone, please.” She snatched at the tablet, lay it on her keyboard and leaned close over it like it was the One Ring, while Mary counted her remaining fingers.

“Don’t forget to change the banner on the home screen from ‘SHIELD’ to ‘My Precious’.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Left with her own tablet, Mary scrolled back up to the top of the message, and tapped 'Reply'. “I’ll respond to Peter, let him know that we are coming. Or rather, since we are laydees of good character and morals, that we will be along directly.”

“What’s the difference?”

Formal raised eyebrows at the brunette. “If you’d been to The Farm-”

“Why’d you keep going on about this ******* farm?” The younger woman interrupted, peering curiously up at the blonde. “Did you have some sort of epiphany whilst birthing a lamb or something?” She glanced reflexively at her pad, in case it tried to bleep her again.

Huffing in annoyance at her partner's dismissive attitude to good ettiquette, Mary turned back to the hallway, and padded barefoot across the landing carpet towards the stairs, pausing at the top to text Agent Neidermayer back.

Many thanks for the invite. We will definitely be there.

To be continued...


OOC: Mary’s findings are her interpretation of the Missing 411 investigations.

​

E-Branch IDs​

 

IC: Agents Mary Formal and Liz Merrick, Apartment 8E?


Mary moved her luggage into the bedroom on the lower floor of their duplex, then went back to the sofa in the common area to retrieve her boots.

She experimented with taking the uniform off, hoping that it would be less of a standing wrestle than putting it on; with luck the material would have stretched while she was wearing it.

Bending her knees and leaning over, the Arcan gripped the hem on both sides, and lifted it up the sides as she straightened, and was surprised when she managed to just peel it upwards over her head, which then just left extricating her hands from the inside-out sleeves.

The airing cupboard elicited a pile of towels, including two twins of the one that Liz had spent some of her post-shower time in; so she wrapped one round herself, grabbed her toiletries bag, and padded into the shower, hoping that Jocasta’s tit-for-tat behaviour did not extend to controlling the water temperature.

* * * *

An hour later, and Mary was almost ready to leave, sitting on the edge of her double bed, putting on her block heeled silver sandals, basically consisting of a hardened strap over her toes, and a securing one that encircled her ankles from behind. They were her sop to the idea of “going out”, but were not a completely convincing match for the experimental ensemble delivered by a CMS' motorbike courier, in a parallel of Liz' earlier S.T.A.R. experience.

Very discrete and thin transparent plastic shoulder straps, gave the mainly scarlet-and-blue outfit the impression of being off the shoulder, the thick metallic fabric and semi-armour effect of the super-heroine costume, gave ample room for her breasts, and a nice mini-dress edging going on around the bottom of the outfit, where an abbreviated blue pteruges-type skirting of shiny fabric contrasted fabulously against her alabaster flesh.

Still, given the way it rode up when she sat, she had chosen to add her own navy blue 'skirt extender' - like an extra long half slip - beneath the outfit, extending the hem to a few inches above her knees. The blues were close enough, and it would be night-time anyway.

There were metallic-blue bracers for her forearms, and protective...stuff, for her shins and knees, should an impromptu game of cricket, or the local equivalent, rounders, baseball, whatever, occur.

The Arcateenian was ambivalent about the leg coverings, though; she had a sort of Uncanny Valley relationship between lower leg coverings, boots and socks, that came up over the knee, as these did; and ones that ended below.
In the end, she chose to forego them, leaving her legs below the lacy edging of the extender, to the ankle strap of her sandals, completely bare.

The term, 'Uncanny Valley', related to how close to human-looking, a robot or computer-generated image could get, before observers got creeped out by them.

Lastly, she velcroed a holster to the inside of her right thigh, and slid her loaded Bren Ten into it, then pulled the 'extender down over it, fingers smoothing the silky material.

She then headed for the sofa to wait for Liz, who, twelve minutes after, stared down at her as she descended the stairs.

“Why are you dressed as Wonder Woman?”

Mary frowned back. “That experiment I mentioned, following Peter not knowing who Batman was, I mean, seriously? But also, I didn’t know we were going to be invited out to pubs, so I didn't really bring 'going out' clothes?” Mary nodded to her friend’s new polished black bodysuit, the creases and lines reflecting the apartment lighting. “When are you getting changed?”

“I am changed.”

Formal's frown deepened. “We’re off duty, right?”

“Yes, but this makes me feel so powerful and ready to take on the world.” The telepath shrugged bashfully at her own words.

Mary noticed that Liz had matched her own example of going armed, a closed holster on the outside of her own right hip, and nodded with approval. Something else occurred to her. “Have you told your driver-”

“Bryan. With a ‘y’. Bryan Dale.”

“Have you told ‘Bryan with a y’ to pick up some flour?”

Liz looked puzzled. “Whatever for?”

“We’re working tomorrow, remember? If you wake up round Brian’s house, or wherever, you want to be able to get your suit back on, presumably. ”

“He’s not getting this off!” Merrick exclaimed indignantly, pointing to herself, just below the narrow V of her throat zip. “At least, not on the first date; I don’t want him thinking English girls are easy.”

Mary did not respond. Merrick had said ‘English girls’, but she had heard ‘Earth girls’. To say so was bound to have Liz ask if she wasn’t an Earth girl, and that was some arkwardness that Formal did not want to initiate.
Instead, she grabbed up her metallic dark blue clutch, the compact leather bag made a bit heavier by the spare 10-round magazine inside.

If a vampire had infiltrated Triskellion Island, and figured the girls looked like an easy supper, he, she, or it, would regret the decision for the rest of their short pain-filled life.

“I’m ready when you are.”

* * * *

Aided by Jocasta, the girls did make it to the front of Dugan’s, however her idea of 'help', had involved a limousine suspiciously tailing them very slowly, until they gave up trying to walk to the place from their apartment building.

It would take a while for the British pair to get used to this American idea of driving everywhere, and true, there had been a lot of pedestrians when Niedermayer had driven them into the International District, but the keyword was International: a lot of new personnel did not come from a country as large and spread across as the United States, where foot power was not looked down upon as it was here.

Somewhere near several near-rectangular expanses of barely rippling water, possibly decorative because she could see the bottoms of each huge pool, Formal had become so sure that they were being tailed, that, instructing Liz not to look around, Mary had tapped her earpiece and asked Jocasta if she was missing a limo.

No...I don’t think so.

“Well, do you want to check?” Mary retorted testily, but in a low voice, “There appears to be one tailing us, and it has been doing so for about thirty minutes.”

That one should be there, Agent. The driver has been directed to take you to Dugan’s.

Mary shot a glance at Liz, and relayed Jocasta’s comment. She then looked away to continue her exchange with the artificial intelligence.

“So why didn’t you say something earlier? We’ve probably missed Happy Hour by now.” They had left early, to take account of their walking to the place, but she did not know how much time had passed yet.

Some new recruits feel overwhelmed in their first twenty-four hours on site, so we don’t like to disturb when they go for a wander like you two did.

“Thanks.” Formal was being sarcastic, and shot another glance at her friend, who wasn’t there. Looking around frantically, then towards the car, she spotted Merrick’s ducking into the driver’s side passenger door.

The Arcan clattered across the tarmac on her heels, and opened the nearside passenger door, sliding along the black-leathered back, bringing her legs in, and slamming the door.

“Seat belts, please.” The driver ahead of them, behind a smoked glass barrier, said. Then, following the twin clicks of their belts, which presumably showed up on his dashboard, he wheeled the car around, and drove back into the heart of the SHIELD campus.

Just as with their earlier driver, this one was engaging and talkative, and helped the mood in the back to regain its positivity.

The place brightened up with an increase in street lighting and glowing signs on the front of establishments open for the benefit of off-duty personnel.
Soon, lots of people could be seen queuing along the sidewalk on the right, and ahead of them, two similar limousines were dropping off people in front of their destination, Dugan’s Tavern glowing out into the night above a glass double doorway.

Mary peered through the front windscreen, over the top of the limo directly ahead of them, to see the doors. “Somehow I expected to see one of those NuSentinel things acting as a bouncer on the door.”

Liz glanced across at her, her shiny chestnut curls swishing across her shoulders. “Huh?”

Mary shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

The limo ahead steered into the road, and headed away, their driver promptly gliding close to the doors. The partition hummed down, and the he turned to look into the back, putting one elbow on top of the front seat. “Here we are, ladies. When you are ready to leave, just tell Jocasta over your comms, and she will send a car for you.”

Mary unclicked her seat belt, pushing her door open, then feeling resistance on it, looked up to find who else but Peter Niedermayer, dapper in casual civilian clothing, dark slacks and jacket and an open-necked, white shirt.

She was surprised to see his left arm around a slim, petite woman with her blonde hair stretched back into a ponytail. She wore a genuinely off-the-shoulder satin black ballgown that was like a second skin on her, paired with a single armband of the same colour a couple of inches below her left elbow. A pair of silver pendant earrings added a final touch. It all made the E-Branch agent feel positively dowdy.

Mary peered suspiciously up at them as she exited the vehicle to stand before the pair. “Alright, who are you and what have you done with Niedermayer.”

A moment later, and Liz was beside her, while the limo could be heard departing.

“Good evening, Liz, Mary.” He indicated, and smiled down at, his own companion. "I would like you to meet Nadia Paquet."

​

Backstrom's Niedermayer and Paquet​

The three females shook hands and exchanged greetings, with the newcomer doing the latter in the French style, light pecks on both cheeks, which the two British girls had to lean down for.
She had quite a cute, refined, voice; and held herself with an inner confidence that spoke of unseen adventures and experiences.

“I’m so very glad you both could make it.” Peter stepped aside and half-turned to aim a hand towards the glass doors, and also to indicate that they should precede him. “Welcome to Dugan’s.”

“Thank you for inviting us.”

“Hey, Peter.” Liz gave him a shy little wave from behind Mary’s left side. “I just gotta check if Bryan is here.” She turned away to look down the rag-tag line of people standing parallel to one of the tavern’s exterior walls, and waved, with the limo driver from the day, clad in a red short-sleeved shirt of Hawaiian floral design, waving back and hurrying up the line to join them.

He and Liz greeted each other and interlocked arms, and the five of them went through the doors into quite a tasteful-looking interior: a bar counter with stools took up a lot of the left side as they entered, the back of the bar was an opaque stained-glass window of white-and-green panes, and the space between them and the back was a collection of polished dark wood tables and chairs of various heights and elevations.

A member of the waiting staff that had just situated a couple near the back, threaded his way through the furniture up to them. “Good evening, welcome to Dugan’s. How many of you are there?”

“Five.” The liaison agent advised, “Can we have a table at the side somewhere? I want to sit with my back against the wall.”

“Of course sir. This way.”

As they followed him the short distance to the selected table, a circular one with five chairs that, like all the stools, looked like patrons’ posteriors had worn depressions into them.
A discrete collection of spices and condiments were close to the wall.

While Peter and Bryan seated their respective dates, and then took their places, and the waiter trotted off to get their menus; Mary stood behind her chair for a further moment, scanning the walls for photographs – since this looked like the sort of place that would have them – of the pitched battle that had to have been necessary to resist a SHIELD’ eagle decoration getting put up in here.

She narrowed her eyes. There were certainly photos, but they were sprawling greyscale pics of World War 2 actions.

“Oh, okay then.” She murmured, pulling out her chair and sitting down.

To be continued...


Note: Nadia Paquet is a Backstrom character, the police team's civilian analyst, and in a burgeoning relationship with Peter Niedermayer.

 

Fun with the girls during their dressing and the visit to the tavern

 

Cute and fun episodes here. I liked how the two looked forward to not working, yet came armed just in case. Quite the world they live in! Their respective shadowy agencies are lucky to have them.

 

Hi both! Great to see you here and reading along.

Hope you both had a good week.

Bringing Nadia Paquet along, is additional content that was not in the original roleplaying posts.

This Mary features in the Under-represented Challenge A-Team fic (along with an offscreen Liz), and they need to be armed for that. I didn't want them rushing back to their apartment to collect their guns.

 

IC: Mary Formal, Liz Merrick, Bryan Dale (nrc), Dugan’s Tavern
Location: International District, Triskellion


The group took their seats, continuing to exchange pleasantries.

“Nice lively shirt you got there, Bryan. Good choice.” Niedermayer commented.

“Thank you, Sir.” Dale returned. “It’s a Magnum PI one, or at least mainly associated with the character.”

“Liz, Mary, you both look radiant.” Peter spread the love, both girls blushing at the compliment, almost in unison.

Although pleased by Niedermayer’s comment, Agent Formal sat from inspecting the World War 2 photographs with a slight pang of disappointment.
Naturally they all had an American theme, featuring theaters that their forces, famous units, and heroes had participated in or at. A nearby one, even showed Captain America and his circular shield, leaping left to right over some brush towards the opposition.

Unknown to everyone else at the table, Mary was old enough to have “done her bit” for the Allies by having sympathy....liaisons with a very large number of Royal Air Force (RAF) pilots, thanks to their shared excuses that they were likely to die on an operation the next day. Several international volunteers had come from overseas militaries to join the RAF numbers, although not necessarily because of her, of course.

Nobody she knew from back then, or campaigns that they would have been involved in, were represented on those walls, as far as she knew; although..., she looked past a server as he returned and moved around the table, handing out laminated menus, and asking if anyone were ready to order drinks.

“Excuse me.” Mary piped up, drawing his attention.

“Yes, Miss.”

She pointed past him at the wall behind Niedermayer. “These photos; you got any for Operation Market Garden?” It had been part of a mission to capture several bridges in occupied Netherlands, focussing on the one at Arnhem, and had been immortalised in the film, A Bridge Too Far. The RAF had dropped British, American, and quite possibly Polish, paratroopers into the country. There was enough of a national overlap that, if 'Market Garden' were represented here, that would have appeased her.

“Although it will have to wait until a quieter moment, I can check on that.”

Mary smiled. “Well, I will probably be coming here again, so no hurry.”

The server returned her smile and asked again about drinks.

The Arcateenian flipped the menu over to the drinks listing, and ran her gaze down the choices, while Liz, seated two places to her left, on Bryan's other side, asked if Dugan’s took British currency as they had not yet had a chance to change any of their funds to dollars.

“Sorry, we do not accept foreign currency, but we can open tabs for you to give you a chance to get that sorted.”

“Ooh, me too!” Mary blurted, thankful that her friend had raised the matter first.

“No problem. If I can see your SHIELD IDs so that we can set up the tabs-”

Formal caught Merrick putting two fingers of her left hand together, and waving it subtly at the staff member. “You do not need to see our identifications.”

Mary flapped the menu under her own nose to hide the grin that suddenly wanted to appear. “These are not the droids that you are looking for.”
Oh God, that had made things worse! She realised inwardly, struggling to maintain composure as the server glanced curiously at her for a second, then back at Liz.

“No actually, I do.”

“Yeah, they do.” Bryan piped up. “That’s how I got my tab set up when I first got here. But don’t worry. He won’t need to take them away from the table, right?” He glanced up at the youthful waiter.

Mary was already sliding both hers and Liz’ cards from under the golden eagle edging, and passing them to the server, who raised an amused eyebrow as he pulled a handheld device from the pocket of his black apron. He inserted the cards, one at a time, holding the device in one hand, tapping keys with the other, now intent on his task.

"Yeah," Peter suggested from across the table, "perhaps keep those in your handbag."

"That's a clutch, Sweetie." Paquet corrected him.

“Hey, I don't question your security arrangements! Besides, clutches can be stolen."


Warp core breach in three seconds, Agent! Blurted into Mary’s ear, making her stiffen her posture and tap a finger to her earpiece.

“Jocasta, what?” She retorted in whisper so as not to bother the others. She glanced around the room, trying to find what the batty computer was equating to such an emergency announcement, spying the attentions of the woman who had been sat at a table at the back, then spotting someone nearby that they had met earlier in the day. “Oh.”

Sorry, Agent. I did not detect his intentions until just now.


“First drink is on the house.” Peter announced. “The rest of the evening is on me.” His announcement drew a mild rebuke for showing off, from Nadia, that Mary only spotted peripherally as she tracked her new boss’s approach to their table.

“Oh!” Bryan piped up in a surprised tone. “Well, I was going to split off with Liz after the first drinks, but if you are paying, I will happily pool my funds with yours. We can even split the bill-”

“Does that include me?” The new arrival asked, adopting an arch tone as he stood over Agent Niedermayer.

Peter looked up. “Doctor Scarletpebble!”

“Nice read, Velma.” Bryan put in quietly, looking up at the man, in his stylish, yet casual, suit. It contrasted so badly against his Hawaiian shirt, that their owners seemed like different species!

Mary eyed the chauffeur with a hint of envy. Seemed like he had as much a love of pop culture as her. She was beginning to regret Liz getting to him first.

“The one and only.” The doc responded to Peter. “Call me Sebastian. Well, am I too late?”

“No, of course not. Please join us. I’m glad you could make it.”

Mary narrowed her eyes as she regarded the pair, the liaison agent and the good doctor. If they had arranged this between them, and the A.I. had not twigged the latter’s intentions, then she was not infallible and omnipotent after all.

That held...possibilities.

The server glanced up at Scarletpebble. “I will get you a seat in a moment, sir. Let me just give Agents Formal and Merrick their cards back. Miss?”

Mary took the proffered cards. “Thank you. Tabs all set up?”

“Already done. You two were flagged as D.E.I.”

Mary narrowed her eyes up at the boy, trying to work out what the heck he meant by that. “What's that, a dyslexic's dead pool.” She only knew the term from the Dirty Harry movie from the late Eighties.

“No Miss, for Dugan’s purposes, it means Darth Elu Intervention. Mr Elu has already arranged to have tabs opened for the both of you.” He nodded to their host. “Mr Niedermayer is not the only liaison officer. Right, I will get a chair for Doctor Scarletpebble, then take your orders if you are ready.”

A chair was brought for the good doctor, putting him to Paquet's left, and Mary's right.
Drinks were ordered, with Mary ordering a Peroni Nastro Azzurro, politely ignoring the waiter’s subtle hinting that they carried American beers.

To her left, Bryan wanted a pint of Guinness.

Peter got a bottle of the house white, for himself and the petite Frenchwoman to share.

Liz just asked for a Pepsi Max with ice and a lemon slice. “I’m watching my figure.” She explained, her leathers squeaking across the seat of her chair as she leaned coquettishly towards Bryan, and cupped her chin in her hands.

“Half the room is watching your figure,” Formal quipped, returning her attention to the woman at the back of the room that had been watching them earlier.
The female was a studious-looking type with a bouffant of shoulder-length reddish-brown hair and the lighting glinted off her rectangular-framed glasses; whilst, in the dim light back there, her brown-haired companion looked like a contestant in a gurning competition. Not a champion by any means, he wasn’t that bad.

Looked like a tight little powerhouse that had her wistfully thinking of the warrant officer with Australian special forces that she had a brief dalliance with.

Mary flicking her gaze away from him, locking eyes with the woman, who was already drinking something from a straw.

Service around here seemed to be pretty good, an observation that was supported by the arrival of their drinks, with Peter's wine bottle and two elegant flutes, and Scarletpebble's Manhattan, respectively.

“So, to what should we toast?” Peter asked of the table, drawing the Arcan’s attention back to her companions for the evening.

“Good company.” Bryan suggested, which Mary felt was a little trite.

“E-Branch, S.H.I.E.L.D. and the U.N.C.L.E., working together to save the world.” Liz suggested, raising her fizzing glass.

Well, that is out in the open, sooner than I would have liked. Formal cringed inwardly. Putting a brave face on it, she lifted her tall frosted glass with the Peroni logo etched down the side, and beamed round the table. “I’ll drink to that.”

To be continued...


Note: Darth Elu was a co-GM on the roleplay.

 

Combining forces in a nice setting

 

I'm thinking otherwise, given her depiction thus far!

It's just a nice watering hole, as shown, so it's fun to have a 'go to' regular place to unwind. Unlike the Cheers tavern, there is food and the place sounds bigger than that tavern.

I like how Peter herds his group and looks out for them. Yeah the card-snitching can be dangerous, so keep it in sight all the time … *sighs at 2018 dangers*

Enjoyable chappie with all the interaction between characters.

 

Hey Kiddo. How are you?

Great to see you here, enjoying the tale.

Fitting Nadia in, proved harder than I thought; and I had to change and correct the Darth Elu' tabs thing.
In the original roleplay post, I must have gotten confused as to the spelling of "Elu", as I got fixated on the acronym DUI, and based a drink driving quip off it. Correcting to DEI, meant Mary's attendant quip had to change also.

I also had to go back to retcon her handbag to a clutch, as that was what I had been visualising all along.

Edit 25/08/2018

Hi @pronker , I forgot that I had not addressed your review.

Aw shucks. I would be thinking that communications back back in the 1940s would not be advanced enough to have Mary's reputation spread across the Atlantic, but I suppose they did have telephone...

Mary would be blushing at that one.

Thank you. On the one hand, I should point out that Peter is replacing the Games Master's original liaison agent, Arthur Chesterfield, whom I was seeking permission to use, when I started these recovery posts; and it was Arthur doing the original herding.

On the other hand, I have had to adjust some things to stay in keeping with what I knew of Niedermayer's character in Backstrom, as well as finding that there are like butterfly micro-effects from introducing Nadia Paquet into the mix, such as the pacing around the ordering of the drinks, now that I had to order something for her as well.

Also, Arthur had originally complimented Liz and Mary on how radiant they look. Now, should Nadia pipe up, what about her? Or was it logical that Peter would have complimented her earlier, before my girls turned up?

So, great to see you here, and thank you for continuing to read.

 

IC: Agents Mary Formal, Liz Merrick, Dugans Tavern


“Cheers!!” Peter beamed back. “To good company.” He echoed, toasting his fellow agents and guests at the table.

“To saving the world.” Dr. Scarletpebble put in simply, also rising his glass.

Bullet. Dodged. Formal thought to herself as she raised her glass a second time, and took a sip of her Peroni the same time as Dr Scarletpebble took his; Nadia, 'Liz and Bryan with a Y' not far behind.

Her new superior started to look around, presumably to see who else he knew in the place. A number of patrons and guests were pouring in, with some being diverted towards reserved tables, and the level of background conversation increased accordingly.

She closed her eyes, trying to isolate the exchanges, zeroing in on one where a group were speculating on the type of landmine that could vapourise someone called Thor. She did not know who 'they' were, but apparently, all 'they' had found, was his hammer.

Because of the choice of tool, Mary was wondering if he had been putting up shelves when he died, when Jocasta interrupted her musings, Warp core breach in thr- starting to come over her earpiece, and as before she looked quickly around to see who was coming.

"Oh, I see them; two contacts, my three o'clock. Who're they?"

Dr Moira McTaggert. Mr Alastor Zingari. Further information requires a higher security clearance, Agent.

"That's okay, Jocasta. I will take it from here." The E-Branch staffer glanced back at the table to see if anyone minded her chatting into her earpiece, but she saw no overt indication that anyone cared. She joined Scarletpebble in watching the approach.

Both wore midnight black, with the trailing male in dress shirt and slacks, whilst the woman, the one with the reddish-brown locks that she had spotted earlier, looking gorgeous in a 3/4-sleeved shirt dress, that contrasted magnificently with the lighter fawn of her thighs.

The Arcan was impressed at the sight before her. "Liz, your figure has just been superceded."

The two seemed to move with such grace, dodging through the crowd of guests and waiting staff with the same ease as their Quinjet had threaded between the New York skyscrapers, that Mary subconsciously straightened in her seat, wiped the smile off her face, her attention flicking up a gear as she watched them sashay closer.

Her eyes flicked to reflective surfaces that would catch the two passing, a bronze fitting here, the glass of a picture frame over there....yep, they were casting reflections. Not vampires.

By time they were reaching table, she was relaxed and smiling again, ready to greet the pair.

“Good evening everyone.” The female, presumably Moira, announced as she approached the table. “I’m Dr. McTaggert, a friend of Dr. Scarletpebble. Would you mind if my guest and I join you this evening?”

“Hello, Moira.” Dr. Scarletpebble said as he got up. He wore a smile on his face, greeting Moira openly, but eyed her yet-to-be-named companion with a critical eye- for all of a second, then offered a welcoming nod and a handshake. “I certainly don’t mind. I’m Dr. Scarletpebble. Please call me Sebastian.”

Mary briefly wondered if she should stand too, but then, she had not stood for Scarletpebble, so frak 'em. Instead, she extended a hand up to McTaggert, the other glancing with curiousity along the metallic blue wrapped round her forearm, to its owner. "Doctor McTaggert. Mary Formal. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine." Moira smiled warmly, shaking the hand.

“The more the merrier." Niedermayer chimed in happily. "Hello Dr. McTaggert. I’m Peter. Please join us.”

“Would love to. Just call me Moira.”

Across the table, Liz Merrick beamed up at the both newcomers from her position leaned close to the off-duty limo driver, and rippled the fingers of her free hand to them in greeting. "Hey Guys. I'm Liz. Liz Merrick."

Bryan also greeted the two, and signalled wait-staff to set additional chairs. They in turn, recognised the need for another table for the increasing party.

Mary turned her attention to the be-spectacled redhead's companion, who had rounded the table behind Scarletpebble, Paquet and Neidermayer, to envelope Liz hand in his own. "Hello there. Mary Formal."

Zingari nodded across to her, and she got the feeling that he was appraising her, just as keenly as she had evaluated him during his approach.
She felt like a lioness on the....prairie...to his maned King of the Jungle' lion, each sizing the other up amongst the parched grasses of the Serengeti.

As the group migrated to a larger of the round tables, the new pair chose not to sit together, instead seating themselves on either side of the Arcan, with McTaggart settling next to Scarletpebble, and Zingari on Mary's left, inserting himself between her and Bryan.

She looked across the table to her E-Branch partner, her gaze cutting through the bonhomie of the increased grouping as everyone settled and gelled, their drinks quickly brought before them.

She could see that the telepath was as charmed as if this Alastor Zingari had kissed the back of her hand, which was a custom that the Arcan sometimes regretted had passed into etiquette history.

“It would seem Moira, despite my best attempts to dress up for the occasion, I am now the one most out of place.” Zingari cast his gaze around the table, not ignoring anyone, even Nadia, who despite her strong vibe earlier, curiously seemed cowed and mouse-like in his presence.

He was either being very wary, or displaying the characteristics that make a good politician.

Formal immediately discarded the latter; the newcomer would be wasted as a politician. What American media referred to as “lawmakers”.

“I do hope we really weren’t interrupting anything.” He continued.

There were reassuring sounds from around the table.

"Come back from the dead and suddenly I’m in everyone’s hair.”

Mary’s attention snapped back to Zingari as he calmly took a sip of his...whatever the heck that ugly-looking drink was, no doubt very well aware of the metaphorical pineapple grenade that he had casually rolled across the table, though perhaps not all the reasons why.

The extended silence at the table was only broken by Merrick’s choking on her Pepsi. She put the glass down and had her cloth napkin delicately wadded to her mouth while Bryan pulled her in towards him and slapped her audibly between the shoulder blades.

“I...” Mary was not sure where she had been going with that. She rose, the back of her knees scraping the chair back as she grabbed for her purse. “I’m going to powder my nose.” She caught Liz’ eye, and for once, the telepath did not argue the toss.

"Yes, me too.” The dark-haired girl dabbed at her mouth, and set the cloth napkin back onto the table, rising from her chair.

Nadia glanced up at both of them, and wisely intimated that she should not make this a threesome, besides, the E-Branch operatives had moved so quickly away from the table, that the moment was gone.

To be continued...

 

what are they up to? Who are those newcomers?

 

Well, we are still at the post-recovery stage, transferring my original roleplay posts into this thread.

Alastor Zingari was the character being run by Kahn_Iceay, and I have permission to reprint his words here. Moira McTaggert is a character from Marvel comics, that I think the player was running as well.

 

IC: Agent Mary Formal, Liz Merrick, Bryan Dale, Dugans Tavern

Alastor Zingari's words re-used with permission, by Kahn_Iceay.


The E-Branch agents quickly navigated their way to the loos (Little Girl’s Room), Liz pushing through a door with an embossed metal circle decorated with a gold star that had twin horizontal yellow stripes coming out the left and right of the star, dissecting the circle, with the top semi-circle red, and the bottom half, dark blue.

Inside, to their left, sinks and full length mirrors; to their right, stalls and a sofa that had seen better days.

Mary led the way to the sink, watching her friend’s reflection in the mirror as the other dropped into a squat to check under the stall doors for sign of habitation.

Liz stood again, stepped into an empty stall to unroll a wad of pale pink toilet paper that to Formal’s mild surprise, not only did not have the SHIELD logo on every square, but instead had the stylised feline face and whiskers of Hello, Kitty.

“That seems like an odd play for the Trade Federation.” She noted to herself, then with Liz approach to join her at the sinks, she relayed aloud, "He has a ref-"
A signal from Liz stopped her, Mary frowning as her companion put a finger to her lips, signalling silence, then removed her SHIELD earpiece and tucked into her clutchbag next to the tablet Niedermeyar had given them earlier that day.

Nodding her understanding, Mary reciprocated, snapping her bag shut a moment after Liz did hers. "He has a reflection, Liz!" She blurted. "You get any mindsmog off him?"

Mindsmog was a mental fog generated by vampires to hide their presence.

"No. But then, Arthur warned us off using our powers on colleagues."

"Sitting at the same table with Zingari, you would still sense if he had any, wouldn't you?"

"Depends how good his shields are." Liz noticed her smudged lipstick in the mirror, and snapped open her clutch, pausing until she had closed it again. "Although..." She looked sideways at Formal. "...necromancer?"

Formal raised an eyebrow at her friend's reflection. There were some disgusting things that necromancers could physically do with dead things, and the dead would feel every sensation.
Several years before either had joined E-Branch, the serial-killing necromancer, Johnny Found, had sliced up a young police officer in a motorway service station car park, killing him; then escaping in his eighteen-wheeler refrigerated truck, had unintentionally run over the body. Because Found had been driving, the newly deceased victim had felt it.

But a fortunately rarer skill was to raise the dead from their ashes. You needed the right words, the right salts, but it could be done.

Johnny Found had not known how to do that.

But the Great Vampire, Janos Ferenczy had. And Harry Keogh and E-Branch had put him down, in the Greek islands. The old way, fire and decapitation.

Harry Keogh, after getting infected himself, had also known how to resurrect people and animals. But he was known to have perished on Starside, the parallel world where vampires originated.

"But you said Zingari doesn't have mindsmog." Mary objected. She glanced to the reflection of the doorway, in case anyone came in.

Before answering, Liz pressed her lips together to even out the red that she had applied. "If he is not a vamp' himself, he would only have mindsmog if he had been raised by one. If he got resurrected by a human practitioner, there would be nothing to detect." She glanced down at her bust, and seeing evidence of her soda on the black leather to either side of the open zip. She dabbed her bunched tissue at the droplets before they could stain her new bodysuit. "We better get back before they send Doctor Moira to look for us."

Mary pressed against the sink to check her face in the mirror for any perspiration.

Liz re-applied cherry red lipstick to her O-formed mouth, glancing at her friend's reflection as she twisted the tube closed. "Have you noticed how nobody has mentioned your 'Wonder Woman' costume?" She looked down to cap it.

"Yeah, weird huh?" Formal gently dabbed flesh-coloured powder to her forehead. "I'm getting an Amy Pond, Crack in Time kind of vibe." She referred to a past storyline in the British science fiction television series, Doctor Who. "They'll be saying that they have never heard of Daleks, next."

They packed their cosmetics away, put their earpieces in, and waited till each other were ready, then headed back out. "Good spycraft by the way." Formal commended, just as she hauled the door open, exposing them to the hubbub of the main room.

"Thanks." Liz had to raise her voice a bit. "I guess I'm not just a pretty face."

Returning to their table, they noted that Dale was peering hard at Zingari through a rough square formed of thumbs and fingers together.

"What's this?" Liz enquired, taking her seat beside the limousine driver while Mary retook her own seat. "Fancying yourself as a movie director?"

"No." Bryan admitted with a tone of uncertainty. "I'm trying to visualise him with a 'Fallen Agents' commemorative frame around him. Or," He lowered his voice so that only she could hear, "imagining him at the window of a sinking helicarrier."

Liz instantly got the reference to 'Fallen Agents', as it was known that their CIA, the Central Intelligence Agency, had a lobby wall at its Langley, Virginia headquarters, dedicated to recognition of deceased operatives, and it wasn't a stretch of the imagination that SHIELD would have one too.
Between Latveria, the Skrull Invasion, and dozens of operations of which she was only peripherally aware, they were probably planning on opening up a second wall.

Dale's following whisper involved a term she was unsure about.

“What's a helicarrier?” She murmured into his ear, nuzzling close enough to gently bite the lobe.

“To be fair it was only part of a Helicarrier.” Alastor replied in a casual tone as he took another sip.

She withdrew and joined the driver in staring past along the table at the guest.

"Holy crap." Dale breathed, staring. "You heard that?"

“I barely heard that.” Liz was clearly in awe, while Mary looked from her open-mouthed friend to Zingari.

“I realize you didn’t mean for me to hear that but, well, Metahuman and all-"

“What's a helicarrier?” Liz whispered again to Dale, slightly louder, whilst Alastor was talking.

"-if the eyes didn’t give it away.” Alastor, or 'Lucky', as he would henceforth be called, if Mary's notoriously short attention span did not get distracted by something shiny, set the mug down and then clasped his hands together, leaning forward on the table, turning to the others with a smile.

“Oh yeah, you've got eyes.”

“I’m simply glad it was only me that was in that section when it went down. If things hadn’t gone as well as they had, a lot of others might have died, and not everyone has as good a tendency to heal from things that might otherwise kill a regular fellow.” He let out something of a huff, and turned his gaze down to the table.

“What's a helicarrier?”

Bryan narrowed his gaze. "Really? A Helicarrier partially arrived at its destination?"

“As opposed to just splashing down somewhere else in the sea.” Mary added, resting her forearms on the table, and crossing them.
Nobody had mentioned a fireball, eyewitnesses on the ground dialling 911, and a fleet of ambulances responding; so she gathered that this must have happened over open water.
She had no idea what a helicarrier was. She had flown in a Royal Australian Navy Westland Sea King Mark 50 helicopter. She imagined that that would have been in real trouble if the bit that could hold a person, just fell off.
Nor could she hear Merrick's repeated enquiry to Dale's oblivious shoulder.

“I don’t remember a lot, even after my memories came back what happened after I purged that area of the ‘carrier is more than a bit fuzzy…"

“What's a helicarrier?”

Practically nobody to Mary's right were saying anything, but apart from maybe Moira, their eyes were playing flicking back and forth between each speaker like they were spectators at the centre court at Wimbledon.

It was at this point, that she noticed an empty space between Peter and Sebastian, where Nadia Paquet ought to be. She hadn't seen her since she and Liz flitted away to the loos at the back, and was about to ask after the cute Frenchwoman, when the Alastor 'pity train' started speaking again, drawing her attention back to him.

"...I’m told I drowned a few times before I was found hence coming back from the dead.” Zingari took a deep breath and then sat back up, putting on a smile that he clearly was not feeling. “But that’s all rather depressing and not the sort of topic for discussion in a place like this. I’m here, I’m alive, there’s food, drink, and company, that’s what’s important right now.”

Mary stared at the now silent Zingari, but her gaze and attention slowly slid up and to the right past Doctor MacTaggart's shoulder, to an equally stunned looking server, standing almost between herself and Moira in his black apron.

"Uh...is everyone ready to order?"


To be continued...

Notes: The necromancer shenanigans with Johnny Found, were from Brian Lumley's Necroscope V: Deadspawn. Janos Ferenczy was in the preceding book, Necroscope IV.

 

LOL, I bet the supply officer had fun with that!

Wow, lots to absorb in this chapter, for someone not being up in canon.

Good logic.

So many Whovians on this site!

Sounds like a good attitude - what he went through, though ...

 

Hi pronker, thank you for continuing to share this journey with me and the girls.

Yeah, I have a lot of the books, having joined the series almost on the ground floor, and the E-Branch timeline goes back a bit further than when Mary joined them in 1996, I think? So there will be things that she and Liz only know from reading the files of those older incidents.

Well, yeah.

Yeah. He doesn't 'alf go on about it, though.

 

IC: Mary Formal, Liz Merrick, Dugan’s Tavern
Location: International District, Triskellion


“A Helicarrier, is one of those large aircraft carriers you can see docked on the east side of the Triskelion’s docking area.” Lucky advised, having clearly heard the E-Branch secondee's repeated queries.

Liz smiled gratefully, and politely murmured her thanks, whilst Alastor looked around the others and belatedly enquired if that information was secret these days.

Their eyes meeting across the table, Liz and Mary both surmised that a 'helicarrier' was basically an aircraft carrier that couldn't get enough of helicopters.

Liz was like that with Haagen Dazs. No-one was going to be seeing her thighs, anyway, so what did she care?

“Anyway, one I was on was an older one, one of the ones that survived the Skrulls, was designed to purge certain areas if need be, like if it took damage, got boarded, or had a biological outbreak. So it was able to keep flying, really all the thing needs to fly is it’s engineering area and central infrastructure."

Mary frowned. She had forgotten that the thing was supposed to fly. So maybe not a normal aircraft carrier after all.

"But anyway that’s not the point. I’m just surprised you didn’t know about 'em, they’re a pretty common sight around here, even before I joined SHIELD.”

"Oh, we're new." Liz advised.

"And thanks to Jocasta," Mary chimed in to throw the AI under the bus, no IT pun intended, "I've got lower clearance than your Dugan's Burger."

She thought she heard her new boss murmur something that sounded like "Dogman? Huh." and glanced at him to see a gadget of some type materialise in his hands, and he now divided his attention between it and the table conversations.

"Anyway, I have derailed this conversation enough." Alastor drew Formal's attention back to himself. "Now that we know about my impression of Lazarus-"

The only impression Mary was getting as she peered at the speaker, was that he was really piling on the superlatives, for beating death one time. She was no psychologist, so she had no read on what that meant. She briefly wondered if everyone at Spectrum had to put up with this in the Cloudbase' break room, every time a regenerated Captain Scarlet got back from some mission he'd been killed on.

A secret smile graced the Arcateenian's face and eyes as the theme music from the Sixties children's television series popped into her head, along with that voice: "This is the voice of the Mysterons. This-"

"-why don't you all tell me about yourselves, or you can ask questions, I don't mind. I'm in an unusually open mood tonight, probably can blame Moira for that."

His female companion graciously accepted the charge.

Scarletpebble looked at both E-Branch women, and enquired after their last exciting case.

"Till we get word from London, our exciting stuff is classified, I'm afraid." Liz paused to think. "Well, I was involved in our own version of the Skrull incident of course."

Mary tuned her friend out at the mention of the Skrulls. She had no time for Teutonic football hooligans, no matter how wantonly destructive.

"I'm a telepath, so I was tasked with helping to weed them out of the UK Civil Service." She continued, accepting the plate with her ordered salad, and cutlery wrapped in a serviette, from a server. "I felt a lot like Rick Deckard in Blade Runner. In fact," the brunette broke into a bashful smile, "one of my co-workers was calling me 'Rachel Deckard' after the first one I caught."

After Liz had finished her recollection, it was Mary's turn.

Chewing on the melted cheese and pineapple of her first pizza slice, and using her knife and fork to slice up another morsel, Formal eventually announced. "Well mine wasn't even E-Branch business. While a team of us were in Australia, their A.S.I., um, Australian Special Intelligence, seconded me to their navy, and made me an Acting Sub Lieutenant." She also smiled at the memory, although she was thinking of her uniform blouse - short-sleeved white button-down, gold loop on her black shoulder epaulettes - "I got flown by helicopter to where their fleet was shadowing this disguised enemy torpedo boat that had taken out one of their boarding teams."

"Where was I?" Liz interrupted, eyes wide.

Mary waved in dismissal. "Oh, you were off with The Helicopter Spies." She paused to take a second bite of her pizza. She wasn't letting it go cold for these people.

Liz confused expression was replaced by one of recognition. "Oh, right, yes. Xanadu. We, we were tracking billionaire recluse, Malinari, for international serial murder..."

Mary stared across the table. This...This was straying into the vampire stuff, without mentioning the V-word! "...and human trafficking."

"Yes. That too."

Mary carried on chewing, peering round the group.

Working on a way out of this verbal mess, she had planned to continue chatting after swallowing this, but as the SHIELD people tackled the name they had mentioned, she swallowed and promptly forked another section of pizza into her maw.

“Malinari...” Alastor repeated the name quietly, “You’d think something like that would ring a bell.”

“Well, that's just his real name.” Liz put in. “He's been putting it about that his name is Aristotle Milan, Italian shipping magnate. Only thing-” She added, shaking her head as she gathered up some salad with her fork, “is, this guy doesn't seem to know the first thing about backstopping a false ID.”

“Anyway, sister was a telepath." Zingari abruptly changed the subject. "You can imagine the torture that was growing up.” He picked up one of his fries, covered in a fine mixture of chili and cheese. “Never got away with anything.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Liz sympathised as Alastor plopped the fry in his mouth and chewed.

“Sounds like the both of you have had some interesting events happen to you in your careers tho. We could share stories. Some of them anyway. Especially the serial murder on, before the whole Skrull event, I was something of a P.I. ‘Zingari Retrieval Service’. Even had a catch phrase, ‘not all is lost’. Those were simpler days.”

Dr. Scarletpebble had raised an eyebrow at the first mention of ‘Malinari.’

“From what I understand…” He started carefully. “Europol wanted to handle this themselves and basically resisted any aid from S.H.I.E.L.D. They wished to keep things local, sort to speak. I’m also given to understand that this position has changed, given certain recent developments.”

At this, Sebastian gave a knowing nod.

“They could have used the help of a…certain associate. You may have heard his name. Blade.”

The British girls met each other's gaze and smirked.

Mary shook her head, thinking, Oh, these Colonials and their stupid names. Aloud, she chuckled, “Let me guess, he has some sort of affinity with cutlery?”

“Oh, hush.” Merrick reproved, looked across the table, then joked, "I know his brother, Dirk." That was both a first name, and a Scottish dagger.

"Hey, knock that off." Bryan harrumphed, crossing his arms and shooting annoyed glances to his left and right at both women. "Blade is a hero."

“You might still get to meet him, what with our own ongoing investigation on Deacon Frost.”

Mary had no idea who that was, and the 'deacon' bit did not allow her to follow up with a cooking show-related pun, so she started cutting up a new piece to eat.

A sigh escaped Sebastien’s lips and he offered a weary smile. “Apologies, we should talk about actual work tomorrow…”

Raising his glass, he took a long sip. Moira took this as her cue to interject.

“Well, I just want to say how glad we are to have you both here at S.H.I.E.L.D. We could use more beauty and intelligence among our staff....Cheers.” With her free hand, the auburn-haired doctor motioned for the drinks to keep coming.

Mary continued chewing. She looked forward to finding out who this Blade character actually was.

To be continued...

 

I like how their guard is down with this crew, and I hope they don't regret it.

 

Thank you for continuing to read.

As long as they don't reveal Wamphyri, vampires, or the necroscope's existence, they should be fine.

Though by referring to Blade and Deacon Frost, SHIELD may already be aware of a different strain of vampire.

 

IC: Mary Formal, Liz Merrick, Dugan’s Tavern
Location: International District, Triskellion


"I hear that Dirk plays the sæx in his freetime." Alastor 'Lucky' Zingari mentioned, regarding this Blade character.

Mary studied him carefully while her mind went back, having to go back quite a ways to when she had last heard that word.

"Do you mean the saxophone?" Liz enquired curiously.

"Noooo, I don't think so." Mary drawled cautiously, eyeing Zingari while thinking about a British Army officer that she had had dalliances with, around the Napoleonic Wars, who fancied himself a bit of an expert on hand weapons. He paid more when he thought she listened to and absorbed his ramblings whilst they fumbled.

After several seconds, she wagged a forefinger at 'Lucky', breaking into a knowing grin. "Nice one!"

"Anyway I know Blade, or at least know of him and some of his exploits, but I can't say that I know the name Deacon Frost..." He revealed, then paused. "The good Doctor's right though, this isn't a place for talking work. Maybe instead some of you folks wouldn't mind filling me in on some details of things that have gone on while I was otherwise indisposed?"

"Well, your old helicarrier failed its' M.O.T." Formal quipped, referencing the annual roadworthiness test that British road vehicles had to undergo if older than three years. "But I guess that was no surprise."

"And all SHIELD pilots, quinjet and helicarrier, had to undergo additional training after your incident, reminding them that if a red light appears on their dashboard, find out what the **** it means, rather than simply tapping a fingernail on it, like it's the 'check engine light' on a 1985 Volkswagen Cabriolet!"

Liz already had Bryan's attention the moment she started the rant, and he bent his head towards her when she finished. "A 1985 Volkswagen Cabriolet? That's a bit specific!"

"Do you watch Big Bang Theory?"

Dale straightened with a frown. "Check engine light?" His expression cleared. "Oh, Penny's car! How did you know the make?"

"She needs to get out more." Mary glared across the table, already upset that her younger partner had used the F-word in polite company.

"Not really work per-se but comings and goings." Alastor clarified, "This isn't the SHIELD I was in when the incident happened. But do so within reason of course, can't say they saw fit to restore my security clearance just yet... something about being dead..."

"Oh, give it a rest!" Mary snapped, the continuation of her own rant cut short by the limo driver unexpectedly chiming in!

"Yes, give it a rest!" He leaned onto the table, so he had clear line of sight to glare along at Zingari. "Your little stunt almost got me fired!" He looked across at Peter. "Thank you for not mentioning it, Mr Niedermayer, but I could see you thinking it. Who joins SHIELD to be a sodding limo driver!" He tapped an indignant finger to the chest of his Hawaiian shirt. "I used to fly a helicarrier-"

"He used to be a contender."

Mary caught Dale's warning glance, then he ignored her to glare up at the rising self-styled Lazarus. "I land safely at my destination, then it's all 'Uh, where's the cafeteria, Bryan? Where's the cafeteria, Bryan?' For TWO DAYS!" Dale exhaled and calmed down. "Yes, there were reports during the flight that people could not get in there, and that the door was a bit colder than it should have been, but how was I supposed to know? All the turbofans are working, I'm as happy as Larry. And all that guff about purging the compartment. Whatja do, burn the toast?"

He sat back, crossing his arms and breathing hard, while Liz tried to comfort him by rubbing a hand up and down his bicep.

Mary took a frothy swig from her Peroni bottle as she studied the man carefully. If that was an act, it was a very good act. And yes, she had wondered, who joined SHIELD to drive limos?

Well, Zingari did not take that laying down, and fired back: "I see..."

Formal looked up at the now-standing powerhouse, wondering itf that was going to be the limit of his response.

Alastor plopped his glass down on the table, far harder than was necessary judging by the loud thud that it produced. "Forgive me, I didn't think about the effect I might have had on other peoples lives-"

Well, clearly you did!

"-while I was doing my best to keep half of Western Europe from seeing a biological weapon event that would have made mustard gas in W.W.I. look like someone forgot to ventilate their bathroom after taking a huge **** after a Taco Bell run."

He leaned forward, staring down at the still seated driver.

Zingari had his back to the Arcan, so she could not see what was happening up-front. Only that Liz' face had drained. It was only later that she learned from the young telepath that Alastor's cat-like pupils had started to glow with his increased ire, and duriing his enraged response, had turned into actual moving flames! Like twin pilot lights on a water heater.

"Tell me, what does a frelling pilot have to lose from someone preventing a catastrophic release of biological agents kept in the armory? What association did you have with the failure in containment that my actions cost you your so rightly deserved promotion? Or maybe you were just so goddamned incompetent at your own frelling job, since it's a 15 person team that fully flies a CV-64 modified helicarrier that you were demoted. But no, there's Alastor Zingari, the poor sod, conveniently dead now at an opportune time that I can put all of my blame on rather than taking responsibilities for my own actions. Well I'm sorry Buttercup but Zingari's back and you're gonna have to face the consequences of your own actions cause I am nobody's scapegoat, and if you ever raise your voice at me like that again I will explain to you, in slow agonizing physical details why I am called the goddamned Executioner. Do I make myself clear, agent?"

"Arm-armoury?" Dale echoed uncertainly, narrowing his gaze at the apoplectic meta-human. "Mine was a cafeteria. Oh man, my bad." He shook his head, half at himself, half at Alastor. "Different heli-carrier completely."

Staring from one man to the other, Mary was surprised that Liz' boyfriend had, apart from the initial stammer, not really wilted under that verbal and physical show of force, and was slowly becoming aware of the silence in the place. Not just their table, but behind her too.

She listened out for the cliché sound of a dropped serving tray somewhere in the background.


To be continued...