Summary:A handful of SHIELD agents converge in the common area around the 'terrorist' under SHIELD protection named Kwabena. Interesting developments are afoot, of course. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Of the three terrorists captured in Iraq, one of them has agreed to cooperate. Reports will show that the African mutant, known as 'Shift' or 'Kwabena', agreed to cooperate with SHIELD once their scientists (namely, Agents Simmons and London, with the assistance of Hank McCoy) were able to block cyberpathic signals directed to the three captive's nanosuits.
A Russia-based multinational crime organization known as 'Prevoshkhodstvo' is believed to be responsible for not only enslaving these mutants, but subjecting them to nanotechnology that has become genetically bonded to their biology. It was through this that they were able to be controlled, brainwashed, tortured. Once cut free from the signals threatening to torment or kill them, Kwabena agreed to cooperate, but only to a point; he's requested diplomatic immunity and amnesty by the United States Government. Now fixed with a ankle-based WiFi repeater that is jamming the cyberpathic signal, he's essentially in a state of legal and diplomatic limbo; trapped within the Triskelion, he's found his first taste of actual freedom.
Every day, the man has been subjected to tests of all sorts. Blood tests, genetic tests, micro-scans of the nanotech suit he's trapped with, psychological evaluations. However, his continued good behavior has given him the ability to leave his holding area… under guard, of course.
Kwabena has finally been given a set of clothing that is not the horrible SHIELD emblazoned sweat pants and bright orange hooded sweatshirt. Now, he wears a pair of blue jeans and a simple black t-shirt, though the orange vest worn over it signifies to everyone in the building that he is, in fact, under protective custody and considered a potential threat. As if the armed guards walking with him didn't scream that aloud. He is led into a common area, where there is food, tables to sit at, some plants and windows to a courtyard area. As he sits down with a glass of milk and a nice salad, he reaches down to scratch at his leg, where the WiFi repeater is attached around his ankle, very much resembling a house arrest tracking device.
Common Room, where some of the agents wander past, sit down, take their meals, share their observations. Not a ton of agents avail themselves of the amenities offered by SHIELD sometimes. Many of the younger agents try to work long hours, try to make a big show of being a strong 'value add' to their teams and their projects. So they'll put in long hours at their desks. Log a lot of training time, make their presence 'known'.
But Clint. He takes /every/ free piece of food, souvenirs, technology that's available to him. If one were to go to his apartment they'd probably find a good number of SHIELD office equipment that had been written off. He lives off of food from the Triskelion. He drives a company car. Not so much that he's stingy and moooore, that he has no life beyond SHIELD.
So it surprises no one that he's in that particular common room. Bottle of milk beside him and a small plate of the morning's bagel. A folder is in his hands as he sits on top of one of the tables, his boots on the seat of a chair in front of him. He looks over. Drinks. Chews bagel.
The world runs on paperwork and SHIELD is no exception. It doesn't matter if it's electronic or actual paper, there's forms to be filled out and reports to be filed. One of SHIELD's newest agents is caught in the bureaucratic nightmare though there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Taking a break, Mik walks into the room and over to get some food. Piling a tray full, he looks around for a place to sit and spots a face he's not going to forget any time soon. "You are looking better." he says to Kwabena as he walks over to the table. His Russian accent is thick.
It's no secret that Jessica Drew is not a fan of the food in the Triskelion. She has found it problematic on more than one level. The first being that the food has little flavor. As far as she is concerned, it might as well be sculpted from play-doh to resemble food. As a result, on the second level, she finds it hard to eat enough to keep her intense metabolism fed. Salt only makes it taste like salty play-doh.
Yet Jessica has heard through the grapevine that Kwabena has been granted access to eat salty play-doh, and she's ecstatic at the prospect, and the implications that therein lie. So as she approaches the common room, wolfing down the second of three protein bars from her desk stash, she's happy to see him "enjoying" the amenities. She approaches the table, where Agent Rasputin has stopped to talk, and she pauses by the table to let the two talk while she consumes the third protein bar, grinning like a Cheshire.
Tickticktickticktickticktickticktick. That's the sound of something with claws coming down the hallway. Something that sounds sort of like a dog. Which is indeed what it turns out to be if by 'dog' we mean 'combat robot the size of small pony that happens to look like an oversized Rottweiler'. It stares into the room with gleaming mechanical eyes and then goes into a 'point' pose aimed right at Shift.
Shift has, of course, seen these things before. This one, at least, doesn't have the turret deployed.
"Yes yes. You found him. You're very clever." Comes a human voice that Shift ALSO knows. A man with dark hair and black tactical gear comes around the corner and into the doorway about thirty seconds later. "Well, if it isn't the man of the hour. And friends. Hello Clint. Hello Agents."
That last is to Mikhail and Jessica, whom Jeriah hasn't met and just presumed are indeed agents.
"Where'd the doc go…" She WAS right next to him. Maybe she got distracted.
At the sound of a Russian accent, Kwabena's eyes slam shut. His head recoils a bit, and his fingers clench into fists, while a low growl forms in his chest.
Behind him, one of the guards, Agent Frank Canelli, clears his throat. "Friendly fire, Shift."
Having made friends with Frank, in a manner of speaking, Kwabena pries his eyes open and looks toward Mikhail, recognizing him from the operation outside Baghdad. He draws in a deep breath and lets it loose through his nose, and gradually begins to uncurl his fingers. "Is a good thing to hear," he tells Mikhail in his broken English, allowing his oddly colored eyes to remain settled upon the agent. The expression in his face can best be described as guarded, but amenable to a point. "I am Kwabena," he tells the man stiffly. "Glad you wah not hurt."
At Jessica's arrival, his expression visibly lightens, as does his posture. However, before he can truly acknowledge her properly, he spies the arrival of the robo-beast from the corner of his eye, and turns his head just slightly. A deep sigh comes from his nose, and he lifts the glass of milk to take a good, long drink, before shifting beyond the robodog to look at Jeriah. An upnod is given, and he lifts his leg to plant a boot on the empty chair next to him, showing the WiFi repeater wrapped around his ankle. "I did not have chance to say thank you."
Clint keeps his place for now at the table, reading the file folder and facing the direction of Odama's seat. He's seated on the surface of that four-top, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees and a folder held between the two. Casually reading, and tearing bits of the bagel apart as it's next to him, he looks to the comings and goings with some small element of curiousity. Then when Jeriah comes in he lifts a hand to offer a wave, "Hey."
Then he slides off the seat, thumping to the floor and starting across the way. He covers the distance, sipping his bottle of milk and strolling along with the folder now tucked under his arm. And at that point he points at Jeriah.
"I know you." He points at Mikhail, "Don't know you." The accusing finger shifts to Jessica, "Don't think I know you." Then Shift is the one aimed at, "Have not met you, but know of you."
That said he looks over toward the men standing guard with him. "What's the read, gentlemen?"
Jemma did indeed get distracted by one of the other Science team asking about results. It's a drawn and tired looking biochem that trails in sometime after Jeriah. "Jeriah, I thought we were going to the lab to do some more work on …." She trails off as her one good blinks. "Are you hungry *again*? Ooooh. Beef Wellington's on the menu. And Yorkshire Pudding with gravy."
Of course the british born biochem would think that was good.
Shehe stops at the door, blinking at the others "Mikhail, Barton… " Jess she's not met yet and "Mister Odame. How are you feeling now?" It's been a few days since the Scientist has seen him.
A few hair filled, horrifying, days.
"No, not hurt." Mikhail agrees. "Was not intention to hurt you so greatly." It's almost an apology except he'd do it again without hesitation. "Glad no damage that lasts." He looks Kwabena over just to make sure there was none that's visible. "Mikhail Rasputin." he tells Clint then nods at Jemma when she arrives. "Agent SImmons."
Jessica nods to Clint. "Then it's time I introduced myself. Agent Jessica Drew. AKA the Spider-Woman." She looks to the others in way of introduction because repeating herself in front of people who just heard what she said would be a little ludicrous. Not that ludicrous was outside of her wheelhouse. "I've been visiting with Kwabena in my off time. We have very similar experiences. I am hoping the commonality will help him." She smiles to Kwabena, then, crumpling that last protein bar package in her hand with the other two using her super-strength to….wad them.
"Nice to meet you Mikhail." Jeriah says even though he hadn't been specifically addressed. He chuckles as Jemma immediately goes for the very British food.
"Nice to meet you as well Agent Drew. I'm Jeriah London, consultant and bullet sponge. Doc, hold up on the noms for a second. We wanted to give Kwabena the good news did we not?" The good news that they've figured out how to arrange not having a wifi anklet be part of his haute couture.
"What's the word, Clint? Anything entertaining lately?"
Frank Canelli swivels his attention from Kwabena to Barton. He moves a hand off the sonic rifle and waggles it in the air, suggesting the answer is 'so-so'. However, the fact that the rifle is pointed at the floor and not at Kwabena himself suggests the guard at least has some level of confidence that the whole place isn't about to go up in flames. Of course, the shrinks claim that such a thing is less likely to happen if the visitor isn't cooped up in a holding room day and night, which is the only reason why he's here. One could argue that he's got the most important job here… keeping this whole situation on the level.
"Does not everybody?" Kwabena utters at Clint's remark, though his standoffish demeanor bleeds away when his attention comes back to Jessica. His expression may still be somewhat curt, but it seems much less so when he gives her attention. He almost seems like a nice person, and his tone of voice becomes meaningful, earnest. "Helpful, yes. Very much so."
He turns back to Mikhail and makes a conceding gesture with his hands. "If I wah in your… ah, what is it, 'position'? Would have done de same." He's about to spear some more of his salad when Jeriah's words draw a look, with raised eyebrows. He looks from the hound-master to the British scientist, confusion in his expression. A science-driven mind, he does not have.
"Mikhail." His eyebrows lift a bit, but there's no judgment there as Clint gives a nod tinged with a ghost of a smile that broadens a touch, some inner monologue triggering that twist of expression. He turns his attention then onto, Jessica.
"Spider-Drew." As she voices about herself he nods, "Hnh." No insight granted there.
And then it's onto Jeriah where Clint raises his eyebrows. "Entertaining, not so much. Some things with the disaster zone." He seems about to elaborate but then holds up a hand as if to stave off that conversation for later on if it comes up.
Instead he'll pull over a chair from one of the nearby tables and then Riker sits over the side of it, leaning against the table with his forearms settled on it, shoulders a bit hunched. Agent Canelli gets a small 'heh' for his response, then Barton looks at the bevy of new agents and speaks.
"So, while yer all here, I was thinking I'd appreciate a chance ta save me some reading. New kids and all, what're your stories?" Jessica and Mikhail are noted primarily for that though he sets the current file he has for Kwabena Odame on the tabletop and says, "You…" He points at Odame, "I've read a bit about. But hey, here's a chance to share with the class something different than's in here." The finger ends up pointing at the folder.
Add Scientist-come-Field Agent Wrangle to Jeriah's list of jobs, apparently. Jemma stops and blinks at Jeriah "We weren't getting food? What? Oh, yes." beat "Jemma, Mikhail." It seems important to the british born scientist that people call her by her name.
That might have an awful lot to do with the cybernetic enhancements she's sporting. The right arm, left eye and implant on the right side of her face. Jemma-of-Nine, that's the nickname *someone* has given her and it seems more than approriate.
Holding a hand out to Jess, Jemma offers a smile "Agent Jemma Simmons." She'll wait to see if Jeriah has anything smart to add to tht.
"But yes we did. We've been pla—- working with the nanite samples we took from you the other day. With Londons help here, I believe we've managed to reprogram them to include the inhibitor code that they've put on the bracelet. I'm still working on getting it to replicate that to the other nanites, it's a little more tricky as they seem to see new code as a virus." She pauses and thinks on that. "I suppose it is, really."
Someone might need to stop the Jemma babble. Soon.
"Da." Mikhail in no way feels bad about it, he just hadn't intended it to be quite so damaging. But Kwabena /was/ the enemy after all. Taking his tray over to Clint's table, he sits down. "Story?" It takes him a moment to figure out Clint's meaning but then he shrugs. "Helped Age… Jemma, with problem." A problem named Kwabena and co. "Was asked to join. Said yes." Short and to the point.
"Long story short?" Jessica replies to Clint, shaking hands with Jemma. "Same verse as Shift, different organization. Different powerset. Claimed by an organization before birth, experimented on, weaponized. I began to come to my senses and emerge from the brainwashing while dispatched on an assassination assignment. Surrendered to SHIELD, and in all honesty I remember nothing before they managed to get my head straight." Because sure, it's probably fine to admit to seasoned agents that one remembers nothing of her life training. Probably fine.
"And now I work here, avoid the food, and web up small time perps for the police to take in. Nice and tidy." She suddenly pauses, looking around the room. "Did you guys just hear something?" It's probably nothing, and definitely not a splinter cell trying to reclaim her as one of their assets. Probably. "I wasn't assigned to Kwabena, so I thought I might be able to contribute by sharing my story, and helping him through the fog."
So much for short.
"Nope." Jeriah says. He didn't hear anything but the sound of his dog nosing around which is to say the very large canine death machine nosing around which gets a glare from him as he directs it to STOP ACTING LIKE A DOG.
This is, sadly a losing battle but he fights it anyway.
At any rate the hacker-soldier does not offer that he was at least willingly experimented on. Under false pretenses sure but it's different from being a lab rat. "Seems to be a bit of that going around." Is what he says instead.
"Doc. Doc. They don't need the full paper, just the abstract. Anyway Shift if you want to stop by the lab some time before the end of the day I expect we can have all that ironed out." And then he can be a free man… as soon as his immunity is worked out.
Mikhail and Clint get a curious look mostly because Clint is near ish to Mikhail. What's going on in the DZ? He'll save that question though as for the moment people are still nutshelling their stories.
For the moment, Kwabena's attention remains fixed upon Jemma. He sets the fork down and folds his hands, listening. He may not have a scientific mind, but she explained it without all of the mumbojumbo, in a manner that makes sense to him. He glances briefly to Jeriah when mentioned, then looks back to Jemma, considering her words. "Is a…" He pauses, struggling to find the word in English. "… vaccine. Yes?" He nods his head, choosing to think of it that way. "Have you made attempt to do dis with Bullfist?" he asks. Clearly he has no love of the mutant who survived Prevoshkhodstvo's attempt at shutting all three of the captives down with a kill command.
He's gonna need some work on the whole morality thing, it seems.
At Barton's question, Kwabena raises an eyebrow, and the very edge of his mouth forms a little smirk. He diverts to what Jessica has to say; so much of her story is exactly like his, it's almost chilling. He gestures toward her indicatively, then picks up his fork again. "Is Russian-based collective. Prevoshkhodstvo," he tells Clint, referencing the same criminal/terror organization that SHIELD supposedly took out well over a year ago. Apparently, they weren't as effective as they'd been led to believe. "Dey have much to answah for," he tells Clint, before a darkness enters his demeanor. "I intend to be part of dis." The way he says it suggests that his desire to help uproot the organization doesn't exactly fall in line with what's listed in the SHIELD handbook.
He takes a bite of his salad, then leans back and says, after swallowing, "Also, for diplomatic immunity and asylum." He shrugs. "I have no name, not really, and I am a citizen of nothing. So, since dey are not going to kill me, I would like to have life aftah dis is resolved."
He looks toward Jeriah and nods his head, dutifully. He'll be at the lab, to be certain.
Blue eyes lifting up to Jemma, Clint asks her, "They're supposed to pay you three hundred bucks for each referral." He says that with such clean sincerity that one might almost believe it to be true. But then he nods toward Mikhail. "Alright, so Operation Helping Hand. Got it."
Then Jess gets her moment in the sun and he'll lean a little to the side, focusing fully on her as he listens. "Ah," His attention slips over toward Odame and he seems to consider the connections with the two. Since their story is a bit interesting with the similarity. "Well, there's no shortage of dark pasts and shadowy figures here at SHIELD, should feel right at home."
But one word does catch his attention fully, "Prevoshkhodstvo," Clint taps a series of fingertips upon the manila folder, a little staccato rhythm of a tap then all of his knuckles rap there with a single thunk. "You know if they had anything to do with a group of powered people in Morocco?" He asks that seemingly out of nowhere, but usually sometimes things only make sense to Barton himself.
He shoots a glance at Jemma and answers a question he imagines she might be thinking. "Relax, Simmons. Just a few questions, I'll be outta yer guys' hair soon enough."
"Come here, Shep." Yes, Jemma's named this Canine Death Machine. She clicks her fingers at the 'bot and holds the palm of her meat hand out. She's totally going to pat it. "I didn't hear anything, no." That's to Jessica.
"Agent Rasputin assisted with the Prevoshkhodstvo problem and I suggested he consider joining SHIELD. From what I understand, Agent Rasputin did a lot of research before saying yes." There's the faintest of smiles from the tired biochem.
"Three Hundred dollars? Is that what they told you? I get paid Five hundred for mine. Maybe it's to do with quality." There's one thing that nearly everyone who knows her realises. Jemma CAN lie. She just doesn't do it really well.
Like now.
"I know that there's a foray into the DZ planned with the Avengers. I'd like to be on it, Barton. I need to collect samples to try and work out a vaccine." As an aside to Jeriah "Captain Rogers small problem… " The one where he tried to *eat* her in her lab yesterday. "Morocco, Barton? Leave Mister Odame alone, he's been through enough." Jemma thinks she's picked up on that tactic. "Yes, a vaccine, Mister Odame. We'll introduce the modified nanites and let them broadcast their changes. And no, I haven't tested on Bullfist. I prefer not to test on people, if I can avoid it. But he will be our Patient Zero, when we're sure we've the issues ironed out."
Russian based? That's a phrase guaranteed to get Mikhail's attention. "Is part of government?" he asks Kwabena. Not that the government is the only organization that can't be trusted and treats its people like shit but it's the one he knows best. LIfting his cup, he takes a sip of his coffee and frowns at the temperature. Pulling some heat from the air, he directs it into the coffee then takes another sip. Perfect. "Is important decision." he tells Jemma. "Not one to rush."
Jessica listens in earnest to the conversation, filing information away for later. Valuable information, most certainly. She fidget from standing still, and her gaze is unfocused, even if her mind is not.
The dog-drone wanders over to nose at Jemma's hand. Kind of. It IS rather tall. Four feet at the shoulder. Jeriah continues listening himself and watching. While Simmons might think that he mostly makes her life hell - which is something he DOES do - he's actually fairly good at watching. So much so that…
"Agent Drew? You sure you're okay?" She'd asked if anyone heard anything and then went quiet. And even if she did not hear something, the unfocused look she's got is just a tad bit concerning.
For a moment, Kwabena fixes Clint with a heavy stare. He considers the question, hearing Jemma's defense in his peripheral, but not turning to acknowledge her. "Perhaps," he answers after a moment, but he doesn't expound.
Turning to Mikhail, he seems to grow irritated for but a moment. However, for some reason, that fades. He leans toward the Russian just slightly, and there comes a mixture of hostility and friendship; likely an effect of having been raised by Russians, coming to appreciate and even love his brothers, while also hating them for what they did to him. Being the only Russian in the room, Mikhail's gonna get all of that. It's a strange mixture to be sure. "No," he answers, with a bit more gusto, before switching seamlessly from English to a Russian that virtually lacks his central African dialect. "«Not officially. But you and I both know, that doesn't mean shit in Mother Russia, now does it, Comrade?»" He grins, the hostile side fading in favor of a more brotherly one. "«But we'll find out. I promise you that.»"
Mental illness, anyone?
At least, it would seem, he's chosen the side of the good guys. Turning to Jemma, his demeanor shifts back into the slightly guarded one from before. "Do not mean to be, ah… um. One moment. 'Insensitive'. But Bullfist does not know anything of value, where I do." He leans back then, stalwartly folding his arms while looking from Jemma to Jeriah and back. "No more answahs until I have my immunity."
It's something of a dick move, sure. But looking at it from his perspective, it's potentially understandable.
After all of that, however, Kwabena turns his attention toward Jessica. All of those other expressions go away, and he seems concerned for her. He leans in her direction, looking toward her with an expression of empathy and concern. He doesn't voice these concerns, but it would seem the two may have become close during her visits. His food and drink are all but forgotten.
"Perhaps," The archer echoes Kwabena's one word answer and he points at the man again as if to imply that they're going to discuss this further at some point. Most likely.
But then Clint's brought up short by Jemma's news, "Wait wait, who told you about our field trip? Cap?" All thought of following up the stories seems to be forgotten, at least for the moment as he affixes Jemma with a grimace and a crinkling of his nose as if he smelled something funny. "Man," He grumbles, but then he shakes his head, holding up a hand in her direction.
"Yeah fine fine, was just one question." He seems ready to accede to Jemma's wishes for now.
Hands plant flat on the tabletop and help push himself up to his feet. He grabs the folder and slaps it against his thigh before he tucks it under his arm. "Ok, you kids get along now." He starts to walk towards the door and says over his shoulder, "If I need to shoot Agent Drew someone yell down the hall to let me know. Alright? Alright."
That said he starts to head on out.
"I have my sources, Agent Barton. I *am* an Agent after all." Jemma sniffs. She's miffed, just a little bit. Maybe it was Cap or maybe it was some other source. "Sit, Shep." She rests her hand on the robo-dogs shoulder, it's that tall.
"Whether or not a living being knows something of value, Mister Odame…" Jemma says gently "… does not negate the fact that they are living being and important. I will not willingly risk another persons life just for the sake SCIENCE! and there are still tests that we have to perform before I'm willing test on a live subject." This comes from the woman with experi-tech embedded in her.
"Agent Drew?" beat "Jeriah, scan the area for signals and if you can, throw up dampening signal, please."
"No, no…I'm fine. I was just listening. I don't have a lot of the information you all are sharing. Sorry, I sort of space sometimes if I'm focusing on something. Nothing to worry about." She flushes visibly, seemingly flustered by the concern. "I didn't mean to…uh…" She is suddenly somewhat distracted by a kitchen worker coming out with a tray of fresh peanut butter cookies, and she snags one on their way past. She takes an ecstatic bite of the cookie, and grimaces, crestfallen. How do you screw up peanut butter?
"…worry anyone."
Then comes Clint's comment. "So help me, I will web you to a wall!" she calls after him.
From the hallway, Clint Barton's voice is heard as he hollars back into the room, "I don't date co-workers!" Then there's the ding of the elevator doors.
"That sound fun." Jeriah chuckles. "If you do that can I watch?" Because he doesn't think he's ever seen anyone get webbed to a wall.
"Have fun storming the castle, Clint!" He calls out after the archer and then leans in to ask Jemma. "Do ya think it'll woik?"
"I'm going to get some food that ISN'T boiled and flavorless. Did you want some Jemma or were you going to just use my dog for furniture." Which… you can. He's that big.
Anyway. Food time.
For a moment or two, Kwabena seems unconvinced of Jessica's wellbeing. He is hesitant to back down, but the interplay between she and the departing Agent Barton draws a smirk and a snorting laugh. He shakes his head and glances down to his salad, picking up his fork once again.
"I do not share your empathy," he tells Jemma without apology. "He is an idiot, and has nothing of value to offah you." He raises the empty fork for a moment, gesturing with the fork-wielding hand as if to stave off any complaints for his apparent lack of morality.
Setting the fork down, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and turns to face those who remain. "I can tell you of Prevoshkhodstvo's membahs, dere strategies, dere goals. And I will, eventually. But, can tell you not thing about dere current, ah…" He gestures, looking for the right word. "… deployment." He looks from Jemma to Mikhail. "When kill switch failed, dey would have changed strategy. Immediately." From Mikhail to Jessica. "Moved to new locations." From Jessica to Jeriah. "Changed codes, and ah… procedure." He finally looks back to Simmons. "Telling you dis does nothing, not really, but, I will withhold more infahmation until I have what I want. Fixing de problem, testing on Bullfist, and den fixing me? Is something you can not afford for delay."
He folds his arms, casting a brief look that bears apology to Jessica, before looking to the others. "I know how United States will look at pahson like Kwabena. I will not help furthah, until I have my guarantee. You can think it selfish, because it is." He opens his hands, making a gesture of mock helplessness, before turning away and picking up his fork. The salad may not be very appealing, but it is food.
"There's nothing wrong with the food here." Jemma huffs at Jeriah, letting him guide through the cafeteria but still looking at Kwabena.
"You don't have to share my empathy. That's not a requirement. However, your demands are not going to change my mind. I will not endanger others."
It's that simple for the scientist come agent, agent come scientist?
"I suggest you get comfortable then, Mister Odame. The wheels of justice and politics turn slowly and as I explained, we are a United Nations operation who will liaise with the US on your behalf. But that is all we can do."
They can bring a little pressure to bear, and they will, but she's not wrong. It's not going to be done in days.
"I want the Beef Wellington, Yorkshire Pudding and Gravy, Jeriah. That's not boiled, at all." It's just cooked in a lot of oil.
Mikhail just listens to the conversation as he eats but then Night on Bald Mountain starts playing and he pulls out his phone. And sighs. "Questions, always questions." For a time displaced cosmonaut Russia considers likely KIA? Go figure. "Must go and answer questions."
"…if you like play-doh," Jessica responds under her breath to Jemma's claim of nothing-wrongness. Then she turns to Kwabena, her spirit yet undaunted by the obstacles that lie ahead. They might as well not have even been mentioned, for all her concern. "See? I told you. Total faith. Never a doubt in my mind. You'll be free before you know it."
It's a remnant from her childhood, or lack thereof. Boundless faith and optimism in all things.
"Did you hear something?" Well, almost all things.
"Still no!" Jeriah calls out to Agent Drew. He's getting food and he's gonna be occupied at that for a bit. The discussion of whether or not Kwabena will cooperate and what leverage he will use gets a smile and a bit of a shrug. "Whatever you need to do. Just stop by the lab later so I can get everything calibrated. SHIELD's gonna want their anklet back at some point and I doubt you wanna keep wearing it."
Jemma gets a slight smirk as she defends her people's food. And then he gestures to the bread pudding and goes to get some. Yes. Pudding is good. But he prefers this kind.
"I am comfortable," Kwabena tells Jemma. "And I am thankful for your efforts." Gone is any sense of hostility or contradiction, just like that.
He turns toward Mikhail and reaches for his glass of milk, raising it just slightly while switching to the oddly perfect Russian. "«The burden is on you, comrade. Cheers and well met.»" Still, as Mikhail makes his departure, Kwabena is watching him with an expression of brotherly congeniality that slowly slips into subdued hostility for but a moment, during which he takes a long drink of his milk.
The hostility, however subdued it might have been, is broken by Jessica. The African's attention shifts toward her, and he sets down his glass of milk with a genuine smile. "And then we will take trip to Dominican Republic," he agrees with her, feeling a sense of hope that his fate will not be gummed up by Old White Men in Washington (tm). An eyebrow is raised, and he glances around the room for a moment, before gesturing toward Shep. "Agent London's robotic hound, yes?" he asks of her, before looking toward Jeriah with a grin. "Has grown on me, but is pain in de ass with socks."
"No, I hear nothing." Jemma says to Jessica, loading her plate up, giving Jeriah's smirk a dirty look. Oh, she knows what he's thinking. She thinks.
"I'll look for you in the lab, Kwabena. Until then, enjoy our hospitality." On top of this, she's … several other projects to work on.
But first. Lunch.
Jessica's sternly alert expression softens, and she nods to Kwabena. "Yeah, you're probably right," she replies, looking back at Shep. Most dogs wouldn't be quite loud enough to be heard over the discussions and clatter in the common room, but Shep? He's just that big.
"Villa Altagracia," Jess says wistfully." Then she smirks and nudges Kwabena. "And all the tiger I can eat."
"Yeah, one of three they keep insisting on naming." Jeriah says. The dog seems quite inclined to stick around. Maybe Kwabena's socks have something to do with it. If the hacker-soldier starts finding odd unwashed socks at least he knows where to go and ask.
"They do tend to grow on you. Until you see them shred a platoon of soldiers. Then they REALLY grow on you." Well, he is a soldier after all.
"Alright. That's all my food and I have coding to do. So I'll catch you folks later. The dog can stay just… don't feed him. Every time someone does I have to open him up and clean him out." He is a robot after all. No stomach. And with that, and a wave, Jeriah heads on back to the lab spaces.
To Jemma, Kwabena seems briefly confused. He watches her for a moment, as if trying to ascertain whether she's being friendly, contradictory, or what. His attention shifts to Jeriah however, and the massive robo-dog, and an honest grin forms on his face. "Nice dog," he says, but he does not reach out to pet the creature. No, not just yet. Maybe another day.
To Jessica, he gives a warm smile, before breaking out into something the others might not expect; honest, heartfelt laughter, in response to her mention of tiger meat. "I hope is imported salted, because frozen tigah meat is shit!" He casts a glance toward Jeriah and provides a wave with two fingers, while his other hand reaches to touch Jessica's forearm. "See you soon, Boss."
So, there is a human being under there, after all.