2019-10-04 - Reconsidering


A holographic cat, a darkforce cat and a merc meet in the Cafe

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Fri Oct 4 23:02:28 2019
Location: Cafeteria

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Theme Song



Kwabena Odame dropped Kwa's Overflow Logger.

Kwa's Overflow Logger grows ears and can now hear.

Still under guard, Kwabena walks into the cafeteria during the lunch hour; he's wearing a set of earbuds that are attached to some kind of loaner cell phone. It does not have 4G LTE access, but it is attached to the public WiFi courtesy of a dummy account so as to protect Kwabena from any outside influences. Social media, e-mail and the like are locked out.

He's dressed in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, over which is the orange vest he's required to wear when outside of his holding room. The two guards assigned to him are following, but the two are talking with each other, apparently having grown comfortable with their ward not being one to cause trouble.

Jemma Simmons is always busy but she's made it to the cafeteria for some lunch. That might be courtesy of the holographic that's sitting on the table next to her, tail flicking just so as it watches the woman eating.

When Kwabena walks in, the cats attention turns to him, eyes narrowing as it watches him move through the area. "It's ok Spot…" she murmurs before adding "Hello, Kwabena …" can he hear her with those ear buds in?

Anyone familiar with the Star Trek franchises might recognise the cat as a replica of Spot, Data's cat.

Sadly, Kwabena is new to Star Trek, and hasn't yet seen TNG. City on the Edge of Forever, however, recently kind of blew his mind.

He cannot hear with the earbuds in, but his training has taught him how to interpret certain motions in the peripheral. He turns his head toward the holographic cat, then toward Jemma, and his bland expression brightens a touch.

Moving toward the drink stand, he collects a large glass of iced tea, then makes for Jemma's table. The earbuds are removed, and he gestures toward the scientist. "Am I intruding?"

The brightening of Kwabena's look has Jemma pondering. He probably wants to know if she's news on his amnesty, right? The holographic cat lets out a low feline growl and makes it clear that Jemma is *her* human by climbing into the scientists lab and rubbing her head under the womans chin. The mannerisms are so true to life - the programming exceptional.

"Not at all, Kwabena, take a seat." Jemma gestures "Excuse Spot, she's been programmed to be … mine. Or to have me as hers, more like. How are you?" There's genuine interest and concern from the biochem as she asks that. She really wants to know if he's doing well.

With a nod of his head, Kwabena takes a seat, but his attention remains fixed upon the holographic cat for some time. "Spot," he says, echoing the faux-animal's name with curiosity. "Dere ah no pets in Prevoshkhodstvo." The statement is almost robotic in nature, but he does angle his head, as if trying to understand how the holographic animal could be… well, anything but just a meaningless object in space.

Shaking his head, he diverts attention up to Jemma and makes an open palmed gesture with his hands. "I am me?" he asks in response, before folding his hands together. "Am glad to see you. I have wondered of something, of a question. Has been, what is it… on my mind, yes?" His gaze seems to intensify a bit, becoming quite serious. "Am I making mistake, asking for immunity?"

Jemma manages to smile, something she hasn't been doing a lot of lately, at Kwabena's confusion. The name 'Spot' is hilarious but she doubts he knows that. "She was a gift from a friend. They thought I needed some company… See…" Touching the small triangle shaped brooch on her jacket, there's a 'chime' and Spot disappears. "… she's a hologram, programmed to act just like a cat and … harrass me at meal times to make sure I eat."

She touches the brooch again, it chimes, and Spot appears on the table, closer to Kwabena. "Let him pat you, Spot." The tail swishes but the cat doesn't growl this time. "Pat her if you like… "

"Being you is a good thing. Better than being someone else, isn't it?" Jemma offers a slight smile, canting her head at the question. "Before I try to answer that, what makes you ask that question, Kwabena?"

Confused, to be sure. Why would Jemma need a reminder to eat? Kwabena does not, ever, need a reminder of when to eat. His stomach or his body will tell him. Either way, he watches the holographic cat for a moment, before reaching a hand toward the presumed head. His knowledge of holography starts and ends at 'images in the air', and as such, he assumes that his hand will touch nothing. He has no knowledge of hardlight technology. So, it comes as a surprise to him when he… feels something. "What…?" he starts, and pulls his hand away, looking at it. "Is not just holographic image?" he asks, thoroughly confused.

As to his question, he looks away from the cat and Jemma, eyeballing his untouched drink for a moment or two. "I make assumption dat United States knows who I am." He looks back up to Jemma, visibly frustrated. "Let me say differently. I make assumption you told United States about me. I assume many things. Is what I am trained to do. Look at situation, make a judgement call, act. When I am on mission? Dere is no time to think, usually, only to act. I am not given de 'thinking' missions." He shakes his head, smirking darkly. "Only mission dat makes use of my gifts."

He finally reaches for the drink again, frowning. "I wondah if I have made dis whole thing more difficult, more complicated, by… making demands."

It had been a rough night for Steve to say the least. The body left behind in the small open sector of woodland remained canid and is likely somewhere in the WAND labs for dissection as well as further inspection. The Captain is on-site at the Triskelion this late afternoon, but not officially in any capacity. Dark circles beneath his eyes speak to a night not engaged in sleeping, but in his system working out the byproducts of the anti-werewolf admixture shot into him.

As such, he's in jeans and a t-shirt beneath a baggy sweatshirt. His left wrist gives away the white wrapping that extends from thumb to elbow on one side — old habits of lifting a missing shield die hard. His chest is also bandaged, but unseen beneath the thickness of layerings. Steve's here for coffee…and by the hangdog side-look he gives Jemma's table, yet ANOTHER apology to the lab tech.

He recognizes Kwabena if only through files. Still…might as well wander past, at least to let Jemma know he's alive. Steve begins by approaching from behind and realizes that won't go over well. At all. Why was he trying that? Bad unconscious behavior patterns, bad!

He then swings around wide of the table and offers up a weak little wave, absolutely self-conscious of his tired appearance.

If Kwabena spends enough time around Jemma, it will become clear why the woman needs reminders like that. Focussed has nothing on what Jemma can be like.

"It is a holographic image, using hard light. It's amazing isn't it?" The biochem says, running her hand down the cats tail and holding it momentarily. Spot runs the edge of her muzzle over Kwabenas hand, accepting the merc at least for the moment.

As Kwaben explains, the smile disappears replaced by the thoughtful look that's purely Jemma. "I see. I'll address all that, shortly, but I'm curious as to what put you on that thought path." *Who* has Kwabena been speaking with?

With Steves arrival, the biochem tenses, the poor man will get a good whiff of the scent that comes from her. She swallows and Spot immediately jumps in her lap, eyes following the super soldier. "Steve…" she finally says "… it's good to see you. Come … join us." She's in earnest. He can tell that - even if there is a touch of fear there.

Dressed in an immaculately pressed and neat SHIELD uniform, Laynia enters the Cafeteria with a small backpack carried at her side. She moves through the queue to get herself a meal, though she doesn't seem to be making a lot of choices, nope - she'll just take whatever's closest as she progresses, and accept whatever is offered. Cinnamon eyes are lost in thought, her hair worn in a braid that has the unusual arcane magic that it turns extremely long hair into something far shorter, somehow.

Not a tall woman, she is never the less one that is quite striking, uniform not withstanding she's a pretty lady.

Of all the people present, Steve and Jemma have both met her - first time meeting in the field with the KGBeast and the awesome Canny Cannuck of Courage. Yes, that guy, he's for real.

Tray loaded she finally looks about to get her bearings, and frowns faintly when she sees Steve's condition, the frown lightening when she sees Jemma. The CAT is peered at, she didn't know SHIELD regs allowed for bringing a pet to work. Kwa, she does not know. Decision made, she sets course towards the table, intent to offer a greeting at least.

"Hard… light?" Kwabena asks, but he lets it go, at least for now. The feeling of light having a hard surface is beyond his capacity, at least for the moment. His exposure to technology, after all, was cultivated.

Before resuming his train of thought, Kwabena seems distracted by the man approaching from behind. He watches carefully as Steve circles around to make a flanking approach, and the congeniality is all but gone from his face. Numerous psychological evaluations have been added to his file, of course; paranoia is high on the list. He doesn't trust anyone by default.

He is, however, learning. When Jemma addresses the man, he looks down to notice that his hands are grasping the table, white knuckled. With a sigh, he visibly relaxes and pulls his hands away, clasping them together in his lap beneath the table. His eyes look back and forth between Simmons and Rogers, and his cultivated training tells him… wild card. Not friend, not foe, but wild card.

Interestingly, the African turns his attention back upon Jemma, and his body language suggests, by way of a slight lean in her direction, that he's somewhere between attacking the new arrival and grabbing Jemma to take her away. Brainwashed instinct is hard to counter, and the mentally unstable mutant is clearly still having difficulty adjusting to life off the chain, so to speak.

"Agent Drew," Kwabena cautiously answers Jemma, without taking silver eyes off Steve. "Jessica Drew." His eyes catch sight of the bandage upon Steve's left hand, and this seems to have prompted him to lower his guard a hair. "Hello," he greets the man with a less than friendly upnod.

"Hey, D — Jemma." The Captain's voice travels well enough. He travels the rest of the distance to stop beside the table, diagonally as far away as he can manage from the young woman and her table guest. "'s'okay, 'm not gonna hang around for long. Just in for another blood panel. Figure I'd have one of the techs down in the labs pull it since…"

His pause is pregnant with chagrin even if his expression is merely solemn.


His nose twitches. He probably doesn't have to finish that thought for anyone paying half of any attention to his face.

His true-blues shift to Kwabena and linger. Trained too in the art of espionage while in the Army, he marks the unsteadiness in posture and forced relaxation. He's seen it in Barnes before, after all.

"You're in good company," he says quietly towards the man before sipping at his grande something-or-other. A glance towards Laynia earns her lifted eyebrows in silent recognition. Lots of familiar faces around here this afternoon, he's realizing.

You know, there's a LOT of spies in the room - shocking, considering it is the Triskelion! Laynia's approach slows, and she makes sure to come in at an oblique angle so as to be in everyone's line of sight as she picks up the undercurrent of tension. She stops about two meters from the table, not wanting to intrude.

Steve's acknowledgement earns the man a brief smile, and then a glance at the bandages, and a mildly questioning look.

One can convey a lot with body language - ESPecially when all assembled are trained observers!

"Good evening, Captain Rogers, Agent Simmons." Her voice is a bit 'husky', and there's a mild by noticeable Russian accent, Muscovite in fact. A friendly enough nod towards Kwabena, whom she doesn't know. "Apologies if I am intruding. I just wanted to say hello."

She'll linger a moment, but isn't going to force her company on folks, though her posture would be open, and her scent to Steve's keen schnoz would be compounded of lilac shampoo and body wash, healthy girl, and concern mixed in with a blend of wariness and curiousity.

"Hello Agent Petrovna…." That's a russian name, Kwa will note this. Jemma's hand runs down the back of Spot who's sitting protectively in her lap right now. "Kwabena, this is Agent Rogers and Agent Petrovna. Please join us, Kwabena and I were just talking."

She's noted the dark skinned mans disposition towards her, a slight flush tingeing her cheeks at the implied protectiveness. "Steves a friend who is having some … medical issues … at the moment." She explains without trying to address her apparent unease.

"Come by the lab, Steve. Bring some people with you, though, and I'll do them. I'm your friend and I want to help." beat "And you're too kind."

"Agent Drew spoke to you about the situation? Well, in a way she's not wrong. The US knows *of* you, of course but they don't *who* you are. Perhaps, for the benefit of the two who have just joined us, you could summarise what's happening."

|ROLL| Kwabena Odame +rolls 1d20 for: 2

Steve's acknowledgement does settle the African down, at least a little. That's gonna last about as long as it takes for him to recognize the remnant of a Russian accent, and a Russian surname. His body turns a bit fast, likely too fast for anyone's comfort, and upon sight of Laynia, he seems on the verge of coming out of his seat.

Which isn't going to go well for anyone.

There are moments in life, especially around the mentally unstable, where the plank will totter one of two ways. Kwabena's plank lingers for a moment, before it topples harshly to one side… and instead of leaping over the table to attack, he begins to grin.

The man is suddenly speaking in fluent Russian, to the point where almost every trace of his Central African dialect is gone. "«Comrade, please, join us!»" He even goes so far as to rap his knuckles against the table, harshly but vibrantly. "«I am Kwabena, but my comrades call me 'Shift'.»" He nods toward Laynia, sizing her up with an approving expression.

Just like that… he's coming back down, his body motions more at ease, albeit much less vibrant. "Dat will make two of us," he says, in regard to Jemma's observation about Steve. He leans over and offers the man a friendly hand, no longer guarded. "I am Kwabena."

Turning back toward Jemma, he shakes his head. "No, no. Agent Drew and I have become… friends." Those who pay attention to the rumor mill around here have probably heard that it's more than 'friends', but that's not something he'll acknowledge around mixed company. "She did not make dis recommendation, but, talking with her has been of help. To me, is grounding. I hope dis makes sense?" His English is not that great, after all.

As for his… story. He casts a look between Steve and Laynia, eyebrows raised. "Dat would be… difficult." He looks back toward Jemma thoughtfully and wonders aloud. "Dis.. is, ah, interesting."

"Evenin'," Steve replies in particular to Laynia before he nods towards Kwabena. Once he sees the man resettle — and takes account of his own increased heartbeat in turn — he does shake Kwabena's hand briefly and firmly. See? Normal human behavior: fake it until you make it, he's learning, to force down the need to react on a supernatural level to proposed threats.

"I'll bring some folks along, yes." The Captain's agreement with Jemma's suggestion does sound weary. It is a necessary evil, after all. He glances yet again over at Laynia given her closer proximity now.

His nose twitches: lilac this time, different from lavender, still light and bluesy somehow. There's still a subtle shift in body weight before he catches himself. The cover is another long sip of his coffee. He pulls the sleeve of his sweatshirt farther down over his wrist afterwards to hide the bandaging. Apparently, that's not for immediate discussion in the eyes of the Captain, slightly embarrassed to have garnered attention on it.

Um, yes…tension spikes and near attack…not the best of things to see from a stranger. Petrovna does not step back, but her stance shifts and the air around her chills a bit as tendrils of darkling 'energy' forms a halo about her form. The stuff is pure darkness, and seems to roil a bit like inky turgid waters, even as tendrils break off like smoke and wisp out of existence.

Tense, ready for a fight…

And then Kwabena chills, and shifts gears to the friendly. And just like that, the dark…stuff…is gone and he she offers a smile. "Is nice to meet you, Kwabena." She too offers a hand to be shaken.

She shifts her smile to Steve, and then to Jemma. "If you are sure is alright, I would be happy to join." If there's no objections she settles the backpack over the back of one side of her seat, and settles with the tray in front of her.

To Kwabena, she replies in /definitely/ very cultured Russian. «Greetings, comrade and thank you for the invite.»

"So…" To Jemma and Steve, primarily. "…as trip to the lab? Could I be of assistance?"

Jemma can't help herself as Steve starts to shift, placing a hand on his arm consolingly. "Remember yourself, Captain." It's gentle but firm, but delivered in an oh so British way. One that might put Steve in mind of another British from oh so long ago.

Maybe that will help. Maybe it won't.

"Do that Steve, Agent Turner isn't around at the moment and neither is Jeriah or his dogs." The cat in her lap decides the tension is lessened enough to hop onto the table and start prowling - it's tail, dragging under Steves chin as it passes. Brat.

"Perhaps, Agent Petrovna, you'd like to accompany us. You'll need to be armed with an ICER with my new formulation." More on that later. "Kwabena has requested immunity and a pardon from the US Government and he's wondering whether he's done the right thing. Both of you would have a unique perspective on that I think. For my own part …"

The biochem considers before finishing "The US doesn't know who he is. Getting him papers to be here, as a SHIELD asset at the very least, will be troublesome but not difficult and I don't see anyone needs to know the whole story."

"Huh." The muffled sound is all Kwabena seems to give regarding Laynia's display of power; it's not entirely telling of what he might really think of it.

While he can certainly tell that something is definitely 'off' with Steve, he doesn't press the issue. He's a stranger here, after all; his internet searches haven't even brought him along to mention of Captain America yet, so, there's absolutely no sense of recognition to him. Just another one of SHIELD's seemingly endless assets.

"I do not expect American politicians to undahstand, what is it, de, ah…" He's searching for the right word in English. "… complexity of my situation. Dis is why I made demands, but." He nods toward Jemma, seemingly in agreement. "What is de saying? What dey don't know?" He doesn't conclude the thought.

Reaching for his drink, his eyes narrow somewhat as he takes a drink from it, enjoying it's flavor, what little there is. "I want to help bring down Prevoshkhodstvo," he tells them. "Dat is de only future I see for myself. I do not want to hold up de process more dan must be held up, so." He shrugs. "Maybe I have made mistake?"

He then looks between the three, curious as to what this 'mission' is that they are talking about. You can start taking the brainwashing out of the man, but you'll never take that fighting spirit. He's been a soldier-slash-spy since the age of 13… the idea of going on a mission has him feeling remarkably hungry.

Setting the drink down, he leans forward and says earnestly, "I'll go."

Someone might be able to notice a touch of war-lust in his silver eyes.

Nothing like a dose of the steely Agent Carter to slap some sense into a man who knew her well so long ago. Steve swallows hard before leaning back as Spot sleeks a tail beneath his chin — ugh, cat, what is this? The briefest twitch of his lip flirts with showing his canine tooth before he clears his throat.

"'m not sure I need that many escorts involved," the Captain opines even as light color touches his ears. "'nd it's not a mission."

The clarification is for Kwabena, whose intentful look doesn't help Steve calm down. If anything, the Captain rolls his shoulders to ward off the worst of the sensation of his skin starting to crawl at the nape of his neck.

"It's blood panels," he finishes with a defined note in key of G for 'grumpy'.

Laynia looks down at her tray a moment, it might amuse people to see her catalog what she got on autopilot. A faint frown at the lime jello, but then she shrugs and tucks in. Steve and Kwa will certainly see the military style of her eating, neat, efficient, precise and simply focused on getting fuel into the body. After all, she was raised in essentially a creche from infancy, and then transferred to a state run facility for powered mutants aimed at producing a Soviet Super Soldier.

So yes, she definitely has some measure of insight into Kwa's situation considering his own background. Fortunately for her it isn't nearly as messed up as his experience, but it was far from candy and rainbows on her end either.

"I am also defector." She says to Kwabena. That should say a lot with a little.

To Jemma. "I have just been rated for ICERs, so is good."

She doesn't respond to the 'Huh' from Kwabena, it didn't seem to merit one. "Is sometimes mistake to ask, but is ALWAYS mistake not to. One cannot get things done if you hesitate, in my experience. Better to be direct, to seek what is needful and take risks when they are warranted."

She smiles to Steve then. "Blood panels do not usually require armed escort, but…I will be happy to help, if I am not unwelcome." She looks to Jemma, who made the offer, and then peers at the Orange Tabby. "Is…allowed to bring pets to work?"

Yes, Laynia is QUITE out of sorts about that.

"It is just blood samples, but if you'd some company other than your cell, you're most welcome to accompany us." Jemma notes to Kwabena, watching Steve as he leans back. He can explain why Jemma asked for 'friends'.

Taking Spot, Jemma puts the cat on the table in front of her. The cat immediately decides to investigate Laynia, aloofly.

"What do you think, though, Steve? About requesting a pardon and asylum? We could just bring Kwabena in as an asset. We did similar with Lieutenant Barnes, didn't we?" She nods to Laynia "And with Laynia. All the Government needs to know is they are part of SHIELD whilst we work on official paperwork to allow them to live here. In America, I mean, not the Triskelian."

"Is that something you'd consider, Kwabena? In return for helping us, we'll help you like that but it does mean you'll have ties to Agency."

Laynia gets the faintest of smiles to her question. "Spot … is a holographic projection made of hard light. A gift from a friend who also thought I needed prompting when it was time to eat. She … keeps me company though and I'm glad for it."

Blood panels. That is something Kwabena can empathize with. He visibly rolls his eyes in empathy with Steve. Lord knows he's had his fair share of SHIELD needles in his arm of late. "If you lose your patience and punch one of dem in mouth," he notes, "it will be dere fault for requesting so much blood panels."

A week ago, he'd have been dead serious. However, he spins a look toward Simmons, and there is a flash of humor in his eyes. It's entirely possible that he's joking, but you couldn't tell based on his tone of voice alone.

"Dis is longest I have gone without mission," he says, turning his attention now to speak toward Laynia. His syntax is a mixture of his native Ghana and his Russian upbringing, making it sometimes hard to pinpoint without knowing of his file. "Is like pig not rolling in shit," he adds.

Now bringing his attention to Jemma, Kwabena drinks from his tea for a moment, listening to what she has to say. He sets it down and shrugs. "I already have ties to Agency," he tells her. "And you have my code." He raises a hand, and looks at it. The nanosuit he's bonded with, which has been invisible between his street clothes, begins crawling down his arm from beneath the short sleeve of his t-shirt. Gunmetal gray, it forms around his forearm and fingers, before withdrawing back into concealment beneath his shirt. "You could control me, just like Prevoshkhodstvo," he observes. "Also, I have made friends here."

A brief glance is given toward one of his guards, then back to Jemma.

A glance is then given to the holokitty, and back to Jemma. "Why do you need remindah to eat? And why does Spot wear Stahfleet shape?"

Perhaps Agent May was notified by Command when Steve arrived for the blood panels. Perhaps she was called when Spot growled at Kwabena protectively on Jemma's behalf. Or maybe she's just here to get some lunch. Regardless, the Vulcanesque Asian woman enters the cafeteria, her eyes scanning the room and mentally noting everyone there before she takes a turn through the lunch line. She picks fairly simple and standard fare, with two exceptions — a smallish ceramic teapot releasing a gentle waft of steam from its spout, and a sandwich of some sort if the generously stuffed french roll is any indicator.

Food acquired, May heads straight for the table that had been Jemma's to begin with and now sports what is likely the most unusual combination of individuals in the expansive room. Pausing a polite distance in case the others would rather she NOT sit with them, she nods a greeting to each person in turn — even those who likely have not met her before. "Simmons. Rogers. Kwabena. Petrovna. Spot." She seems calm enough, though Steve can likely pick up on more than the others who only have their eyes to rely on, wariness making its way past the blend of tea, leather, oiled steel, tiger balm, and a tiny tang of dendrotoxin.

"I'd bring him in as an asset, sure." Steve's still giving Spot the hairy eyeball. The cat is enough to make him retreat from the table and take his coffee with him. One too many triggers present has him scratching at the back of his neck; fine pale hairs fall to land on his jacket. Stress shedding is a thing! "SHIELD's already got dibs on you anyways if they've got your code," he adds more solemnly to Kwabena, his eyes falling to the nanotech and then returning to the man's face. Another deep sip of coffee clears his nose of the scents, but May arrives before her own person does with that particularly sharp note of tiger balm.

It sets Steve to sneezing abruptly. Setting down his cup lest he spill, he continues into the crook of his elbow, holding up a finger. It takes five times before he can emerge safely, eyes watering.

"Think 'm gonna go wait in the hall," the Captain wheezes. It's a thing of safety at this point.

He knows the scent of the dendrotoxin well enough. His heartbeat seems loud in his ears.

"Anybody want to see the circus in the labs, I'll be there." On that dry note, Steve collects. his coffee again. The super-soldier begins his hasty retreat towards the cafeteria door.

"Ah, is a hard light construct?" See, for Laynia the concept of energy based things is pretty elementary. SO much so that she gets a hint of impish cast to her features, and then her eyes go solid back as she concentrates. A /second/ cat appears, one made of chill and darkness, the eyes are a faintly gleaming white, the rest roiling. It appears as Spot checks the Russian woman out, and leans forward to check the holo-kitty out.

Yes, that's not even a bit creepy, right?

To Kwabena, she turns solid black eyes and smiles. "I need the structure too, is hard to go from day to day without some purpose."

A smile to The Cavalry. "Agent May, we just mentioned ICER training." She adds with a smile to the other woman.

She looks a little concerned as Steve abruptly departs, turning towards Jemma once he's out of earshot. "Is…is he okay?"

"Agent May…" Jemma greets the Senior Agent, someone she has a lot of respect for and considers a friend. "Please join us… we're talking to Kwabena about options to requesting a pardon from the US Government. I think his line of thinking is much easier to achieve."

"We do have your code, Kwabena, this is true." Would they control him? Not like Prevoshkhodstvo to be certain. Would they hit the 'disable' switch? Possibly, if it was needed. Just like they would on Jemma now.

"I won't be long, Steve. I'll call you when I'm heading back." Spot glares at the Darkforce Kitty, hackles rising and putting herself between *her* human and the other construct. Without warning, she swipes at the constructs nose. go away. my table.

Mays greeting is summarily ignored except for the twitch of the tale.

"Uh. I um. Forget to eat and sleep when I'm working." The biochem says to Kwabena "I get very involved in what I do and always think that I can do it later…"

That won't make sense to him, she's sure.

"Steve? No, he's not but he will be. I'm going to make sure of it." There's that quiet determination that people are familiar with. Even Kwabena from his few interactions with her.

Steve's departure is met with an expression that is both confused and perhaps concerned. However, Kwabena cannot remain distracted for long; there is another cat being created, this one of what would appear to be dark energy. At this, his mutant eyes become a bit more wild, and he leans his body back a bit. "Why not just bring real kitty into Triskelion?" he demands, looking between the two and their presumed owners. An odd thing to get so upset about. He scoffs at the interaction, and reaches for his glass of iced tea.

Easily switching back to his more natural Russian, the African addresses Laynia. "«Right now, my purpose seems to be giving blood and surfing the internet.»"

As attention shifts to a new arrival, Kwabena looks toward Agent May, and is stalled momentarily from taking a drink. He watches her for a moment, drinking slowly; he recognizes something in her, without even having met her before. And she knows his name. Everyone around here seems to know his name.

That's all the greeting she's going to get, it seems. The silver-eyed African turns his attention back upon Jemma, and is now speaking in his broken English once more. "Dis is nonsense. Why not snack while working? Is… problem with lab contamination?" He shakes his head. "If I do not take smoke break, I will become impatient and work will suffah."

Another thoughtful glance is given to the way Steve exited. Turning back to Laynia and Simmons he asks, "Dat is not normah self for Steve?" One has to wonder what his normal self is.

May sets her tray down and glances after Steve before settling into a chair. She has a suspicion she knows what chased him off, but she can't prove it so she doesn't offer the thought to the others. She also doesn't offer her opinion about the question Kwabena just posed about Rogers. Instead, she eyes the two cats on the table (thankfully neither one real) as she takes up her fork and starts eating.

If either of them tries to push something off of the table…

"You did receive the notice that you passed your ICER certifications, yes, Petrovna?"

The Darkforce kitty actually pulls back from the swat, and then turns it back, flirting tail disdainfully before it leaps off the table and unravels into smoky not quite energy that vanishes. It is subtle, but it would be possible for the observant to realize that the construct, though small, required a fair amount of Laynia's concentration. It wasn't actually autonomous, so the fine control required her to focus a considerable bit of her attention.

As to Jemma's tendency to get distracted - she's encountered it before, Squints seem to do that sort of thing a lot!

She grins then to Kwa. "Is probably against policy to have pets, Kwabena. So…Jemma's hologram neatly circumvents, so long as is not security risk." And then switches to Russian, again. «Is better than giving blood and being experimented, yes? I cannot say what your background experiences are, but I -can- say these are good people. I am honored to serve here, and hope you will find a home worthy of your talents.»

At the question from May, Laynia offers the rather cool woman a smile and a nod. "Yes, I did, in fact. Thank you for your instruction, was most educational. Perhaps we can spar as well, I am powered but sometimes a good right hook delivers better results than Darkforce blast, da?"

"Snack? Because I'm not hungry like that. In fact … " Jemma shakes her head. "I don't recognise that I'm hungry, really. But let's go with lab contamination, that's easier." Not to mention the stuff that Jemma sometimes handle is toxic and you really don't want to be eating anything around it.

"Real cats need proper attention. Feeding and cleaning. This one, as much as I like her company, can be put away and not fret." Jemma sighs. "I'm never home enough to have a real pet and this is a good approximation. Besides, she was gift."

"If you want something to do, Kwabena, I can find things for you, I'm sure. Particularly if you're willing to accept the new proposal."

"And no, he's normally a lot more relaxed. There's a lot going on but we're working on it. Perhaps you might speak to him, see if you could offer help."

The Russian from Laynia draws another grin that borders on feral; Jemma would have seen it some time ago, when Kwabena encountered Mikhail Rasputin. It's a strange mixture of hostility and comraderie that leans more toward the latter. "«They haven't done me wrong,»" he answers her in Russian, "«and are the only ones who were able to stop me.»" Of that last bit, he seems particularly proud; not of his own failure and capture, but of Prevoshkhodstvo's underestimations of their opponent's capabilities.

Attention now upon Jemma, Kwabena makes a silent 'ahh' and nods his head, finally understanding. "And Stah Trek shape is because you enjoy de show? Or… de pahson who made gift enjoys de show." He nods his head and says, "Only one who really 'gets it' is Scotty."

A cursory look is given toward Agent May again, but soon he's considering Jemma's other question. His back straightens, and he nods his head. "Is much more reasonable option. I can help you hunt Prevoshkhodstvo. Dey will not quit just because Bullfist, Shift and Silvahlock were taken out."

Pouring tea from the little pot into a cup, May nods to Laynia at her request to spar. "Yes. Let's schedule a time for that." Perhaps she can set it coincide with more hand to hand practice with Jemma. It could very well be educational for the both of them.

As Simmons offers Kwabena something to do, including perhaps speaking with Steve, May's eyes flick between the pair. It's a good suggestion, really. Kwabena already knows how Prevoshkhodstvo thinks and works, and he could well be SHIELD's best chance at taking the Russian down once and for all. "Simmons, submit the proposal, I'll second it." And with both of them making the recommendation, it has a much better chance of actually happening. "And I'll start looking into the documentation for Kwabena to work with SHIELD in an official capacity."

She then looks at the silver-eyed man in a clearly evaluating manner. "It would help me with the documentation if I you shared your family name."

No hunger? That sounds like a very bad thing to Laynia, and it earns the biochem a faint frown of concern. Her meal done, Laynia neatly stacks the plates and silver, then unfolds a napkin to wipe her hands and then mouth carefully. When she mentions that she was given a HOLOGRAM kitty as a gift? Yeah, she must have some very unique friends, Laynia has to think. Though…a holo-pet with all the perks, no need for kibble, AND no bathroom breaks? Win.

She returns that feral grin to Kwa. «Yes. And they most likely will not. My experiences here have been entirely positive, and I was with the KGB and Soviet Super Soldiers.» So, yeah, she can compare and contrast!

She falls silent as the Senior Agent discusses Kwa's fate, nodding at the end. "And I would value the training, Agent May. I look forward to more of same." Wrly. "Even IF I end up in medical for bruising, and counseling for bruised ego." A soft laugh there.

Jemma blushes bright red as Kwabena asks why the Star Trek references. "Uh, we could go with that but it's also because Jeriah calls me Jemma of Nine." That's going to require some explanation probably and has *nothing* to do with the fact that she appeared in Star Fleet medical uniform in Hanks holoemitters that first time.

Or that those pictures of her keep turning up on her colleagues desks.

"I'll do that Agent May. Agent Petrovna, if you want to drop by the lab for anything, you'll always be welcome." Though some find being in Jemma's lab just disturbing.

The way he's being evaluated doesn't seem to bother Kwabena in the slightest. "I do not know my family name," he tells her honestly, bluntly. "What I do remembah is; home village was somewhere in Afram Plains."

Let's hope some poor rookie isn't sent on a wild goose chase in Ghana.

To Laynia, Kwabena raises his glass. "«Prevoshkhodstvo are nothing more than gopniks,»" he tells her in Russian, "«which is why they are so dangerous. No oversight from leadership. A real bunch of bastards.»"

Sadly, Kwabena has only seen a handful of 1960's era episodes, so the Jemma of Nine reference is lost on him. He turns to look at the scientist, and shakes his head. "But dere ah only one of you." He turns to Laynia and May, eyebrows raised. "Isn't dere?"

Even having seen that ridiculous photo someone left on her desk, May scoffs faintly when Jemma explains the Star Trek references. But she pauses in sipping at her tea to consider Kwabena when he very baldly says he doesn't know his family name. "Would you like to choose a name? I can have our analysts compile a list of family names from the area you've mentioned."

At the man's confusion, she simply tosses a brief glance at Jemma, then sets the sandwich in front of him. "Another Star Trek reference, based on a character in a more recent series that had cybernetic implants."

"I think I should like to, Actually Agent Simmons, and please…Laynia is fine, we're in the cafe, not the field." She smiles warmly as she says this. "I had interesting discussion with Agent Turner about my powers, would like to see what your science can tell me, if is acceptable?" Like Jemma's going to turn down an opportunity to study her!

Yes, Laynia just VOLUNTEERED to be poked and prodded.

Laynia snorts amusement at the Gopnik comment. «Thugs and hoodlums, mm? Well, then, they need to be dealt with properly.» And yes, Laynia is a 'final' solution sort of gal in a lot of circumstances.

"Ah, I remember Star Trek, but I do not remember a Jemma-of-Nine in it. Kirk, McCoy, Uhura, and of course, the /real/ hero, Checkhov." Wryly, because—yeah, Russian.

"I think most people are thankful there's only one of me…" Jemma looks at May sheepishly "As Agent May says, a cybernetic character from a later series. You should watch it sometime, I rather enjoyed it."

"Gopnik?" She got that much as the Russian runs through the translator she's got linked. "Seven of Nine, Laynia. With Captain Janeway. Not everyone's favourite series… and please, call me Jemma."

"I should get going, Agent Rogers will be waiting for me. If any of you would like to come along, I won't say no." Spot pads over and curls up in Jemma's lap, causing the biochem to sigh and lift the hologram onto her shoulder.

"Pahhaps," Kwabena tells May. It's not something he's considered before, and he isn't entirely committed to the idea. "If it is helpful to what you want to do to help me, den yes, I will choose a name." When she offers the sandwich, however, he smiles and shakes his head. "Oh, I have already eaten. 'Leftovahs'." He doesn't go so far as to explain how or why he had leftovers, but when he says this, one of his guards stifles a laugh.

Some kind of inside joke, it would seem.

"It smells very good," he tells her, before turning toward Laynia and lifting his iced tea as if it were a shotglass of vodka, preparing a toast. "Da," he tells her, before smirking at mention of Checkhov. Shifting his attention to Jemma he tells her, "You do not want to know what is gopnik, but google will tell you." He then sits more upright and says, "I would much prefah sparring dan watching Stah Trek in holding room." He glances between the three and says, "Promise I will not blow up building, yes? You know where to find me."

May doesn't seem at all perturbed when Kwabena refuses the sandwich and nods at him as she takes the sandwich back. She knows there are others — both in R&D and Ops — that are as forgetful about food as Jemma. She'll wrap the banh mi and take it to one of them. No waste.

"Would you like me to accompany you as well, Simmons?" It's not that she doesn't trust Rogers currently, but she knows that the biochemist would likely feel more at ease knowing someone is there who can drop the super soldier if he becomes … unruly.

She finishes her tea and gives her own dishes the same tidying that Laynia did to hers, clearly done with her lunch and ready to move on.

"Names are such…fluid things." Laynia says with an amused grin. "And Gopnik is essentially…eh…hoodlum? Thug? Is term for white youth of low class in Russia, term of contempt." She looks to Jemma then. "Ah, I am not familiar yet, many years out of date still, but getting better. I will watch when time permits." A soft laugh. "So perhaps by Christmas."

She grins at Kwa's toasting, and was more than happy to explain. "Sparring would be welcome, and I am also willing to help with the blood draws, Jemma." See? She remembered.

Being polite, she takes her tray and May's if allowed, and drops them off at the return area, before coming back to the table. "So…which is the plan?"

"I would please, Agent May. Steve is uncomfortable as it is and maybe some friendly faces will help keep him calm. It's not his fault, after all." beat "I need to speak to you as well…"

With Spot balanced on her shoulder, it hasn't occured to the biochem to simply cut the projection, she stands and offers a wan smile around the table. "I'll google it then, Kwabena. Don't hurt our Agents too much." There's a pause as she looks at the dark skinned man "And welcome to the team." Again, there's something genuine to the way she interacts, something hard to fake or put on.

"Thank you, Laynia. Your help is welcome." She leads the group out to her lab, sending Steve a message as she does.

A half-smirk is given to Jemma when she welcomes him. "Only de ones who can handle it," he assures her, before rising and moving to replace his empty glass. It's unclear whether he intends to follow along or not, at least at first. Then again… his holding room is quite boring sometimes.

May stands when Jemma does, collecting her tray and the refused sandwich. "I need to make a stop first, Simmons. I'll meet you at your lab." Then she's off, returning her used tray of plates and utensils, and having the sandwich wrapped to go before she leaves the cafeteria proper.

She's making a quick stop in her quarters to wash off the tiger balm and changes clothes. She'll put up with the sore muscles.

Laynia is not making the Cap sneeze, so she doesn't have to go anywhere but along with the rest of the folks as they troop down to the labs for more fun with the Captain. No doubt there will be a new TV show, and a breakfast cereal Liberty Chunks: the Wolfen Breakfast! Or something.

She looks to Kwabena. «Coming?»

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