10218/Mackenzie Station: Asgard comes calling

Mackenzie Station: Asgard comes calling
Date of Scene:	27 November 2019
Location:	Science Module (Mackenzie King Station)
Synopsis:	Caitlin invites Sif to Mackenzie Station and gives her the nickle tour.
Cast of Characters:	Fairchild, Sif

---

Fairchild has posed:
For Caitlin, she's fit to busting with excitement. The Lady Sif, the Shieldmaiden, and one of Asgard's best heroes, is incoming on the first test of an Asgard-to-Mackenzie-Station ride on the Bifrost.

Cait's wearing civilian clothing with her official ID bracelet strapped to her wrist. The black band glows a subtle shade of silver from the light system built into it. The jeans and calf-high boots make for a semi-casual look, and she carries it off with a thick long-sleeved purple sweater and an ivory infinity scarf wrapped around her neck.

"I'm getting something!" the technician announces. "Big spike in neutrino emissions-- WOAH!" A crash of light brings the Bifrost burning onto the transport deck of Mackenzie Station.

Sif has posed:
Auroral curtaining in near-blinding light fills the transport deck of the Station. Within it, at first blurred, the vision of a body. The Bifrost fades and leaves behind a tall, muscular woman standing on one of the sectioned areas -- the proverbial landing point.

Sif, wearing her hair today in a long and lustrous dark braid down her back, has come in her best rendition of Midgardian civilian garb. Her winter trenchcoat is deep navy-blue, trimmed in white fur, and her black ankle-boots click as she steps slowly towards the red-head she recognizes.

"Lady Caitlin. Your experiment seems to have been a success. Congratulations," the Vanir Princess notes with a fond smile for the scientist. Her jeans are acid-washed, nearly as pale as her glacially-blue eyes.

Fairchild has posed:
"Lady Si- oh WOW," Caitlin says, coming up short for a second. "I don't think I've ever seen you in civilian clothes," she remarks. "You look fantastic!" she exclaims. "I'm glad you were able to home in on the signal." Caitlin lifts her partially clenched fists aloft. "Hiiii!" A warm and sincerely pleased hug is offered.

"Let me *officially* welcome you to Mackenzie Station," she beams. "We're setting it up so people can teleport to the docking bay, but not anywhere else," Caitlin explains, and beckons Sif to walk with her. "C'mon! Do you want the grand tour? We can check out the whole ship, or check out just the main attractions."

"Oh! I almost forgot." Caitlin shows Sif a black wristband, and offers to help put it on for her. "Anytime you're out of the common areas, like the Promenade? You need to have this on. You're coded Yellow. You can go anywhere except the sensitive areas like Operations or the Command Deck," she explains. "I mean, without me, anyway. I can go anywhere." She lifts her wristband. "Coded /white/," she says proudly.

Sif has posed:
Sif laughs despite herself -- she's pleased to have garnered such a reaction from her good friend. "Yes, I was able to locate the signal," she confirms. The warm and sincere hug is returned with monitored strength on the Princess's part and accompanied by the additional wrist-to-forearm grip and pump, proper warrior greeting offered.

She holds out her hand, fingers held together to taper, and the black wristband slips on easily enough. She lifts it to the light of the room and rotates her hand, feeling the light-weight presence. A glance to Caitlin at the explanation is garnished with a grin.

"I would trust you aboard this Station with my life. I do not see why anyone would grant you any lack of access. Please, I would appreciate the grand tour. You may repay me for your stay in Asgard," she teases, reaching to link arms with the redhead.

Fairchild has posed:
"Oh, uh, that's my point," Caitlin admits with a nervous smile. "I guess I shouldn't have been so vague. I'm actually.... kind of in charge here. Second in charge," she amends hastily. "Second-in-command. Carol-- you know, Captain Marvel-- she's the head enchilada around here. I'm in charge of base operations and civilian issues."

They enter the main lift. "There are a few levels. I mostly work on Operations and the Science level," she explains, and points at the labels on the buttons. "I try not to go into the Command Module more than I have to, there's all Army guys up there and they yell at you if you steal their coffee and doughnuts. I had like, four," she mutters with a dark tone.

Sif has posed:
Sif nods appreciatively as she walks alongside Caitlin to the lift. She eyes the buttons and their labels and glances upwards towards this...Command Module.

"If you ever have need for a doughnut, I will retrieve you one. I do not fear the men of the Army." There is no disrespect implied by her tone; it simply is a state of being for the Goddess of War. "I could convince them to part with at least four, I would assume."

She smiles at Caitlin encouragingly though. "Surely Carol could convince them as well? She commands a great deal of respect. I am displeased that you are not shown the same."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin's ears pink. "I... okay, I mean, they didn't *yell* yell," she concedes, in hindsight. "But they were super mean and stern looking at me, you know, like, um... ... I guess I don't know who does that on Asgard, but it's really unnerving!" she protests with an upwards shift of pitch.

The button for 'Science' is pressed. "I'll show you the labs. We're doing some really cool research up here," she explains. "I had no idea about some of the technology powering the Station. It's one of the most advanced facilities on Earth. If they ever declassify some of this stuff, I could land another doctorate with a thesis based on it."

Sif has posed:
"I would think perhaps the All-Father himself could give you such a look, if a label is to be given," the Vanir Princess admits, her smile softer now. She elects to remain arm-in-arm with the young woman as the lift shifts into smooth movement, its motion almost undetectable.

"I presume this science you speak of will not be declassified for some time then? Could you not..." She pauses to muse. "Could you not write a thesis on an element of it rather than the whole? Or is it that to give show the world a piece of the puzzle is to encourage too much curiosity in turn? I am reminded of your Midgardian myth of Pandora's Box, if in the element of curiosity engendering too much discovery."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin welcomes Sif's proximity and gives their linked arms a warmly affectionate squeeze. It's quite a sight, the two giantesses touring the station, but the looks are rarely worse than a curious or surprised glance.

"That's all been done," Caitlin clarifies. "I mean people know the antigravity pumps and the various high-energy generators exist. The theory isn't hard to figure out. But there isn't a ton of knowledge out there about how these actually *work*. I've already seen some things I think I can improve."

She lowers her voice conspiratorially. "But Carol told me never rearrange the furniture in your first three months, so I'm just keeping it to myself for now."

Sif has posed:
Sif lean her face in a touch, brows lifted and meeting, as her friend speaks more softly. She's unaware of the looks they're garnering or she simply doesn't care. Caitlin is a friend and should be shown affection as such. After all, she has put up with multiple sudden appearances of Sif's current courtier.

"I am uncertain as to this saying. Never rearrange the furniture in your first three months? Is this to mean you should not rock the boat given your relatively new presence here in the Station?"

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin gives Sif a befuddled look. "Lady Sif... uh... there are no human boats in space," she explains, gently.

The elevator doors *dings* and Caitlin pats Sif's hand. "Okay. This is the Science section," Caitlin explains, and her gesture encompasses a rather substantially-sized lab. "This is where I am a lot," she admits. "Not as much as I'd like. It's hard to simulate zero-gravity, even on earth, so we're doing a lot of research here with longer-term projects. Right now the big projects we have are deep space telemetry and point-to-point sublight communications. There's a whole bunch we can be studying at any given time."

Sif has posed:
"I am aware of the lack of Midgardian boats in space. Do you not have a saying about rocking a boat, however? One must not make too much fuss in order to prevent capsizing it? It could apply in the case of new blood within a faction -- order -- group." Sif muses to herself over the term, but not for long since the lift doors open to reveal quite the expanse of scientific grandiosity.

She nods, eyes spanning the room behind the redhead's gesture. "What is your particular project at hand at this time then, Lady Caitlin?"

Fairchild has posed:
"Oh." Caitlin's cheeks pink a bit at the gentle rebuke, but they press on. The question brights Caitlin's face and she brings Sif along with an encouraging wave to a row of workrooms sharing an access hall. "I mean, I've got a bunch of irons in the fire. I'm working on making my virtual assistant a true AI," she explains, and taps the smooth white box on her hip. "Digital sentience. I've been reading /all/ the literature, everything Dr. Pym or Dr. Richards have done. It works pretty rarely, but I've got a good feeling about it."

"But this is a personal project," she clarifies, and with a wave of her bracelet buzzes them into the room. The door slides open to reveal a meticulously organized pair of workbenches with a few partially finished components on them. Against the wall a series of cables and straps supports a wire-frame mannequin sporting slablike components of an incomplete set of body armor. It's visibly quite similar to what Sif often wears,, though it lacks the artistic touches and finishing work that suggest a master craftsman at work. "After the last few times I got my noggin knocked in a fight, I figure I should probably invest in something to at least soak up some of those smaller hits."

Sif has posed:
"I hope your personal AI does not gain any malevolent sentience. I have heard tales of mis-steps and mistakes in the growth of the field on Midgard. We have magical sentience, but it is an imbued aspect very contained. I wonder at the constraints working in your favor with your current technology," Sif replies as they step into Caitlin's personal work room.

Her eyes do immediately fall to the armor on display along the wall. While she appreciates the entire science lab as a whole, this is familiarity to her. Those glacial-blues light up. "This is fine work thus far," she comments as she walks over, fingers uplifted as if she might brush tips along the chest-piece. However, she does not, and looks to Caitlin for permission. "Their make is already quite sturdy by first appearances. You intend to preserve a high range of motion?"

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin nods twice and makes a 'please go ahead' gesture. The question provokes a blinking surprise from the redhead and her smile falls just a millimeter or two. "I, uh... I hadn't thought that far ahead," she concedes. Caitlin casts around and then lands on a holoprojector near by. "I was more, um, focusing on trying to see if I can *build* it first," she admits.

The redhead drifts over and activates the holodisplay in her hands. Several digital prototypes float in the air between them. One looks like bad fantasy epic armor. Another's a much more prosaic medieval version, and one looks like contemporary shock trooper armor. The last two are visibly drawn from inspiration from Asgard and Themyscira both. "I don't really know what I wanna do yet. I'm still trying to figure out even what materials to use, how heavy to make it-- and I don't know if it's active or passive armor, or how to store it but have it handy at the same time..."

Broad shoulders roll in an apologetic shrug at Sif. "Right now it's just 3D-printed durasteel. It's pretty good stuff but it won't stop tank rounds, and I can take a few of those without too much long-term trouble."

Sif has posed:
Sif very carefully touches at the chest-plate now. Even as Caitlin explains her process of crafting the armor, she nods to herself -- yes, this isn't durable just yet. It doesn't have the touch of tempered metal to her long-experienced fingertips.

Glancing up to the holographic suits of armor up and translucently present, the Vanir Princess reaches out to gesture for each to turn. Her eyes run over each set, lips pursed.

"I can see where your inspirations lie," she teases the armors' creator very gently, favoring Caitlin with a little pleased smile. The Goddess of War does have a good kernel of pride in her heart, after all. "I suppose once you have your design finished in this durasteel, you might sport it and move about. I would tease about dancing in it, but I have had to do such things before. It is a surprisingly good way to test range of motion."

Fairchild has posed:
A laugh escapes Caitlin's throat. "Well, I mean-- I want it to work and be functional. Asgardians favor heavier armor than the Amazons do. The metal armor is a classic Earth design, though it's a few centuries old by now. And the modern stuff is really ergonomic, but it's so lightweight I'm not sure it's worth bothering," Caitlin admits.

"I'm kind of lucky, the weight of it's not really an issue. Even a hundred kilos of armor isn't gonna do much to affect my balance or speed. So I can get into some really neat theoretical materials, stuff that just isn't feasible for most humans."

"But," she says, "the flexibility is something I can't really get away from," she agrees. "Durasteel is pretty rigid." A bar is retrieved from the table and with a grunt of effort Caitlin bends it to a cornered angle with her hands. "But you really need like, ten or fifteen centimetres of it for the structure to have enough flex and rigidity."

Sif has posed:
Sif watches the flexion and bend of the bar in her friend's hands, having wandered to her side. With fists rested lightly on her hips, she frowns thoughtfully and looks around the work area.

"One would think that there could be a balance point between the concept of ergonomics and strength, especially in the modern Midgardian materials. Can you not combine this durasteel with another heavier material? Or no, it would sacrifice the ability to withstand a blow and become brittle?"

Pulling her braid around the front of her body, Sif fiddles with its tail, paintbrush-smooth in midnight-black. "You think I tease of dancing in it, but do let me know whence you have completed your armor. I shall be your partner and we shall test it as such." The Aesir grins, absolutely unrepentant.

Fairchild has posed:
Sif's answer to her own question earns her a nod of agreement as she hits the nail on the head. Her invitation, however, provokes a giggle. Caitlin laughs and puts the durasteel away. "Oh, g'wan," Caitlin scolds Sif with an endearing tone.

She glances back at the woman and her brows lift to let her eyes widen. "O-oh, you were serious? I, um, I-I don't really, uh... dance," Caitlin says. Fingertwips twiddle together uncertainly. "I don't know how, for one, and for two, I d-don't wanna step on anyone's toes. In the literal sense," she clarifies. "I don't even like riding the subway. If I trip or stagger and land on someone I could put them in the ER." The words coming from her mouth are picking up speed and pitch as nerves take over. "And then I'd feel super bad and I'm all elbows and knees anyway, and I'd just be stepping all over people and oh my gosh what if I knocked someone over during a dance and they crashed into a waiter and food started going everywhere--!"

Sif has posed:
It's very worth it to see her friend begin to build steam like a train taking off on the tracks, but only to a point. Sif reaches out and very gently places her palm on Caitlin's shoulder, attempting to ground her and bring her back to the present.

"Lady Caitlin -- would you rather we attempted a version of the Midgardian video game, Dance Dance Revolution? I have heard it does not require a partner and yet still allows one to test their full range of motion. I assume your holographic projectors could create the pattern upon the floor of this lab and then showcase the thread of steps on the wall itself? It would be fun, wouldn't it?"

Fairchild has posed:
The touch to her shoulder centers Caitlin in reality a bit and she takes a few gulping breaths to calm herself down. "Sorry. Sorry. I don't get anxious about much but that was just a whole bunch of ideas all at once."

A hand is waved to excuse herself apologetically. The redhead digs under her desk for a mini-fridge and comes up with two bottles filled with some opaque substance. "Want a protein shake? I've got chocolate, strawberry, and I think banana."

Both are offered to Sif and then Caitlin uncaps one for herself and chugs the creamy paste down quickly enough.

"Also, I haven't eaten in a few hours, and that makes me crabby. I'm sorry. I-- I might try the DDR thing," she allows. "But not if anyone's watching! I'd just get laughed at," she warns Sif.

Sif has posed:
"There is nothing to apologize for in the least. Banana will do." Taking the bottle designated not only by the yellow color, but by the fruit on the label, the Aesir woman then watches Caitlin throw back the contents of her own bottle. She pauses, still holding the unopened drink in her hand, and then laughs quietly to herself.

"Those who do not matter will mind your dancing, but more importantly, those who //do// matter will not mind it in the least. I, for one, will not mind, because at one point, I too stepped on toes. Imagine, the Princess of Vanaheim, crunching the toes of a visiting diplomat like walnut shells." Her dark eyebrows lift to accent her point, though her small smile never vanishes entirely. The cap comes off of her banana protein smoothie and she sniffs at it.

"Mmm, the scent of fake fruit," she murmurs jokingly before she too finishes the entire bottle in a few gulps.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin's mouth forms an 'o' and she covers it with both hands a beat later. "Oh my gosh," she whispers, and a look of sympathetic mortification crosses her face. "I mean-- I've done that, there was this Hammer Industries VP who kept crowding me at a convention and I forgot he was there and then boy was he *screaming*, but..."

The containers are taken, rinsed in the sink, and set aside for re-use. No question of the quality of the provendor is forthcoming; clearly it's not a recipe Caitlin prides too highly. "I can't imagine you as a little girl," Caitlin admits. Her nose wrinkles. "Like, I can see you, but it's like a three-quarter sized version of you. With a sword." She snickers at the mental image.

Sif has posed:
The Vanir Princess's hand rises to about level to her waist, if slightly below it by an inch or two. "I was about yea tall when I picked up my first sword," she informs Caitlin with a little chuckle to follow. "Though I should amend that it was technically a long-knife, but to one that small, it seemed a sword. How my nanny was shocked. Needless to say, I was convincing, and my lessons were scheduled. It seemed...it seemed a more natural thing, my hand about the grip, than anything before, not even my harp."

Sif again plays with her braid for a second, giving Caitlin a sympathetic smile. "I was not much older than you, in a way, when I stepped on the diplomat's toes. He did yell as well. I do understand your trial in the endeavor of dance."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin hesitates, then looks around, then hesitates once more before moving to hit the door's privacy lock. She turns back to Sif, as if contemplating something, then starts fiddling with the holoprojector watch on her wrist. A digitized image flickers to life of a redheaded wisp of a girl standing shyly to one side of a towering dark-skinned man, hugging her shoulders with a sibling protectiveness and positively towering over the dimuntive thing.

"That, uh. That was me." She points at the redhead, probably a little needlessly. "That's my brother. Adopted brother," she amends. "I mean, I was adopted. That's Alex. This was the day he dropped me off for college."

Sif has posed:
Sif quietly watches as her friend preps the room for...something. Her dark brows rise slowly towards her hairline before knitting in concern. She spares the door, despite it being locked, a cautious glance before looking back at Caitlin.

A step closer to the redhead means the Aesir can clearly see the image brought up above the thin band at Caitlin's wrist. She considers the young woman and then the young man and glances over. "I have not met Alex, have I?" She asks the question very delicately, uncertain if she's treading into sensitive territory.

Fairchild has posed:
"I don't... um..." Caitlin shrugs. "I don't talk about Alex a lot," she admits, quietly. "My family-- I mean, him, his dad-- Uncle Billy. We always kept really strict rules about talking about family and history and stuff. Uncle Bill was in the military for a long time and did some really top-secret stuff. Alex, uh..." She frets her hand through her hair and tugs on a few thick coils of her rod locks, as if the action's done to steady jangling nerves. "Alex's business stuff isn't always... legal."

"He's a good guy, though, really," Caitlin assures Sif. As if fearing too much has been said she dismisses the holoimage. "Anyway, I thought-- well you were nice and told me something personal, so ... now you know something about me, too," Caitlin explains, and she rolls her shoulders at Sif with a fidgety sort of punctuation.

Sif has posed:
"Oh, Lady Caitlin." Sif's voice sweeps low and fond, her glacially-blue eyes lingering on her friend. "You have a large heart and a kind soul. Your tales and mention of Alex, as well as your Uncle Bill -- these are safe with me. They shall not pass my lips."

She opens her arms wide now, clearly inviting the redhead into an embrace sure to be strong and yet comforting. No back cracking.

This time.

"I am spoiled for your friendship," she's sure to add quietly. "There are few Midgardians like you on your world."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin blinks once at the sudden invitation, but only in surprise. Without hesitation she steps forward and embraces Sif quite firmly, leaning against one of the few people both her height and of a match for her strength. In the face of the sudden fleeting vulnerability, Sif's offer of physical affection is well-welcomed and heartily recieved.

A few beats past and with one more quick squeeze Cait disengages from Sif and steps back a half pace. But a warm and more familiar smile wreathes her face. "Thanks, Lady Sif," she tells her friend, and gives Sif's fingers a squeeze of gentle affection. "You've been a really good friend to me too. I'm glad we've been able to spend the time together we have."

Sif has posed:
"Absolutely, Lady Caitlin," the Princess agrees and returns the squeeze of fingers. "In my long-lived years, I have had few instances of true friends." Her eyes fall and then dart to one side. It's only the briefest showing of insecurity, however, soon replaces by a subtle straightening of spine and pull of composure back about herself like a silken cloak.

"I am honored to have you." A firm nod. "But, since we are friends and we may be honest with one another, the protein smoothie was very chalky. If there is a way to cut the chalky taste with another taste entirely, it would be very palatable," she assures Caitlin.

Fairchild has posed:
"I've tried," Caitlin says, and makes a face at the recollection. The shift to a more mundane topic seems to be a welcome one as they return to more comfortable territory. "Sorry. You really didn't have to drink it all, I was just being polite," she apologizes. "It's rude to eat in front of people. I probably should have warned you."

"It's basically a hydrocarbon slurry. We started with the most calorie-dense food we could think of and worked backwards to try and make it palatable. They're about two thousand calories each and I need to drink five a day on top of my normal meals, or I can't maintain body weight."

Caitlin busies herself tidying up her desk, as the two screwdrivers and a wire clipper out of place seem to be bothering her sense of neatness. "I got stuck off-world for like, two or three weeks, and I was living off plants and rocks for mineral content. I lost a hundred and ten pounds, all my clothes fit like a circus tent."

Sif has posed:
While Caitlin cleans, Sif herself steps over briefly to the durasteel armor set and once more brushes fingertips thoughfully over its surface. She glances back and then lets her arms hang neutrally at her sides as she walks back over, realizing she was briefly distracted by wandering curiosity.

"Would that this incident never occur to you again," she wishes solemnly. "I suppose the taste of chalk would not matter in this case. We should have Greek food again soon, I think, on that vein of thought. I do not think Prince Loki will be joining us this next time." Her assurance is friendly; the twinkle in her light eyes is amused.

The Vanir Princess has made certain to tease Loki in the matter as well. Ice water will never be the same!