1026/The Family Resemblance Is In The Eyepatch

The Family Resemblance Is In The Eyepatch
Date of Scene:	19 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Nick Fury, Lady Blackhawk

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Nick Fury has posed:
A brief message is dropped off to Zinda via courier--or, at least, someone who looks like a courier.

"We should talk.
    -- Fury"

An address in Manhattan is provided.

At the entrance to this building--the Triskelion--a tall man in an eyepatch sits and drinks a cup of coffee, watching the monitors over the shoulder of the security force to examine the day's arrivals so far.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    Aviators, a ratty "Rolls Royce Aviation" ballcap, a neat brand new flight jacket. She's not in disguise then, even has that trademark short skirt and everything. She pauses outside for a minute to spit out her gum, and double check the address. Then, with a roll of the shoulders in she goes. All smiles at least for the moment as she holds up that message as she approaches the reception/security desk. "Heeey fellas, ya'll wanna help a lady out?"

Nick Fury has posed:
The patch-wearing man pats one of the security guards on the shoulder and steps around. He sips his drink and then offers a polite smile.

"Ms. Blake," he says quietly but cheerfully. "Welcome to the Triskelion. I don't think we've met."

The man extends a hand out for a shake. "I'm Nick Fury."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    She puts on the kind of smile that could melt it's way through a tiger tank's hull, before accepting that shake with a firm squeeze and a solid pump. "Well howdy there, heard old man Blackhawk mention the name once or twice back in the day. I never was one for the spy game stuff."Carefully tucking those hands into her jacket pockets. "Right pleasure, but I must confess. Ya'll got me at something of a disadvantage, just hunting for an autograph or you need the 'hawks?"

Nick Fury has posed:
"To be honest," Nick Fury replies with a slight tilt of his head, "I thought it might be useful to, at the very least, get some closure on a few old mission reports that aren't quite complete."

He grins. "That and I thought it would be pretty cool to meet you. You knew the old man, after all. Not many people can say that from so long ago."

Fury finishes his coffee and sets it on the nearby reception desk. "And, yeah, maybe there's something that we can use your talents for. Walk and talk?"

The colonel gestures down the Triskelion hallway while one of the security guards offers a guest ID card on a lanyard. "Just sling this over your neck for me," he says, offering the card to Zinda.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Well, not personally. Knew of, knew he passed us work back when the OSS was still a thing."And a pause, as she accepts that Lanyard with a cursory glance. "Ya'll want me to check my iron? I mean I'm not packin' just for ya'll but yaknow, girl can never be too prepared."

    "I knew the skipper thought he was a real sharp feller, said he knew his bourbon too which I can appreciate."She consents to being disarmed if desired, but well she seems pretty chill thusfar. "I'm amenable chief, guess I been making waves now that I been out there rabble rousin'? I never was much for the spy games myself, never got the chance. Well unless you count boot leggin, but that's like a whole 'nother thing I reckon."

Nick Fury has posed:
"I think we can make an exception for today--especially here," Nick Fury replies. "We've got so many SHIELD staff in the area that I doubt you'd get too far if you WERE to try something."

Fury begins leading the pair down the hallway. "Don't worry about espionage," he says, chuckling softly. "Weve got enough people doing that, and they've got the training to match it."

As the pair walk past a number of offices with floor-to-ceiling windows, each of which has its blinds closed, Fury sighs. "There's no reason to have you do anything other than what you do best. That's one thing the old man always had mastered. It's just that you'd be helping us out by doing it."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "I am a patriot, Mr. Fury and I'm most amenable but there are certain issues at hand."She trails behind and off to the right, by habit or otherwise it does shield her right hip just in case. Eyes sliding over the joint from behind those aviators, before she picks up another step. "Fraid the red scare broke the back of the Blackhawks, yaknow on account of us havin a Pollock for a skipper and all. Likely would have strung me up had I been round, but anyway. Hawks are hurtin, ain't no games neither chief. We're in a bad way."

    Which mostly meshes with reports, she'd been picking up all manner of arms and equipment but only recently have rumors circulated of a second Blackhawk up and operational. Thusfar though, the Hawks haven't picked up any work besides a pair of off the books jobs for the DEA. "Logistics chain all gone to hell, ain't got no OSS feeding us ops n'more. Aircraft ain't being shipped our way with a wink and a nod neither, which is gonna limit what I can do for you until I can secure the kind of cash flow necessary. Course' I-T-A-R and that UN garbage about Mercenaries ain't makin' this gig no easier, they ain't making it easy to be on the right side of this."

Nick Fury has posed:
"Well," Nick Fury says after a moment, "you DO reflect a way of looking at the world that, for most, has changed considerably." He clasps his hands together behind his back as he walks.

"It's much less nation vs. nation these days--mostly, at least. Now it's various global and local interests clashing to promote certain ideologies. Do you think you can work outside the bounds of a nationalistic mindset?" Fury looks to his conversation partner and raises the eyebrow over his good eye.

"I mean, we even got Captain America on board," Fury adds, a thin smile on his face. "I hope that's a compelling demonstration of the strength of our mission. I mean," he says, "usually it works pretty well to knock the pitch out of the park."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Fourth Generation warfare, the dissolution of open conflict against super powers and all that."She shrugs, waving a hand dismissively. "I started readin day I came back, spent a few years at it. I ain't got no problem with it, we got into a whole lot've mess that the OSS was never briefed on. Killer shark, rogue Nazi elements operating out of South America, crooks, anarchists, we did plenty chief. Problem I see, isn't with the Blackhawks. It's with the way air power has been handled since the cold war."

    Stepping just a touch closer, if only so she can keep her voice down. Keeping pace as Fury walks "The inflexibility, the slow decision making, garbage acquisition programs for aircraft that might as well be Pickup trucks for all the good they do. Nevermind the overly restrictive ROE, and the garbage training these boys get now. Heck google tells me I'm the last Fighter Ace who still flies. You believe that, very last one."

    "Anyway, we're contractors. Now I'll grant ya'll priority tasking, I'll let you vet potential clientelle, Heck I'd even entertain letting you have unfettered access to all our files. I got three conditions though, and I'll sweeten the pot if ya'll are willing to follow me down a rabbit hole on this."She pauses there, digging out her cellphone before offering it over. "I got somethin that I think ya'll best hold on to, and I'll give it no strings as a sign of good faith."

    It's a spear head which has been clad in gold foil and wrapped tightly with heavy golden wire, decorated further with jewels and some fairly garbage latin. That though, is a legitimate spear of destiny. One of the five or so which are widely considered to be potentially the real thing, goes all the way back to the fourteenth century. Stolen by Hitler from a museum in Poland, and missing since 1944. There it is, the first tangible hint of it's existance in all that time. "Interested?"

Nick Fury has posed:
The SHIELD director nods as Zinda describes the state of affairs for a WWII fighter ace in the 21st century. "Well, all that seems pretty accurate," he concedes.

"You really need to meet one of our agents, though. She'd probably give you a run for--"

Fury stops as the spear head image is shown to him. He stands quietly in thought for several long beats.

"Well," he says, "I've got to ask what it is you want me to be interested IN. The thing itself? Getting it? Getting rid of it? Using it?"

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "My Skipper trusted your old man, so I'm trusting you. It's yours, you can have it. I'll be honest with you, now granted the dude who had it before we snagged it? I shoved a ten gauge to the base of his skull, so if that thing really works he didn't know how to use it."And a shrug, and a faint little smile as she rocks on her heels. "I need the Blackhawks to retain their autonomy, we'll contract to Shield but we remain a seperate distinct entity. I need four F-15s, a pair of F-22s and I'm going to need you to see about securing me a pair of YF-23s. Of course I'll need a few choppers and the like, if you folks are gonna want me to play taxi. The rest well, munitions and spare parts. You know the drill."

    And thats doing business with a fighter pilot, going straight for the throat on opening negotiations."Blackhawks don't operate for much profit margin, but our war chest is empty. So I'll charge you exact cost, and I want another ten percent of that ontop. Bonus for aerial victories of course, call it a million each. You get the finest combat aviator, and her wingman. You get to tie us down and keep us away from your siblings. No DIA,CIA,NRO contracts unless they pass through you."And finally that winning smile.

    "It's the deal of the century, and you know it."

Nick Fury has posed:
Putting up his hands, Nick Fury grins. "Hey now. We can talk aircraft, sure. But if you're gonna have 24/7 use of ships, you're gonna need to be on retainer. And no use of said craft for anyone else." He leans forward slightly. "SHIELD stuff? SHIELD business. That part's not up for negotiation, either."

"For that matter," Fury adds, his grin becoming a smirk, "I hope you're not planning on ever landing these hypothetical vehicles anywhere but on a SHIELD 'carrier or an ops-related destination. I'd HATE to think you were going to try and look under the hood at any of these babies and see what kind of ideas you could get from them."

"It's a deal, alright," Fury says. "But let's not get too ahead of ourselves, now. I may not be the Nick Fury you're used to, but I've been around the block all the same."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Fifteens and the twenty twos, the twenty threes if production is possible? Blackhawk property. Your little VTOL jet things, sure thats fine no complaints. I'll need to borrow one for a month, and some support crew."She shrugs faintly. "Learn how to fly it, teach my wingman to fly it. Learn how to fix it in the field if I have to, but I'll consent to doing all the work with them things under SHIELD supervision. I ain't tryna get one over on you, and I aint trying to make a quick buck."

    She lifts produces a pack've smokes and pauses, waiting to see if she's going to get busted for smoking in here before lighting up. "I'm letting you approve any potential clients, so it ain't like I'm locking you out here. I just need aircraft to protect our facility, and to look after our own. You'll want me and my Wingman racking up as much flight time as possible anyway, the more we fly the better we'll fight. Killing men at sixty thousand feet, is no small thing Mr Fury. I'm going to need some latitude for off the rack military hardware, and besides I got things I wanna do to'em."

Nick Fury has posed:
"I can arrange for SHIELD security to assist with protection of the Blackhawks' base of operations," Fury replies. "But I'm not in the habit of gifting expensive fighters to contractors."

He puts his hands on his hips. "I might be willing to work on a layaway kind of program. Do enough jobs, it becomes yours. Consider it a sweat equity payoff plan. You'll have plenty of opportunity to rack up air time for real AND in simulation," he adds. "I know you're probably the type to say it's not like the real thing. That's probably true. But fuel's expensive, and computer setups aren't."

Fury looks at Zinda's cigarette but says only, "I'm not demanding you become a full-blown SHIELD employee. But I'm not Father Christmas here. Just like you, I'm looking after my own."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Work to own? Yeah I can live with that, I get it chief you don't know me from Adam."And a pause as she lights up, offering the pack towards Fury if he fancies. "For a jet, no it really isn't the same. The fact that you think it is, yeah that'd be why you need me here."As if she was ever not going to live up to the fighter pilot stereotype?

    "Island is off limits, just like Shield facilities are off limits for us when we're not on contract. I like my space, and I have no doubts you've got the satelite resources to watch us from afar if you're that worried about two pilots."A little shrug there, as she takes another pull of her cigarettes.

Nick Fury has posed:
"Tell you what," Nick Fury replies, "I'll give you ONE on probation. See how things go, training-wise. Everything else is work-to-own ... and this first one is, too, but you'll have the ability to fly it home in between missions."

"Speaking of which," he says, tossing a thumb over his shoulder, "why don't we go look and see what the eggheads over in R&D are up to? Maybe they can at least cover some of the basic specs for it. You'll probably have more fun talking with them than with me."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
And a shrug"It's a turkey, don't sweat it chief. I can fly it just fine, aircraft design by fisher price if they fly half as lame as they look."Somone get the fire department! "What do you call those things anyway, and hey so I've seen photos online and stuff right? You guys really don't have a bulkhead behind the cockpit?" Not one minute, and yeah ok. Lups curling up in a faint smile. "Oh and I'll work up a yellow book for you, pick it up when you swing by to pick up the spear?" She'll follow along at least, grinning all the while.