1192/1984, Konspiratsiya

1984, Konspiratsiya
Date of Scene:	28 June 2017
Location:	A Penthouse, Outside Los Angeles
Synopsis:	Backscene. The year is 1984. The Black Widow, the Winter Soldier, and Ares come together to form a plan to stop an attack on the Olympics that would turn the Cold War hot.
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Winter Soldier, Black Widow (Romanoff)

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Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
    1984. Outside Los Angeles.
    The hotel is considered five star. The cost to stay there for a single night is about equal to a month's pay for 'normal' people. The penthouse is even more.
    Natasha paid in advance for a week. In cash. The arrangement is for a visiting dignitary from overseas. There is a single private elevator that can only be accessed with a passkey. Due to the situation, the visitors have their own security. Two downstairs at the entrance to the elevator. Two at the top should anyone arrive.
    The balcony is large and open, allowing a beautiful view of the city of Los Angeles. It's a million dollar view. There are a few men on the balcony as well as a couple on the roof. Tight security.
    Natasha is already in the main living area of the penthouse, awaiting the arrival of the others. The men on guard? All fellow agents. The handful they have on this coast. Not enough for the task at hand. Thus, she has put out a call to other allies. Asked for their assistance.
    Tonight, they will come up with a plan for how to save the world.
    Over vodka. There must always be vodka.
    She sits at the table, any icy bottle already there. She sips the chilled vodka from her glass while she waits.

Ares has posed:
    It was a brief meeting that brought John Aaron here. A visitor to the place he had called home for the last few decades. A discussion. That was that. Goals aligned and he had agreed to meet her here at this time.
    When he had approached the private entrance he was most likely met with a good deal of scrutiny. Oh he did match the description that had been left of him with them. He was the exact height, exact build the Widow described. But those operatives also knew that this man was not one of their own. Outsider, one who did not hold to the faith, yet was somehow valued. None of this could be identified in the cold stares given, however. They did their job, and eventually the private elevator gave that faint melodic 'ding-a-ding' to announce its arrival.
    It was from there that the tall broad-shouldered man stepping into that penthouse of opulence, his eyes noting the men on guard and then shifting to the woman who had summoned him here. "Natalia."

Winter Soldier has posed:
He was in Buenos Aires when the call came. The Dirty War was nominally over, but shadow wars never end, and undercurrents never stop flowing below even the smoothest diplomatic waters.

It didn't take him too much time to get there. There is no such thing as a long, onerous flight if you have enough to spend. He shuffled his sheaf of identities to make it as smooth as possible, flicking through passports to find the one that declares him to be Jack Ryder, an American businessman. Fighting the good fight to make US inroads into South America, against the Red threat.

He encounters none of the scrutiny that Natalia's other contact does. They were given a title-- not a name, not a description, but a title-- and all the proof that is required is in the removal of a glove. Eyes drop and gazes avert, afterwards. Nobody really wants to be remembered by the dispassionate blue-eyed regard that measures, weighs, and ultimately dismisses.

The Winter Soldier does not immediately speak nor announce himself upon arrival-- he is not a creature accustomed to operating with others-- but he is there in the doorway shortly after John Aaron, a living shadow detached from the greater shadows overlaying the room, his gaze taking in the room, the view, the spread.

The vodka.

"I hope you left enough in the budget for the good shit," he says of it. He doesn't immediately speak to the fact that John Aaron is /there/-- he assumes Natalia has her reasons. "I've been drinking Fernet for the last week, and it tastes like piss."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
    "John, thank you for coming," Natasha says with a smile at the living mountain who just came in from the elevators. She waves her hand at the table. "Feel free to take a seat." She nods in the direction of the bar. "Help yourself to a drink if you prefer something other than vodka." There is already a glass sitting at one of the three chairs around the table.
    Three. Not great odds against a terrorist cell. Normally.
    None of the people who will be at this meeting would be considered normal by any stretch of the imagination.
    It's a few moments later when the last of the triumvirate arrives. Nastasha glances over at him and she cannot stop herself from smiling. "The budget couldn't afford it after I got this place," she replies, glancing around at the luxury of the room. Then her green gaze meets the Winter Soldier's blue. "So I paid for the good stuff out of my own pocket. I will not drink sub-standard vodka."
    She looks from one man to the other. "John Aaron, this is one of my fellow agents and a friend. He is known as the Winter Soldier." Then she nods her head toward John. "And Winter Soldier, this is John Aaron, an ally from many years ago who I have asked to help with the situation at hand." Which said that way seems to be a title as opposed to a name. For she is positive it isn't his true name. Yet, it is what he uses now she she honors him by utilizing it. In truth, she still doesn't know who he truly is.

Ares has posed:
    "It is..." John does look around slowly and quirks an eyebrow, "A rather nice place." He offers as he sets down his satchel beside a suitable chair. He draws the seat out partially and sits down, reaching forward to the bottle and glasses in the middle of the table and taking the liberty to flip the glasses over, then turning the bottle and letting the vodka gurgle into each glass in turn.
    Once that's done his attention is drawn over towards the two of them at the end of Natalia's words. His brow furrows slightly as he looks them over, dark brown gaze flitting from one to the other. Then his attention rests on Winter Soldier for a time. There's a moment of silence when he watches the man, gauging, considering. Then a small, 'hm' is given as he pushes the other gasses towards their respective chairs.
    "Soldier." The title chosen, "Come, sit." He says this to both of them. "Let us be about this. Tell me what it is we must do."

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Winter Soldier does not seem terribly surprised that there are only three places at the table. If anything, he's probably curious why it's felt more than merely himself and the Black Widow will be required, though he does not complain.

The source of his mollifcation might be Natasha's assurances that she paid out of pocket to ensure good vodka. "Otlichno," he says, a half smile curling around the word of approval. "Important to keep the priorities straight."

The Winter Soldier's head cants infinitesimally at Natasha's inflection on the name John Aaron. He reads the layers of implied meaning in the way she says it-- like a title, like she doesn't quite know the truth of the man behind the presumed name. His gaze flicks towards Aaron briefly, back to Natasha, and a thoughtful look comes and goes across his face at the form of address both of them choose for him. There is a ring of the military about the way John Aaron enunciates those two syllables, a weight to it that suggests a man who has held a command.

His brows lift slightly, but he says nothing of it. He only adds tolerantly, as he joins the others at the table and slides his offered glass closer. "Morozov will suffice if you would rather not stand on formality." His gaze turns to Natasha. "Let's have the sitrep."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
    "The intel is brief," Natasha begins once they have both joined her. She rises, walking to a nearby couch with a briefcase sitting next to it. She places the case on the seat, opening it and pulling out two file folders. Then case is snapped back shut and returned to its spot on the floor. The folders are placed on their meeting table and slid to each man in turn. Winter Soldier's will be in place a second before John's. An unplanned tell of her deference to the man even to this day.
    "We have received word that there will be an attack at the opening ceremonies of the Olympics in Los Angeles. The group that seems to be responsible is a small American group who are determined to bring about war between the United States and the Soviet Union." She pauses to take a sip of her vodka before continuing.
    "Through the black market, they have managed to gather enough exlosives to blow up half the stands during opening ceremonies." That is allowed to sink in a second. "I have tried to warn the United States through a variety of sources but they are not taking the warnings seriously. They believe it is Soviet lies created to pull them away from some other likely target." She smirks a little at that. Oh the games of governments and spies. "However, I have been getting some conflicting information so I'm not sure if there is more in play here than I see on the surface. Or my personal paranoia is coloring my judgement. Everything I have is in the files so perhaps fresh eyes will see something I'm missing."

Ares has posed:
    For a moment, John's lip twists subtly as he takes up his glass and lightly swirls the shot, "I believe..." He again looks at Winter Soldier and for a moment the man might get the subtle feeling that those calm brown eyes are looking slightly past him and over his shoulder, thoughts distancing with his gaze. But then being drawn back to the here and now as he murmurs, "I prefer Soldier."
    He nods slowly, as if agreeing with himself and accepting his permission to do so all in that one thought. Then a firmer nod as he agrees with the sentiment that is asked.
    It's then that he listens to Natalia's offering of the situation.
    When the packet is slid before him he accepts it, opens the first page. Perhaps peruses the material, but then closes it and lifts his gaze back over to Natalia. "Are we beyond the gathering intelligence phase?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
The brief distance in that brown-eyed gaze does not go unnoticed. There is a corresponding silence from the Soldier as he considers it, weighs it, and ultimately files it away as an enigma that cannot currently be solved, and perhaps does not need to be. "It is not inappropriate," he replies, though thanks to the mischief of his presumed 'mother country,' he does not fully know just HOW appropriate.

His attention turns as Natasha gets started. The Soldier reaches for the file with a timing that implies he is accustomed to this particular deference from her. Even something so small as a file pass elucidates the unspoken interplay, social and physical, between teacher and student, senior agent to prized protege. Not that it is an oppressive or dismissive attitude. It simply is: a dynamic solidified by years.

He pages through the full file as Natasha offers a verbal debrief, in contrast to John's more cursory perusal, his eyes moving from page to page to absorb information at a surprising rate. "The one time we /aren't/ lying," he says, gently amused. "It'd be funny, under other circumstances. Certainly useful, later on."

John certainly has his focus. The Soldier glances at him, before returning his eyes to his file. He closes it, freeing up his left hand to take his drink. The arm is covered, but it hums tellingly to itself, with the sound of articulating metal, as it moves. "What's your conflicting information?" he asks, as he drains half his glass and replaces it on the table.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
    "We are never beyond the intelligence gathering," Natasha says with a little laugh as she leans back in her seat comfortably. Her hand is curled around her glass but she leaves it resting on the table for now. "Otherwise Morozov and I would be out of a job."
    She does realize what he is getting at. He's wanting some action. As opposed to sneaking around in the shadows putting together puzzle pieces. She flicks her gaze to her fellow Russian at the question.
    "Information keeps stopping. I start to get a few whispers from our side and it is shut down. Same in the American circles. It's almost like both governments don't want this to be known about." She shrugs, the move nonchalant, her tone even. Only deep within, she is very uncomfortable with this turn of circumstance. "I don't know if the governments are condoning the events or someone on the inside--on both sides--is trying to keep this from being learned." So is it entire governments with the blessings of their leadership or operatives who are keeping the information from being learned. "Someone wants this to happen. I just can't figure out who. It may just be the Brothers of America as it seems to be but I feel in my gut there is something more going on here."

Ares has posed:
    There is a subtlety to the two spies, to their interactions between them. But the other there who goes for now by the name of John, he has a sense of the calm to him. They are discussing a plot to end the world as they know it, but on some level he seems to be comfortable with the possibilities one way or the other. Or perhaps just comfortable in these surroundings.
    His drink is knocked back, then set down with a faint glassy clink. He pours more, and shores up anyone else's glass should they so require. Though this is Natalia's call, her summons, the feeling of the moment that comes from the tall man is that they here... now, at this table. This is their time, and the others beyond them, the ones holding their weapons at the ready and who stand guard... are not of this.
    He glances sidelong at the redheaded woman, "Some time ago, there were two tribes who stood in opposition of each other." He downs his shot and then tilts the bottle again, refilling his glass with a gurgle. "Obstinate, shields raised, swords bashing against them in anger nearly constantly."
    He leans to the side in his chair and looks to each of them there at the table, "Yet they could not come to grips with each other. Their leaders were old, grey of hair, and the peace that had held for some time was too comfortable. And there was always the river that parted them from each other, their blades unable to reach."
    He flares a hand to the side, as if dismissing his words as but trifles, "That was until they found that others on the other side of the river were of like mind. And each began to throw a stone into the water, slowly. But slow. Until finally they could get to grips. And then the blood flowed."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Natasha's quip on the neverending nature of intel gathering brings a tolerant smile to briefly open up the Soldier's expression, like the evanescent parting of clouds on an overcast day. "I empathize with your sentiment," he does offer John Aaron, swirling his glass absently where it rests on the table. "Things get much more fun once the wondering is out of the way, and you're clear on who exactly to put to the sword. As it were. I confess that to be more where my talents and interests lie."

And speaking of that... Natasha paints a picture that suggests that there is more going on that initially meets the eye. The Soldier is still and glacier-silent, lashes lowered in thought, his eyes beneath them as remote as the peaks of mountains shadowed blue with distance.

"If there is some form of collusion," he finally says, with the calm of certainty, "there will be a cleaning of house. I will have some assets activated."

He falls silent as John begins to speak. There is a weight to the words, a burnished age to them, that commands attention. His gaze turns thoughtfully to Aaron, absorbing the story in silence.

"I've found," he concurs wryly, "the one thing men can't stand is peace."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
    She isn't a dulcet little woman sitting at home darning socks. Natasha is a hardened killer, a soldier who follows orders and gets the job done, no matter how ugly that job might be. Yet as she hears those last words from John, she feels a chill go down her spine. If that is true, if the two sides are working toward the common goal of creating war between them? The level of blood would be enough to fill oceans.
    Blood doesn't bother her. Death is a part of the job. This wouldn't be soldiers. Operatives. It'd be civilians. Children. She's a monster, created and molded in the image that her handlers chose. Yet even for her that is unfathomable.
    She flicks her gaze to the Soldier, frowning. He will take care of one side of the equation. She'll need to do the same on this side. If there is a cancer that has infested their countries, they are the perfect pair to cut it out.
    She looks to the vodka that John had topped off, twisting her wrist to watch the clear liquid shift within. Then she lifts it, down it, letting the burn and heat spread through her, to wash that chill away.
    For now, she says nothing. She reaches for that vodka to refill her glass.

Ares has posed:
    "Very well," John Aaron sets down the bottle and now lifts his cup to each of them, offering something of a toast as he looks between the two. "Let us gather what we have, gain sight of the shadows these creatures cling to who would oppose us. Let us draw them out into the light and show them that whatever stones they cast into the river, it will never be enough. For we will fill it, bring it ever higher with the blood of those who would defy our wishes."
    The tall man's lip curls wry, amused, and perhaps for a bare moment there's a subtle gleam in those normally calm brown eyes. And should they present their glasses to him, he will be sure to bring them all together with a resounding clink.
    That having been done he gives a small nod with a smile. "Where do we move first?" He asks as he looks towards Natalia, for hers is the hand that draws the arrow for these two warriors to be loosed.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Winter Soldier does not precisely react as his former student does, to the thought of the kind of total war that would flow from the eruption of the Cold War into a very, very hot war. The outward dispassion in his gaze forms a thin veneer over the sudden sense of inexplicable fierce familiarity in his blood, a bone-deep intimacy with the idea of violence. Will children die? He has the blood of children on his hands already.

Perhaps it is why, in the decades to come, their paths will diverge, and she will come to hate the man she once so admired.

He pushes down the odd sensation, especially when Natasha's green gaze meets his. For now, they are of one mind, and a wordless accord passes between them about what must be done. His gaze only cuts away so he can reclaim his glass. The proposed toast draws a wry look-- it is not typically his style-- but he indulges the gesture. "You found a guy with a way with words," he remarks to Natasha, as he drains his glass. Unspoken are the additional questions he will no doubt ask her later.

In the wake of the toast, John Aaron looks to Natalia for direction. It is transparently not something to which the Winter Soldier is accustomed when he is present, but an infinitesimal nod dispels any hesitation she may have about taking the lead here.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
    Her own glass is raised to click with theirs. She drinks about half then places it back atop the table.
    The amount of blood those at this table have shed through their lifetimes could raise the level of a river. She knows her own. She knows that of the Soldier. She suspects that the simple man known as John Aaron has more than both of them combined. It's a sobering thought.
    "Alright, I have the plans here for the layout and where I suspect they will place the explosives..."