1543/If You Build It

If You Build It
Date of Scene:	18 July 2017
Location:	Mercy Thompson's Garage
Synopsis:	Fred and Mercy meet at her garage to start building an arsenal that might slow down the Winter Soldier with the help of Loki. The Winter Soldier taunts them.
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Winifred Burkle, Winter Soldier, Loki
Tinyplot:	Tayaniye

---

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The meeting with Black Widow was both a good and bad thing.

Good in the sense that Loki had his questions answered; even if they weren't the best answers. Bad in the sense that now, for Mercy at least, there's a real feeling of desperation here. Or perhaps not desperation, but a reality that they're all likely going to die.

D-I-E.

That particular thought and feeling is what now drives the mechanic to figure something out. As such, a request was put out via the group's communication lines for a partner in crime - someone who can help Mercy Thompson build a bomb - along with that request was a brief write-up of just what she wanted - just so people were prepared for Mercy asking the impossible. What was wanted was or rather is a small EMP grenade. The mechanic can create the shell, but the guts ... that's where Mercy needs help with.

Once the request was answered Mercy set up a time and place for everyone to meet at; that time being now and the place Mercy's Garage. While the front door of the garage is locked up tight, with a 'Closed' sign hanging from it, the side entrance is quite open. The segmented garage door is raised upward allowing admittance inside, as well as a look into the interior of Mercy's main work area. Mercy, herself, can likewise be found inside, near those work benches. The surface of the nearest work benches are covered in an array of stuff. There's thin sheets of metal, spools of stripped and insulated wire, electrical components, batteries, tools, googles, heavy-duty insulated gloves and many other things beyond that. For Mercy, she's dressed in her mechanic coveralls, the thick and heavy cloth affording her protection against potential injury.

She's currently fitting two half metallic spheres together, eyes critically assessing how the sides of each mesh against each other.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
It's been days since she's heard word from Sam and Fred knows something is wrong. If he was going to go off the grid for a few days he would have told her. This? This is something dire going wrong. A frantic Fred has been attempting to track down Sam and anyone who might have any connection to him. She went to his and Dean's house (and broke in with her newfound lockpicking skills and set) to find it empty. She's tried calling him and Dean. The message through the grapevine from Mercy gives her a bit of hope. Not only is this something to take her mind off of the crushing worry about Sam while also helping the cause of shutting down the Metal Arm Man, Mercy might know something about what happened to him.

The genius former physicist and current hunter/ghostbuster/helper of the helpless arrives at Mercy's garage right on time. The waifish woman's long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she's wearing jeans and an old University of Texas shirt that looks like its seen better days. Peeking her head into the open door, Fred calls out a bit uncertainly, "Hello?"

Curious eyes already start to pick out various pieces of mechanisms and bits and bobs that she'd like to get her hands on to build traps and gadgets. She steps a bit further in, but waits until acknowledged before going any further as she doesn't wish to startle the other woman.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
While Mercy is somewhat lost in thought, or rather in this project, her sensitive ears do pick out the presence of approaching footsteps. That's enough forewarning for the coyote to drop her gaze away from the object she's holding and look towards the open garage door. So, when Fred peers inside, she'll find the mechanic already looking in her general direction. Which might be somewhat eery, or it might not. Perhaps Fred is used to such little oddities from her own life -

Either way, upon seeing the other woman Mercy will discard the halved sphere, "Hello!" The coyote says, her words polite and while stress lines her features, Mercy still offers a welcoming smile to the other woman. "I'm Mercy." States the dark-haired woman, even as she picks her way across the garage, a hand extended to the other woman.

"Come on in." And should Fred take that hand of Mercy's, she'll find an easy enough grip from the mechanic; neither too tight, nor too loose, just something friendly. "And thank you so much for answering my call for help too. I really appreciate it."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
When not meeting someone in the heat of battle, Fred is a little more shy with new people. Seeing that Mercy is already looking at her when she greets, she gives a bit of an awkward wave, shifting the large bag she's brought with her to the other arm. Shy or not, polite is polite and a handshake is taken when it is offered. Her own shake is not weak, but it's a bit light. If Mercy has worries about what they're getting themselves into, the visage of Winifred Burkle in a beat up t-shirt and a large bag of who-knows-what and a light handshake is probably not at all a booster to the confidence scale.

"Winifred. That is, Fred, everybody just calls me Fred. Don't know why I always start out with the Winifred when I just say Fred is what people call me. I guess 'cause I don't want people to think my parent's gave me a boy's name, not that that's a bad thing of course. Just what I go by." Fred also rambles when she is nervous. The desperation meter most likely keeps plummeting. "It's nice to meet you, Mercy. 'Course. Anything I can do to help. I like your garage. It's got a whole bunch of stuff I'd like to get my hands on to build."

Taking a slight breath, she gives almost a pleading look at Mercy and asks the questions she's somewhat dreading to know. They almost bleed into her compliments of the garage as well as each other. "You know Sam, right? Sam Winchester? Tall, brown hair, fond of flannel? You haven't...seen him, have you? In the past couple of days?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Help comes in many forms and Mercy understands this. Even the ones that look the most unlikely to be able to assist.

The bag the other woman carries is given a curious look, but that's all, as Fred introduces herself. The mention of her nickname earns a nod from the coyote, and another smile even, especially when the younger woman seems to ramble so. Mercy can understand that. She a nervous rambler herself; though right now she's far from nervous.

She's down right petrified. Or, at least, when she allows herself to think of the upcoming battle.

Thankfully, right now, she can focus on other things. LIke building bombs ... grenades, weaponry, whatever you want to call it. "It's nice to meet you too, Fred." Is what the coyote finally says, "And thanks, I like my garage too." There's a hint of amusement there as Mercy starts to move back towards the work benches. Even as she goes back she'll make sure Fred follows, sensing the shyness about the other woman. "And anything here you see that you can use to help with this, please, take it. I bought everything I could think of that we might need, but -" She's worried she forgot something. Mercy is a builder, yes, but not necessarily an actual inventor.

"- What do you think? Do you think we can do something with what we have?" And while she was about to say more, Mercy's words pause. It's a combination of the look within Fred's eyes, the dread upon her scent and that slight hitch of a breath - it tells Mercy something not good is about to be said. "Sam - yes, I know him." Begins the coyote, even as her expression turns worried as Fred continues to ask those questions of hers. "No, I haven't seen him lately, but that's not unusual for me. Usually we only meet up when there's trouble." A grimace at that and then it's back to Fred, "When was the last time you saw him? And I'm going to assume you've tried his cellphone and where he lives?"

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As they walk forward, Fred takes in the work space and what's gathered. She knows exactly why they're here and she's brought a few things herself that will hopefully help. "When you said what you were thinking about building, I made some notes." And at that, she pulls out a large notebook and opens to a page literally filled with numbers and equations. This goes on for several pages. "It took me a bit to come up with a few things that could be stable, effective, compact and localized. It might take awhile and a few prototypes, but I think I've come up with something that shouldn't short out a city block, but should shut down a mechanical arm. I also, accidentally, came up with one that might metallically stick him to a wall, but it would also stick everything faintly metallic within 10 yards to it, too."

Her eyes scan the various pieces that are assembled there. Also, when she puts her own bag down there's a faint metallic thunk that announces some more pieces of equipment that might help them, should Mercy not have those particular items. With that off her shoulder, she stands a little bit taller. Apparently, it was heavy.

When Mercy affirms that she has no idea where Sam is, Fred's face falls a little. It's heartachingly easy to read. "Oh, okay." The questions of if she called him or checked out his home are met with nods. "He said he'd text me when he got back home, but he didn't. That was four days ago. It's not like him. Something's...something's wrong. I think something happened to him. I gotta find him."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Mercy's phone buzzes. The number is Claire.

But of course, it's not Claire.

<<Are you missing something?>>

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The book of equations, of thoughts and ideas and the clink of metal within the bag is ignored for a moment. The expression upon Fred's face is easy for the coyote to read, especially combined with the emotions lacing the other woman's scent. Mercy's own expression falls, a less extreme mirror of Fred's, as the mechanic says, "Four days missing -" That's far too long in Mercy's mind, something must have happened to Sam Winchester. And while Mercy doesn't necessarily say those words out loud, they hang there silently in the air between the two women. The coyote is fairly certain Fred is thinking much the same thing.

"I might be able to help." States the coyote, her own troubled gaze still upon Fred's equally concerned expression. "I'm not sure how much you know of everyone in the group, or me, but I've better senses than your average person. If you can get me to his apartment I might be able to trace his scent, track him. I've found other people that way -" And here is where her voice trails off, since the last person she found was the Winter Soldier. There's irony there - a terrible irony.

The rest of her words are once again cut off, but this time instead of some internal thought twisting her lips shut, it's the rabid buzz of her cellphone. Eyebrows pinching towards the midline of her face, Mercy steps over to her workbench. Her smartphone is picked and the screen looked at -

And that's when Mercy's expression goes from concern to shock and more. While her skin holds a nice bronze cast to it, some of that color leaches out of her face now. Her head jerks upward, Mercy's gaze going to first Fred and then to the door of her garage. The unlocked phone will be tossed to a work bench as Mercy immediately hot-foots it over to her garage door. The button to automatically open or close the door is slammed brutally by the palm of the coyote's hand.

Then her eyes close and all of Mercy's senses reach outward; hearing, smell, magical sense. All of it.

But nothing can be found.

Nothing. Which is both curse and blessing at this point.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As Mercy's words trail off about how long Sam has been missing, Fred looks at the other woman with a matching expression. Yes, they're thinking the same thing. It's been too long. Something terrible has happened to Sam.

There's a glimmer of hope that crosses her face when Mercy says she can help if she can get into the apartment. "I can do that!" she says. Thanks to Sam, she is able to get into just about any building now, what with her technological know-how and now old fashioned lock picking skills. He'll have to worry about what he's wrought once he's found. "You can track him? Like, a werewolf?" It's clear she doesn't exactly know everyone's strong suits just yet, but she does know what werewolves are.

"I have a friend helping out and I'm going to go try and hire this wizard I found in the yellow pages. He came recommended." With all of them, can find out what happened to Sam. There's a new - faint - hope that starts to rise in Fred's chest as she holds the notebook filled with equations close to her chest. Again, easily readable on her face. It seems Miss Burkle has not much of a poker face.

When Mercy's phone buzzes and the mood suddenly shifts, Fred watches Mercy storm to the door of the garage and opens it. The anger that is suddenly there is mystifying and, unable to help herself, Fred peeks over at the workbench at the unlocked phone and the message lying there. Claire? Why is Claire asking if Mercy is missing something? And why is it getting Mercy so upset?

Though she doesn't ask the question, she looks from the phone back to the mechanic, worried curiosity on her face.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Invisible hackles are up, at least for Mercy, as she searches for anything that might be the Winter Soldier. When nothing is found it's enough to cause Mercy to open her eyes. Her gaze is grim, the lines around her mouth deeper now, as she considers her phone and that text message. Is it a precursor to an attack? Or is he just being a jerk? She'll wait a few more silent seconds and when nothing more happens, the coyote finally transfers her attention back to Fred.

"That message -" Begins Mercy, her feet carrying her back to the work bench and the phone. "- It's not from Claire. Claire was captured, kidnapped too and this is from him." No, she's not going to say that name out loud. "Missing something." Spats the coyote, anger lacing her voice, and yes, fear too. "That has to mean Sam. He knows I already know Claire is missing, so it has to be about Sam." Something close to an apology can be seen within Mercy's gaze now. "I'll still try to help find him though - and yes, like a werewolf." She adds, the surprise she felt earlier that Fred knows about werewolves lost thanks to the current emotions simmering within her brown-eyed gaze. "I'm just not a werewolf."

Turning her gaze back to the phone Mercy will take a minute to text back, << Do you have Sam? Bring them both back! Stop playing this insane game! You really don't want to do this! >>

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As Mercy explains, Fred's stance straightens. Claire is missing and the message is from 'him'. There is no definition necessary, she knows who that 'him' is. A flash of complete anger crosses the young - previously seemingly harmless - woman's face as all becomes clear. Metal Arm Man has Sam. Metal Arm Man not only has Sam, but is taunting Mercy with his absence. And, beyond that, there can't be a coincidence that he texted while Fred is here. Mercy didn't know Sam was missing until she arrived.

On another night, she would ask Mercy all about what she means when she says she's like a werewolf but not a werewolf. Now, though? Her attention is incredibly focused. "Okay," she says, swallowing and setting her shoulders. "I can still get you into his apartment so you can try to track him."

Then, she turns to her bag and dumps out its contents into the work bench in front of her. There are electronic chips and batteries of various sources as well as a multimeter. While Mercy texts, Fred turns to the proper page of her book, eyes dark and determined as she starts to work. If the Metal Arm Man has Sam, they're going to need every weapon they can muster and she is certainly going to make them.

Loki has posed:
For once, Layla -- woman about town -- isn't dressed to the nines in a dress worthy of a high-profile exhibit opening or a press conference at the United Nations. Nor is she wrapped up with scarf and coat, but donning an actual t-shirt and jeans, happens to be fit for awesome. This matters. A girl dressed down in a t-shirt featuring a googly-eyed black raven and the stylized print //Don't quoth me on that!// hardly constitutes any sort of trouble. Even if she pretty much is trouble incarnate. For Layla's not merely some dark-haired, distant sister of Mercy Thompson, via the paternal side, but chaos incarnate.

Perhaps those early fears quivering in Mercy's guts be mildly allayed. Perhaps she's feeling some invisible nail run down her spine.

A closed sign normally could keep the likes of Layla out, waiting to rap her knuckles smartly on the front door. Maybe a buzz of some kind. Heaven forfend she dare to peek in the windows like some total rube. She wrinkles her nose and pokes at a slick little black glass device. "Come on, come on," she mutters, sauntering down the sidewalk two blocks over. "I'm /fashionably/ late, okay?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Once the text is sent Mercy will slam the phone down atop the work bench. It's a good thing her cellphone has a case, otherwise it would definitely have cracked with the force she put behind that movement. She may not have super human strength, but she's strong enough to shatter the screen of a phone if careless enough.

And clearly she's had enough.

Seeing that same sort of anger wash across Fred, as well as within her scent, Mercy nods. She can easily sense the mood that's now overtaken the other woman. It's all business now.

All business for the two.

"I've already made the housings. Or, at least what I figured we could use for housings. You tell me what won't work and I can tweak." The shells will be brought out, there's only a dozen that have been pre-built. They're spherical in nature, with a hinge closure, a spot for a button primer versus a pin and a locking mechanism once the innards have been put in place. "You mentioned being able to magnetize things within ten yards? I like that idea. I've made some weaponized magnets to attach to his arm - if we scatter the magnets upon the ground and then use your weapon to attract them to him -" Well, it might help trip the Soldier up.

"But really, I'm hoping we can get the EMP grenade working. I think that'll help us the most." Already other bits of metal and wire are being pulled free from the general pile of /stuff/. "What range were you thinking? I was thinking localized, otherwise we might take our own equipment out. Something that's large enough to encapsulate his form within the field, versus /everyone/. Perhaps a ten foot radius?" She hazards, even as she continues with, "Though that still leaves the person fighting him exposed to the EMP -" They could try to shield their equipment, yes, but with so little time, Mercy isn't quite sure they'll manage it. Shaking her head, the coyote turns her focus away from that particular worry for now. First, they have to actually create the weapon.

And just like that /another/ phone offers a chime of attention, this one a rectangular black square and likewise upon the work bench. Yes, Mercy totally has two phones. While she doesn't necessarily start, her gaze does turn sharply to the black rectangle. Then she's reaching for it, accepting that call, her greeting is /automatic/ and also a warning to show she's not 'alone'. "Hello, Liam."

A pity that name isn't quite the right gender for this situation.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Unaware of Layla's appearance outside of the garage, Fred is honed and locked into a task that she can accomplish, if with some intensive work.

Mercy's information is met with a nod that shows that she understands what she's being given. Taking each housing she opens them, flips them over a few times in her hand and then nods. "These'll work just fine," she assures the other woman.

Pushing over her notebook, she shows Mercy her workings - assuming that the mechanic will be able to understand them as she explains. "See here? I ran into a problem with making it smaller than 50 feet or bigger than a foot because of the proportionality of Ohm's Law and what is available to us. As soon as the conductor would hit, we would either get something too small or too large. However, I managed to bypass that with the conductors and a dampener, so we should be able to manage an effective and intense blast within five feet. It will take some testing."

As for the magnets, she nods. "That is, actually, a much easier task." For Fred, perhaps. "With already weaponized magnets, our task is already half finished."

Loki has posed:
Layla is already about to the door of the shop, crossing the road and headed straight for the door into Mercy's garage. Locks hardly constitute a problem, not when she turns the handle and just wiggles this and that to let herself in. Nothing like using a hairpin or the equivalent to let herself in, if she really needs to.

"Of course, darling," she purrs into the square before shutting it down, the happy glimmer of lights forming a sphere that dies out. Sliding around the doorway, she almost pulls the shadows with her, their grip giving way with a jealous, nigh-audible snap. "How enchanting." She crosses her arms over her chest and leans at an angle against the wall. "So glad I wasn't late." Those precise words in her dusky mezzosoprano //are// English accented, which may be the only giveaway any ears get. "How's it going with the whole disarm the assassin thing?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Even with the line open Mercy still keeps the majority of her attention on Fred. While she doesn't necessarily understand /everything/ the other woman says, she understands enough. The nearly black-haired woman gives an understanding nod, as she says, "I'll take five feet." She was hoping for ten, sure, but she'll take five. "Once we get the first one finished we can test it in the parking lot." Thankfully, Mercy's lot is the last one and the building secludes the one side enough to allow for some impromptu testing.

And just like that Mercy's attention fully shifts away from the task at hand, as a woman's voice is heard over that phone. It's enough to cause surprise to flare across Mercy's features, so much surprise, but Mercy has been given a glimpse of that voice and its owner once before. When a certain shattered mirror was being quite reluctant to divulge any of its secrets.

That's the only thing that saves Mercy from looking completely /gobsmacked/ at that voice, or when Layla finally makes her appearance within the garage. Straightening from her slight hunched over stance, Mercy can't quite stop the stare she has for Layla, but she doesn't quite trip over words. At least, not too badly.

"It's going good." The coyote says with some hesitation, a question in that sharp gaze of hers, "Fred here is helping build the EMP grenades. If we can get those up and running it should take his arm out."

Well, hopefully is what's unsaid there.

And now Mercy just falls silent - perhaps pleading to some higher power to somehow survive this night now.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred turns as the third woman enters the garage. What with the previous anger Mercy held for surprises, that fact that this seems to be an agreed upon meeting causes the brunette woman to look at her bomb in the works and then back at Layla. She gives a bit of a smile toward the dark haired woman in the raven shirt in greeting. There's not a lot she can say about being late or not, so she turns back to the grenade.

So focused is she on that task, that she certainly doesn't notice the very surprised expression or attitude that Mercy has toward Layla. There is a nod of greeting toward Layla as she's introduced. "Are you an engineer or an inventor?" she asks Layla, curious as to how she will also help. Then, she starts to pull a few things apart and then solder and push other things together in one of the housings.

"I can try for ten, but I fear it will be too unstable or short out without much of an impact," she explains to Mercy. "It just means we will have to be incredibly precise in our throwing. If we've got some softball pitchers, that'd be perfect."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Inventor or engineer? That's enough to cause Mercy's expression to turn somewhat amused.

Still, that question shakes Mercy out of her inactivity due to her surprise and with one last look, which is full of a PROMISE of questions, Mercy brings her attention back to Fred. And all their grenades.

Still, SO MANY QUESTIONS, but again, the task at hand.

"Let's keep it at five, then." Mercy states to Fred, her focus found again, "I'd rather not have these thing detonate in our hands and crash our gear." Which would be /terrible/ for them, though perhaps not Bucky and Hydra. "Also, instead of a pin I went with a button - if we can build a small timer into it that would be perfect. Ten seconds is probably long enough."

And just like that the builder and the inventor go down a twisty path of wires, gears, cogs, equations, testing and tweaking until a viable grenade is created.

Then it'll be a furious pace of building as many as they can. Even if it's only a half a dozen, that's more than what they previously had -

- And even as their work likely goes into late night, Mercy will make sure to add, "We'll get Sam back. Claire too. I promise."