1579/Can You Hear Me Now

Can You Hear Me Now
Date of Scene:	21 July 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Loki

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
Two jobs. That's what Mercy currently has.

Really all of them who are trying help has.

Either way, her day job is fixing of cars, whereas her night job is devising ways to capture a recalcitrant Winter Soldier, while keeping everyone whole and healthy.

Lives hang int he balance.

As such, right now Mercy is surrounded by a dozen or so small palm-sized silver discs. The discs are scattered across one of her work benches, with the majority of said sonic mines buttoned up tight. There's only a few stragglers that still have their shell open and their innards exposed. One of those open discs is currently being worked upon by Mercy. She's carefully soldering a wire from point a to point b, and as she makes the connections, she'll say, "I don't know if I told you -" Because everything is crazy right now, or so it feels, "- But he took Sam." No, she doesn't say the Soldier's name. She's been doing that ever since Bucky revealed his turned colors; especially after he tried to brain Loki with a bullet.

And while her eyes don't necessarily shift off the little mine, her attention is diverted slightly with those words she speaks. Combine that with the very long nights (and days) and Mercy's hand slips ever so slightly. Instead of just connecting the wire that twitch actually allows the circuit to complete. From that the little mine is actuated and the terrible little thing suddenly turns on. A cacophony of sound suddenly fills the interior of the garage and, let's face it, outside too. She's probably going to get a note form her neighbors on this one -

The noise is at a level that it disorientates those with normal hearing, those that have more enhanced hearing it's worse. Which means when that sound reaches Mercy's ears, she can't quite help the full body jerk away or the shout of, "ARGH!"

"MOTHER HUBBARD!" Comes her second shout as Mercy swears in a very polite and nice way.

Loki has posed:
"I'm pretty sure," breathes out the dark-haired woman, "he's trying to get rid of anyone who might physically stand a chance against him. Unless he's collecting pretty things." Loki -- Layla -- examines the immaculately manicured nails under their glassy sheen. The current polish, coral, is something applied by a very nice, very cowed person at a salon because as if she'd ever lift a finger to varnish something. "I can't fault him for taste, but somehow that just seems... complex, for him. No, it would be closer to investigating and bothering him, wouldn't it?"

It's terribly unfair when the world also includes people who can eat a plate of cookies and never exercise. Layla is busy performing a yoga pose, one leg bent and foot to her buttock. She stretches her back and reaches for said cookie. Holding her posture while she eats the cookie is mildly absurd; she does, however, resemble a rather modern approach on those ancient statues of cherubs and putti dining on grapes in Renaissance gardens. So much better to have chocolate, though.

Layla sighs, not quite exaggerated, after finishing her morseled meal. "What did that poor, doe-eyed man ever do to raise the ire of a cranky assassin? Inconvenient. I wanted to comb his thoughts about things." How very articulate she is, slanting those flaming green eyes at Mercy. No crumbs even stick to her lipstick. The squall of sound is something she abruptly jumps at, both feet on the ground and then leaping onto the nearest table, a startled cat reflex. Hands slam over her ears for protection.

"//Augh!// Is your idea to shriek him to death? That...!" Magic crackles around her, a defensive reaction more than anything.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Yeah." States Mercy, her voice turning to something full of anger when Layla mentions the whole 'getting rid of' part. "Pretty sure I got that memo."
Let's just get down to it - life is pretty unfair.

Especially when you have so many chaotic things around you.

And no, we're not talking about the sonic mine that's currently going off. That's a known thing - Layla, however, not so much. There's an edge there that's sensed which causes Mercy to be quite careful with; some inner warning telling her to step lightly with Loki here.

It's why those cookies were out, because who can stay cranky with cookies? Not too many people.

Still, with the shrieking continuing in an annoying way, Mercy will quickly rip the offending wire out. As soon as the wire is pulled out the the garage returns to blessed silence. Or, at least, after the ringing in the ears quits it'll be silence again. Shaking her head, Mercy automatically reaches for her ears. Her hands press hard against the side of her head as she tries to diminish the echoes of that screech within her own ears. Her words, while not intending to be shouted, are. It can't be helped, the coyote's hearing now feels like she's under water. Everything muffled, disconnected even. That doesn't stop her from turning around, however, eyes looking for Layla. Seeing the other woman ... yes, that hurts Mercy's brain to think of ... atop the table actually earns a flash of amusement from her. "Sorry, wasn't aiming to test it there." Her words are yelled in that way of 'I can't quite hear myself talk, so I'm going to talk louder just in case you can't hear me'.

Loki has posed:
Layla drops her hands away and swats at the air, wrapping cotton around her head in a sense. For everyone else there's acetominaphine, but for her, a better remedy against migraines. "The wonders with which you manage to hurt yourself in this world are //remarkable//," she mutters, contempt stitched in among the fact her voice is too loud. It cuts through the mess of resonating noise in her eardrums, and she makes it about three steps.

The wobble of her inner centre of gravity still proves off, and she goes to the ground cross-legged like she meant to do that. Medea would approve if the cat approved of anything. Her eyes narrowed, she puts her head to the wall as though the cool height might somehow benefit her ability to think straight. Maybe it will. In about twenty minutes, maybe.

"Supposing you... That... Thing. Oh just explode him. Put a rocket on it and blow the problem up."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Are they talking to each other or themselves at this point?

Perhaps a little bit of both as their eardrums settle from that sharp stab of sound.

"What?" Comes the expected response from Mercy, as she quite easily sees Layla speaking. The coyote is only picking up bits and pieces of those words, however, and it's not enough to stitch together what exactly the other woman said. Though Mercy's sense of smell is quite unaffected, so a whiff of that contempt is picked up by the mechanic. That's enough to cause Mercy's expression to furrow slightly, as she considers what might have been said.

Before Mercy says anything more, she'll simply wait, wait for the ringing to stop and for her hearing to return to something mostly normal.

Conveniently, or perhaps not, the ringing within Mercy's ears abates just enough to catch the majority of that last bit said. "Loki!" Exclaims Mercy, reverting to his name versus Layla, what with them being by themselves within the garage. "No, we're not going to /blow/ him up. It's not his fault that he's not in his right mind." States the mechanic, though there's an edge to her voice with those words of hers; yes, she believes what she's saying, but there's still something in those words of hers.

Loki has posed:
"You could detonate one of those things so the pressure force combined with the awful noise incapacitated him briefly, long enough for him to be subdued," Layla answers, the use of her name drawing her head up. The glittering span of faint gold disks on the long ponytail resemble nothing more than stars on a dark night. "I'm trying to limit your casualties."

Offended, to a point, she tips her head back against the wall again. Her shoulders press forward, and the stretch alleviates a little of the headache and physical pains. Not by much, though.

The goddess tries to pull thoughts out of her chaotic thoughts throbbing in time to the absent pressure waves caused by the squealing horror Mercy invented. Really, that thing is /harsh/ on anyone with pricked senses. She'll recover fast, but Layla still has to ride out the worst. And this particular form is pitieless and impatient, sometimes. "He might have some kind of detonators and bug whatever location he agrees to with explosives. It's what /I/ would do as him, booby trap the hell out of things to keep you from approaching easily. You best expect he'll want to hit hard, hurt, and subdue us as soon as he can."

Her eyebrows arch. "Unless you had an aerial reconnaissance mission and possibly demolitions in mind that way? Drop an electrified net to zap him?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's still a vaguely annoying disconnect with spoken word and hearing. For Mercy it's almost like watching a badly dubbed movie. She can see Loki's talking, but it takes a second or three to parse all that was said. Because of that, Mercy's gaze is more intent than what it normally would be; though, really, her gaze has been a little more intent since Layla showed up in her garage. Questions, there still, so many questions.

Before those questions can be asked, however, the coyote catches the majority of what Loki is saying. Consideration flashes across Mercy's expression now, as she briefly turns her attention away from Layla and back to her work bench. The little silver mine will be picked up as the mechanic silently considers the other woman's suggestion. Truly, she was just going to have them scattered throughout their ambush point, triggered by either a remote, or a person stepping upon it.

There's a pinch at the bridge of her noise, to relieve some of the pressure within her own head, but also to try and corral her own thoughts back to something coherent. "No, I don't think we have any handy drones to drop an electrified net from." Though, that does cause her head to tilt slightly, "Not yet, at least. I'll talk to Fred about it. She's better at inventing things from scratch than I am."

Shaking her head, Mercy opens her eyes and looks back to Layla again. "And I think we're hoping to out-bug and trap him, especially since Natalia will be picking the place for the meet."

Loki has posed:
"Drones are easy to purchase on the computer. I've done it now and then. In fact, the whole warehouse down by the East River..." Loki knows these things, having literally shown up to collect a parcel and nearly bringing down the Avengers to check it out. Layla, though, she has the smirk of a woman thinking heavily about matters. "Oh, yes, I think we could do it. A shipment shouldn't be too expensive. I'll foot the bill for that. You just make the order happen."

Somewhere on that person is a card. She has to remember, and after patting herself down to find no pockets anywhere, not even on her jeans, she sighs. A snap of her finger and a black plastic card bounces into hand. Looking closer, the personalized front shows a night-time cityscape, very evocative and baroque, somewhere European. "Here." She puts it on the bench for Mercy.

"Now no one can say I didn't help. I /have/." Her shoulders lift and the t-shirt she's wearing distorts the rainbow across it, going lopsided on part of the arc. "How are you going to deal with backup? I'm sure he'll have it. I mean, you could go ahead and have zip ties and magnetized disc things. You know, if we could convince him to show up at a car demolition site, we could use that oversized thing to pull him to us.. I'm sure that would go terribly as he shot one-handed, hanging over the ground, and still was terribly accurate. On second thought, nix that idea."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The fact that he-she orders online is enough to cause Mercy to open her mouth. For a second, at least, then she's closing it as the coyote thinks better of whatever remark was upon the tip of her tongue. Instead, when that card is placed upon the work bench, Mercy will reach for it. It's given a quizzical look, a once over if you will, before she tucks it into a pocket of her coveralls. Unlike some, Mercy is wearing appropriate clothing to work within the garage. "I can order them, sure." Is what she says, though she doesn't yet move to go use her battered and beat-up computer in the front office of hers. One day she'll really have to upgrade, but that's not today.

His remark about help earns a faint look from the mechanic, before she shakes her head, answering that question about back-up, "Pray there's more of us than them?" That answer of hers dips heavily into dark black humor, gallows humor, if you will. She's quite aware how much they lack with this proposed rescue. "I'm hoping with enough powered folks and traps -" Her hand motions towards the inert sonic mines, "- it'll even the playing fields. I think it all depends on what type of meeting place Natalia picks. I suggested an abandoned shopping mall. Good places for us to hide and put down all the traps."

Her mention of a junk yard causes the coyote to fall silent a moment, obviously thinking upon that. She'll only pull herself away from her thoughts a moment to add, "Magnetic crane ... and I don't think that's a terrible idea at all." Mercy says, her gaze focusing upon Layla again, "If we wait until we get him disarmed -" Which is a long-shot she realizes this, "- And then capture him, he'd be stuck there. It could work. We'd just need everything to fall into place perfectly."

Loki has posed:
"I still think you have a better chance with electricity. The shock won't kill him, most likely, and it /will/ slow him down or incapacitate him. He'll have to react to it. You can't just ignore a lightning bolt." Trust her, she has a brother who does lots with lightning and a short-handed hammer bearing a grudge against sunny days.

Shrugging, Layla gets up and goes after any sort of disk of metal left by yon lovely dear Mercy. She holds it up. "Now, magnetics and /this/ shape... You could do better than a net. Or use the net to slow him down and then fire the emplacements for a proper cage. Charge with the right particles and he's going nowhere. Faraday? That's the scientist. Faraday cage him."

Her expression shines with altogether too much delight at the game they're playing, not simply mousetrapping but making an epic setup of booby traps. "Even more effective if you can use the restrictions of a room against him, but I'd not. Make it contingent on a solid floor and that's all you need."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Oh, don't worry, I'm still going to order drones and ask Fred about electrified nets." Mercy assures Layla, "I'm pretty sure we're going to need every trick in the book to bring him down." And even then, who's to say they'll bring him safely down.

Someone is bound to get hurt. Really, a lot of people likely are. That brings a pensive look from Mercy, her expression only shifting slightly at the mention of Faraday. Or more importantly Faraday cages.

Her expression turns more contemplative now, as she considers the logistics of building an actual Faraday cage. A small notebook that sits off to the side of the work bench the two are near will be pulled over. Neat script can be seen upon the pages along with small doodles. They're not great pictures, but enough to show Mercy's plan of thoughts for what she was just working upon. "We'd have to make sure it could withstand whatever force his arm can put out. I'm going to assume he has a much higher strength level than your average Joe." Murmurs the mechanic, even as she sketches a rough upright rectangle. "It'd be useless if he'd be able to just simply bust himself out.'

A nod is given at that last part, "Agreed, I don't like the thought of using a room - if we build our own cage we can make sure to ensure it's break-out proof." Or as close to being break-out proof as possible. "And if you could make the frame of it collapsable, you could put it down somewhere and trigger it. That's where a junk yard might prove valuable. Who would think anything of a bit of 'scrap' metal on the ground?"

Loki has posed:
Layla isn't the kind to give positive compliments much. Nor does she ever smile with that benevolent air of a fairy godmother. The only kind of fairy godmother she is, is the scary kind involving red hair, athames, and poisoned whispers to frighten naughty children into behaving. Mercy deserves really none of these things except a glimpse of red hair, possibly.

Pity Layla's a brunette, almost to the point of having black hair.

"There, the collapsible kind sounds promising. You could design a few on the premise, leave the bits lying around and have the convenience of popping it up when you want." She scans the vicinity near to the mechanic in hopes of another cookie being stowed away on a plate, or something equally abominably sweet and scrumptious. If it's not sushi, it better be dessert.

Her fingers tap as she looks. "The humans are the weak point. Naturally. He is tougher than /them/, but anything containing him stops them from hitting too. Unless they're all reinforced in surprising ways." Gleaming lips hang quite the smile on them. "Ooh, goody. I could imagine his expression if he went marching out and found none of them were shocked by his appearance."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
No, Mercy really doesn't need a fairy godmother. /Really/. Because that sort of fairy godmother would be just plain scary.

"Exactly. Leave it laying their until we need it. Swing a remote activation, or possibly trigger it with a movement sensor." Mercy agrees, even as she expands the rectangle to a more 3D rendition. Once the box is complete the mechanic will start jotting down small notes to each side; mostly lengths and widths and other measurements that she might possibly need. Granted, she's guessing upon what's actually needed, but that's how building works. You scratch out a plan, build it, see if it works, then re-build it. It's all very rinse, wash and repeat when it comes to tinkering. Below the small drawing Mercy adds a few bullet points, each denoting something different - metal type, energy source and potential pitfalls that might be encountered.

For now, no cookies can be seen. It's all about garage, tools and mechanic and that empty plate of Layla's. And whether that searching look is what brings Mercy's attention back around, or that last bit of what Loki has said, Mercy does shift her attention off of her 'schematics' and back to the other woman. "Some of us are reinforced." Mercy states with a crooked smile, "Though perhaps not in the best way to take down him, but -" There's a roll of her shoulder into a shrug, "- It's all we got, right? As for Hydra, I hope none of them are reinforced. I'd rather not have to deal with a dozen Winter Soldier prototypes." That last part twists her lips into a grimace now, having had that occasional thought with all of the talk of how evil Hydra is.

Tilting her head back to her notebook Mercy quickly scribbles more notations upon the rapidly filling up page. "So -" Begins the woman, a question finally needling it's way out of Mercy, as she now turns a bit of side-eye to Layla, "- Why the change of scenery?"

Loki has posed:
"You can count on a few things. One, he'll have nasty tricks. Two, you will have nasty tricks. Three, he will stay alive to preserve himself. The hostages are secondary to survival." Layla rubs her finger against her thumb while she thinks. None of Mercy's tools look remotely tasty, and she is neither an Asgardian goat or Bucky Barnes, therefore food shall wait. "I don't know what directives his handlers would have given him. It may be self-destruct for all I know at this point. They could have buried in that sort of thing. Too high profile? Oh well, Natasha's matter to worry about."

Kind, isn't she? Or incredibly direct in her pragmatism. One soldier knows another if the redhead was trained by the madman with the arm.

She crosses her arms over her chest and smirks faintly at Mercy when the inevitable question comes up. "Ah, you come round to asking! I wondered how long it would take." Her hip bumps against the garage wall and she saunters to the point where she's seen head on. "He thinks he shot me. Then shot himself. I have to keep it fresh, you know?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
A self-destruct command? That hadn't even occurred to Mercy Thompson. Yes, she understands he's not under his own control, but to think about what his handlers have actually done to him; what commands they may have laced within his mind ... that's a different matter all together.

"They went to all that trouble to bring him back -" Begins the dark-haired mechanic, "- Would they really want to just kill him if the odds are against them? I can't see them doing that." And here is where concern for the Winter Soldier once again shows itself. Yes, she's angry that Bucky has hurt and kidnapped her friends, but wishing him dead? That's not a thought Mercy has ever had. A good smack or punch upside the head, sure, but death no.

Her expression stays troubled even when comes around to that last question of Mercy's. It's enough to earn a twitch of a smile from Mercy, a hand raised in a gesture of 'yup, you got me'. "You knew I'd eventually ask." She says, and to interject a tinge more humor the coyote will ask, "Did I hold out longer than you expected, at least?" An eyebrow rises upward with that question of hers, before she scents the air around the two, an unconscious gesture upon Mercy's part.

It's only with that mention of being shot that Mercy's expression turns back to pensive. "I hope you never have to do that trick again." Getting shot she means, "I nearly had a heart attack there -" She shakes her head slightly at her words, before ending with, "- Though you do have to wonder what he's thinking after all of that. I'd imagine he has the vague thought that you're not just Liam slightly-magical-person-at-your-service."