2779/Up in Smoke

Up in Smoke
Date of Scene:	09 October 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Liz Sherman, Quake

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Liz Sherman has posed:
    There was a little cordoned off area, out of one of the side doors of the Triskelion, where those who still believed in the dark arts of smoking were allowed to go and suck on their death sticks. Sometimes, Liz kept up the appearances of using the area - but a lot of times...

    The BPRD agent couldn't be bothered.

    Fingers shaking just a bit, she brings one of those up to her lips, snapping her fingers beneath it. The end burns hot, and catches fire, Liz breathing in greedily upon the other end. Giving the thing a flick after lighting it up, she surveys the area. It was a little outside nook that was surrounded on all four sides by building.

    Pigeons were at the top of the building, staring down at her.

    Liz stares back.

Quake has posed:
    All Agent in Training Sky Johnson wanted was a little fresh air and some space to clear her mind. The past day had been too long, and threatened to be longer still. The weight of all that had happened at SHIELD coming home to rest in the young woman, along with an acute awareness that what she would do in the next while would have a profound and intimate impact on people she knew. They could quite literally live or die because of what she did; because of the information she secured. In the past, all her actions had been sheltered through walls and layers of code. All her actions happening in some distant place; not to people she shared living spaces with. Ate with. Drank with. Passed in the halls.

    It was all a little sobering.

    The first thing that greets her when she steps out into the hidden gem of an outdoor space that she believed was her private discovery was the waft and curl of cigarette smoke. A better class than those Bucky had offered her (which really wasn't hard to be better than), but still, smoke. Coughing, she squinted her eyes down on the source. "You know, those things will kill you, right?" Her irritation less at the cigarette smoke than at having her expected privacy already invaded by another.

Liz Sherman has posed:
    The pigeons coo, deciding to take flight at the opening and closing of the door that Skye Johnson steps through. A breeze picks up, carrying the smoke with it.

    Liz takes a drag from the same, breathing out an ash-tasting sigh as Skye says what she does. Yeah, they might have been a better class of smoke, but probably not too much better. The kind you could get at the corner gas station.

    The milder of the resident BPRD freaks only paid so much, after all. Lifting up her head, Liz scowls at Sky, sucking on her teeth. "If only I could be so lucky," she says, her tone of voice dour. "But as it turns out..." Liz gives her chin a flick, letting her eyes focus a little more clearly than Sky's own. "I betcha a bullet will do the job first. Or some unspeakable creature that time forgot."

    A beat.

    "You with the suits and uniforms?" she asks. "The yessirs and noma'ams?"

Quake has posed:
    Not quite the answer Skye was prepared for. Hostility, yes. Humour, maybe. Annoyed stubbing out of cigarette, or even better, leaving? Hoped for. Instead she got casual resignation and pathos. Or something like. The younger agent decided she needed the fresh air and head space more than she needed to sstep bck inside. Sinnce the invasion, every nook and cranny was crawling with cleanup crew. This might be as good as it got.

    "You're rather a ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Skye's own tones laced with sarcasm, hands reaching up to pull her hair back and secure it in a pontytail. It was a mess from the fire supression systems and she hadn't had time yet to deal with it properly. "Of those, I'd go with creature time forgot. Total freakshow value. Besides, bullets are pretty mundane."

Liz Sherman has posed:
    Skye wasn't /acting/ like one of the military types that Liz might have pegged her for. Smoke drawn down to her hip to let the thing simmer for a few moments, she leans back against the wall, standing carefully within the yellow lines marked with 'smoking area'. Liz purses her lips.

    "I think," she says. "There's enough sunshine around already. Gotta have a couple people okay with the dark. You know. Where the things like to bump," she says. "Although recently, with that business going on... I guess things can go bump in the daytime, too. You handling it okay, Agent...?" she says, trailing off and hoping Skye will fill in the gaps there. Skye likely wasn't wearing anything that marked her as an agent, but... 99 percent of these people were agents of some kind. It was a good guess.

    But as for creatures that time forgot. "You can still shoot stuff like that. You just have to make sure your bullets are somethin' special, usually. I like carrying blessed rounds as a... standby?"

Quake has posed:
    It was a good thing Daisy didn't know that she was being assessed for her presence or lack of military. She might have had some words about what she thought about that.. As it was, despite the jumpsuit, Skye was entirely too casual to have the regulation stick up her butt that many in the SHIELD eschelons had had surgically applied upon promotion.

    "Agent in training, actually," Skye corrects. "Daisy Johnson." Her answer to the other isn't quick in coming, though she points out her lack of a gun. No babysitter? No gun. "I'll just use my scathing with, and throw you as a shield in front of them. The dark clouds should be enough for a fast getaway." Her lips bowing over a twisted smirk of amusement.

Liz Sherman has posed:
    Luckily, mind-reading wasn't in either woman's toolkit. A beat, and Liz brings up her hand, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Liz Sherman," she says. Another beat, and she taps a few ashes from the end of her cigarette. "BPRD. The basement people." Liz smiles. It didn't quite look natural on her - and her face shifts back to the resting gloomface soon enough.

    "Agent in Training. So you're learning all of the yes sirs and no sirs, so far." A beat. Liz points up at the other. "Hey, you look tough enough to take a bullet or two. Isn't that the newbie's job anyways?" she says.

Quake has posed:
    Liz earns herself a laugh with that. "I try to avoid the sirs and ma'ams as much as I can. Though they have their uses. And my looks are deceiving. I don't even go where the bullets are. Not my schtick. Though they did teach me what end of a gun to point and made me pass the physical reqs."

    A nearby square of sunshine is claimed, the younger woman, hunkering down and making herself comfortable, using the wall as a backrest. "Basement person, huh? I thought you all glowed in the dark and looked like shambling mounds. They know you escaped?"

Liz Sherman has posed:
    Another drag, and Liz reaches out her hand to offer the nicotine deathstick to Skye. "Want one?" she asks, making the little gesture. But Skye garners an 'ah' from Liz, the woman bringing up her hand to kinda draw it to one side. And Liz purses her lips to the question. "Sometimes. But I think they treat me like a cat. I can wander in and out as I want, you know?"

    "Just as long as I'm back in my cell by the evening. Sometimes." Another flicker of a moment. "And I only don't look like a shambling mound right now because I'm not in my true form," she says, deadly serious.

    "So... you don't look like the medical support agent type. You're... Logistics?" she asks, pointing at the other.

Quake has posed:
    "I like cats," Skye murmurs casually, accepting the offered cigarette, even as she says, "Not really my poison anymore. I used to though. Still the best appetite surpressant known to mankind for your buck. Or at least the one I could afford when I ran the streets."

    The half-gone thing is placed between her lips, the woman taking an uneven drag of the thing, making a face as her body rebelled and she remembered why she didn't do this anymore. Her exhale a cough as she hands the thing back to Liz. "Smooth," she lies, before laughing at herself.

    "Me? Logistics? No. I'm.." Daisy had to pause. She'd not been assigned an area yet. Logistics wasn't a bad guess, but the only place she'd been fully told to report was R&D; specifically to Agents Fitz and Simmons. "More a special case. Mostly I go where I'm told right now."

Liz Sherman has posed:
    "Dunno if it's ever meant to be," says Liz. "Smooth, that is," she adds. A beat. Liz did smell of ash, and it might be forgiven if that ashy smell might be attributed to the cigarette, but it was a... earthier sort of ashy smell, beneath that nicotine stench. Two different ashes, ploying into one.

    "Hasn't stopped me from eating when I needed to," says Liz, letting a grin touch the edge of her lips. "Especially if there's some kinda sweet on the table." A beat.

    "And yeah? I'm not... much of an animal person." A half-truth. But a depressing one hidden there. Better to just gloss it over. "A special case?" That would explain a lot. "So you're superpowered. Like Captain America?" Another beat, and she grins lopsidedly. "You fly?"

Quake has posed:
    Daisy leans her head back against the wall, laughing at the thought of superpowers. "Not unless a bad attitutde and sarcasm count as superpowers. No, more like a computer specialist. They just haven't let me touch much." The woman shrugs. It was really neither here nor there, and as of not too long ago, she'd been given carte blanche to do what she did best. Full resources at her fingertips.

    They either wanted this Hydra leak terribly terribly badly, or for some odd reason Fury had decided to trust her. Perhaps a little of both. The thought was sobering.

    "Used to suck them back while I was doing my thing. Them. Jab cola. Candy bars. Got a person wired so tightly you saw pixels in the air." The joke made her smirk at herself, lips forming a tidy little moue of mirth."What about you? I thought all you Basement people were special? And who the hell thought up that name anyway? It's kind of rude. Like we'll just ship you off on a refugee boat when we're done with you. Headline News." Daisy mimes framing a headline with her hands in the air. "Basement people adrift for thirty days. No country will accept them."

Liz Sherman has posed:
    Liz probably didn't have carte blanche - but she, like most of the BPRD, just kinda did whatever, which made it the job of the BPRD director to try to keep them in line. As it was, that was probably a bit like herding cats. Trying to keep Red the demon guy in, trying to keep the door open for Liz, and... Blue was probably the gentlest of the three.

    "So you were trying to keep your figure back then," says Liz, grinning a bit roguishly. But Liz gives her head a flick. "I suppose I'm special enough. They lock me up at night so I don't kill everyone."

    "Computers, though? Nice - I can hardly use the things. I can go to you for tech support?" she says, probably saying the most horrid thing anyone could hear from a person. Straightening up, she starts to walk for the door, flicking her cigarette into a little pile of stones. "Come down sometime. You already met a couple of us, I'm sure. We're way more fun than the people upstairs." Liz smiles.

    "Great to meet you, though - but I have to get back to things - be good, okay?" she says, giving the other a smile. Another beat, and she steps through the door - and back into the base proper.