675/Parties and Embassies and Death

Parties and Embassies and Death
Date of Scene:	30 May 2017
Location:	The Embassy of Ukraine, Washington, DC
Synopsis:	A routine SHIELD warding job for one Sam Winchester turns into a big mess when the Winter Soldier arrives on the scene to kill the Ukrainian ambassador.
Cast of Characters:	Winter Soldier, Sam Winchester, Darcy Lewis, Black Widow (Romanoff), Melinda May, Captain America
Tinyplot:	Tayaniye

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Winter Soldier has posed:
The Embassy of Ukraine, in Washington D.C., occupies a charming red-brick building called Forrest-Marbury House, built in 1788. It was purchased in 1992 by the country shortly after its independence from the Soviet Union, and overhauled to serve the country's diplomatic needs. Part of this is the capability to host the requisite social functions, parties, and elbow-rubbing that are a part of any diplomatic effort, and the place is lavishly appointed for the purpose.

One of the diplomats stationed at the embassy, however -- Yuri Marchuk -- has been having a problem as of late. Call it a feeling, or a premonition, or just plain paranoia, but he's felt like he's being watched. A number of very odd things have happened around him in the past couple days. And he happens to be a very superstitious man, on top of being a man with... other reasons to be looking over his shoulder.

So he's upped his security. Upped it in every category. Even brought in a consultant of a somewhat less-than-normal skillset. Can't be too sure, especially since tonight, there's a big evening party being hosted at the embassy.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Of all the places Sam Winchester expected to find himself after signing SHIELD's consultant deal, an embassy wasn't one of them. He's surprised to have a potential victim of the supernatural actually call in for help. Usually they just die or let everyone around them die until he //shows up// to stop more people from dying. Honestly, the fact that the diplomat takes precautionary measures makes him, in Sam's opinion, one of the smartest people he's ever met.

And so he's clad in a suit, with a little legitimate clip on ID that actually has //his// name on it, armed, a little, because he's now under SHIELD's auspices, his Taurus Model 99 9 mm concealed beneath his clothes, along with various knives and bits of things. But it's the book of sigil magic, the white paint mixed with holy water, and the iron and silver dust that he expects to use today, a mixture that will allow him to create some very powerful general wards against almost anything.

When asked which SHIELD agent he wanted to come with him, he'd requested Darcy. Darcy seems like Real People. He's still uneasy about working with the government, despite being the more eager of the Winchester pair to give this legitimacy thing a try.

He checks in with security, clearing his throat and handing over his ID. "Sam Winchester and Darcy Lewis for Yuri Marchuk?"

Darcy Lewis has posed:
Darcy "Real People" Lewis stands next to Sam, likewise in a suit. Hers is very off the rack chic, clingy in that way of having been selected because it flattered the curves the way she liked and to hell with anyone else's opinions. Her white blouse was just a polysatin sleevless tank, but looked so much more under the black blazer that buttoned at her waist but couldn't quite close above or below that. Thus, the blazer revealed that the white tank was tucked into a black pencil skirt that skimmed the tops of her kneecaps, a split for walking riding along the back of it. And to Sam, Darcy is so much taller than the first time he met her. She was in flats that time. This time, the SHIELD Agent - who has her own ID badge thankyouverymuch and a very small side arm and tazer - is wearing six inch platform heels. They're black, like the rest of her outfit. The pop of color is at her mouth, where her lips are bright cherry red. Her unruly brown wavy hair is pulled into a sloppy bun, afixed with a pair of red chopsticks.

Like Sam, she too hands over her ID, and while her smile reads like she's the subordinate and hasn't the paygrade to deal with this crap, she's carefully watching what the guard DOES with those cards.

Winter Soldier has posed:
    rThe security around the event does indeed seem tighter than usual. More guys with guns than usual. More suited men with earpieces. Sam and Darcy get in fine, though. Their IDs are checked and passed without incident. No funny business is done with them on Darcy's watch.

Mr. Yuri Marchuk looks like the kind of guy who'd want wards and holy water on top of men with guns and earpieces. A small, slight man with exacting, careful eyes and a very precise demeanor, he meets Sam and Darcy in a small sitting room, off the main ballroom, with a rather distracted air. The party hasn't quite started up yet, giving Sam and Darcy some time to get shown around so the former can set up his work.

"You can just never be too certain, these days," Marchuk says, in his soft accented voice, as he and his little entourage walk Sam around to wherever he might want to go to get his stuff set up. "Aliens, and extradimensional beings, and demons everywhere. What is a normal man to think, in such times? This embassy has been watched the past few days. I will swear it. My intuition is rarely wrong."

He nods to them both. "I am grateful for the quick response from WAND on this matter, however. These things are not always taken... seriously."

Nobody really stands out, among the people surrounding Marchuk, nor those already present. Everyone looks rather samey, in their suits and earpieces and with their holstered sidearms.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I can start right here in your office if you don't mind, Ambassador," Sam says, ever the soul of politeness. "And then we can just work our way out. If you can have someone walk with us so we don't get lost or wind up wandering somewhere you don't want us, that's all I'll really need."

He gestures to one of the tables, a sort of 'may I?' gesture. "I just need to mix up my spell paint. Rest assured that I-- uh-- we, take you very seriously indeed."

He gives Darcy a quick, apologetic smile. It's usually just 'I,' after all. He's not used to it being any other way. "I'll be focusing on windows and doorframes primarily, and will be working to keep them as hidden as possible. There will be a few spots where I add them to floors and ceilings as well. When we're done, I'll look at local spook stories...if something's been menacing you then it might be smart for us to find out who those spirits belong to so we can salt and burn the bones, put them to rest."

It's surreal, just...//talking about what he plans to accomplish here// like...this is it, this is professional stuff, not something he has to hide from anyone.

He gives a little smile.

Darcy might be able to see...he really likes it.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
Following along, Darcy is taking mental notes on security here. She's no May or Nat or Coulson when it comes to these things, but the obvious to a regular field agent she'll catch. As Sam gives her an apologetic smile Darcy just grins hugely, winks at her Moosepuppy, and returns to her casual and silent study of the area. SHe's keeping an ear on what Sam's saying too.

"Let me know what searches you'd like run, Mr. Winchester. I would be happy to get them started while you're occupied," Darcy injects. Her tone is so polite, so measured and almost proper that it's a complete 180 from the irreverant gives-no-fucks Darcy from the Chinese place. But it's not stiff or soulless like some federal agents. No. She's just following Sam's lead of see-how-polite-we-are? WAND is the best ever, and SHIELD rules, HYDRA drools.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The security at the embassy, to Darcy's trained eyes, seems pretty good. Everybody is where they're supposed to be, doing what they're supposed to be doing. Which is, at the moment, admittedly watching Sam and Darcy like hawks. They're consultants, but still outsiders, and therefore to be scrutinized.

Mr. Marchuk seems a bit bewildered by, but perfectly happy with, Sam's explanations of what he's going to do to secure the location on a more mystical level. His request to enter the office meets a slight pause, while Marchuk's immediate security team looks at him. "Yes, I think all of that would be a good start," he says, "Muzylov, Ivanova, if you would accompany them to the office--"

The two men, so indicated, separate from the group around the diplomat. The rest shuffle a little bit to make room for any replacements, in the trained dance of professionals. Yet no matter how professional people are, changing up formation is always the touchiest part of guarding a man.

This is about the same time Darcy or Sam might notice that a man is finally not moving as he's supposed to be moving.

He comes in at an angle, ostensibly to replace the two security being dispatched to accompany Sam and Darcy, brown-haired and blue-eyed and unassuming as hell. He's got the security team getup, the sidearm, the earpiece, everything, but there's just something about the way he was hanging close-- the way he's coming in quickly now. He could be no more than a replacement. Or--

Any decision will have to be made quickly, because once he's in range, a knife slides into his hand, and its blade seeks to seat itself, lethally-quick, low in Yuri Marchuk's spine.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Could you search for hex bags?" Sam starts to ask Darcy, as the security shuffles up. "They are usually in little brown leathery wads that are tied with cord, and they're usually well hidden. If he's being targeted by a witch they'll have planted one somewhere."

He's taking out a little copper bowl when...all Hell breaks loose.

It would be nice to say that he suddenly saw all the shifting in the security that Wasn't Right, but he's no trained spy. He is, however, very adept at situations going utterly sideways very fast. His first instinct is a protective one. He moves, shoulder checking the ambassador out of the way good and hard, hard enough that he may seem to be an assailant himself. He knows what he's in for, knows it when the knife plunges into the right side of his abdomen instead. He doubles over, gasping and groaning in pain, holding the blade between his fingertips before he yanks it out of his own body with blood slick hands, prepared to use it in the defense of self and others.

He does not do this because he is a mashochist, but because he is experienced...it's the fastest weapon he can get to, and in moments like these you go for the fastest weapon you can get to, or you simply die. The endurance that allows him to handle that level of pain and wounding speaks to a lifetime of hard knocks and near-daily battle that began when he was just 8.

This does not, however, mean he makes any sort of impressive counter attack. Indeed, he backs off from the assassin, hazel eyes glazed over with suffering and determination alike, red-soaked knife at the ready.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
Darcy had met an internet search, not a physical one, but she offered and so she'd better do as told. He's senior agent on this op, after all. Thus, Darcy gives Sam a nod, eyes watching the guards shufflig. She spots the not-rightness the same time Sam does. He was just closer.

Damn! Nice shoulder check. He's got good long limbs too. Darcy has to check if the boy can skate.

All thought as she draws her tazer and the moment Sam steps clear of would-be assassin Tazer Queen strikes. Trigger pulled, 'weapon' aimed with one hand, the other ready for her pistol if the tazer doesn't put the assassin down.

"Get the ambassador clear," Lewis calls out, voice loud enough to trigger her coms. Meat shield Sam being meat shield will get meat shield lecture later. For now, this team up is epic.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The blade bites flesh. But it's the wrong flesh.

Knocked out of the way, the diplomat hits the floor with a cry. But at least he's intact. Some of his security team haul him back upright and start hustling him away posthaste. The rest are backing the hell up and unholstering guns.

The assassin is wearing a mask over the lower half of his face, which is not uncommon for heavier security that goes armored, but unfortunate in terms of getting any facial recognition. His eyes are visible, however, hard and bright-blue and cold as the backlit edge of a glacier, and they briefly meet the eyes of Sam Winchester with a complete lack of interest in his pain. Only a cold, killing awareness that this is the man who has stopped him from his purpose-- and a deep, spited anger. He starts towards Sam, mutely intent on finishing the kill.

And Darcy strikes. The taser slaps through the air and impacts against his left arm and part of his chest. He staggers a step, interrupted before he can reach Sam, but for whatever reason it's not having as marked an effect it should. His left arm lifts, seizing the electrodes, tearing them out heedless of the barbed tips securing one end in his chest.

The three men remaining with them open fire. With impossible reflexes, that same left arm snaps up, angling at the last moment, and-- the bullets /deflect/ off the man's arm with sharp pings, as if they were glancing off metal. He turns his wrist at the last moment, angling with a perfect mental calculation, and two of the men find their own shots reflected perfectly back into their own skulls. They drop in a spray of blood.

The assassin turns and starts trying to pursue his original target.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam isn't about to run this man down while bleeding. He throws the knife away and draws his gun. He straightens as much as the wound will allow for, his face going cold with a contained rage that answers the Winter Soldier's own, though for different reasons.

He is a monster, look how he just tore electrodes out of his chest and kept going. Sam just doesn't know what sort.

Which is why the report of two carefully aimed gunshots will come tearing down the hall after one Winter Soldier's flesh, even as he is forced to double over in pain once more, coughing. The assassin can move, and moves //fast//...he might have done all he could to save the Ambassador's life with those final two shots, and he knows it.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"Metal arm dude! Metal arm dude!" Darcy yells into her coms, pulling out her gun and just throwing it at the assassin while she kicks off the impractical shoes. The guy is like... yeah, out of her paygrade but Darcy doesn't care. Amabassador hired them for protection. So he's going to get it. Leaving Sam, the not-spy-level agent charges after her thrown hand gun, ignoring that her skirt rides up. She wishes she had her skates and that the floor wasn't carpet, all while grabbing a random thing from a table to throw that. Her aim: his face. Because it's hard to do shit when crap is flying at your face.

"Hey! Dumb fuck sissy ass piece of metal-arm wanna be big-shot assassin guy! You suck!"

If you could just turn your attention away from the poor amabassador, that would be greeeaat. -slurp coffee-

Darcy Lewis has posed:
Dropped, Darcy lands on her hands and knees and almsot immediately pounces forward to try to wrap her arms around the assassin's knees. She's going to be a mass of bruises tomorrow, but if they can keep the diplomat alive, it'd be worth it. The attempted sloppy tackle is her last ditch effort to slow the guy down because she hasn't realized yet that the caval...er... reinforcements have shown up.

Please no PT! Please no PT!

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
"Incoming," comes the cold hard voice of the Black Widow over the comm.

She is focused, the fact that it's the Winter Soldier driving her to respond although she should not be in the field. It's one of her own personal devils, a demon from her Red Room days. There is no way she couldn't. "Hold fire in three..."

The scream of a motorcycle engine pushed to its limits can be heard ahead of the tac teams. Then it rounds the corner, a black bike with no markings and a figure to match astride. She takes in the scene quickly, picking out the location of the diplomat heading her direction, of May on the opposite side of the diplomat, of the Winter Soldier following. The bike doesn't slow a bit. "Two..." She sets her path on a collision course. She is counting on the agents to follow the instructions or she is going to be perforted. "One! Hold fire!"

And that's when she sees Darcy in the line of attack. She yanks the steering to the left, laying down the bike, the forward motion sending it sliding in a spray of sparks toward the sidewalk and away from the pair. At the last moment, she leaps upwards and to the side, coming to a landing in a crouch, snapping both of her electrified tonfas out to full expansion, the blue light pulsing in them.

Natasha is just to the left of May, adding to the barricade between the Soldier and his target. Her expression is grim. Her left thigh, under the costume she wears, seems to be bandaged but the adrenaline is keeping her from feeling a thing. It is something he would likely notice if he chose.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Darcy is nothing but tenacious. Dropped, it's barely a moment before she's lunged again despite her lack of air, despite the bruising flowering in an ugly ring about her neck. It's more than the Winter Soldier even expects; he only has time to turn a shocked, annoyed glance downwards before she's manacled around his knees. It stops him for a critical few moments.

Then he's reaching down, with that pitiless left arm, the mechanisms shrieking its displeasure as he moves to get her almost literally by the scruff, pull her free with a sharp yank, and hurl her straight down the hall towards May, who he has perceived now in his path, and who he presumes owns this upstart of a girl.

Then-- with the scream of a motorcycle's engine-- another joins May, on her left.

Eyes find Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Cold, unremitting, hard eyes she remembers well, staring down at her after another merciless beating administered in the name of 'training,' in the heart of the Red Room. Watching her as she blossomed into a killer. Surveying her as she blooded herself in the name of the State. They should know and recognize her, in return.

They don't. These memories, too, were taken from him.

The only thing in his eyes now, for her and for Agent May, is a deep contempt of the coldest order. He assuredly does not miss Natasha's bound leg. He says something, contemptuous, in Russian. "<It is all lamed women who fight SHIELD's battles now, so I see.>"

His right hand moves slightly. The embassy rocks as explosives, planted deeper in the building, go off. Distant screams cut through the air.

The diplomat, still being rushed away down the hall behind May and Natasha's guarding forms, seems fine. Who knows how many others are not? The Winter Soldier himself has used the sudden noise as a diversion to cut down a different hallway, to his left. Hopefully to abandon his mission, and not to circle around to attack from another angle.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam is still back in the embassy with the dead man when the explosions go off. He has time to look up...

And then to toss up one arm as the ceiling rains down around him. He's swiftly buried beneath rubble, gasping for breath, feeling the heat of fire. Now he is in some real trouble; trapped with a corpse and bleeding a goodly amount of blood into his suit. He finally gets to the business of putting pressure on that. Miraculously, he has avoided getting pinned dangerously by some rubble or another, nothing snaps a leg or an arm or anything...but nevertheless...it's not really a good day.

Dean would so be snapping, "I told you so," right about now, were he here.

Melinda May has posed:
Fully aware of the bandages hidden by Natasha's outfit, she's fully prepared to cover the redhead's current weak side. The explosion is definitely NOT expected, but May is more than experienced enough in combat situations to keep that from shaking her. She does though, try to take advantage of the Winter Soldier setting off the explosives to charge at him. Again, distration and delay is the key here.

The telescoping taser-ended batons she's wielding are aimed to hit the metal-armed man and zap him at pressure points that are usually only taught in conjunction with particular martial arts styles. Ones that don't usually involve weapons.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
Picked up by the scruff like a stray cat, Darcy flails, arms and legs kicking comically as she tries to bring herself up to spider monkey. But she's at the end of her fuel tank, and Barnes is.. well, Beefcakerson McEnergizerBunny, and so she is flung in May's general direction.

Only May is no longer there. Because when Cavalaries charge...

Darcy hits a thing that was behind May, crashing into it unceremoniously. She barely has enough to tuck, derby style, and rolltumbleflopflopskiiiiid ker splat onto the floor in a very uncomfortable looking and very not conscious heap of ruined Walmart Men in Black suit (with no shoes) and disheaveled hair.

The bruises. They will be epic in the morning. For now: Good night, world! It was nice hanging out with you!

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
The words don't bother her. The potential victim fleeing behind her is nothing. The explosion is noted but not a concern. Natasha doesn't even realize that Sam Winchester is back there in the embassy, dealing with the rubble and fire, trapped for the moment. She just sees her target. The Winter Soldier. Tunnel vision of sorts in that she will not let herself be distracted.

Only, this isn't for the right reasons. She should be after him for his crime. For his status as a wanted person.

No, this is for herself. This is for that child, subjected to torture and pain. This is for everything she has lost and though he is not the one who chose to put her through it, he was the one that helped.

Her own smooth alto doesn't sound the least bit perturbed as she responds in Russian. <<You created me. Reap your reward.>> As May moves, so does she, one to the left the other to the right. The tonfas are swung with expertise he helped teach.

Captain America has posed:
     The roar of an old WWII motorcycle rings out as the plainclothes Steve Rogers rides into view. "Sorry I'm late, came soon as I could." Riding into view with a full confidence of himself as he looks down towards his watch checking his time. He gives a glare over towards winter soldier muttering something barely above a whisper with a bit of a disappointed look crossing his face.

     At the same time, for just a moment inside the flames where the explosion had only just occurred there's a figure. Hidden in darkness in the middle of the flames he holds a person in a fireman's carry. He stands in the flames for a moment before setting down three people outside the fire that he'd carried with him from near the center of the blast.

     For a long moment he looks out from the epicenter before moving over to the collapsed debris in a faster then normal sprint. He kneels beside the trapped Sam. "I've got you" Spoken in a low gravely voice before gloved hands reach onto the rubble a scream of pain and exertion echos out as he throws up the rubble hard as he can, with the force of the worlds strongest mortal.

     Flames reflecting off his dark blue eyes he looks right towards Sam for a moment little more then a shadow backed by flames. A moment later the musclebound figure falls backwards into the flame.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Winter Soldier's flight is cut off, for now, by the quick actions of May. The explosive is not as effective a distraction for her-- combat-seasoned as she is-- as he might expect, and she's in his face before he can get distance. A harsh zap of her taser baton hits him in the inside of his right arm, the front of his shoulder. He recognizes pressure point hits by the brief, numbed droop of the limb.

Natasha cuts in from the other side at the same time. Her hissed words, the familiar language, draw his attention: even more so, the tonfa strikes that come in in ways he recognizes intimately. He taught these moves, a thousand times; accordingly he parries most of them with his left arm, though a last hit-- one all her own, developed since those long-ago days in the Room-- sneaks in and clocks him precisely in one of the same points May hit, keeping his right arm useless. He leaps back, straight down the hall, in a distance-opening move, a farther jump than a man should be able to make. "<Created you,>" he laughs. "<You're a Widow, then, I assume. Yes, comrade? You've come down in the world.>" Still, that cold, empty lack of recognition. That failure to see his finest student, and the greatest Widow the Red Room ever produced.

When they wipe his mind, they wipe it clean.

The roar of another motorcycle arriving draws his eyes. This is just too much. The Winter Soldier fires a glare at Steve Rogers-- double-takes-- hesitates a moment, and then shakes off whatever thought crossed his mind. He turns, his left arm breaking the nearest window in a spray of shattering glass and splintering wood. There's bars over the window, an anti-thieving measure, but the Winter Soldier doesn't care: he rips them out wholesale with a whirring shriek of his arm, hurling them down the hall at the two agents for good measure before he vaults through, and out of sight.

In his wake, no doubt, are left the injured and dead from that explosion.

Sam Winchester has posed:
One of those injured is certainly Sam, carried out by someone. The moment he's moved he lets out a cry of agony; that knife wound is a mess. He then passes out in the arms of whomever it is. When the Winter Soldier strikes, it's not a light little love wound, after all. His last thought before he slips under is that Dean might be really pissed at him for getting hurt so badly. He is in need of some good medical attention for sure. But he's also not someone who is going to contribute to the trouble or the chaos very much right at the moment.

Melinda May has posed:
May knows the only reason she isn't strewn on the ground like a broken toy is that the Winter Soldier chose to leave. Right now, though, she really could not care less what his reasons were. The building is structurally compromised and there are SEVERAL people that need to be removed. So May's brain promptly clicks over to extraction and recovery mode.

"Nat, get out of here before someone catches you," she says, snapping the batons closed and rushing over to scoop Darcy up off of the floor and into a fireman's carry.

Damn. If this is all Starbucks weight, she is going to have words with Lewis.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
The grating is dodged but in that instant, the Winter Soldier is gone.

Natasha follows to the window, looking out and spotting nothing. He has made his escape. She begins cursing in Russian before turning to walk back down the hall toward May.

At the words from her fellow agent, she knows that she needs to do just that. The tac teams have arrived and they'll help with the rubble and those trapped. She nods. The Wido heads out the front way, toward her downed motorcycle. Righting it, she gives a once over beforing kicking a leg over and settling onto the seat. It's not as pretty as it once was but the engine roars to life.

A glance is given in the direction of Steve, something dark on her face that has nothing to do with the patriot and everything to do with the lost Soldier.

A moment later, she's gone, the motorcycle disappearing almost as rapidly as it had arrived.