2012-12-29 Mish Murbulllluuuaaahhh

Not just on the flight -deck-, but sitting up on top of the tower.. one hand holding on to one of the comm-veins to keep herself balanced, Carol is just kinda sitting there, sipping from her little metal flask. At this point, it's not that she's getting drunk so much as just... making sure that her alcohol stream doesn't get too much blood back in it. What she is drinking? Well, that's anyone's guess. It's powerful stuff though. A friend mixed it and it started eating the plastic container it was being stored in. All she knows is that it has a cherry flavor, and one of the ingredients is Everclear. But so she sits up there, in her costume, the wind catching her red sash and making it into a new windsock. Her booted feet are hanging over some dude's window -in- the tower, and she is playing a drinking game. When a vehicle takes off... take a sip. When a vehicle comes in to land, take a sip.

SHIELD has little consideration for drinking games, however, and even less for self pity. Coming over Carol's comlink, one Maria Hill's voice says, curtly, "Danvers. Fury's office. Now."

The Old Man isn't quite what he used to be, skill-wise -- but as the saying goes, old age and treachery beat youth and power every time, and popular rumor says Fury taught underhandedness to Niccolo Machiavelli. Not that Fury's old enough to have done that for-reals. Probably. The Old Man isn't quite what he used to be, but ... the Old Man is plenty enough of what he used to be to sometimes /scare the living crap/ out of the younger sort. Particularly with his entrances and exits, which are the sort of thing to make professional ninja seem as subtle as a rave held in an abandoned church. How long has Fury been up there with Danvers? That's anybody's guess. The only thing that's certain is Hill's comm chatter causes Fury to make his presence known. He listens to the communique, waits for the channel to clear -- then tells Danvers, "You heard the Assistant Director. Apparently we're meeting in my office. You need help getting there?"

Were she sober, Carol might've jumped at Nick's voice. As it is, she just kinda leans forward and looks back. She holds her flask out and smiles, "Here ya go Nicky Pooh. Have a swig." she suggests with a bit of a slurred voice. "I could get there easy enough. Just..." she points down at the deck. "Might leave a bit of a hole." She shakes her head and takes her comm off her wrist before staring at it. "God, she is mouthy, isn't she?" She asks. But it's obvious she has no idea she had her 'transmit' button pressed too. So Maria -definitely- heard that, along with the drunken nature of Carol's voice.

If Maria could make eye contact with Carol right now, Carol would possibly burst into flames. Maybe. That's what they've been saying about Sgt Cooper anyway. "You're batting a thousand, Danvers. What's it look like, sir, should I send a med team? Or just a janitor?"

It used to be that when people stood around and talked to the empty air it was a good guess they were delusional schizophrenics. Nowadays it's hard to tell between that and Bluetooth. Were anyone else to watch, they might doubt Fury's sanity as he talks to the air. That said, his communicator picks things up clearly. "Your show, Assistant Director," he answers Hill as he reaches out to take the flask from Danvers. He then wraps one of her arms around his shoulders, wraps one of his arms around her waist, and begins helping her navigate down the ladder towards the flight deck -- and from there, into the island and on towards his office.

Having a cover in the world off the Helicarrier could be a little annoying when one needed to make a quick visit; you couldn't just take a SHIELD helicopter from the local airport without the risk that someone might be watching and putting 2 and 4 together to make 6. A bit of a creative flight plan, a quick deposit, and the fact that Martin did have a (much-disused) pilot's license made taking a small Cessna from a rather small municipal airport near Newark up a good idea on the face of it.

Martin was obviously thinking differently by the time the wheels touched down on the flight deck of the large carrier, a vertiably gallon of sweat on his forehead, white knuckles on the control column, and a sigh of desperate relief at the safety of being reletively stable on this thing indicating that he, perhaps, hadn't been a good enough pilot to fly in like this with such confidence. "All right... come on, come on, taking off is supposed to be the easy part." He mutters to himself, as he grabs a briefcase from the seat next to him, and steps out.

Only to look up at a few glances from the ground crew to see a woman on top of the island being slowly pulled down. "What in the /hell/ is going on up there?" Another mutter as he walks toward the island door. Well, he only had paperwork to file /anyway/...

"Hey, gimme!" mutters Carol as she tries to reach for the flask in Nick's hand, pocket, or wherever the guy put it. "Gotta drink. Plane just landed." She turns her head and eyes the plane, "Hey, that's a nice little Cesna. I'd love to fly that thing. Always loved the little prop-monsters." She smirks and it's almost as if she didn't realize she was being guides. She's just starting to move faster now, lurching down the stairs... ladder... whatever. Problem is, when she's like this, she's not really thinking about how strong she really is. Ever been pulled by an over-energetic giant dog? Well, Nick has an arm about the waist of an overgrown 90 ton bench presser.... in spandex no less. "Lessgosee the plane.." she slurs as she attempts to find her way down those stairs, apparently by bumping into every wall on the way down.

"Emergency blood transfusion it is, then." Maria sighs, pivoting a bit in Fury's chair, legs crossed. "See you shortly, sir."

It's The Voice. Fury hates using The Voice, but sometimes the situation demands it. Tell a scared, far-from-home soldier that you just voted him the most expendable and therefore it's his job to charge the machinegun nest and probably die horribly in the process, and he'll just look at you blankly and shut even further down. Say the same thing with The Voice and he'll scream SIR YES SIR, go over the top, and probably get shredded in a hail of 8mm Mauser fire before he takes so much as a dozen steps. The Voice is the sort of thing that wise men use rarely, lest they discover they've come to like it. Fury associates The Voice with some of the worst stomach-churning violence ever unleashed on the face of the earth. But damn if anyone will ever be able to say Fury doesn't have The Voice. It's the only thing that let him and his troops -- most of them, at least -- survive Salerno. (Salerno. Salerno... did they ever find the rest of Wierzeboski?) The Voice: "DANVERS, STOP FIGHTING ME. YOU, IN THE CESSNA, OVER HERE, YOU'RE HELPING ME TAKE HER BELOWDECKS." Does he even know who Martin is? Probably not. But he has two arms, two legs, and he can be drafted into service. That's the important thing.

While he might be an unknown joker in a civilian plane to Fury, Martin would have to be a poor employee indeed if he didn't notice /who/ the man with the eyepatch struggling with a spandex clad woman was. Even if he didn't recognize the woman. Not his fault; Gotham had enough costumed individuals that he didn't have time to look at the dossiers of the people from his side.

Martin doesn't hesitate as he walks over to island itself, and the two people, reaching into his coat. It was debatable if said Voice was working on Martin. He'd been in similar situations, with professionals that responded better to calm commands. BUt he did know how to follow orders. "Sir!" He yells, hand coming out of his coat, pulling a cylnder free from the rig there, snapping it out to a baton with a flick. Hey, it's not like he /knew/ what the situation was.

If it wasn't for the voice, Carol might have an amusing reaction to the asp, or baton, or whatever. As it is, she goes rigid, stands at attention and does something that folks might assume was patently impossible. While drunk off her butt, she performs a parade ground salute. "Yessir Colonel." she remarks. Then she grins and adds, "Did you know I'm a Colonel too? Or I was... in another life. Not that I really even -remember- that life. It's like looking at a file folder of someone else's life, not remembering my own. Do you have -any- idea how much that sucks?" And then she shrugs, forgets the plane and allows Nick to keep guiding her. When other help arrives, she'll just -go- with it.

In short order, Fury has people marched down through the innards of the Helicarrier -- bellowing out "Make a hole!" (not The Voice, mind you, just loud enough for people down the hall to hear) as the trio moves through compartments, holds and spaces, until finally they're on the command deck and marching into his office -- where Maria Hill is sitting with her feet on his desk. He looks over towards Martin, giving the fellow a brief nod of acknowledgment. "That's Assistant Director Maria Hill occupying my seat. She's very happy to meet you. Whoever it is you are." There's a half-beat of pause, and then -- "Thanks." Then he's leading Carol over towards the couch, making sure she gets over towards it safely.

Maria sits properly as the office suddenly becomes very crowded - not with 'OH CRAP' speed, mind you - and arcs and eyebrow as she stands up. "Charmed." She says, while giving Fury a 'Three for dinner?' kind of look, then steps over to the side of Nick's desk, essentially making room for him. "Danvers, have a seat. ... Other guy..." She struggles for a moment, then looks to Fury, "Do we need him?"

Martin Kavanagh looks a bit suprised at the attention stance and the proper salute, before shaking his head. "Hey. Indoors on a ship and uncovered. I'm not even Navy and /I/ know that. And yes. he's a Colonel, you're a Colonel, I'm a Colonel. We should commendeer a compartment above the flight deck and make a club house and /everything/." He notes, awkwardly holding the asp that's not needed as he attempts to direct the drunk danvers into the office. Oh, /that's/ where he was. "Well. Nice to meet you, AD Hill... you're... both welcome, I suppose. I don't suppose someone might tell me what the fuck is going on? With all due respect. I didn't exactly come up here as the new goddamn forklift operator. If you don't mind me waiting, I do have a few things to bring up when you're done with this intervention."

A seat. Yup, Danvers has a seat. She flops onto the couch and is almost boneless when she does so. "Other guy. Cute name. He's kinda cute... I'd take'im home, maybe let'em get to third base on the second date." She nods to herself.. the words trailing off as she... well, she's drunk as a skunk, and she's been deposited on the couch. By the time folks finish dealing with figuring out who Martin is... she's already lightly snoring. Aww.. how cute, she snores... not like a chainsaw mind you.

"So far, Hill, you've entered my office without my presence, made yourself at home in my chair, behind my desk, and now you're talking about this sonufa#$&(*! as if he was cargo instead of a brother agent." It must be said that from Fury, 'sonufa#$&(*!' may be a term of endearment. He doesn't add on any superfluous remarks about just how inappropriate this all has been. The best rebukes are ones that people give to themselves once they realize their error. He turns to Martin, extending a hand in greeting. "What's going on is someone's come back from hell and is having some adjustment trouble," he tells the other SHIELD agent in a frank tone. "Nothing that needs to concern you, Agent. But I do appreciate your lending a shoulder to the effort, truly I do."

Maria doesn't make a habit out of appearing reticient in front of subordinates, and tries her level damndest not to on this occasion, but still gives a muted, slightly downcast, "... Noted. Sir." In general she's pretty good at the 'which pieces of protocol does Fury actually give a shit about' game. Perhaps she can file this away under 'post-invasion' moods in the future... and keep her head down for the present.

Martin Kavanagh looks over to Danvers as she refers to him, rolling his eyes slightly. "You don't want do that. Last person who was that close to me divorced me, and chasing down three kids in college who colletively hate you is enough, thank you." He says, before turning to the others and leaving Danvers to nod off and crash out on her superiors couch. "That much is obvious. Someone in a costume like that is either one of the crazy ones or has the powers to back it up. Given that they're in your office instead of the brig, I would call it the latter. And someone like /that/ only drinks this much when they're trying to escape something. In general." He says, moving to grasp the offered hand and pump it twice, firmly. "Not going to ask any questions, though. It's none of my business unless she decides to pull this shit in a bar in Lyntown. What the hell else was I going to do with the Director yelling for me? Keep walking?"

The tension between the two bigwigs is certainly noticed, as is the now sleeping Danvers. "You need someone to get her down to quarters, Director?"

Snooore.... roll about a bit... snore some more. Yup... that's a strong brew she had alright. Still about half the flask left too. A gift for you Fury!

"No," Fury answers, watching Danvers snore. His expression is some mixture of avuncular concern, irritation, frustration, and no small amount of good-Christ-everybody-treats-my-office-as-if-it's-their-rec-room. "Getting her down to quarters will just get people talking," he continues as he looks back over to Martin. "Stay here. Whatever your orders are, I'm canceling them. Whatever it is you're needed for, they can either deal with it or I'll find an acceptable substitute for you. Stay with her, make sure she's all right, and let her sleep it off. Once she wakes up and her hangover's subsided, take her to quarters and inform her she's confined there until I have a chance to speak with her. And before you leave, toss the place looking for booze... and then toss it again, because she'll have a fifth hidden somewhere." Then, looking over towards Hill: "Compile all the relevant paperwork for me for having an agent relieved pending a psychological examination, Hill. Woman like Danvers is not allowed to get drunk: the possibility for mass casualty and property damage is too great. Especially not allowed to get drunk /on my Helicarrier/. She's not the Hulk, but she can do way, way too much damage, and I'm straight out of patience. She already had her one screw-up. Twice in a week means there's a problem, and she's suspended pending the problem getting resolved."

Maria briefly notes the lingering scent of cigar smoke, but luckily can not sense the specifics of Fury's irritation well enough to get herself in even more trouble. Instead she simply says, "Yes, sir." giving a brief salute before walking out of the office, lingering just briefly as she passes Martin to give a brief nod, which is about the closest thing to an apology that can be wrangled out of her pride at just this moment before leaving.

The one thing that Fury's office wasn't was a rec room. It didn't even have table tennies. Which, admittedly, isn't in Martin's thought process at the moment. "Really? Didn't think I was that attractive. I'm simply here to file some classified data I couldn't trust to standard transmission channels. Other than that, I've got good people back at station that can handle things. So long as the Falcone's don't decide to make an example of it." He nods briefly to Maria as she leaves, which leaves just him, a drunk superheroine, and the master of an Elite Spy organization. One of these things was not like the other.

It's the dire situation and the look of a carrer in peril that allows him to supress the mild irritation that he was being treated like a somewhat experianced campus police officer. "I'll handle it, sir. Hold here, wait until she recovers, get her down to quarters, toss it for contraband, and inform her she's confined. Anything else?"

"Yeah," Fury answers after a moment of thought, one hand rubbing over his face. Frustration. Stress. If AIM wants to unload on him with a scattervolley neutron beam, that he can handle without missing a beat. Friends with alcohol problems, though... that's hard. "Once you do that let me know. Least I owe you for doing this is a cigar. This isn't SHIELD work, son, this is just what we owe our fellow agents... but that doesn't mean it should go unnoticed and unrewarded."