A Jeri or other

Summary:
November 24, 2014: Hunter gives May a new consultant, despite a misunderstanding

May's Office

Triskelion


Characters

NPCs

  • None

Mood Music:

  • None

Yes, May does actually have an office of her own in the Triskelion, though it wouldn't be obvious by looking at it. The room itself is tiny, barely enough room for the desk pushed up against the wall instead of standing perpendicular to it and one extra chair against the opposite wall. No windows. Absolutely zero attempt has been made to try and make it feel like a personal space, and that could very possibly be intentional.

Inside this tiny hell of an office, May is seated at the desk filling out her latest mission paperwork — a milk run of a transport mission, but someone demanded a senior pilot at the helm, so who is she to complain?

Lance, lacking a beer for once, strolls towards her office, clearly straight in from …whereever he went. It wasn't a sanctioned trip, just one of his own personal wanderings. A tap against the door comes half an instant before he opens the door, "Got a mo, boss?" The casualness is just him, his lopsided grin offered but his eyes are distinctly serious as he leans in the doorway, arms folded.

Melinda May turns and looks up at Hunter as he actually knocks and asks for a moment of her time. Something must be DIRE. She nods and reaches to close her laptop screen, making it clear she's giving the mercenary her undivided attention.

He watches and glances behind him before speaking, perhaps checking for a clear escape route. "I did some research, and reconn on Jericho Trent this week. Got the opportunity to ask him if he fancied a bit of helping us out, here and there. He is up for it, if you or I ask him." Brief, to the point, and spoken without excuse for stepping over lines. Again.

Melinda May simply looks at Hunter flatly. "In what context?" she asks him, mostly so she can figure out why he's opted to tell her something she already knows.

"Seemed like a good thing to ask him." The shrug is careless, seemingly vague, but he is watching her closely, "I like competent backup and we could use all the friends we can get these days." The rare reference of himself as a member of SHIELD.

Melinda May stares at Hunter for a second before opening a drawer in her desk, pulling an item the size of a cigarette lighter, toggling a switch on the tiny device, then setting it on the desk. "Close the door, please."

The glance over his shoulder is faintly nervous but he steps in, closing the door behind him, his prop moved from the doorway to the door itself. "Alright then." The joking has faded entirely, the seriousness he shows now the reason people actually do hire him.

"You do realize I already have a standing agreement with Trent regarding his occasional assistance, yes?" Now that the door is closed and that little device on her desk has a glowing blue LED, May's expression is much easier to read. And she's suspicious of Hunter. As well as a bit … concerned, perhaps?

"I did not." He unfolds his arms, to spread his hands, innocence in the movement. "I thought we needed more backup, May, from the conversation yesterday. He seemed a guy I'd prefer at my back than others." The direct reply to that look is serious, the man not flirting or joking now. "I thought, worst case he rips out my throat, right there in Starbucks."

Melinda May nods slowly. "Fair enough." She then — gasp! — offer Hunter a bit of information. "The only reason he wasn't brought on as an official SHIELD consultant months ago is that he doesn't trust the organization to be completely free of … let's just call them outside influences."

Hunter shifts his position, on the basis that she is unlikely to kill him now, settling against the desk, his arms folded again, the attention on her steady. "Can't blame the man for that." He obviously has some fellow feeling there, and his mouth twitches slightly, "You might mention in the lower security reports that the guy is the Death Wolf. You know. Just so a man doesn't hurt himself when he finds out."

Melinda May frowns faintly at that. "The Death Wolf? Explain." She knows that Trent can make a construct that resembles a wolfish shape, but he's unlikely to do that lightly. So now May is suspicious on multiple levels.

Lance, educated in Britain, displays an odd quirk of classical knowledge, at odds with his public persona, "The Death Wolf, the Ender, the Sun Eater. A Norse legend that ate that sun and killed off Odin." A quirk at the corner of his mouth lacks humour, "Don't know if I'm worried about me for believing the fellow or worried about him that he believes it."

Melinda May looks at Hunter more and more incredulously as he tries to explain. "Wait. Let me get this straight. You believe that Jericho Trent is the Norse Death Wolf Fenrir?" She doesn't know how the mercenary would take it if she chose to actually laugh at him, so she keeps that reaction in check. For now.

Lance's rueful grin widens, "Oddly enough, I believe he believes it." He lifts a hand, running through his short hair, the gesture restless. "The guy has a fairly feral vibe, you've got to admit that." His eyes crinkle at the corners, clearly accepting the idea that it is laughable. "Either way, a useful backup."

Melinda May crosses her arms, mostly to keep from busting out laughing. "Describe this individual." She's fairly certain that Hunter is serious about this intel, which is what's making it more difficult for her to keep a straight face.

Hunter's grin widens, the rueful manner obvious, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Believe me, even as I'm telling you, I'm doubting my own sanity. I swear I was sober, May." He sighs, rubbing his face with both hands, "In a world where Spiderman sends you a guy, and X-Men help us out, is it such a reach to believe in a legendary werewolf creature?"

Oh, that's the straw that broke the camel's back right there, Hunter saying Spiderman when Superman was the one that sent that Mimic character their way. Hunter has earned himself a small headshake accompanied by a soft chuckle. "Oh, I never said I didn't belive that a Norse Death Wolf is possible. I'm just really amused that you think he and Jericho Trent are the same person."

Hunter gives her a grin, spreading his hands, "After the shite we've seen, why not." The shrug is brief, and he shakes his head, "May, ten years ago, I'd have laughed him out of Starbucks, now.. " A jerk of his head, and he is looking at her with a cynical expression, "He has a wolf shape, your intel said. The guy is dangerous, that is for sure. A rose by any other name pricks you hard enough. I'd rather have him on our side, and if that means accepting his delusion… "

"But seriously, Hunter, I need a description. Could this Death Wolf person pass for Hispanic or Middle Eastern, or did he look like an otter?" Yes, May is very highly amused by the whole thing, but she wants to keep it straight in her own head who the mercenary talked to.

Lance rubs his face, "Tall, lean, dark hair…" He looks across at her, clearly not enjoying being the butt of humour, "Looked like one of us, got that feel to him, you know?"

Melinda May tries to set the amusement aside. "That is Fenris. Usually goes by Jeremiah Wolfson. Jericho Trent is someone else completely." And, now that she knows it was Fenris Hunter talked to, that makes a LOT more sense. "So. The Sun Eater wants to work with SHIELD. Other than he's a bit … territorial, I don't see how that'll be much of a problem." She reaches to turn the small device off again. "Do you want me to speak with him about possibly taking up consultant status?"

Hunter groans, leaning forward, rubbing his face with his hands, "Wrong name, bugger. Sorry, May, just… Maybe the coffee in my lap distracted my head." The man seems genuinely irritated at his slip, his lips tightening, "I believe he would work more casually, on a job per job status, but there is no reason not to ask. He seemed relatively stable." Blunt and to the point.

"He is. I've worked with him before. Outside of this place, that is." Nothing May really feels the need to hide. She knows that Trent is still leery of SHIELD, but Fenris? He has nothing to fear from an agency like SHIELD considering his clame to fame is that he's fated to eat the SUN. "And I can see how coffee in your lap would make remembering a name difficult."

The grin reappears, a small tug at the corner of his mouth, "Yeah, not my most dignified moment in life. There've been worse." He gives May a look, the grin fading, seriousness taking its place. "I get that you don't trust me worth a shit, May. I don't blame you, I'm in it for the cash. But remember, when they tried to recruit me, I told you lot, and I was loyal as all hell in STRIKE before they dismantled us."

Melinda May puts the small device back in the desk drawer. "If I didn't trust you to at leaset some small degree, Hunter, you wouldn't be in this building. What is a given is that I don't like you. But that doesn't mean I'm blind to the fact that you're honestly trying." Jibes about removing clothing aside. "So really, the only real problem I have with you are those jokes about the she-devil ex-wife."

The wince at her words comes before a rueful expression, "She is a she-devil, and she is my ex-wife." The comment is brief, a glimmer of emotion actually getting past the humour, a touch of something pained. "All good then, you don't have to like me, May, same as I don't have to like you. But either way, don't doubt I'll do my job." The temptation to add the word luv to the end of that was strong but he resisted.

Melinda May says, “Then we're agreed. Anything else?”

"Nope." A grin and he pushes off from her desk, opening the door and heading out. Moments later, he is in the gym, a workout to restore some of the ego he lost.


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