A Flying Maze

Characters: Stella Daisy Johnson
Rated: PG-13 (Language)
Summary: Boots on the ground meet an eye in the sky during a brief visit to the Helicarrier.
OOC Date: Fri Dec 15 01:21:35 2017
IC Date: Thu Dec 21 05:00 2017
Where: Helicarrier

No joke the layout of these helicarriers is comedic at best, it's a maze of beige bulkheads and obscure military acronyms at every turn. It doesn't help that like everyone you ask has a different set of directions on how to get to the mess hall. The "Aggressor's Den" may not be the Galley, but for various reasons that hasn't stopped them from cooking for themselves. Aggressors don't mix well with fleet, which is fine by them. The war room is stuffed with little cubicles and work stations, the walls covered in neatly framed awards. Navy Crosses, a Medal of Honor, Purple Hearts, airman's badges and obscure unit patches and awards from god knows where. Thats not the show stopper down here of course, it's the big flag strung across the back wall. A black laughing skull over crossed missiles. "melior diabolus quem soles" in simple block text across the top edge. It's a full order of magnitude more, well aggressive than anything else in SHIELD.

This is where we find the Aggressors, well some of them at least. Those definitely nonstandard black flight suits, the pearl handled pistols holstered in their flight rigs. Hell the guy tending to the little propane grill behind with his Flight suit tied off at the waist? "My Ops are blacker than your ops" on his T-shirt, definitely not uniform standard.
So of course thats where we find Stella, working at her burger absently as she peers after a tablet in her off hand. "Oh fuck me Salt, get that shit out've here. The last fucking thing we need is more fucking JSF nonsense, we're never going to get that chickenshit amatuer hour garbage squared away. You've got just as much seat time as the rest of us, so quit that optimism bullshit this is a government instutition here. It'll get worse, not better and you fucking know it."Polite civil discourse in the squadron room of course, but then again Stella is the one in charge so theoretically she can say whatever she likes right?

She isn't positive, but Agent Daisy Johnson has a theory that the helicarriers are not only deliberately laid out like a labyrinth to confuse potential boarders, but every single one is probably laid out *differently*. She is virtually certain that she has been following the directions she was given correctly, but at the same time, this is obviously not where she was trying to go.
Oh, well. She smells food. Maybe it's time for a break.
Whatever Daisy thinks about what chatter she's walked in on, she at least waits for a lull before she politely clears her throat and offers a wave in the direction of the man at the grill. "Sorry to barge in. Don't suppose I can get in on the food, could I?"

Theres a pause as the two pilots peer after Daisy. "Boss, she might be a Narc."
"Hey she's not a fucking Narc you paranoid asshole. Get the girl a burger, she's not flightline anyway."Stella inhales, setting that tablet down before shooting "Salt" a death glare. Orders issued, she rises with a smirk. "Hi, why don't you have a seat. Welcome to the 1st Aggressor's war room. I'm Little Red Riding Hood, that cranky suspicious asshole behind the grill is "Salt". Who might you be my dear, oh and you wanna beer?"Not that Stella is waiting for an answer it seems, producing a bud light from beneath the table and flipping it casually towards Daisy. "Just don't Narc, cuz you know how the brass gets right?"

'Narc' from the cook gets a raised eyebrow and a very broad smile, but Stella beats Daisy to an actual response. "Don't worry about it. 'Suspicious' is in all of our job descriptions," she muses, waving dismissively as she moves to join her. She doesn't bat an eyelash at the offered names, though it does help her decide which one to give in return. "Quake. And I will absolutely take a beer, thank you."
Daisy catches the can tossed her way and can't hide some surprise on her face. Light beer is, somehow, not what she was expecting. Eh. Suppose one drinks what they can get up here. "They won't hear a word of it out of me. I don't want to get busted either."

"Rock'n Roll little darlin, by all means enjoy the hospitality then."Stella slumps back into her chair with a grin, pausing to tug after her G-suit some before getting after her burger. "So you're no fucking jock, or wait…Quake the vigilante Chick?"Stella raises an eyebrow, but well she ain't judging. "Ok so you probably have no idea the quality of the company you're keeping. Have you heard about -either- of us, or the Aggressors at all?"

The Burger is served in short enough order, with cheese and a pile of fries off to the side no less. That done, well "Salt" seems occupied with the task of cleaning up this clandestine little grilling operation. "She's a fucking boot boss, I hate to break your heart but you're not -that- famous."

"Well. Quake the Agent of SHIELD, technically," Daisy laughs, dropping into a seat of her own. "But it's not like I can go around correcting the press. I've had worse reputations anyway." When Salt brings over her food, she offers him a genuine smile and a 'thank you' before she digs in. Yes. A lunch break was a good idea.
Daisy manages not to laugh around a mouthful of food, washing it down before she replies. "He's not entirely wrong? I mean, I know *of* you guys, but I don't exactly trust word of mouth to be the gospel truth. Even if the word's coming from a friend's mouth." She pauses, looking thoughtful, and makes a face. "Maybe especially then. She liked to mess with me."

Stella rises to her boots, clearing her throat before lifting her chin like she's getting ready for a press photo. "I am Captain Stella Fisher, SHIELD central fighter command, flight lead for the first Aggressors. I am the best god damned fighter pilot to ever live, better known as Little Red Riding Hood. That gentleman yonder, is Tedd price better known as the original "Salt" because he absolutely is."Theres a grin, as she slumps back down. "

Stella rises to her boots, clearing her throat before lifting her chin like she's getting ready for a press photo. "I am Captain Stella Fisher, SHIELD central fighter command, flight lead for the first Aggressors. I am the best god damned fighter pilot to ever live, better known as Little Red Riding Hood. That gentleman yonder, is Tedd price better known as the original "Salt" because he absolutely is."Theres a grin, as she slumps back down. "We fly against friendlies when we're off rotation, teach young dumb jocks how to be actual fighter pilots instead of Missile absorbers."

"We're hated far and wide by the weak kneed overconfident types, we're the embodiment of boogeymen instructors. The Best pilots flying right now period, are all right here in this squadron."And a pause to fuss with her flight suit, before Stella produces a spare velcro unit patch and slides it over the table. It's different from the flag, just "1AS" with "Where Spiders eat their mothers, Where Rodents eat their young" in text surrounding. "There, for your obviously well informed friend. A gift, from the glamorous and incredible aviatrix herself. You should feel honored, I haven't given out merch in like two hours."

Daisy has thankfully spent enough time in SHIELD at this point to be more… accustomed to the personalities one encounters there than she used to be. The bravado just earns an increasingly broad smile and a twinkle in her eye, and both pilots get a salute with her drink as they're introduced. "Daisy Johnson. Glad I got myself lost and met you both."
The smile doesn't exactly fade when the patch is slid over, but something about it does soften. Still, Daisy takes it, running a finger over the stitching. "Thank you. I'll make sure she gets it."

"Aww it's nothing, we're all scattered off these days honestly. We're in a wierd way since they shitcanned the 4477th back over at that place in the desert which definitely does not exist."Stella gives a shrug at that. "We get a few folks here and there who're fans, happy to spread a little love where we can. We got all these capes with fancy merch deals to catch up on, and like unlike the 4477th we don't have an official government funded booze budget anymore. Gotta get the merch out there, you know?"

"Anyway, Daisy what the hell brings you onto a tub if you're not flightline. Catching a ride somewhere, or did you get grounded? Like not literally grounded obviously, because you know we're in the air."Stella nods sagely at her own clarification, before pausing to nomf after her burger. "Oh and if it makes you feel any better, these things are layed out like a maze. We still haven't been able to find the officer's club, we're starting to think it's actually an elaborate conspiracy to keep us shamefully sober."

"Dropping off some documentation and hitching a ride while I'm at it. Slightly more fun than flying commercial," Daisy replies easily, giving herself a brief mental shake before tucking the patch away into her jacket. There. Now — where was she? Right. Food. "This thing *is* a maze, it's ridiculous. I'm a little worried about trying to find my way around, honestly. Might be a minotaur."

"The trick is to find a deck ape, a like first rank enlisted person? Then you ask them to -walk- you there, that is of course if they're not doing something important like stowing ammo or whatever. You get some dude playing Janitor, and you just be polite. They'll thank you for the opportunity to do something but mop, trust me."thumbing over her shoulder towards a pair of cubicles decorated with horror movie memorabilia. "I got two ex squids, I'd have them back me up but they're racked out like the fresh dead. So trust me it's not a power trip."
"If you need a lift back to the dirt though, I can roust somone to get you on a quinjet and get you out've here. Pity we don't have May onboard, sort've milk run that'd be perfect for a bus driver. Need to get that girl's flight time up in the Double Donkey."And a pause "She's ops side, you may've run into her?"

"Polite, I can do. A friendly word goes a long way." Daisy gestures to what's left of her lunch, waggling her eyebrows. Case in point. "I'm not in a huge rush to get back to the Triskelion, but I'm not going to say no if somebody wants to stretch their legs and get out of the house for a little while, either."
As for May… Daisy just smiles and bobs her head once. "That's a name I know." No details, but. Boots. You know how they are.

"I'd offer to fly you myself, but this is a combat rotation. Two on, Two off, Two sleeping throughout the whole tour. Only six of us, so we go peel out we screw that up."Stella ponders as she finishes off that burger, dabbing her fries into ketsup as she considers. "I could probably shake a ferry flight loose, but not to the triskellion direct. You'd need to play hopscotch, so probably not save much time."And a shrug, as Stella finally reclines in her seat to savor her beer. "I don't know anyone out this way who owes me a favor unfortunately, "Creep" might know somone but thats all Marine corps bullshit and the guy's racked out like the fresh dead. So looks like you might be stuck little darlin."

"Hey, no worries," Daisy smiles, setting her newly-emptied can aside. "If I get too impatient, I can always jump off the side." She… sounds serious. Casual and cheerful, but definitely serious. "I wish I could be surprised that you guys are on this kind of a schedule up here, but the world's been so crazy the last few years… combat rotations probably aren't going anywhere for a while, are they?" That's the thought that finally makes her frown.

"Hope not, we're all from the coffin corner."And a pause as Stella polishes off her own beer. "See you get an amazing pilot, the first thing the brass does is pull them off flightline. Make them an instructor, which isn't a bad idea in theory. Problem is, here we have six pilots who've spent more flight hours in simulated combat than most pilots have in their entire careers flying anything. Only guy here who has confirmed kills, is Romeo. Shot down a Libyan MiG-27, for that they made him top gun. Me, well I dropped JDAMs on mud huts in the 'stan."And a little shrug. "You can think what you like, but fighter pilots arent taught. We're born for this, it's our birth right. Hell most of the Aggressors were recruited because SHIELD promised us combat rotations, we aren't made to play labrat out in the desert. We're fighter pilots, we want to fight."

Yeah, that frown's not going anywhere. "And I'm glad you're here and willing to do it," Daisy replies, leaning back in her seat and holding up her hands. "But I know that when we're called to fight something, it's because innocent people are in danger, and I'd rather be bored in a cubicle somewhere if that means the Skrulls haven't come back guns a-blazin' for round two."

"Everyone wants to be a fighter pilot, until it's time to do fighter pilot shit. It's in our blood Daisy, every one of us is second or third generation fighter jock. If we didn't want to exterminate punks at angels fourty with a hundred sixty pounds of shaped charge high explosive, we would've been airshow pilots or something. Hell, you wanna chew on nasty? Look at the suicide rate of fighter pilots who retire without going ace, against those that do. Numbers don't lie, we're born for the kill."A shrug, before a klaxon sounds somewhere signaling the shift change. "Looks like it's my turn to go looking for a fight."

Stella rises, snagging that cherry red helmet off it's peg. Peeling the protective dust cover away, to reveal the gold foil text stenciled across the back. "ENEMY ACE", all caps and everything. "Chill here if you want, just show Rats and Slugger that patch. Either day, Miss Johnson, be seeing you."

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