Powers Card
Roleplaying Log: Powers Card
IC Details

Recent events require psychic intervention.

Other Characters Referenced: Phil Coulson, Lex Luthor, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Danielle Moonstar, Sloane Albright, Gwen Stacy
IC Date: October 24, 2019
IC Location: NYC
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 25 Oct 2019 15:45
Rating & Warnings: G
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

The arrangement was made several days ago, and passed in the way that spies possess.

Originating with one Phil Coulson, the instructions were simple: to drive out to a small country house in upstate New York, nearly two hours outside of Manhattan.

When Daisy arrives, she will find it is unobtrusive and decidedly remote. A small Cape Cod decorated in shades of blue and white and grey, the front yard of the thirty-acre property has been defined by way of a small white picket fence and the large bay window has several sun catchers hung on it by way of large rubber suction cups. The cottage garden is small but well-tended.

And all Daisy must do to set things in motion is but drive there, walk up, and ring the doorbell at the appointed hour and time.


Daisy's first suspicion is that the address being sent to her is for another one of Coulson's safe houses tucked away off of the grid somewhere. Upon arriving to the location in question her thought on the matter is quick to change. It looks like a huge yard! The house is way too nice looking for secret government-type work. It looks more like it belongs on a postcard rather than somewhere for agents to lie low.

Then again, maybe that's the point. It can be hard to tell anymore.

With her 'mysterious' blue van still missing somewhere in Metropolis she's had to dust off her scooter, it's a bit of a drive but despite the chill it felt good to be out on the road again. She hadn't been able to ride the Hooligan in months.

The young woman who steps up to the front door and rings the bell looks quite ordinary. No fancy gloves, no heavy dark makeup. Plain and contemporary. And a bit lost overall despite arriving on time.



And when the doorbell is rung, Daisy will find that it is a woman on the far-side of middle aged who answers it. The shorter side of average height. A little overweight. Brunette, with thick tortoise-shell glasses and desperately sensible flexible-souled pumps.

She looks Daisy over once, and then her thick lips turn downwards sternly. "So you're the one." The voice is low, and a little gruff. Then the storm door is pushed open and she waddles out onto the porch to hold it open for the younger, taller woman. "Well, let's not dawdle on the front steps."

And inside the house, whenever and however Daisy chooses to pass through the doors, it looks like someone even older lives there. It all has a distinctly 'grandma' vibe to it all: doilies, a china cabinet with several tea pots alongside their matching china and a curio cabinet full of Hummel collectibles.

"I take it the drive wasn't too terrible?"


First impressions tend to mean a lot. In Daisy's case she's staring at the elderly woman with a moment of being slack-jawed like she has something to say but nothing is able to come out. Eyes pinch closed with a quick headshake to snap her out of it. "Yah—uh, that's me."

What she wanted to say is 'you're not what I was expecting, either.'

Stepping inside of the home is like being warped back in time by a few decades, though some of the limited spy training she had been given does start to kick in. Everything is neat and orderly, just like it is outside. Does this lady live by herself? Is she still active enough to keep everything so well maintained?

"It was good. A chance to enjoy some of that crisp autumn air." And maybe get smacked in the face by an errant leaf or two along the way.

"So, uh… I've got kind of this..fascination with metahumans and their various powers, but…" her hands sort of aimlessly twist about. "I'm really not sure how any of this works."

She doesn't seem overly nervous. In fact, part of her is rather excited to be here. Like she's trying to dot a 'powers card' for all of the major types of abilities out there. She miiight be a bit of a fangirl.


For one with that grandmotherly vibe, there are no family pictures on the walls. No art from grandchildren.

And with Daisy inside, the woman looks outside for a long moment and then moves inside. She pushes her way past without touching, the faint smell of Chanel perfume in her wake as she leads towards the kitchen where one of the pots and a kettle has been put to work to brew tea.

The thought that she's not what was expected seems to suit the older woman well enough, although there is only a bounce of thick eyebrows to be had for it. "Well," she says as she pours the tea with a smooth and expert hand, "The way that it works is simple. You're going to drink this tea and talk about what you know. And while you do that, I'm going to do what your Mister Coulson asked me to do."

Emma - safely hidden beneath her stodgy little illusion - is not typically one for idle pleasantries on a good day. The New Yorker grandmotherly sort with her gruff attitude suits her preference well enough. "I take it that means that you don't know if you were in close proximity to a telepath when you… ran into trouble. Or is it all gone?"


As far as instructions go it's simple enough. Something tells Daisy that sitting down might be a good idea so she finds somewhere nearby to settle. Somewhere which might be able to support her if she 'goes into trance,' or however it is they say it.

The question should be simple enough but it causes the hackerette to stare at the floor with a frown, soon transitioning to a slow shaking of her head. "I don't..really remember any of it… This 'trouble,' there wasn't some defined moment where I knew something bad had happened. I only have these fleeting glimpses of being outside of New York. Something about a blue van which Coulson tells me is mine but I don't remember why I had it or where it is."

Once the tea is ready she puts the cup into her hands, letting the warmth spread into her fingers. "I just woke up one morning at my place and it was like no one had been living there for months. Everything was dusty. The food had all gone bad. It's almost like those fragments of memories are nothing more than dreams and I woke up out of a..coma..or something."

The thought stays with her as the first sip of tea is taken.

"Oh, and..waking up, my powers were gone. Like they had never been there."


"Well, you certainly made someone upset, but that's all within the realm of a powerful enough psychic's ability." The older woman snorts as she pours for herself a cup of tea and then sits down in front of Daisy. "Of course, they aren't me, either."

There's a perfect confidence there, surely born of her years, right?

But beneath the ego, there is certainly a matter of the finesse that Emma brings to the table. Even as Daisy speaks, Emma is already setting herself to work. She feels more thoroughly around the edges of the surface thoughts first, wrapping herself about the other woman's psyche and looking for the things that might not belong there first. Rough seams, perhaps, where her thoughts have been patched together in new ways.


"Ah—yah, that's..what I've gathered," Daisy lamely agrees while both remembering what Coulson had said regarding this 'mission' she had been a part of and also trying to -not- think about it given that there's a psychic right in front of her. Coulson trusts this old lady but what happens if she learns about the mission?

Edging beyond her confusion the landscape of her memories could be compared to a giant puzzle where one entire chunk of the setting had been almost surgically removed. There may be a loose piece left here or there which seems to have no bearing on what part of the image had been removed but it's no longer possible to determine what might have once been. Whomever had tampered with her mind had known exactly what to look for and left no sliver of it behind.

Fortunately it does not appear that anything new had been grafted in. What memories remain seem to be genuinely her own.


The complete void in places draws Emma's attention in a way that misplaced, altered, and buried ones never could. Because that takes a rare talent that the telepath hasn't come across often.

That certainly makes it more interesting.

The shorter woman settles down into her own seat at the kitchen table, curling around her cup of tea.

"Well," she says at last, tilting her hand that she's already inside. "You certainly made the wrong someone angry, didn't you, dearie?"

Telepaths sometimes leave their markers, little tells and signs that would betray them, and Frost is swift to look for them. She dives deeper in, observing the damage to see if there's any fragment at all that might point to a remapping that would have just hidden information instead. Or, perhaps give a hint as to what was extracted.

There was a small pad of paper that was on the table, and the telepath stretches her hands out to collect it and start scribbling down any place where she can piece together enough for a date or time where things are missing.


Somewhere between the end of March and the beginning of April is where the void begins. A deeper dive does uncover some of the 'lost' pieces which had been left behind.

There is indeed a rusting old powder blue van which shows up in a few places. It seems like she might have been living in the back of it for a while. There's a few encounters with other superpowered beings in Metropolis, probably nothing more than one-time threats which have come and gone. There's a few memories of her having face to face meetings with Lex Luthor regarding a pair of gauntlets. A few more memories exist of dealing with one of the Spider-folk, some lady in a pink and white themed uniform.

None of them seem connected.

Stranger still, there is a distinct lack of any of these markers from other telepaths. The memory loss isn't psychic tampering any more than it is chemical brainwashing or amnesia. Whatever happened here is definitely not normal…

It's more apparent should Emma look into the power loss. The easy route would have been to add in a 'switch' capable of deactivating her powers but instead it's more like whatever had first triggered them had simply been erased. The only way to know for certain that she had any powers at all would be to dig way, way back.

And there lies another secret. Someone had experimented on her. Trying to use science to trigger such abilities. Given how the power had first manifested Daisy thought she was a mutant but that may not be so accurate of a belief.

This isn't psychic meddling per se. But Emma might recognize the patterns by reading what -wasn't- left behind.


There is certainly an immediate familiarity to the handiwork, psychic or no, and it draws up the namelessyet still somehow trustedold woman’s bushy eyebrow.

"Well," she repeats after a long moment. She taps the point of her pen against the pad of paper a few times, and then pushes herself to her feet. "This is going to require a little more work. Let’s get you comfortable, hm?"

She picks up a tea cup and waddles in the direction of the living room. Of course, the illusion masks the telepath’s true stride, long and determined. A hand that seems fat and wrinkled extends towards the comfortable sofa, even as the grandmotherly sort lowers herself into an armchair nearby.
"I’m going to need you to close your eyes and try to relax while I make a few adjustments."


From where Daisy sits it's as if nothing at all is happening. She can only imagine the amount of effort it might be taking on the 'older' woman's behalf. It's hard to know if progress is being made but the occasional musing from the psychic seems more troubling than comforting.

"I must have really jumped off the deep end, huh," she suggests with a thin humorless smile.

The remainder of her own tea is finished so the cup can stay behind in the kitchen, soon following along to the other room. The thought of lying out across a couch gives the moment more of a psychologist meeting rather than a psychic one.

"What kind of 'adjustments' are you thinking about?" she wonders with some curiosity and only a small amount of concern. Coulson vouched for this lady but it's still a lot of trust to spread out between the two individuals.

"I'm sure it doesn't hurt," she thinks aloud while settling onto the couch. Then with a frown, she adds "It..doesn't..hurt, does it?"


"Not much," Emma lies smoothly. After all, what good does it do to tell the truth? Daisy will find out for herself soon enough. Where the image of an old woman is there hunched and curled around her cup, clear as day, while Emma crosses her legs and sips at the tea in her hands primly behind its veneer. "There’s nothing to be done for the missing memories, I’m afraid. Not by me, anyway. It’s not a psychic’s handiwork. It’s something else. Magic, were I a betting woman. Which, by the way, I’m not. Still. I might be able to rearrange the ones still there and do something about your abilities."

She sips again, and then instructs. "Now, like I said, you’ll want to close your eyes."

In case her illusions slip while she’s concentrating. Naturally, that’s not something she can really tell her visitor, and so the fabrications effortlessly continue. "It keeps your brain from getting overstimulated while I’m working. Also means just generally less input to the visual cortex while I’m fiddling with the memories. Sometimes that can cause visual disturbances."

That should scare the other woman enough to keep from peeking. She hopes.

Fortunately for Daisy, Emma has some history with deactivating and restoring mutant ability, and so she hopes the methodology holds true… particularly as it becomes increasingly evident that Daisy here is possibly not a mutant. She’s something else.

But she made a promise to Phil Coulson that she’d try. So she’ll try.

"Those sorts of adjustments. Unless you object."


Hearing that magic might have been involved helps to narrow the field but it doesn't fully answer the question of 'who dunnit' yet. Daisy will be digging into this matter further as time permits and..hopefully..with some help from this telepath in clearing up what memories do happen to remain.

The 'warning' about overloading the brain works like a charm. As someone who has had her powers run uncontrolled more than once it's all too easy to play upon that ingrained fear. "Yah—right, okay. Eyes closing."

So far Emma's done nothing to trip Daisy's wariness that any of this might be a ruse. She already has an unknown target to put her energy towards trying to uncover.

There is still the decision to opt out. This procedure ranks up there as a 'big deal,' one which Daisy doesn't fully understand or know what the risks and potential ramifications are. But..once again it all comes down to Coulson. He'd encourage her to consent to the treatment. SHIELD might even require it be done, if not with this lady then with someone else.

A deep breath is claimed then released. "Do what you need to do."

Maybe being stuck behind a monitor in a cubicle wasn't such a bad place to be.


Emma will wait patiently until Daisy’s eyes close, and then she’ll gently set her own teacup down on the little doily-decked occasional table beside her.

And then, settling in deeper, the telepath closes her own eyes, takes a long deep breath, and sets herself to work.

She starts in the places where memories have been removed with surgical precision, lifting the pieces around them to prominence. …Mostly. Memories of Metropolis and the ancient ones surrounding experimentation arein a certain way of thinkingsafe enough to bring up.

She’s more careful and selective around the memories that might lead anywhere near the Scarlet Witch, or her speedster brother, Pietro.

It’s careful work, but Daisy will know that something is happening as thoughts will comeunbiddenas Emma manipulates connections and pathways, sorting through them. And it might, perhaps, give her far greater access to other things than Phil or Daisy really counted on.

Because, while she’s in there, she’s also looking for any sort of indication that her own interests are in any sort of jeopardy from this other woman’s efforts.

Assuming she finds none, then she sets her mind to the issue of the metahuman’s ability. If there isn’t a simple block, if it’s a matter of recreating the first manifestation, Emma will search for that moment in the nest of thoughts. Restore it.


"Okay, this is reeeeally kinda trippy…"

The memories involving experimentation curiously seem to have little to do with any ancient ones so much as a single man working in a lab environment when Daisy had been quite young. It doesn't have the feeling of any government or military setting so much as a personal one, almost like she had been some pet project of a lone scientist with some serious motivation.

Specifics are hard to make out, the memory is quite old and limited in scope. There's still enough to know that someone had done some meddling on her as a child.

Metropolis doesn't seem to have any rhyme nor reason. Something involving adaptive robots which had largely been dealt with by other heroic metas native to the city. Another involving some Speed Force something or other.

Near the very onset of this memory gap is something which might be of interest. Something taking place in the New York area. This girl, along with the help of two others, infiltrated a DPS controlled island and hacked the official servers for the entire Registration database. Who knows what might have happened from there.

As far as anything specifically related to the Twins, or the Brotherhood at large… There isn't anything. Not a single insignificant scrap since the Triskelion had fallen. Daisy had been on the ill-fated Helicarrier when it plunged into the bay and nearly died from it. What might have happened afterward is one giant blank.

The chances of her having any connection to Emma's own dealings are likely to be slim, though her apparent personal connection with Lex Luthor might be of particular interest. Right now her biggest priorities outside of this encounter involve finding this lost van and cleaning up her apartment after months of abandonment.

As far as her own powers go there is no simple fix. Some sufficiently advanced tech might cure her. Or perhaps some appropriately powerful magic. Though there might be a third option which involves direct exposure to Terrigen.

Wouldn't that be a surprise for the broken 'mutant' lying on the couch.


The old woman furrows her brow in perfect synchronicity with the blonde who generates the illusion of her. Because, after all is said and done and memories are put in order, Emma Frost hits a dead end.

And there is nothing in the whole damned world than Emma Frost hates more than admitting defeat. The reality that she’s not failing a mutant, at least, does a very small something to help assuage the bitter, angry feeling of failure that churns in her gut. A very small something.

Abruptly, Daisy will feel a decided but hard to describe lightening, and the strange memories will suddenly stop in their parade through her mind as she pushes herself to her feet and the telepath dedicates herself once more wholly to the illusion.

"There’s nothing more I can do for you," she remarks with a decidedly negative tone. "It’s not a simple block of your ability, as I see it. You’ve been fundamentally changed. Reversed, if you will. You’re not a mutant, I don’t think, and what I’ve done for you is all I can do for you."


It's a relief when the memories cease to flicker and dance through her mind but such a feeling is soon to be hindered by the prognosis. Something meaningful and good had to have come from this encounter, right? There's all sorts of craziness going on in the mind which could be tinkered with and modified! To Daisy it seems a lot like picking around in an operating system's registry, delicate in nature but powerful in scope.

Upon hearing the other woman getting to her feet those dark eyes open and blink a couple of times, suddenly wondering why she doesn't feel any different while also questioning whether she -should- feel any different.

Then comes the bad news. It's a bust.

"But—I mean there's gotta be -something-..?" she asks while quickly sitting upright on the couch with a desperate glint in her stare.

'Fundamentally changed.'

The part about her not being a mutant is misinterpreted, thinking that she had been reversed to the point of being a regular human instead.

"No, there has to be something. This can't end here. Not like this. I—"

Her heart sinks in the same motion which brings her gaze back up to the other woman. It isn't Emma's fault. Also she isn't saying that it's over and done, only that she can't do anything more for the problem.

It isn't easy to muster up a soft "Thank you for trying" before the dust from such a bombshell has had a chance to settle but it seems the least she can do.


"Mm. Don’t sound so resigned. Not everything is straight paths in these sorts of things." Picking up her tea cup, Daisy is once more treated to the image of an older woman waddling—this time back into the kitchen.

"Stop being lazy about it. I gave you points on the map. Now you just need to go follow them and find someone to recreate your metamorphosis."


"Can you blame me?" Daisy asks while the telepath makes her way back to the other room. "I mean this is kiiinda a big deal."

Being lazy? 'Points on the map?' -Metamorphosis.- She has to sit down and think about all of this for a little while, leaning forward with elbows on knees and hands cupping her chin.

'You're not a mutant.'

But she isn't human.

What else is there?

Then she remembers Sloane.

"Wait. Are you saying that I'm an -inhuman-..?"

It doesn't make sense. Inhumans didn't have powers before that whole transformation ordeal, did they? But maybe… Either going through the transformation does something or it does nothing, isn't that how it goes? But Coulson had said that Terrigen stuff was super rare. What if…

There's too many questions. SHIELD might be able to test for these meta markers, or whatever it is that they might be.

"Oh my god" gets whispered under a breath before she straightens and stands upright in one quick motion. "Yah—hey. Thank you. Seriously. I think..I've got some work to do."



Emma nose crinkles where she makes for herself a new cup of tea from the pot. It would have been so much nicer if it had been a mutant that Phil had sent her way, but alas not all favors can serve two purposes.

« I think you do,» Emma murmurs into the other woman’s mind while still in the kitchen, leaning onto her elbows on the counter. She sighs as she looks at the tea tin, poking through the tea bags in it.

Whoever she rented this AirBnB from has terrible taste, she bemoans.

« Do give Mister Coulson my regards? »


It may have been easier for Daisy as well if this had been a mutant problem rather than those 'other' people. Inhumans seem to be much less common, a matter which brings up additional considerations as far as any sort of treatment might be concerned. There's probably a lot less medical documentation to work with.

But, what can she do besides try to unearth some of that there Terrigen stuff? If the Division approves it…

Of course, being spoken to directly through her own head disrupts the thought process with a physical flinch, blinking anew before the awe and wonderment can fully settle into place.

She's being spoken to telepathically.

This is SO. COOL.

Today is -totally- getting marked on the Powers Card.

The somewhat troubled but also oddly giddy hackerette pulls together and sees herself to the door, now having much more to focus on than the masked presence in the kitchen. Emma's real identity remains secure.

"Yah—will do. Take care."


« I always do, » Emma replies, meaning it in every way. She scans over Daisy’s thoughts once more as she goes, ensuring that her little secret is safe. When she confirms it, she lets the other, younger woman depart without any further meddling on her part.

After that, the telepath waits until she senses that the SHIELD agent departs the property before letting the effort of her illusion-making slide away. She rolls her shoulders insider her couture suit and tilts her head once to each side to release the tension from her earlier efforts.

She takes a deep breath, and then moves to unbury her clutch bag from the closet. Digging out her phone, she dials her driver and then puts the phone to her ear. "Do come get me, Alex. I think the kitsch in this God-forsaken hellhole is giving me an allergic reaction."

Once that’s done and she’s slid her phone back inside her purse, she sighs.

"I really would have preferred a mutant," she says to no one in particular.

And then she goes to suffer through the weak herbal equivalent of Lipton while she waits for her driver to arrive.

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