Gather Your Party
Roleplaying Log: Gather Your Party
IC Details

Atli seeks the aid of the wise wizard Arngrim, and a plan begins to form.

Other Characters Referenced: Warren Worthington, Dazzler, Cakewoman, Tony Stark
IC Date: October 26, 2019
IC Location: SHIELD
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 26 Oct 2019 06:41
Rating & Warnings: Rated G for…
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots


Was that the door? Wherever it is Ulysses usually does his late night work at this particular SHIELD facility, he would find himself interrupted. THUDTHUDTHUD. Which is odd to say the least. No one should be thudding, because everyone who should be let in should have badges! But then anyone this far into the building should have a badge, or should be setting off a whole lot of alarms.

There is a bit of scrabbling, as if someone is fumbling with something near the card scanner.

"No no, fool of a goat, I know how to do it. Rocket showed me. He enhanced this one, you see. He said it should be fine as long as it does not begin smoking."


The door opens and in comes the stumbling, meandering form of Atli Wodendottir. Wineskin in one hand. Key card in the other, with the lanyard wrapped around her wrist. It has black sharpie all over it.

Level 1 is crossed out.

Level 50 is sharpied in.

Eyes narrow against computer screens and who knows what else, and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She has not her spear or any weapon on her, and one hand rises to ruffle a single, large feather from her very red hair.

"Hello? Verily, is anyone here? I require help sending an electronic letter."

Atli waves off the goat, who seems eager to come in, but once she holds up her hand he plops down in the hall outside.


Go figure, even though he hadn't been discharged from the hospital all too long ago, Ulysses finds himself already at work. It's completely by choice. Maybe. He's the sort that needs to keep busy, and not doing so, even if he's supposed to relax, just makes him more anxious. At least he shouldn't be expected to go on any field missions for a bit, for one doesn't take being flung into a wall by an Egyptian god lightly. He's just lucky that he hadn't hit his head first and only second.

The twinge behind his eyes still seems to try reminding him that he's not in top form. He'd been sitting at his desk for hours although he couldn't give an exact time otherwise. It kind of sucks being the one stuck with a workload that's usually meant for several more people in total, but he doesn't usually complain to anyone except his dog about it. There's a report he needs to file too. And coffee. He needs more coffee.

The thud behind the door makes him nearly drop his new mug, and he freezes before jerking his head towards the door. Who could possibly be here at… wait what time is it anyway?

He hears a voice. Something about a goat and rockets. What? Maybe he does need to take a sick day…

The door opens and he brings up his empty coffee mug as though it were a gun. He quickly lowers it because he'd rather not look foolish if someone really were breaking into the office, but as Atli steps in he stares blankly. She looks familiar. Maybe he's seen her file in passing. It's hard to recall right now. His headache only threatens to grow as he processes the fact that there did happen to be an actual goat with her after all.



"Yes, hello."

This, after a long moment of sizing the man and his weapon of choice up. Eyes narrow on the mug. Her grip on her wineskin tightens. But all tension is broken as she steps forward and has a quick, hair-whirling look around, nearly whacking Ulsyses in the side of the head with the wild shock of red that follows her turn. "It is very good to meet you, Uh." Her hand drops down on one shoulder, which she gives a squeeze and a little shake. If not for how very drunk she was, she would not be able to smile. She would likely only know rage. But as she fully turns back to this stranger, oddly named Uh, she leans in a little.

"Yes, yes, you must be the one that is supposed to look after me now, what with the Son of Coul so busy, and brave Scott Adsit now ambassador to Asgard. Do you think you might send an electronic letter for me? I am all out of ravens, you see."

Atli pauses a moment, brow furrowing as she stares off into the distance. "I squeezed the last one a little to hard by accident and…" Insert vague, exploding bird feather motions here.

"In any case, I must have you send a message into the ether, and return an answer for me about a mystery of grave consequence. Tell me Uh, Loyal SHIELDmaiden of Midgard, follower of Steve Rogers and Margaret Carter, Hero of… this.. this odd little room. Will you help me find the answers I seek?"


…maybe he's suffering from complications. Hallucinations, this has to be a hallucination. Except this hallucination practically knocks him over with a wave of red hair.

"Ow, owowowowow," he whimpers, tipping to favor that side when she drops her hand upon his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Nope. Not a hallucination. Maybe that's actually a good thing.? He's not sure what would have bidden his mind to conjure up red-haired women and goats.

She must be speaking English but he still feels like he's not parsing her words correctly. "Son of…wait, Coulson? Adsit? He's in Asgard? I was wondering what happened with that guy." It clicks, if belatedly.

"You're from Asgard? …are you talking about an email?" He so should have taken a sick day.


Others have seen that look on her face. A laugh that comes with no real humor behind it. Something devoid of any real connection with why she's laughing. Right now, it's more true than ever before, and so her Tom Cruise laugh is especially haunting, and even rouses the goat's head from the hallway to snort in her direction. Atli frowns immiedately when she's interrupted, letting her hand slip away from poor Ulysses and his many Ow's.

A wince follows, and she tilts her head just a bit. "Oh, ssssooooooorrry. Sometimes I forget that I am so very mighty. Yes! You see? You know him well! And worry not, Adsit and his family have been enjoying Asgard, and often Odin has them to dinner so that Scott Adsit might recount the warrior tales of the Knight Rider. Which is an odd name, is it not? For if you ride a Knight, does the Knight still ride a horse?"

The confusion fades as she chin-rubs, and then she points towards a computer.

"Yes, I am from Asgard, and on Asgard we do not have those. We have oracles. But here there are no oracles. Just those, and something called The Google, which I have no desire to meet, for it sounds unsavory. Now understand, this is of the utmost importance. Type an electronic letter to the oracle of your machine and ask her where I might find who killed my very good friends." Just those last few words draw the mirth from her, fake as it all might be, allowed only by intoxication. She takes another long drink, but she looks ever so crestfallen, the very picture of a drunk who's reality has caught up with them.

"Help me? Help me find who killed Warren Glorywing, and The Dazzler?"


And here he thought his business with gods was over. He hadn't much enjoyed the last encounter, and given what he's heard of Asgardians he's naturally apprehensive of involving himself with them. Further explanation of Adsit's situation doesn't really reassure him. Ulysses rubs at his shoulder as Atli apologizes, managing a pained smile. "It's fine, I'm just sore from being thrown into a wall. I probably shouldn't be working." Not that he thinks the hint will be taken.

Rather than try to decipher or rather try explaining what he's pretty sure is old pop culture, the agent lets it be, supposing that the Asgardian will forget about it anyway, what with being on business of some sort. She'd mentioned ravens and now oracles, and his head's not having any of it so he simply nods. "Google can be a monster," he agrees. "But I don't know who you want me to address an email to about…" Slowly he's managing to translate Atli-speak. Not an email. A search, maybe. For a murderer?

Ulysses looks at her sympathetically as the other puzzle pieces click into place, why an Asgardian would show up drunk to S.H.I.E.L.D., the how's simply not something you figured to ask. She looked so sad, and for a moment he wonders if he should mirror her earlier gesture with his own hand, refraining from doing so if only because he's sure his bones might snap if she gripped him by the arm. Names are mentioned, names that are all the more familiar because of recent headlines. Although he'd worked a mission in tandem with them he'd still been largely separated in his involvement with the X-Men, but all the same, it had been hard to swallow the news of the suicide apparent. He very nearly echoes that fact- that it was a suicide… but if it was, why would this woman be here to ask otherwise?

He looks down towards his shoes. "…I don't know if it'd be so simple a thing. If someone did kill Mister Worthington and Miss Blaire then they'd make sure their tracks were covered."


For every infectious bit of laughter Atli has been responsible for on this world, her expression is almost enough to drown the whole of Midgard in a never ending sadness. And woe to the world, for the world does not have Asgardian mead to help out. Glassy eyed and cheeks fresh with tears, she shamefully wipes them away, letting out a shakey breath filled with enough emotion to dim a star.

"Someone did." The way she says it might seem harsh at first, but it is simply clear she believes that Warren could not have done this. And when she looks up into the sympathetic gaze of her very new friend, she feels the kindness reflected there is owed an explanation. "They were wonderful people. Heroes. The Dazzler shook the callous cold from old Odin's bones, you know. While she is a songstress here, and a champion of the X-People, to the Realms Eternal she is inspiration given form. The heavens weep for her. And so do I. And for him. Warren… he…"

Atli struggles with words, one hand working with the other that is still holding the wineskin, trying to form a picture with his hands.

"The people of this world are so very, very concerned. With everything. I try not to show them that I notice how concerned they are when I do something they are not used to. But Warren was never concerned with me. Never looked at me as if I might not belong here. He would tell me things to help me understand this world. He never minded me, or the things I did wrong. Other than Rocket or Groot… most of the time, anyway… it is hard to say there are many here who thought that way of me. Who thought I belonged."

Her gaze meets Ulysses' again, and her plea comes with another tale. "And this is in part how I know he could not hurt her, nor himself. It was not that he was a hero, nor that she was inspiration. It was how they loved one another. Until you have seen a vision of a Firebird, soaring through the cosmos, bits of brocolli people still trailing from it's mouth, you could not understand love in it's purest form. And yet, that is what it was like between them, all the time. They were each other's firebirds. They were perfect."

Atli finally sits down, putting a nearby chair to the test. "Your words are wise, Agent Uh. And though I, Atli, Daughter of Woden am Mighty, I am not clever like you are. I came here because I knew it would not be easy. Because I knew I would need someone like you."

In the end, this is all Peggy's fault. Atli has known SHIELD to be where all the smartest Midgardians are, and soley because her clever Aunt Peggy leads this place. And maybe she should have gone to her, but, you know.



"…it's Agent Arngrim. Ah, my name's Ulysses Arngrim, that is," he offers along with a hesitant hand, hoping it'll be left functional. He reflects upon all that the Asgardian has shard, and honestly, despite this strange talk of firebirds, he can understand the feeling behind the confusing references. And in the ever-present space of his mind where rationality resides he can't help but feel this spike of chilling fear. There's more to that suicide story. But then isn't there always?

There's so many questions that open up with just the implication of a murder, and it's by reflex that he starts to think of possible angles, reasons that someone would do such a thing. He doesn't know the pair well, so the only motives that come up to the forefront are based on popularity and money, and for the fact that they were both metahumans. In this day and age, those alone seem perfectly and eerily valid.

"Look, Atli? Daughter of Woden?" How does one address an Asgardian properly? "I can see how much the two meant to you. Have you talked to anyone else about this?" Did anyone else share such thoughts? He wouldn't be surprised. "I'm…only good with computers and things, really. So unless there's some kind of electronic trail, I don't know how helpful I can be. I mean, I'm not saying I won't try." Because he wants to. Because it's a challenge, and if these people are good, he wants to prove better, especially to make something right.


When Ulysses finally corrects one of Atli's many mistakes, that is, assuming his name was 'Um', she doesn't seem to react much. But when he holds out his hand, she knows exactly what to do. She hands him the mead. Really, it's her only way to show her appreciation, having become a bit of a sobbing mess, pulling some of her cape around to wipe her eyes off.

"No. No one else. Not yet. I was not sure if they might think me mad. But since you do not, perhaps it will be alright. It is just.. so many others are so convinced. I thought perhaps Lord Stark might be able to help."

Cutting through the haze of emotion comes a thought. A thought that Ulysses Arngrim, Agent of Shield, has planted in Atli's mind. Perhaps more than a thought.

A plan.

There is a brightness that comes from behind those blue eyes, some sense of hope restored. "Yes, that is it. My grandfather once told me of a plot, long ago, hatched by vile dark elves. And so he brought together an elf, a dark elf, an orc or.. some such, and I think perhaps a bee, yes. Or maybe a wasp…" Her finger taps against her bottom lip before she shakes away the thought. "It does not matter. All that matters is that you are right. We must form a team. A team of those who would know Lord Glorywing and Lady Lasersong best. And you of course, because you know about computers and things, and computers know about Netflix, which knows about everything."

When Atli rises it is with renewed strength, and she steps close, a hand gingerly touching his other shoulder. She does not squeeze or shake him. No, she looks him right in the eye.

"Will you? Will you try for us? Will you be our wizard, and lend your computer power, and the power of this wonderful thing -" she indicates his snapy tie. "-to this quest to uncover the true fate of the Laserwings, and, perhaps, help me with one more, very small thing?"


Ulysses looks at the wineskin, and out of trying to be polite, he accepts it, pouring a smidgen into his empty coffee mug. Then he hands the rest back. "Well, it depends on who you talk to about it. If they're people that know Mister Worthington and Miss Blaire then maybe they're trying to look into things too. …and if we're thinking about the same Lord Stark and not the fictional one then yeah, I think he'd be some great help." And not just because he has awesome tech. …okay, not only because he has awesome tech.

Atli begins to lose him a bit again with her tale of elves and orcs- and bugs? He squints at her, his headache reminding him that it hasn't really left. Slowly nodding as she gets to the gist of her digression, pausing as he inevitably finds himself still included in the matter. His mouth opens, then closes as he decides he is not at a hundred percent to be engaging an Asgardian about whatever misunderstandings she may have about Netflix.

As Atli steps close to lay a hand upon him again Ulysses can't help but cringe, preparing for another shoulder crushing, relieved to find that she's capable of a gentler touch even while intoxicated. He's not sure whether to be unsettled or inspired by the look he meets.

"Er…" He glances down at his yellow and black tie and back. "Yeah? Sure?" Honestly she had him at wizard.


It takes only a moment for Agent Angrim's words to sink in. Really, just the 'Yeah? Sure?' part. Through it all, the waxing and waning of her anguish at the loss of her friends, she somehow looks a little more like herself in that moment. As gently as she touches his shoulder, she pulls him into a hug. And right off his feet. Which might hurt a little, but if he has any back problems it might just shake those out.

At the very least it doesn't last long.

"It never ceases to amaze me how very much the heroes of Midgard live up to their names, Agent Angergram. You are all truly the best."

After setting him down, she turns towards the door, but motions for Ulysses to follow. "Come now, the other very small thing I need help with his down below."

You know, below. Where they sometimes let a raccoonoid park a ship, or let Atli sleep off a hangover behind some crates. As Atli walks, the goat joins her, the beast looking up at Ulysses as if he were already part of the family. He doesn't even try to eat his pants, or that snappy tie.

"After Warren lost his wings I.. I went on a bit of a journey. I first thought to ask the Angels of Heven for some of theirs. They did not like that very much. I even explained that he was called The Angel! Fools, all of them. But good grapplers. In any case, I left them to travel to the dwarves of Nadavellir. They scoffed at making wings when they could simply make weapons. Just give him two swords they said, those are like wings. Bearded fools, all of them. But good brewers. And I did have need of them, but, you see, that is what I need your help with. Perhaps you might be able to send THEM an electronic letter, to help fix up the cage they made for me before we gather the rest of our party."


"Ohgo—rrk… Ow." He realizes too late her intention, not that he probably could have hoped to avoid her embrace. "Arngrim," he corrects almost automatically even as he staggers once back upon his feet. There's a moment where he wonders if it's really okay to follow after her, but he eventually does so, tugging the lapels of his blazer straight and fixing his snappy tie. As he comes upon the goat Ulysses eyes it warily, but so long as it doesn't seem set on trying to snack on his clothing or him in general, he doesn't pay too much mind. It's just…goat eyes, man. Those creepy square-pupiled goat eyes.

"Some of their…? O-oh…" This leaping between angels and dwarves makes him wonder where the line connecting them is, but despite her having been drinking, Atli still seems fairly certain of the things she relates, even if they sound like fantastical tangents. From what he's gathering of their conversation thus far, the woman is very straight-forward and yet still travels an oddly circuitous manner to get from point A to B. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent has to rewind a bit of what she's said in his head just to make sure he was matching things up correctly.

"Wait, you want me to…email dwarves?" Just saying it sounds crazy. "And what kind of cage are we talking about here? -why is there a cage anyway? I think I missed that part."


'-why is there a cage anyway? I think i missed that part.

Atli steps from the elevator as it finally sets them in one of the cargo bays. This time of night, there's not much activity, and as Atli leads Ulysses around several large crates, through the stacks, as it were, they will come upon a very large place where a ship sometimes sits. But next to that place, almost equally as big, is a box. Thirty feet high, and at least as wide, it is made of a metal that cannot possibly be silver, and yet, it gleams like it is. Even where it is bent. Ceretainly, it is bent.

But it is difficult to make out what is inside. Difficult at first, anyway. Ulysses will find himself stepping on something soft and yet a little crunchy:

A feather. A four foot long feather.

"I knew after some searching I could never replace that which Glorywing had lost. But I knew too he loved to take Lady Lasersong flying, and that he was very good at driving boats. Which, I suppose, means I should have gotten him a flying boat, which Asgard has many of. But somehow, that did not seem glorious enough."


The whole of the cage shakes, and leaning in to the light, Ulysses will see it. Feathers of bristling white, a great big wattle of a neck leading into a long flat bill. Somewhere below, it's wings rattle the cage again, more feathers fluttering outward from the cage. And as that flat bill leans in and those vacant, dead eyes stare at them both, two elephant-sized tusks can be seen curving from that flat bill.

"But I knew that Groozlebuese, the Gooselord, would be a proper mount for him. I thought about letting him go once I found out the truth of my departed friends. But now I know I kept him for a purpose." Atli looks to Ulysses then. "He will ferry us and the rest of our party to the very stars if need be, and help us pursue vengeance against those who took two wonderful lights from this world."



"Well, perhaps after we get those dwarves to fix this cage, and you know, you use your computer skills to train him."


What he wants to know is who was on duty that something like this could have been transferred into their replacement headquarters? They should probably be fired. Although to be fair they've been short of people ever since the Triskelion's fall, so really, if anyone gets blamed it'll probably be him for faulty security systems.

He really doesn't want to think about that now.

It's fine. All that thought goes skittering away at the snap underfoot, and Ulysses looks down before stooping to pick up the feather. That is one stupid huge feather. It's…kind of cool, which he even allows himself to think for a hot second before nearly jumping out of his skin at the metallic ringing as something collides with the bent up cage bars.

There are simply no words. Or maybe there are too many, and he isn't sure which to curse first, so instead, his mouth just hangs open in a large o-shape. The feather drops from his hand.

"…" He slowly turns his head to look at Atli again, brows furrowing at her like he's trying to decipher cuneiform glyphs.

"…there are so many words that you just said that don't seem to go together."


There it is again. Eyes alight. Head tilted back a bit. That smile that springs forth with some hope that, maybe, somehow, things will be alright. They won't. A great part of her knows that, but Ulysses Angrim has given her hope that they might solve this mystery, and honor her friends. And so it comes again, that laugh of hers, as if what he said were of course, ridiculous.

"And yet, I made them go together. Because that's what heroes do."

Atli throws a leg over her goat, settling astride Toothbender with a pat to his back. "Do not worry, Wise Wizard Angrim, I shall return post haste with Lord Stark, and possibly Cakewoman, the Valkyrie Danielle, and perhaps Sir Kiff, and perhaps some of the X-People, -those not allergic to Titanogeese. Worry not, I am certain you and the Gooselord will become fast friends! He enjoys pumpkins, pizza, and playing fetch with goblins. And know that I owe you this day, for rekindling my spirit as a kind stranger, but soon becoming my newest friend."

It begins as she talks. Rainbow flames licking up hooves and a shimmering light filling those wierd, alien goat eyes.

And then most of that power abruptly goes to the goat's ass.

A brief moment later it explodes forward, tearing through reality and who knows where. Don't worry, she'll make it to Lord Stark soon enough.


Ulysses is at a loss for words. He's trying very hard to keep up with Atli, trying to match up names with their proper equivalents- the attempt falls apart rather quickly at 'Cakewoman' and he lets the rest filter through with no further effort on his part made. His smile is tight and uncertain, the latter of which seems to be a permanent overlay to most of his expressions in general. Surely having an Asgardian as a friend can't be all that bad.

Blankly watching as Atli boards her goat, the young agent can only stare as rainbows appear in places they shouldn't, and soon enough they're gone, leaving him alone.

…with a freakishly huge alien goose beast. He looks down at the feather, and then over towards the beaten up cage and its contents, shoulders sagging.

"I should've stayed at the hospital."

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