2014.01.09 - Viper Pit Stop

The air in the hanger was surprisingly stale, considering its vast size. Even the numerous, small air vents against the wall above, allowing the mildest peek of natural light to slip into the room, didn't seem to help. This was a quiet place, despite the shelves being full of fancy (and dusty) technology, and the vehicles scattered about. Viper, the enigmatic and normally commanding Madame Hydra, had actually been M.I.A. for the last few months from *any* stateside HYDRA facilities. She'd been steeped in numerous dubious dealings in the heart of Madripoor, and she'd left much of the quote-unquote administration of HYDRA to Skull and his myriad of cohorts, many of which Viper both openly and not-so-openly detested. But they served the organization loyally... most of them.
Viper skittered about the room, gathering supplies, and using a rather state-of-the-art computer interface, some sort of cryptic checklist on its display. Most HYDRA operatives would see Viper's behavior as particularly uncharacteristic... she'd normally issue orders for others to do tasks like this, and wouldn't be caught dead twiddling in the dim light alone in an old base. Viper was far more well-known as the 'grand entrance' sort of diva--arriving with unrequested speeches and pronouncements to whomever would be near. She did so enjoy bossing others around.
Crossbones enters the hangar with a duffel bag over his shoulder, the clank of tools inside as he decided to putter around with his motorcycle. He's no mechanic, but it relaxes him to toy with it, almost as much as killing someone does. He's a bit tense, the Skull's condition fraying Rumlow's already foul temper thin. As he finds the Viper in a space he expected abandoned, he drops his tools with an obvious crash, making sure he's noticed. He himself has been mostly away of late, pursuing personal missions at the behest of the Skull. "Guten tag, Madame Hydra. Is there something I can help you with?" he says, although he doesn't sound very helpful.
Adjusting numerous mini-levers on her computer, Viper turned to Brock with an inspectful, alert twitch. 
"Cross--" she starts tersely, halting to adjust her tone, softening it. "Brock." With a head nod, she began rustling up the immense pile of junk she'd been scavenging from room all the while attempting to feign nonchalance... though anyone paying attention would note she was trying to clean-up or hide something. She decided to dodge the obvious question as to what she was up to. She dove into a generic greeting: "It has been some time," she said, closing one of two trunk-suitcases full of assembled gear, "I trust they've kept you active."
The large man moves into a half-crouch, his forearms resting atop his knees as he peers in the dim light, trying to make out exactly what's got the regal Madame playing tech-slave. He runs a hand across his masked countenance, smoothing an expression made blank by his death's head. "The death business is always booming. You know that as well as I. Have you begun dabbling in modern art, or is all of this shit serving a purpose?" he says, gesturing to the technological debris.
In a continued bustle, Viper picked up and flickered a rather fancy, small device. It was a flashlight, and it flicked on and off within a second, casting a green-lit reflection from off her costume onto the floor below. She wasn't going to be able to simply silence Brock--he was one of the few in HYDRA that had a direct channel to Red Skull, and she wasn't ready for that conversation with HYDRA's commander quite yet.
"Gathering my thoughts," she said with a vague, uncommittal tone, "This particular spot is interesting, you know. It's where we've stored some of the stolen SHIELD technology from a raid over a year ago..." she said informatively, hoping to prod a curious distraction. "They never even got to use it." She moved over top of the second large suitcase, closing it. Behind her--possibly one of the only things not covered in dust, was one of her most prized possessions in the world: her flying car. It had been parked in an obtuse, hidden way, as to avoid quick notice, sheathed in translucent plastic.
Crossbones distrusts the green-haired woman, but, of course, he distrusts everyone without a skull for a face. Viper's always seemed mostly loyal, however. Out for herself to some degree, but humans are selfish animals by nature. He can tell she's ducking his questions a bit, but decides against pressing the point too deeply. It isn't as if he doesn't have his own personal project, although most of those are housed in the gulag and cry themselves to sleep at night...that is, if they still have eyes to cry with. "SHIELD never uses anything properly, be it technology or personnel. You should go and visit with the Fuhrer. I am sure your return to the nest would be a comfort to him."
"I'm--" Viper starts, cutting herself off. She realized the news of her business in Madripoor must not have reached the full chain of command yet. "--I'm not certain how joyous my arrival will be met," she hinted, sounding slightly vulnerable for only a moment. "The results of my recent mission have only been half a success," she noted, shuffling around with a quickened pace, cleaning up. She noticed one piece of equipment lying by her foot, and drooped down to scoop up the small item with her hand. It looked like a cross between an ID badge and a radio-antenna, and Viper attempted to palm this from view, slipping it into a pocket.
She proceeded to hoist one of the trunks, obviously quite heavy, towards the back of her car. As she moved closer to the vehicle, it could be seen that part of the plastic cover had been raised, and access to the trunk compartment was already open. "I have never--" she started again, stopping her words as abruptly as they started. A moment passed, and she decided to continue, even against her better judgment: "I've never been one to fail. And I intend to take care of loose ends." She pushed the first suitcase into the back of the car with a heave, and a dull, metallic thud echoed through the room. 
"Be honest with me... what have operations been like, while I was gone? There's many new associates." --the question seemed sincere. Perhaps she was worried that things had gone to hell, somehow.
Crossbones keeps an eye on the items as they are selected, making note but not trying to analyze. He's no technician and Brock has learned the importance of knowing his limitations. One of the Skull's first lessons, in fact. He keeps his kneeling posture easily, still as his training has taught him to be. He could hold this position for hours. "And our master is not tolerant of failure, I am well aware. If you should need assistance in completing your task - and if I can be spared - you need only ask."
To the latter questions, his mask shifts, indicating a frown, although he's not exactly known as a smiler to begin with. "Things have been...chaotic. The Fuhrer's illness has everyone on edge as we seek a solution. Some, like I, seek a cure to keep the great man where he belongs. I suspect certain curs see opportunity, however, and jockey for position around him like vultures." he snarls. "He will be well soon. And, when he is, accounts may come due."
As Brock spoke, Viper loaded the second large suitcase into the car. Listening to him, her expression softened for a moment, and she noted his concern for the Red Skull's behalf. She hadn't even considered Skull's health--not even slightly--in the last few months, being ever-preoccupied with herself. But under it all, she did care. A little. Her words, however, betrayed this sentiment, sounding dismissive: "He's been through worse."
At first, Viper hadn't even considered Crossbones' offer to help, but as she began to visualize her departure, she conceded that some extra muscle would be beneficial. While Brock wasn't her first choice, since didn't completely follow her orders to the letter, his skills made him very valuable. She stopped for a moment, thinking it over. She moved towards him with a gentle series of steps, "Are you ready to join me... right *now*?" she asked him, almost as if it were a challenge. 
Crossbones considers for a moment. On the one hand, with the Skull barely alive, his instinct was to be at his side. On the other hand, he knows Schmidt well enough to know he'd have no tolerance for sentimental hovering. He would be well or he would not, and Brock was neither scientist nor doctor. An assassin would be unlikely to take the risk of being caught with nature so close to taking her course. And Brock worked out his anger and his worry in the way he knew best: through extremes of physical violence.
"Is this mission - does it serve the cause? I cannot leave for a mere personal vendetta - not even my own - but the Fuhrer would want me to be...productive during his illness."
Viper's face anxiously twitched for a split-second, peering at him with a serious expression. In actuality, Viper was completely and utterly all about some vendetta... but she wasn't going to admit it. "Skull will understand what we must do," she said matter-of-factly, trying to project her trademark false certainty. "We'll be back by dawn tomorrow," she added. She craned her head and neck for one final scan the room, to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything, she followed up by turning away, and walked back to the car. "Some of our most important work has been undone time and time again by one man's ploy," she began. "And now, many of our investments in Madripoor are in jeopardy." 
Viper, in one graceful move that suggested that she'd done this maneuver countless times, slid the entire plastic cover from her car, revealing it's ultra-polished, fresh paint job. A bright green, completely customized Mustang.
"Get in the car," she barked.
Crossbones smirks beneath his mask: this was the Madame Hydra he knew. It had been disconcerting to see her shaken, almost sensitive, and so relieved is he by the resumption of her usual demeanor that he doesn't even bristle at the tone or remind her that he answers only to the Skull. He checks his weapons carefully, doing a check for ammo and the like, a spool of garrot wire drawn from a pouch and returned.
And then he hops in the car as requested, settling in and trying to fit the seat-belt over his massive chest, "I wondered when you'd ask me for a sleepover," he snarks.
After sliding into the mustang, Viper spent a full minute rummaging through the interior slots of the driver's seat and dashboard. There were countless hidden compartments, most full of standard issue HYDRA weapons. One revealed one of Viper's epic stash of random poisons. After flipping a switch to initiate the hanger door's steel entryway to automatically open, she looked over to Crossbones as he sat down. She gave him a bright smile--a curious mix between cheer and sinister glee. The keys to the car glided from under her sleeve in one, smooth motion, almost as if she were trying to do a stage magician's act. She looked at him, her eyes wide with a sudden intensity. 
"I've been plotting this day," she began in a breathy voice, "With every waking moment over the last two weeks. She placed the key into the ignition, and at once, it began to float up, kicking in with a sudden, short jolt that shook the car. "You and I are about to assassinate Tony Stark," she announced, as the car at once went from zero-to-eighty, out of the hanger, and into the blue sky above.
If Crossbones had been eating a turkey leg, he'd have just choked on it. "STARK!?!" he exclaims in surprise. He'd been expecting some sort of skirmish with a Madripoor drug lord or cleaning a nest of human vermin abusing HYDRA facilities, not murdering one of the most famous, dangerous and well-protected men on Earth on half a day's notice. "You'd better have one hell of a plan."
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