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Midnight still registers as full sun in the far north. No aurora peers through the polar mists shrouding Svalbard. Black Foxtrots slink through Arctic waters, listening for the impossible. Satellites perform their choreographed dances in geosynchronous orbit, watching for violations of international law. Some hidden USAF plane catches a sonic boom of something travelling at speeds not attainable by any available craft.
She has to make four orbits to find Svalbard and correct for heading, then dart to avoid the airport radar. Island hopping brings Scarlett walking over the choppy currents, her braids dripping wet as the ice melts away. It's not that warm, but enough to satisfy. Her ragged garments might tell their own story, but she crosses to the beach and that small, cobbled-together shack that is home.
Not the building. The man inside.
Barely home, and the island is not quite the same, for some of it has gone missing. A chunk has been shattered away during one of Blackagar's outbursts of lack of control, leaving behind rubble and dirt and the island now missing 1/4 of it's previous size. The occurance is less than recent, for as the approach of Rogue comes, Blackagar's emergence from the hut is quick, eyes darting with warning as his hand rises as if to gesture to keep a safe distance.
The request comes at a cost, without question. Yet she can adjust to the bitter reality of that substantial chunk of land completely reshaped. No wonder Soviet subs and American analysts try to make sense of it all. Scarlett remains hovering above the ground, separated by a few inches. The yawning gulf to the Inhuman king-in-exile spans far more. "Blackagar." His name forms a prayer on her lips, a promise invoked. "They're waiting on Orkney. We flashed through a teleportational gate a few hours ago." Her messages are direct and simple when need be, even as her gaze devours the monk's presence with the ache of distance. "What, exactly, we found is something of a jumble. But they sounded hopeful."
His nod is slow, understanding as it is clear Blackagar is weighing options. After a moment he points towards the devestation of his island then to his wrist; the signal of time. «It is worsening.» he tries to express towards Rogue and then of all things his eyes lift to the sky and he points, a shrug following afterwards.
Her fingertips fan wide enough to peel back the leather sleeve and glove guarding them. A deep set of bites carves into the resilient jacket, though Scarlett's skin bears no corresponding jagged marks that should have near taken her arm off. «I promised you the stars. Is this your will?» A hint of grim mirth lies around the carefully interpreted response, shaped and formed with a weariness natural for a jaunt through the sky. "Crystal and Karnak carry artifacts. The gentleman with the circuitry on his skin seemed almost overwhelmed by all the knowledge. And Thor has a very large hammer." Of course. «We hunted the beasts that hunted your people. The thunder one and the blond captain.» What is America in gestures? «They found an island hidden from us. It awoke for them. Then showed us its secrets and its ghosts. It's a sacred place of your people.»
Blackagar frowns a moment then holds up his hands, indicating a count that ends up at 17. Finally, almost in frustration he turns around and strides back into the hut, coming back out with a stick. With it, he begins to write on the ground. «I have found 17 of such places. More are hidden. I am destroying this world Scarlett, a piece at a time.»
Frustration and fear meet and wash over the bohemienne. Courage isn't the absence of fear but pushing through even when almost crippled by the weight. She approaches Blackagar, one slow pebble or inch at a time. Calm is the only armour she has, that and the pitiless knowledge of a cosmic predator brought down by her fists and her bitter tenacity still lurking at the back of her skull. «This may be the one you need. Seventeen past. Yet one for the answer.» Her luminous gaze replaces the absent northern lights, that unnaturally green. «They are waiting for you. They come together to give you help and answers. They searched. I looked too. We will find it if we do not have it, my love. I have faith in you. Your control even now. And I will do all that must be done to keep you safe.»
He scrawls on the ground, pressing the stick enough to cause it to leave traces upon rock now. «My safety is not what is important. The world's is. If this continues. I must be taken where I can do no harm. To the stars.» He then looks over at Scarlett, Blackagar's gaze rather serious as he nods at her.
«I promise. My own hand will take you somewhere safe. If not that…» Words, then, spoken aloud. "Asgard and the Sorcerer Supreme equally hold me as friend. The latter in particular has an interest in the security and safety of the world, and its people. You too." Scarlett taps her wrist, the faintest edge of a smile shown. «I still believe this will be resolved. I cleared two places in the desert, one without more than stone blocks and an ancient battlefield. I hope their success is greater. The last was near Hawaii. It was a place before they went for the great refuge. Your home. Yes?»
Blackagar nods his head slowly. «There has been danger with this. I would ask to see if you might rally them here; my brother included, so that I may speak to them.» His eyebrow lifts then, it is a request clearly but one that he must find important as he straightens some.
Wisdom checked burns through that vague arc of a smile. «I will. As I said, they wait for your word. They care very much.» Scarlett traces her fingers along her brow and glances aside for a moment, so much visible in her features and suppressed to allow her thoughts some hint of clarity. «I will bring them. Your brother I think is still in New York. I saw him when I went to collect the captain. No giant sharks to chase us this time. Their travels went hard but they know much. I know more than I thought I would about your enemies and their making. Is there more I can do?»
«You have done more than any other and more than I could ever ask.» Blackagar writes, his eyes holding the sentiment as well. It is a challenge, to hold oneself up as a rock while feeling as if crumbling apart. The distance is not great, but it may as well span the galaxy for all it matters in that moment.
«Not enough if you feel so pained.» Proof she can read him with the familiarity she finds her own expressions. «I brought you tea and something from the garden. It may not be me. But at least it's the same scent as our home.» Sentimentality is not something to be forgotten, not with them. Scarlett slides out of her coat to make it the easier to remove the belt supporting a fairly small, durable leather pouch. The tea comes from the high Himalaya, and whispers of ice and clear skies, short intense summers, and prayer bowls. Wrapped around it is something even simpler; a folded rectangle of cloth. «Send us to the ends of the earth and we will have an answer. The sooner to be able to walk together again.»
Blackagar reaches to catch the items from Scarlett, holding them to his chest as he does so. A slow nod, a somber one comes from him, «We will do what we can. This island continues to be safe for now but I fear.» He glances towards some of the rest in the chain, nodding towards one, «Steam the last time.» The Inhuman's eyes come back to Scarlett then and he shrugs gently, «We will decide, all together, what must be done.»
«Take the bracelet. It will help some. I can live without.» Hers is the power to steal all others, after all, and Scarlett has known it all her very short recalled life. «It was made to change shape as you might need it. Small help, now. I have to go do this task which I hate, let me at least know you might rest easier for a few hours.» Small mercies spun from the most powerful mortal magic could be a use, however short-lived. «We're coming.»
Blackagar shakes his head towards Scarlett, «You may need it more than I. This is part of what must be done.»
Proof enough of being the one raised to monarchy, thinking of others before himself. No argument will come. The offer is made, forever there. She bends slightly forward on herself, arms wrapped around her midsection and gaze averted. The momentary peal of falling apart and coming back together as a person tends not to be witnessed often; least of all with one who dons and adopts masks so easily. Rueful laughter escapes bitten lips. "I'm sorry. I am sorry sometimes the balm isn't what you need. But I promise to try to be what we all need right now." The earth deserves no less. "Maximus. Crystal. Karnak. The others. Bring them here. We'll be here as soon as possible if I have to fly them all over myself." Yeah, Lockjaw wins at that. "Hold on. Please."