from_the_outside | [oom] the rules have changed since I learned to play

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[oom] the rules have changed since I learned to play

Five days has never felt so goddamn long. Fortunately, there's a lot to do.

She throws herself into mission prep, spending hours strategizing with Steve and Nakia and T'Challa and Ayo, going over the exit paths Bucky had outlined, discussing their bid, their timing, their plan, their back-up plan, their back-up to the back-up.

She works with Shuri on the newest iteration of her suit: improved, stab-proof, and locked away inside a chic gold bracelet. It takes a little while for her to get used to how it responds, but after a few hours of testing and adjusting, she can call it into being with a second's thought.

She and Steve have long calls with Fury, going over the intel he's collected on the other guests. There's only one Fury's really concerned about, a representative from the crime-soaked island of Madripoor. The rep's name is Kwan, but it's the person he's representing that has Fury worried.

"This guy calls himself the 'Power Broker,'" he tells her and Steve. "Word is he takes it literally. If someone out here is looking to merge Chitauri tech and vibranium, it's this asshole."

But even she can't be in meetings all the time, and at least once a day she packs her laptop and intel into her tote bag and heads down to the little hut by the lake where she checks on the goats (all doing just fine under K'Senge's care), the hut (untouched), and more often than not sits for an hour or more under the shade tree, trying not to picture Bucky lounging next to her.

Steve sometimes accompanies her. He's doing his best, she knows: he always seems to be nudging her to eat something or reminding her when it gets late that she should sleep. And he's good company. It's not his fault he isn't his best pal.

Who is absolutely everywhere she looks: in her room, down by the lake, in the meeting rooms, in the lab; everywhere.

She'd been sitting beneath the shade tree the afternoon after he went under when Anwuli, the little girl with the pretty beaded bracelets, came shyly up to her, holding out a small bouquet of wildflowers. "From the White Wolf," she told Sharon, who took the flowers, wordless, as everything she'd tamped down in the lab threatened to spill right back out of her.

"Thank you," she'd said, and the little girl had flushed and run off.

That had been five days ago. She's received four more bouquets since. They sit in water in her room, filling it with a faint sweet fragrance as she looks at herself in the mirror, putting the final touches on Irma and waiting for Steve to arrive.

Nearly time.

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"Check," Steve confirms. "All items present, all accounted for."

It's at times like this that he misses the shield, but it's not like he'd be able to use it on this mission anyway.

"Next."

"You'll stick near me at the cocktail party," she continues. "I'll greet Gray. It's unlikely he'll pay too much attention to you, but if he talks to you, keep your answers brief. Use that time to check out the other muscle and keep an eye for traps."

She pulls up a holographic projection of Gray's rented building and doesn't allow any of the slight pang she feels show on her face. "Threat assessment: there are two potentially dangerous moments. First, the auction itself: you won't be in the room with me. It's a closed room and if things go badly it could get very messy. Gray will be in the room with us; he has a rep for keeping things clean. Still, something to watch out for.

"Second: if we win the bid, there are a bunch of bad guys with a vested interest in us not making it out of there with the plans and prototype. Or breathing. We'll have to get our timing just right to make sure we don't either get caught by one of them or swept up by Ross and his team when T'Challa calls them in."

Steve nods.

"We have a choice of five routes for extraction and escape," he starts. "Depending on vehicle type and intercept from the bad guys and Ross, we'll be able to adapt."

"... Sharon, I don't like not being in the room at the auction. Are you sure there's no way to work it?"

"I know," she says, wry. "I don't like it either. I'm not sure, but I also don't know if it would be a good idea to try. They might get squirrely and suspicious if I insist on having my guy there, and then we'd be stuck with all their muscle in the same small room with us."

She puts a hand on his arm and gives him a rueful look. "But this is a better class of criminal than you've been after, lately. Less with the barfights and more with the psychological manipulation. And you'll be nearby."

"Maybe one of the others'll have the same worry," Steve says, ever optimistic. "Then I can be there without them being suspicious of us."

He smiles at her as she touches his arm. "But if we have to, we have to. And if anything happens, I'll get there fast. Really fast."

"Faster than a speeding bullet?" she teases. "Definitely faster than anyone they've got. And I've got this."

She holds up her left wrist, where the gold bracelet glints mellow and warm. "If things go bad enough that my cover won't matter anymore, I'll have this in the blink of an eye. And I'm assured that this time they won't be able to stab me."

"They better not, or I'll never hear the end of it."

He nods to the bracelet. "Still a neat trick, though."

"You and me both," she agrees.

It's not like she let herself get stabbed on purpose. She gives Steve a critical once-over. "Time to gussy up for a fancy party with a bunch of bad guys, Rogers. Try not to look too good, huh?"

"Do my best," he agrees.

By now, he's even stopped shrugging uncomfortably at the fit of the padded body armor under the bodyguard's suit.

Edited 2021-05-15 01:57 (UTC)

"Pretty sure you're physically incapable of doing anything else," she tells him, and heads for her room. "Let's be ready to go in an hour."

He won't need as much time as she does, but Irma is never anything less than perfectly presentable.

Just under an hour later, he's standing near the darkened windows, earpiece in place and practicing his bodyguard stance when he hears T'Challa's voice.

We are in position. Everything is quiet, so far.

"Good," Steve says. "Let's hope it stays that way. Quiet, quick, clean."

Sharon arrives in a click of heels, uncharacteristically slinky in a form-fitting black dress, and touches her own ear. "We're ready to head out," she tells T'Challa and the extraction team. "You have us tracked?"

We are reading your suit bracelet and both earpieces, T'Challa tells them. We will not lose sight of you.

She smiles a little grimly and turns to Steve. "Okay," she says, and hands him the sealed envelope with their bid for safekeeping. "Let's go bag some international arms dealers."

He tucks the envelope safely inside his suit and opens the door for her, and that quickly they're on their way.

Prague is interesting for a European city, T'Challa decides. The borders between the different sectors -- Josefov, Old Town, New Town, and the 'Lesser Town' across the river -- are invisible and yet clear. The architecture is a mix of historic stone and new glass-and-steel construction. The auction's to be held in a location balanced on the edge of both, near Wenceslas Square and just south of the National Museum, in a building that's old, quiet, and richly decorated. Its thick stone walls and high windows are easy to secure from both electronic surveillance and sniper fire while giving the look of someone unconcerned with anything but the appearance of quiet wealth.

("Gray's not an idiot," the White Wolf had said, studying the map and the images they'd obtained. "That's both good and bad for us.")

They've all taken note of the various extraction routes, including the shifts in the size of the streets and proximity to river bridges and the main train station, and are in place long before Irma Kruhl and Ryan Devlin arrive.

Edmund Gray turns out to be the kind of genuinely charming asshole that could easily have made it as a legitimate businessman – he just prefers the slight tinge of danger and the exponentially higher rewards of holding events for the higher class of criminal element. He greets them personally, almost as soon as they've made their way through the metal detector.

(Their vibranium sidearms don't make so much as a peep.)

"Ms. Kruhl!" he says, all delight as he kisses both her cheeks. "So happy you could join us. It's always exciting to get a new competitor at the eleventh hour, yes?"

"Mr. Gray," she replies, smoothly. "Thank you for the invitation. May I introduce my associate, Mr. Ryan Devlin?"

They'd practiced this. He doesn't smile, but inclines his head a fraction in acknowledgement of the introduction. He doesn't glare, either, as the point of this isn't to be aggressive... just present and neutral.

Evidently it was the right call, for Gray nods back to him and doesn't offer to shake hands. "Pleased to have you with us as well, Mr. Devlin, of course."

Steve hits the perfect note of bland disinterest; Gray barely even glances at him. "Well," he says, turning back to her, "please, enjoy yourselves. Eat, drink, mingle; the auction will take place in half an hour."

He gives her a last blinding smile and heads to greet the newest arrival. She turns to 'Ryan' and nods to the cluster of guests near the bar and refreshments. Like any gathering of like-minded professionals, this event is almost as much for networking as it is for the auction itself. Pausing to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, she begins making the rounds, paying no attention either to Ryan or to the men like him who are scattered throughout the room.

It takes her a while to get to Kwan, but that's by design. He is by far the biggest point of interest in the room.

He trails her like a bulky shadow, listening to and absorbing everything he can without being obvious about it. Sharon's and Nakia's advice echoes in his mind, of course, but so does Nat's - and Bucky's, whether his friend knew he was giving it or not. He trades the occasional look with other bodyguards, as they size each other up for potential trouble.

Most of them are professional, he thinks. Some look bored. A few, a very few, are more aggressive, aiming for junkyard-dog confrontational. He recognizes the build of a couple of these as steroid-bulked, and makes note that they're likely to be the first to start something if trouble comes.

This part's easy. He's always been able to spot a bully.

Sharon works their way around through the room with a skill he has to admire, finally bringing them into the circle of people around Kwan without looking like she'd had any intention of doing so at all. It seems to have worked, as when they draw near enough, it's Kwan who calls out, "And who's this?" The voice is light, smooth, and a high tenor with an undertone he can't quite place.

On the other end of the earpieces, T'Challa and Ayo frown simultaneously.

"Kruhl," she says, smiling in light surprise. He knows who she is, of course, and that she's navigated her way over here on purpose – but he won't say anything. She'd bet anything that he's already sized her up as the bid to beat. "Irma Kruhl. And you must be Mr. Kwan."

"Charmed, Ms. Kruhl," he says, offering her a hand to shake. Like the others in the room, he's well-dressed and nicely mannered. Unlike the others, he looks at Steve with real curiosity. "The late addition, am I right? Good. These things are always more fun when there's a surprise element to them."

Butter wouldn't melt in her perfectly smiling mouth. "I'm happy to provide, Mr. Kwan."

"You've been busy, my dear," he tells her, leading her over to a window. She make at least two bodyguards, standing a little ways away: the good kind, not the steroid-laden bullies she's already seen. They look ex-military... ex-special forces military. They're not physically imposing, but they hold themselves comfortably apart and move with the kind of lupine grace she's used to seeing in someone else.

Great. She focuses again on Kwan. "You've done your homework," she compliments, and he shrugs.

"In my line of work, it's always a good idea to keep an eye out for new talent."

It's Nakia who places it. "Busan," she breathes, barely audible to the field team, and soft but clear over the earpiece. "Among those seeking to purchase from Klaue. Be careful."

T'Challa's jaw sets in hard lines, and he gives a sharp nod.

In the auction room, 'Devlin' doesn't react to the whisper, nor to the way Kwan's sizing him up, but he doesn't like either one. He hadn't seen any sign of recognition in the man's eyes, but this mission'll go FUBAR in an instant if he's been made.

He drifts after 'Kruhl' toward the window, keeping an eye on Kwan's guards as he does.

"Oh?" she asks, lightly, sipping at her champagne. Kwan hasn't given any sign that he recognizes either her or Steve, but the whisper in her ear makes it all too clear that they'd made the right call by keeping the Wakandans out of the field on this one.

"Yes," says Kwan. "Tell me, Ms. Kruhl, have you ever been to Madripoor?"

All of this polite camaraderie will fade in an instant if she beats his bid, but for the moment she plays along. "Several years ago," she tells him. "I remember enjoying the nightlife."

He smiles, satisfied. "If you're looking to do business in this sector," he tells her, "there are some people there who you should meet."

Looks like Fury's intel was on target, Steve thinks, expressionless. As usual.

A swirl of activity at the other end of the room draws his attention as Gray walks through, heading for another door.

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Kwan," she tells him, and indicates Gray with her champagne glass. "But for now, I think our host is ready to begin."

Sure enough, a few minutes after Gray enters the other room, two of his men pull open the double doors and hold them as Gray return. "Dear friends," he says, smiling. "The auction will begin momentarily. Kindly make your way to your seats. Only one representative from each group, I'm afraid."

She turns to hand her glass to Steve, keeping her expression neutral. "Kindly wait for me out here, Mr. Devlin," she tells him, and smiles at Kwan as he puts a light hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the auction room.

"Here we go," T'Challa breathes, listening intently. "Be ready to act if we must."

Steve nods to 'Kruhl' in silence and takes up position in the room where he can keep an eye on the door to the auction room as well as the exit. He watches as Sharon and Kwan disappear through the door together, then as the other hopeful bidders follow suit, and is very aware of the other guards distributing themselves around the reception area as the tension starts to tick up.

There are about half a dozen of them in the room, with Gray and an assistant at the fore. They sit in assigned seats – ostensibly to give each of them a clear view of the small stage and auction block, but Sharon would give even money it's so no one can stick a knife in anyone else's ribs. She'd be a fool to think they're the only ones to get weapons past the metal detector.

"Thank you for joining me this evening," Gray begins. He's a practiced salesman – would have to be, to run this kind of gig for so long. He'll be a useful collar for Ross. "We have one bundle up for auction this evening, ladies and gentleman: two items, one price. First: the star of the show."

His assistant unveils the prototype, and Sharon leans forward to look at it along with everyone else. "Built for subtlety," Gray continues, "elegance. An effective sidearm featuring both portability and power. Marcus, if you would?"

The assistant lifts the prototype and aims it at a sheet of steel, then gently presses the trigger. A burst of blue light rips from the gun's nose and burns a dime-sized hole in the steel sheet, and Sharon's heart falls.

Chitauri tech. Melded with vibranium. On the stage, Gray is continuing. "...are both adjustable. Marcus?"

Marcus fires another bolt, this one wider in diameter and not powerful enough to burn all the way through the steel, then adjust the gun and fires a third time, leaving a smoking hole the size of Sharon's palm in the metal.

The guests mutter to themselves. Gray smiles. "Included with this incredible weapon are the plans necessary for production," he tells them. "Questions?"

The finely tuned Wakandan remote-monitoring earpiece is able to transmit clear, easily distinguishable environmental sound as well as the wearer's speech, which means that when the weapon fires both the field team and Shuri are able to discern roughly what's happened. Shuri's sharp yelp of dismay echoes in everyone's ears before T'Challa hisses at her to be quiet.

"There is no question now, even if there were before," he says, low and furious. "That prototype, those plans, must go to no one else. And we must capture Gray, as well, without question."

Back in the room, the muttering among the guests stops for a moment as one of them stands up. "I'd like to examine it," he says, baldly, and another murmur sweeps the room. "Otherwise, how do we know this little demonstration wasn't staged for our benefit?"

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