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IC Inbox - Entranceway
Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.
Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.
Then you forget how well I do know you.
( Perhaps not forget, but ignore. She didn't get a chance to see the differences in him before, with Rip only being on the Waverider for a short time before the intrusion, but she's looking to learn now. Gideon hopes that she can push just enough to really see how he was changed. If they know that maybe they can do something, or he can find something )
I already know of the truce that you gave, but I cannot ignore your presence here.
( Is there something in between co-existing in ignorance and what he'd see as meddling? )
( Perhaps not forget, but ignore. She didn't get a chance to see the differences in him before, with Rip only being on the Waverider for a short time before the intrusion, but she's looking to learn now. Gideon hopes that she can push just enough to really see how he was changed. If they know that maybe they can do something, or he can find something )
I already know of the truce that you gave, but I cannot ignore your presence here.
( Is there something in between co-existing in ignorance and what he'd see as meddling? )
[He almost protests—he could never, but it would be a lie. He had, along with everything else of his life and his identity thanks to his choice to touch the time drive directly. So instead he lets her have her assumption. Her belief in him, the man he once was and whom she believed him still to be, somehow.
It would be a faith without reward, in the end. So often it was.]
You don't have to ignore it completely. [The concession is out his mouth before he can quite stop it, and Rip closes his mouth tightly afterwards. This feels like a mistake; some way to set himself up for a trap, because he knows in the end which side Gideon will choose.
He knows better.]
But I've no interest in being told how much I've changed for the worse, or how if I'll let it happen, the lot of you can have me "fixed." [It's easier when he lumps Gideon in with the rest, Rip realizes. He will still do what he has to, even when it comes to her.] I'm willing to do what's necessary now, and it is better this way. None of you will take that from me.
It would be a faith without reward, in the end. So often it was.]
You don't have to ignore it completely. [The concession is out his mouth before he can quite stop it, and Rip closes his mouth tightly afterwards. This feels like a mistake; some way to set himself up for a trap, because he knows in the end which side Gideon will choose.
He knows better.]
But I've no interest in being told how much I've changed for the worse, or how if I'll let it happen, the lot of you can have me "fixed." [It's easier when he lumps Gideon in with the rest, Rip realizes. He will still do what he has to, even when it comes to her.] I'm willing to do what's necessary now, and it is better this way. None of you will take that from me.
Then tell me something that does interest you.
( She can only give words, words that he may not even believe with how much his mind had changed. How much were promises worth, even hers, when his contempt for the team extended also to her? )
Perhaps "doing what's necessary" isn't necessary.
( If only. If only it was as simple as them not knowing what he wanted, or not having listened )
( She can only give words, words that he may not even believe with how much his mind had changed. How much were promises worth, even hers, when his contempt for the team extended also to her? )
Perhaps "doing what's necessary" isn't necessary.
( If only. If only it was as simple as them not knowing what he wanted, or not having listened )
You should already know that things are never so simple, Gideon.
[Of all of them, she is the one who has seen the impossible choices laid on Rip's shoulders throughout his tenure as a Time Master, and even after that organization was put to an end. Each sacrifice, each occasion of live versus history, of who must die so the flow of time could be preserved--and to what end?
What ever came of it, other than miserly and grief and his family left dead?
He moves past her. It would be a simple matter to end things there, but something in him urges Rip not to leave her without answer. His steps pause after she's at his back. They're still alone on this rooftop, and he looks up at the seemingly boundless sky.]
I still enjoy listening to music.
[A trivial detail at best--but one solitary thing Rip can say is unchanged in him, even now.]
[Of all of them, she is the one who has seen the impossible choices laid on Rip's shoulders throughout his tenure as a Time Master, and even after that organization was put to an end. Each sacrifice, each occasion of live versus history, of who must die so the flow of time could be preserved--and to what end?
What ever came of it, other than miserly and grief and his family left dead?
He moves past her. It would be a simple matter to end things there, but something in him urges Rip not to leave her without answer. His steps pause after she's at his back. They're still alone on this rooftop, and he looks up at the seemingly boundless sky.]
I still enjoy listening to music.
[A trivial detail at best--but one solitary thing Rip can say is unchanged in him, even now.]
I haven't been helpful to you in recent times.
( The fact that it wasn't their real lives didn't matter. The memories are there, and it's causing a massive conflict. She has her real memories, the time that she spent with Rip over the years, but these new ones also feel real. The times where she was nothing but a hindrance to him, and it leaves her feeling incredibly guilty now )
( The fact that it wasn't their real lives didn't matter. The memories are there, and it's causing a massive conflict. She has her real memories, the time that she spent with Rip over the years, but these new ones also feel real. The times where she was nothing but a hindrance to him, and it leaves her feeling incredibly guilty now )
[It takes him a moment, even with the event fresh on his mind, to recall just what she must mean. There's a soft huff of breath—almost amused, if anything—and then Rip's easy answer.]
You've nothing to apologize for. That's the way of events in Wonderland, I'm afraid. Things fall rather completely beyond our control.
They do, though my actions are still my own.
( she could have chosen to do something else, to be helpful just as she'd chosen to work with him. it may not have been 'real' but choices were important. especially when she didn't know what you believe )
You were far kinder than you should have been.
( she could have chosen to do something else, to be helpful just as she'd chosen to work with him. it may not have been 'real' but choices were important. especially when she didn't know what you believe )
You were far kinder than you should have been.
[ it’s hard to say what possesses peggy to forego any warning by text and instead skip immediately to knocking on rip’s door. maybe she hopes he won’t be in, and serendipity will save her from her fool’s errand. or maybe she understands all too well that broaching conversation via text is something of a coward’s way out -- they’ll talk polite circles around each other, appropriately avoid the worst of what they’re not saying, and nothing will go resolved.
and until recently, she might have seen all of those consequences as points in the devices’ favour. as insecure as they might be, they also made it easy to keep her distance. from everyone. but she’s been nudged in other directions, now. reminded, here and there, that there might be some importance in cultivating good connections.
and as connections go, rip hunter had been her first here in wonderland.
so she crooks the knuckles on two fingers and taps them sharply against the door. three quick knocks, and then she stands back to wait out those miserable half-minutes where one is left wondering whether a social call is every really the right way to even out a keel. had she an ounce of outward compassion, she might not have come empty-handed.
this thought is one that occurs to her too late -- deepening her frown even as the door swings open. ]
Mister Hunter. Have you got a moment to spare?
[ terribly friendly, her. ]
and until recently, she might have seen all of those consequences as points in the devices’ favour. as insecure as they might be, they also made it easy to keep her distance. from everyone. but she’s been nudged in other directions, now. reminded, here and there, that there might be some importance in cultivating good connections.
and as connections go, rip hunter had been her first here in wonderland.
so she crooks the knuckles on two fingers and taps them sharply against the door. three quick knocks, and then she stands back to wait out those miserable half-minutes where one is left wondering whether a social call is every really the right way to even out a keel. had she an ounce of outward compassion, she might not have come empty-handed.
this thought is one that occurs to her too late -- deepening her frown even as the door swings open. ]
Mister Hunter. Have you got a moment to spare?
[ terribly friendly, her. ]
Edited 2017-09-27 21:23 (UTC)
[He's kept to himself still in recent days, even after his announcement of his comrades' departures. Despite Gideon's near constant insistence, it's not the easiest thing to show his face to the people he'd angered or betrayed. Even the understanding he's found from some does little to ease the guilt of it all. Easy forgiveness stands a sign of their kindness, not Rip's deserving of such a thing. Still, he's found himself among a stubborn lot; Rip knows it, and when there's a knock at his door he can think of at least two names who might be responsible for it, no longer content to let him wallow in his room on his own.
Yet it's not Gideon, nor Ray with a box of cereal in hand. Indeed, he's a bit surprised to see Peggy there, unannounced, and it shows in his eyes, the way he pauses a touch too long after her question.]
--Ah. Well. Yes. I suppose. [Clipped off words, but not unkindly so. Rather he's coaxing his brain to start thinking again, and as is polite, he steps back to open the door. The room is tidy enough, as is Rip himself. He's well-kept, though dressed a bit more casually: just a t-shirt and trousers this time, and slippers that make it clear he's not expecting company.]
Is there something I can help you with, Miss Carter?
Yet it's not Gideon, nor Ray with a box of cereal in hand. Indeed, he's a bit surprised to see Peggy there, unannounced, and it shows in his eyes, the way he pauses a touch too long after her question.]
--Ah. Well. Yes. I suppose. [Clipped off words, but not unkindly so. Rather he's coaxing his brain to start thinking again, and as is polite, he steps back to open the door. The room is tidy enough, as is Rip himself. He's well-kept, though dressed a bit more casually: just a t-shirt and trousers this time, and slippers that make it clear he's not expecting company.]
Is there something I can help you with, Miss Carter?
[ yes, that's what she'd been a little concerned about seeing: the apprehension and the surprise. it only deepens peggy's understanding that she's stepped out of character for the moment. ordinarily, finding such a scrap of unpredictability might have been a comfort. not so today.
today it cuts like something sharp. and it reminds her how there's something of an obstacle to this moment. but that is why she'd come, isn't it? to test the resolve of that obstacle. she and ray have overcome it to a certain degree.
but then again, she and ray never... ]
Potentially. [ she brings her train of thought up short. not least of all because she's just caught sight of the slippers. their inclusion in the day's outfit makes her acutely aware of how she's trespassing on his solitude. under another circumstance, they might have been endearing.
peggy steps inside. she doesn't need to be non-verbally introduced twice. ] I suppose whether you can help me or not depends a great deal on you.
[ selfish, really. shoving the responsibility onto him. ]
today it cuts like something sharp. and it reminds her how there's something of an obstacle to this moment. but that is why she'd come, isn't it? to test the resolve of that obstacle. she and ray have overcome it to a certain degree.
but then again, she and ray never... ]
Potentially. [ she brings her train of thought up short. not least of all because she's just caught sight of the slippers. their inclusion in the day's outfit makes her acutely aware of how she's trespassing on his solitude. under another circumstance, they might have been endearing.
peggy steps inside. she doesn't need to be non-verbally introduced twice. ] I suppose whether you can help me or not depends a great deal on you.
[ selfish, really. shoving the responsibility onto him. ]
[There's more than one obstacle, truth be told. Perhaps the weight of the event would feel heavier on his shoulders if Rip didn't also carry all that had come before it, the burden of other memories that had been first lost and then twisted to cruel and violent ends. When considered as a whole sum, there's much less guilt to be felt in a fictional attraction over the very real betrayals of those closest to him, right down to a pair of deaths. Perhaps it's unfair to Peggy to think in such ways, but—
Well. There's only so much one can process at any given time, isn't there? And really, Rip hasn't exactly been doing a bang up job of it.
She walks in with confidence enough, leaving Rip to shut the door after. It depends on him, she says, and Rip in turn crosses his arms, one eyebrow hitched up as he takes her in.
Along with her terms, and indeed, she's right—it is selfish.]
Which in turn depends on what you’re after.
Well. There's only so much one can process at any given time, isn't there? And really, Rip hasn't exactly been doing a bang up job of it.
She walks in with confidence enough, leaving Rip to shut the door after. It depends on him, she says, and Rip in turn crosses his arms, one eyebrow hitched up as he takes her in.
Along with her terms, and indeed, she's right—it is selfish.]
Which in turn depends on what you’re after.
[ she smiles. not for him -- not one whit, considering she's still steps ahead and has her back turned. and by the time she turns around, the old schooled expression is back in place. but for one brief moment she's allowed to feel a spark of amusement to have her conditions rerouted back to her.
and maybe that's another reason why she'd taken so long to try and make this peace. she doesn't expect it'll come easy, if at all -- and for a long while she'd been in no place to make the attempt with her best foot forward. not so now.
what a wonder and difference a bit of friendship will do. what a miracle in how it makes a person crave stability in other quarters. if she thought long and hard enough about it, she'd realize ray palmer was to blame for every step of this conversation. he'd dared to be friendly and now she wanted to patch up scorched earth. ]
Oh, it's a very simple request. [ or it should be. ] I thought we could have a drink.
[ nothing but good intentions and generous spirit. ]
We don't even need to talk, really. But what I had here in your room that first day I arrived still tasted better than anything I've managed to cajole out of the closets.
and maybe that's another reason why she'd taken so long to try and make this peace. she doesn't expect it'll come easy, if at all -- and for a long while she'd been in no place to make the attempt with her best foot forward. not so now.
what a wonder and difference a bit of friendship will do. what a miracle in how it makes a person crave stability in other quarters. if she thought long and hard enough about it, she'd realize ray palmer was to blame for every step of this conversation. he'd dared to be friendly and now she wanted to patch up scorched earth. ]
Oh, it's a very simple request. [ or it should be. ] I thought we could have a drink.
[ nothing but good intentions and generous spirit. ]
We don't even need to talk, really. But what I had here in your room that first day I arrived still tasted better than anything I've managed to cajole out of the closets.
[He's got no idea of her amusement, of course, the way she smiles as he turns her framework back round, quietly refuses to accept the onus she would otherwise see on his shoulders. Rip has plenty enough he stands guilty of, thank you, he needs no more simply because she wishes to reason her visit as such. Help me help you may have a nice ring to some, but to Rip it's far too saccharine to appreciate on this day.
Regardless, her request is a rather simple one on its face. A drink, and though Rip's eyes widen a fraction while he recalls where their last shared drink had led, that was then, and an event, and not truly them--or so the mantra goes. The promise of no conversation needed sweetens the pot, and Rip only considers it briefly before huffing out a quiet breath.]
Perhaps the closets have decided to engage in a bit of trickery in that regard. [Certainly he knows they seemingly enjoy limiting what manner of technology he can produce from them. But so far as alcohol is concerned, it's a simple enough matter to step over to the door and produce a rather finely aged bottle of scotch.
(One he remembers well, from when he still had faith in what the Time Counsel would do upon learning Vandal Savage stood guilty of altering time.)]
Regardless, her request is a rather simple one on its face. A drink, and though Rip's eyes widen a fraction while he recalls where their last shared drink had led, that was then, and an event, and not truly them--or so the mantra goes. The promise of no conversation needed sweetens the pot, and Rip only considers it briefly before huffing out a quiet breath.]
Perhaps the closets have decided to engage in a bit of trickery in that regard. [Certainly he knows they seemingly enjoy limiting what manner of technology he can produce from them. But so far as alcohol is concerned, it's a simple enough matter to step over to the door and produce a rather finely aged bottle of scotch.
(One he remembers well, from when he still had faith in what the Time Counsel would do upon learning Vandal Savage stood guilty of altering time.)]
[ the change in his expression doesn't escape her notice. his eyes widen instead of narrow, and she'd like to think that tells her something. what, exactly, she's not certain -- except that she wonders whether shuffled off into a corner of all his current problems he might be just about as bewildered as she is about what has transpired between them. had she tried to refashion this bridge too early, she might have come blustering in her with some peremptory desire to sabotage everything. to hurt rather than repair.
it's almost a pity. she's so much better at hurting than she is at repairing. her reunion with steve has reinforced this lesson.
peggy releases a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding -- not until she witnesses rip's trip to the closet. she interprets it as forward momentum. and she can work with forward momentum. ]
Trickery. Perhaps. [ there's something light and affected in her tone. ] But the alternative is that I simply can't be choosy enough to get the blend right whenever I make the order. So to speak. It's what drinking on the front lines for years will do to you, I imagine. Standards get lowered.
[ an equally affected shrug. ]
But you've got the good stuff.
[ so do the bars, mind. but one look at his slippers and she knows she needn't explain to him why she'd come a-rapping on his door first. ]
it's almost a pity. she's so much better at hurting than she is at repairing. her reunion with steve has reinforced this lesson.
peggy releases a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding -- not until she witnesses rip's trip to the closet. she interprets it as forward momentum. and she can work with forward momentum. ]
Trickery. Perhaps. [ there's something light and affected in her tone. ] But the alternative is that I simply can't be choosy enough to get the blend right whenever I make the order. So to speak. It's what drinking on the front lines for years will do to you, I imagine. Standards get lowered.
[ an equally affected shrug. ]
But you've got the good stuff.
[ so do the bars, mind. but one look at his slippers and she knows she needn't explain to him why she'd come a-rapping on his door first. ]
[Forward; it's not a direction Rip has gone in for some weeks now, and yet that time spent in misery has certainly accomplished nothing. Well, perhaps nothing more than earning Gideon's ire at his continued refusals to converse in person with those who he might have once thought of as comrades, and whom in more recent weeks had been subject to his betrayals. But as he has well learned, Rip is possessed of those same human drives as anyone else: to keep going, in spite of all things.
Somehow.
He motions towards the sitting area when he turns back towards Peggy. It's tidy enough, with the only clutter being related to a bit of machinery he hasn't had much luck in putting together. Really, it's a wonder what Raymond can get up to, especially here.]
Sit wherever you'd like. [Rip, meanwhile, means to fetch glasses. Whether they talk about it or decidedly don't, passing the bottle back and forth between them would hold a little too much similarity events gone by. Not that he knows if it's in her head now too; Rip may not be able to see how it couldn't be, but he's certainly not going to ask just in case it somehow isn't.
Instead, with the bottle in one hand and a pair of glasses in the other, he drops down into a chair near enough to Peggy to converse on.]
I've got a good memory. [He corrects, based on what he's gathered is the popular theory.] That's supposedly the key to it. The more you know a thing, the easier it is to replicate via magic or whatever it is the closets use.
[But then, Peggy's reasoning would make sense too. She likely remembers battlefield moonshine better than nearly anything else. He sets down the cups, then gets a start on opening the bottle.
She's the one who came to talk to him—regardless of what else she's said. So Rip will let her carry the conversation forward.]
Somehow.
He motions towards the sitting area when he turns back towards Peggy. It's tidy enough, with the only clutter being related to a bit of machinery he hasn't had much luck in putting together. Really, it's a wonder what Raymond can get up to, especially here.]
Sit wherever you'd like. [Rip, meanwhile, means to fetch glasses. Whether they talk about it or decidedly don't, passing the bottle back and forth between them would hold a little too much similarity events gone by. Not that he knows if it's in her head now too; Rip may not be able to see how it couldn't be, but he's certainly not going to ask just in case it somehow isn't.
Instead, with the bottle in one hand and a pair of glasses in the other, he drops down into a chair near enough to Peggy to converse on.]
I've got a good memory. [He corrects, based on what he's gathered is the popular theory.] That's supposedly the key to it. The more you know a thing, the easier it is to replicate via magic or whatever it is the closets use.
[But then, Peggy's reasoning would make sense too. She likely remembers battlefield moonshine better than nearly anything else. He sets down the cups, then gets a start on opening the bottle.
She's the one who came to talk to him—regardless of what else she's said. So Rip will let her carry the conversation forward.]
[ battlefield moonshine, yes. and before that it was whatever the girls could sneak into the dorms at st-martin's-in-the-field: gin no better than bathtub swill, and schnapps so sickly it would turn your stomach. yeasty beer made in some pub's basement. but the best bourbon she'd ever had was with dum dum dugan -- the best scotch while waiting on howard stark to come home from another misadventure. so perhaps that's the problem -- the memories with the best drinks are memories she tries not to dwell on so long as she's stuck here, cut off from friends and makeshift families. her impatience gets the better of her and before she can take a deep breath and use the closets properly, her mind has already drifted to the easiest and lowest common denominator.
and she would have rip believe that instead of bothering to get it right, she would rather depend on him. it's a clumsy lie. the drink is an excuse -- but a tasty one. she awaits its fulfillment with real anticipation and takes a prim seat. ankles crossed; back straight. a far far cry from the looser posture peg the personal assistant once held.
a far far cry from a lot of things. peggy folds her hands against a knee and banishes the memory. it's a red herring. it's a distraction. ]
I said we didn't have to talk. [ how quick she goes back on an assurance. ] And we don't. Once the drinks are poured -- we can shut the hell up and say nothing more. But before that--?
[ bugger this is difficult. others make it seem so easy to reach out and try to be decent. warm. friendly. the struggle engenders an uncharacteristic stammer in her voice. ] I thought I'd hate being here. But it occurs to me as dreadful and strange as the circumstances are -- I don't.
[ she'd realized it during that private smile moments earlier. fact of the matter is, this is where she'd arrived. and when things got weirder? this room is where she'd come to try and make better sense of them. if others in this mansion would seek to make a friendship out of far less, then peggy supposes she might find an ally here.
that's all she wants, in the end. a decent ally. ]
and she would have rip believe that instead of bothering to get it right, she would rather depend on him. it's a clumsy lie. the drink is an excuse -- but a tasty one. she awaits its fulfillment with real anticipation and takes a prim seat. ankles crossed; back straight. a far far cry from the looser posture peg the personal assistant once held.
a far far cry from a lot of things. peggy folds her hands against a knee and banishes the memory. it's a red herring. it's a distraction. ]
I said we didn't have to talk. [ how quick she goes back on an assurance. ] And we don't. Once the drinks are poured -- we can shut the hell up and say nothing more. But before that--?
[ bugger this is difficult. others make it seem so easy to reach out and try to be decent. warm. friendly. the struggle engenders an uncharacteristic stammer in her voice. ] I thought I'd hate being here. But it occurs to me as dreadful and strange as the circumstances are -- I don't.
[ she'd realized it during that private smile moments earlier. fact of the matter is, this is where she'd arrived. and when things got weirder? this room is where she'd come to try and make better sense of them. if others in this mansion would seek to make a friendship out of far less, then peggy supposes she might find an ally here.
that's all she wants, in the end. a decent ally. ]
Edited 2017-10-06 20:26 (UTC)
[Before that, and for a moment Rip thinks that yes, here it is, whatever she's come to say is about to be put into the open. Because of course he realizes the truth, that beyond the excuses there is a reason for Peggy's presence aside from Rip's taste in alcohol, which is no doubt matched by someone working at the bars. Not to mention that for all he knows, if she were truly after his liquor she might content herself to simply knicking it as Leonard Snart so often had.
It's still a bit strange not to have to worry about such things any longer. Strange, and melancholy should he let the thought linger.
He doesn't. Unknowingly he has this choice in common with the woman who provides distraction from the thought now, as she works her mind around words that seem slow to come out. In the meantime Rip pours them each a generous portion of the scotch, the amber liquid easily filling half the glass. While they hadn't been themselves, Rip is willing enough to bank on Miss Carter having an alcohol tolerance to match Lambeth's at the very least.
But she does figure out what she wants to say, eventually. She doesn't hate being here, and Rip looks up at her quietly, mulling over that curious little statement. Certainly there's enough to despise—those unspecified circumstances no doubt either of them could ramble off with ease, from events and manipulations to the disappearances of friends, and the presence of unfulfilled romantic fantasies.
There's a subtext to it he almost thinks he can see. She is there, after all. But Rip is not often a kind man, even if he does soften the blow by pushing her glass towards her.]
What's kept you from hating it, then?
It's still a bit strange not to have to worry about such things any longer. Strange, and melancholy should he let the thought linger.
He doesn't. Unknowingly he has this choice in common with the woman who provides distraction from the thought now, as she works her mind around words that seem slow to come out. In the meantime Rip pours them each a generous portion of the scotch, the amber liquid easily filling half the glass. While they hadn't been themselves, Rip is willing enough to bank on Miss Carter having an alcohol tolerance to match Lambeth's at the very least.
But she does figure out what she wants to say, eventually. She doesn't hate being here, and Rip looks up at her quietly, mulling over that curious little statement. Certainly there's enough to despise—those unspecified circumstances no doubt either of them could ramble off with ease, from events and manipulations to the disappearances of friends, and the presence of unfulfilled romantic fantasies.
There's a subtext to it he almost thinks he can see. She is there, after all. But Rip is not often a kind man, even if he does soften the blow by pushing her glass towards her.]
What's kept you from hating it, then?
[ it's a big question, yes, but an expected one. there are certain conversational branches that peggy (in the breath between one statement and the next) has already done herself the favour of mapping. half of them might be unlikely, but this one never was. and in that respect, she's already absolved him of its sting.
after all, she would have asked the same.
peggy curls her fingers over the glass's top edge -- herding it nearer to her side of the low table. what accompanies the action is the crystalline tink-tink of her nails on it's surface. but she doesn't take a sip. it's as though she might finally intend what she's already said: the moment they start drinking, they can stop talking altogether. ]
Honestly? [ honestly. as though the word has any meaning any more. ] The slippers. [ she nods her chin at his feet. ] Christ. You answered the door in a pair of ruddy slippers and I found myself thinking oh, Peggy Carter, you don't know this man from Adam.
[ see -- she didn't expect slippers. she'd had a vision in her head or a supposition or an archetype and half of it was still based on circumstances well beyond his control. it was freeing, really, to be so taken by surprise. she'd worked herself up in a frenzy by thinking she had any right or claim to understand who rip hunter is or was.
in reality, she barely knows him at all. it makes it that much easier to dismiss the fabricated intimacy of one event's weekend. a little less easier, perhaps, to wash away what had happened at the firing range. but it's damned nice to be reminded that ultimately he's an undiscovered country -- that rather than repairing scorched earth, as she'd thought, she's still just breaking ground. ]
after all, she would have asked the same.
peggy curls her fingers over the glass's top edge -- herding it nearer to her side of the low table. what accompanies the action is the crystalline tink-tink of her nails on it's surface. but she doesn't take a sip. it's as though she might finally intend what she's already said: the moment they start drinking, they can stop talking altogether. ]
Honestly? [ honestly. as though the word has any meaning any more. ] The slippers. [ she nods her chin at his feet. ] Christ. You answered the door in a pair of ruddy slippers and I found myself thinking oh, Peggy Carter, you don't know this man from Adam.
[ see -- she didn't expect slippers. she'd had a vision in her head or a supposition or an archetype and half of it was still based on circumstances well beyond his control. it was freeing, really, to be so taken by surprise. she'd worked herself up in a frenzy by thinking she had any right or claim to understand who rip hunter is or was.
in reality, she barely knows him at all. it makes it that much easier to dismiss the fabricated intimacy of one event's weekend. a little less easier, perhaps, to wash away what had happened at the firing range. but it's damned nice to be reminded that ultimately he's an undiscovered country -- that rather than repairing scorched earth, as she'd thought, she's still just breaking ground. ]
[Perhaps it might be easy not to trust in the word, honesty when it's been months since their last proper conversation as him and her, Rip Hunter and Peggy Carter with memories untwisted by any outside force. Still, he believes it--or perhaps he wants to believe it. Perhaps Rip simply wants the unvarnished truth from someone, and Peggy has proven herself neither blunt nor short on opinion in the past.
And when she does confess her answer, gives nod to the comfortable and worn slippers on his feet? Well. It's a little too ridiculous to be anything but true.]
My slippers. [He repeats with a touch of amusement in his voice, and even on his lips if one judges the line of his mouth just so. Like Peggy he pulls his drink near, the bottle set on the table for when each glass is inevitably emptied. Rip leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he too considers the rather ordinary footwear that on him, stands unexpected.
Of all things. Honestly.]
Let's be glad I'd rather not pad around with cold feet, then. [And as if he's somehow made a fantastic toast, Rip raises his glass--not near enough for a clink, but simply as a signal before he takes his first sip.
What comes after is more telling. After all, she's given him an offer. A promise of an out, if he wants to take it.
Rip finds that he doesn't.]
The first time I received this bottle of whiskey, it was a gift from Rob Roy MacGregor. [A touch of a trivia from the man she doesn't know from Adam--an unexpected thing, and distant enough to be harmless, he thinks.]
And when she does confess her answer, gives nod to the comfortable and worn slippers on his feet? Well. It's a little too ridiculous to be anything but true.]
My slippers. [He repeats with a touch of amusement in his voice, and even on his lips if one judges the line of his mouth just so. Like Peggy he pulls his drink near, the bottle set on the table for when each glass is inevitably emptied. Rip leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he too considers the rather ordinary footwear that on him, stands unexpected.
Of all things. Honestly.]
Let's be glad I'd rather not pad around with cold feet, then. [And as if he's somehow made a fantastic toast, Rip raises his glass--not near enough for a clink, but simply as a signal before he takes his first sip.
What comes after is more telling. After all, she's given him an offer. A promise of an out, if he wants to take it.
Rip finds that he doesn't.]
The first time I received this bottle of whiskey, it was a gift from Rob Roy MacGregor. [A touch of a trivia from the man she doesn't know from Adam--an unexpected thing, and distant enough to be harmless, he thinks.]
[ humour seems to haunt this conversation's creases and corners. humour, at least, by a narrow band of a definition -- not ha-ha funny but it's something which rates a ghostly sort of amusement for both of them. he conjures the thought of cold feet and peggy is obliged to lift her glass in tandem. it's true; somehow the thought of him with bare toes simply doesn't hold the same bizarre reassurance.
then again, it was never about the slippers.
the slippers were a convenient flash in the pan. seeing them reminded peggy that the narrative she'd built up around rip hunter was actually just two or three lumps of genuine interaction that were then doused liberally with muddied water. impressions of impressions. warnings. second-hand commentary peppered with some scathing first-hand commentary from the man himself. whitechapel, too. hell! she doesn't know whether he's actually from whitechapel...
peggy shelves that thought as she watches him drink. she drinks, too. and she shuts her eyes briefly against the first taste. peggy later might ask herself whether the depth of flavour came from the whiskey itself or from the unique triumph found in facing a demon (her own reluctance, in this instance) and overcoming it. let it be put to bed, even if they do sidle out the remainder of their glasses in silence.
except he speaks again. ]
-- Is that so? [ peggy's attention brightens. truth be told, she's a bit pleased with how he shakes off the easy escape route to their conversation. the thought allows her to settle more comfortably in the chair, propping an elbow on its arm. ] Should you really be boasting about accepting favours from a rebel Scotsman?
[ at heart, peggy quite likes a decent rebel. or a good revolutionary. if she hides it now, then it's only so she might equally hide her relief that rip should choose to continue conversation past their lips touching their glasses. and almost as if in a second toast to that prospect, she drinks again. this talk reminds her ever-so-almost of ray bragging about stealing a president's jellybeans. ]
And what made you so deserving of such a fine scotch?
[ -- she could have asked about rob roy. and, in effect, she still is. but there's no artifice in how she articulates her question. who is rob roy to her but another folk hero? shady and tied up in narratives of his own. ]
then again, it was never about the slippers.
the slippers were a convenient flash in the pan. seeing them reminded peggy that the narrative she'd built up around rip hunter was actually just two or three lumps of genuine interaction that were then doused liberally with muddied water. impressions of impressions. warnings. second-hand commentary peppered with some scathing first-hand commentary from the man himself. whitechapel, too. hell! she doesn't know whether he's actually from whitechapel...
peggy shelves that thought as she watches him drink. she drinks, too. and she shuts her eyes briefly against the first taste. peggy later might ask herself whether the depth of flavour came from the whiskey itself or from the unique triumph found in facing a demon (her own reluctance, in this instance) and overcoming it. let it be put to bed, even if they do sidle out the remainder of their glasses in silence.
except he speaks again. ]
-- Is that so? [ peggy's attention brightens. truth be told, she's a bit pleased with how he shakes off the easy escape route to their conversation. the thought allows her to settle more comfortably in the chair, propping an elbow on its arm. ] Should you really be boasting about accepting favours from a rebel Scotsman?
[ at heart, peggy quite likes a decent rebel. or a good revolutionary. if she hides it now, then it's only so she might equally hide her relief that rip should choose to continue conversation past their lips touching their glasses. and almost as if in a second toast to that prospect, she drinks again. this talk reminds her ever-so-almost of ray bragging about stealing a president's jellybeans. ]
And what made you so deserving of such a fine scotch?
[ -- she could have asked about rob roy. and, in effect, she still is. but there's no artifice in how she articulates her question. who is rob roy to her but another folk hero? shady and tied up in narratives of his own. ]
Edited 2017-10-08 22:16 (UTC)
You're drinking his whiskey right along with me. Or a replica thereof. [She seems to relax, shifting forward with a spark in her eyes Rip's really only seen in another life, one that doesn't belong to either of them but rather had been inflicted upon them by the machinations of this place. But this interest is real, hers, and for once Rip finds himself in a position to brag a bit. Normally there's any number of factors that would label this as a bad idea, from Rip's own secretive nature to potential issues with the timeline—
But for once, just once, he feels safe enough taking advantage of the rules of this place. It's harmless, and that offers a rather sweet liberation from the heavy matters that have most recently dominated his thoughts.]
A man had seen opportunity in King William's frustrations with his rebellious Jacobites, and decided to sell him a weapon with untold power. Fortunately, MacGreggor met a "sorcerer"--[spoken with a hand lifted and fingers curled to mark the quotations]--of his own around the same time who could counter the King's magic.
[Or so it had gone at the time. Rip leans back in his chair, stealing another sip as he gives Peggy just a few seconds to mull over the scenario—a telltale grin playing across his lips.]
In truth the first man was what's known as a time pirate, offering advanced weaponry in exchange for a fortune—a laser gun in this instance.
But for once, just once, he feels safe enough taking advantage of the rules of this place. It's harmless, and that offers a rather sweet liberation from the heavy matters that have most recently dominated his thoughts.]
A man had seen opportunity in King William's frustrations with his rebellious Jacobites, and decided to sell him a weapon with untold power. Fortunately, MacGreggor met a "sorcerer"--[spoken with a hand lifted and fingers curled to mark the quotations]--of his own around the same time who could counter the King's magic.
[Or so it had gone at the time. Rip leans back in his chair, stealing another sip as he gives Peggy just a few seconds to mull over the scenario—a telltale grin playing across his lips.]
In truth the first man was what's known as a time pirate, offering advanced weaponry in exchange for a fortune—a laser gun in this instance.
[ rip sketches out the skeletal pieces of a story -- its barest bones, but bare bones offer enough shape to allow peggy the opportunity to fill in some blanks. for one, the words weapon with untold power reconstruct themselves into the tesseract and the other 'stones' steve had begun to explain to her before he'd disappeared. some safe; others decidedly not. all of them ending up where they weren't supposed to be.
-- although when rip eventually names it as a 'laser gun,' peggy is left one part relieved and one part disappointed. maybe once the term would have eluded her, but she's been in wonderland long enough to learn a thing or two about advanced weaponry.
doesn't much matter. the laser gun is incidental; the thrust of the story remains in rip's duty fulfilled. peggy's gaze has shifted from his eyes to his quoting finger to his grin. it's a grin that seems to invite a reader into the mischief of the matter, although peggy proves herself rather intentionally resistant. she gives little beyond that spark in her eye and another sip of (once) hard-earned scotch before offering up her commentary as well. ]
A sorcerer. [ she repeats the word -- tickled, even if she doesn't smile. ] Sorcerers and pirates, in point of fact. [ and she very nearly asks him whether he lives a life torn from the pages of picture books. ]
I suppose your work often depends on disguises and covers. [ it's the easiest of guesses. ] Although I'll confess I do wonder how one passes oneself as a sorcerer -- bit of red robe and a starry hat?
[ fantasia had been a waste of a weekend pass during s.o.e. training. years on, she's still bitter about it. ]
-- although when rip eventually names it as a 'laser gun,' peggy is left one part relieved and one part disappointed. maybe once the term would have eluded her, but she's been in wonderland long enough to learn a thing or two about advanced weaponry.
doesn't much matter. the laser gun is incidental; the thrust of the story remains in rip's duty fulfilled. peggy's gaze has shifted from his eyes to his quoting finger to his grin. it's a grin that seems to invite a reader into the mischief of the matter, although peggy proves herself rather intentionally resistant. she gives little beyond that spark in her eye and another sip of (once) hard-earned scotch before offering up her commentary as well. ]
A sorcerer. [ she repeats the word -- tickled, even if she doesn't smile. ] Sorcerers and pirates, in point of fact. [ and she very nearly asks him whether he lives a life torn from the pages of picture books. ]
I suppose your work often depends on disguises and covers. [ it's the easiest of guesses. ] Although I'll confess I do wonder how one passes oneself as a sorcerer -- bit of red robe and a starry hat?
[ fantasia had been a waste of a weekend pass during s.o.e. training. years on, she's still bitter about it. ]
Edited 2017-10-19 22:29 (UTC)
[He shrugs, a play at innocence that doesn't quite match the look in Rip's eye. Sorcerers and pirates, and all other matter of names that might quantify what cannot be understood by those of any given time. It's hardly the first time he's been called such a thing, and equally he is sure it won't be the last. But it's a safe bit of spice to throw into the legend, rather than the truth: that a man from five centuries in the future had come to rectify the mistakes brought on by greed and disregard for history.]
Quite often indeed. [Blending into the times is indeed essential, not unlike what a spy would also do. Peggy paints a rather vivid picture, one that has Rip quirking an eyebrow as he looks at her over the rim of his glass.]
Hardly--nor did it work out so well for a particular apprentice. [An association Rip might not have so easily made, except it had been the movie of choice one afternoon when a group of future film students had gotten high and wanted something to watch while they devoured chips and brownies.] It really isn't a matter of passing oneself off as anything at all. People want to be able to understand what happens around them--and particularly in those times, "magic" was a quick and easy answer to explain what otherwise, to them, shouldn't be possible.
Quite often indeed. [Blending into the times is indeed essential, not unlike what a spy would also do. Peggy paints a rather vivid picture, one that has Rip quirking an eyebrow as he looks at her over the rim of his glass.]
Hardly--nor did it work out so well for a particular apprentice. [An association Rip might not have so easily made, except it had been the movie of choice one afternoon when a group of future film students had gotten high and wanted something to watch while they devoured chips and brownies.] It really isn't a matter of passing oneself off as anything at all. People want to be able to understand what happens around them--and particularly in those times, "magic" was a quick and easy answer to explain what otherwise, to them, shouldn't be possible.
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