[ he uses a great many words to answer a question that should have been handily executed with with a single syllable. but that's alright -- if her voice is the reveille bugle, then his is gunfire. rat-a-tat, quick and mechanical. and, once aimed through her ears, it pings around her skull and leaves arcing aching trails. her teeth grit, her mouth grimaces, but she does nothing else to express her suffering.
peggy watches him rise and walk away. she thought it might be tougher, this morning, to affix her gaze on him. but the opposite seems to be true. quietly, privately, she thinks it doesn't much matter how the night had been diverted or interrupted. this morning is just as tricky, she thinks, as if the rum hadn't interfered. more so, maybe, because now cooler heads can prevail.
-- once those heads begin to hurt a little less, at least.
he says something about tea and peggy perks up. only after a moment do her thoughts slog through the rest of the sentence (lemon-ginger?) and she's forced to register a deeper displeasure. she doesn't hide a lick of it. ]
What, no black tea?
[ hell, she'd settle for an oolong. anything, anything, but a herbal tea which isn't a tea at all in the end. beggars, it seems, can indeed try to be choosers. but after a moment of staring at his back, his shoulders, the muss of his hair... ] I suppose a cup won't kill me.
[ and only then does a kind of cooperation seep into her voice. they have a tough morning ahead of them, peggy realizes. and she hasn't currently got the constitution to be a roadblock just for the sake of blocking any and all inroads. at least, while he's turned away and fussing with his pot, she sees fit to lean forward with elbows on her knees. she rubs fingertips against her temples.
she relents: ] Truth is, I feel far far worse than rotten. But punishment details were always dreadful if you were caught 'red-eyed and bushy-tongued' during inspection -- we all learned to hide it as best we could.
[ which is to say her current stoicism in the face of a hangover has little to do with natural reserve and less to do with subterfuge. it's got everything to do with the hell that was basic training. and maybe, just maybe, giving up that bit of information will spare her the far more difficult conversation that's yet to come. ]
no subject
peggy watches him rise and walk away. she thought it might be tougher, this morning, to affix her gaze on him. but the opposite seems to be true. quietly, privately, she thinks it doesn't much matter how the night had been diverted or interrupted. this morning is just as tricky, she thinks, as if the rum hadn't interfered. more so, maybe, because now cooler heads can prevail.
-- once those heads begin to hurt a little less, at least.
he says something about tea and peggy perks up. only after a moment do her thoughts slog through the rest of the sentence (lemon-ginger?) and she's forced to register a deeper displeasure. she doesn't hide a lick of it. ]
What, no black tea?
[ hell, she'd settle for an oolong. anything, anything, but a herbal tea which isn't a tea at all in the end. beggars, it seems, can indeed try to be choosers. but after a moment of staring at his back, his shoulders, the muss of his hair... ] I suppose a cup won't kill me.
[ and only then does a kind of cooperation seep into her voice. they have a tough morning ahead of them, peggy realizes. and she hasn't currently got the constitution to be a roadblock just for the sake of blocking any and all inroads. at least, while he's turned away and fussing with his pot, she sees fit to lean forward with elbows on her knees. she rubs fingertips against her temples.
she relents: ] Truth is, I feel far far worse than rotten. But punishment details were always dreadful if you were caught 'red-eyed and bushy-tongued' during inspection -- we all learned to hide it as best we could.
[ which is to say her current stoicism in the face of a hangover has little to do with natural reserve and less to do with subterfuge. it's got everything to do with the hell that was basic training. and maybe, just maybe, giving up that bit of information will spare her the far more difficult conversation that's yet to come. ]