[No answer comes; Rip watches the phone for a few minutes, then sets it aside while he reads, glancing over every so often, listening for the notification that doesn’t come. In the end he’s glad for it; Peggy needs the rest, and knowing she’s drifted off allows Rip to enjoy a peaceful night himself. He even gets a few hours of sleep in as well, waking up early on the couch with his book fallen nearby, and a crick in his neck from the odd angle.
A glance at the clock leaves him wondering if Peggy’s up and about yet. A look at his phone makes him think she’s not—and equally, sparks an idea in his mind.
There’s a bit of prepwork involved: Rip knows there’s not a great deal of room to work with where Peggy stays, as cooking doesn’t stand as one of her interests. So he chops and mixes and prepares as much as he can while still downstairs, packing bowls with assorted ingredients ready to take up to the fifth floor. He looks quite the opposite of a burglar when he arrives to her door, bag loaded down with the results of his efforts. Still, anyone who might poke their head outside at just the right moment would no doubt think his motivations nefarious.
Especially since it takes Rip longer than he might like to pick the lock of Peggy’s room.
Still, he’s near silent as he does it, and when he finally walks in. He peeks in on her with a grin before he sets about to work, eyes adjusted to the dim light provided by the windows. He has to fetch a hotplate for the work, but really, Peggy would do well to have one anyway. Rip even goes so far as to clear a bit of space for it, leaving it to heat while he unpacks the rest of his goods.
Eggs, fatty bacon, beans, tomatoes, toast—all the sort of things that make for a proper fry-up, and the ideal breakfast for someone who might have had a few too many martinis the night before.]
no subject
A glance at the clock leaves him wondering if Peggy’s up and about yet. A look at his phone makes him think she’s not—and equally, sparks an idea in his mind.
There’s a bit of prepwork involved: Rip knows there’s not a great deal of room to work with where Peggy stays, as cooking doesn’t stand as one of her interests. So he chops and mixes and prepares as much as he can while still downstairs, packing bowls with assorted ingredients ready to take up to the fifth floor. He looks quite the opposite of a burglar when he arrives to her door, bag loaded down with the results of his efforts. Still, anyone who might poke their head outside at just the right moment would no doubt think his motivations nefarious.
Especially since it takes Rip longer than he might like to pick the lock of Peggy’s room.
Still, he’s near silent as he does it, and when he finally walks in. He peeks in on her with a grin before he sets about to work, eyes adjusted to the dim light provided by the windows. He has to fetch a hotplate for the work, but really, Peggy would do well to have one anyway. Rip even goes so far as to clear a bit of space for it, leaving it to heat while he unpacks the rest of his goods.
Eggs, fatty bacon, beans, tomatoes, toast—all the sort of things that make for a proper fry-up, and the ideal breakfast for someone who might have had a few too many martinis the night before.]