[ 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. ]
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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. ]