IC Inbox - Entranceway

[directed]

Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.

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[directed]

[He's got little idea of the sentiment she's after from him, that in this case, Peggy means to dig past the surface and find some deeper meaning to his motivations. And perhaps they are there, waiting to be spelled out past neat summations like "concerns" and "worries"--but just the same, haven't they already been made obvious by Rip's confession of Peggy's importance? Or his eagerness to return her kiss, to lose himself in her the night prior--

The fact that he'd still had whiskey out when she stopped by, so many hours after she'd been expected?

Yet in the end Peggy gives; deceptively, perhaps, relenting in one direction so Rip might not notice her retreating in the other. If so, job well done for her. He commits the number to memory, and though he already suspects he won't be welcome as a surprise visitor, it's comforting to know he can at least put any future concerns to ease without summoning the aid of others.]

Five fifteen. [Repeated and then laid to rest, at least in Rip's mind. He raises his head again; the seam's gotten the better of him, and while he rubs at the errant spot, he glances back towards her.]

Anything more on your list of undesirables? [He won't jinx it by speaking the thought aloud, but so far it's been easy enough to accommodate.

Mentions of Tony Stark aside.]

[mucked]

[ she's not proud of the way she baits and hunts those feelings. but the truth is that none of the previous indicators can be trusted as gospel. not really -- whether given in a moment of crisis or of drunkenness, none of them are stamped with the kind of quiet certainty she craves just now. a good solid lead, one that she can follow from today into next week. and, more importantly, next wednesday.

peggy picks back up her mug. the contents are lukewarm, now, but she makes a go of drinking them all the same. somehow it's worse for a lack of heat, and she doesn't hide her distaste after she swallows.

there's more, yet, to talk about. she still needs to approach the question of what items, if any, sit waiting on his list. but for now she crinkles her nose in acknowledgement of his question. ]

I don't suppose you'd be willing to consider a clean shave?

[ because rip hunter is the first man she's ever kissed with such a beard on his chin. and while she might have enjoyed kissing him rather a lot, she finds herself still undecided about the whiskers. ]

[directed]

[He says nothing when she takes her drink, though perhaps she can find a level of certainty in the smug satisfaction showing in Rip's eyes when she once more puts on a face of disgust at the flavor. Of course the kettle is there should she wish to use it herself--but far be it from Rip to point that out, even now.

Besides, considering the time that Peggy's from? He doubts she could leave anything in that cup without feeling some twinge of wrongness about it. Never mind that Wonderland would seem to be the land of plenty; mend and make do, always.

It's part of her stubbornness that Rip rather appreciates, even beyond moments such as this which see him take advantage of it.

Oh, but her question--and it is a question, rather than a non-negotiable demand--brings quite a different brand of mischievous thought into his head. There's really only one reason why she'd be asking after his beard now, and Rip puts on a show of considering it, despite knowing his answer immediately.

It affords him a few seconds to pick up his mug once more.]

...I dare say you'll get used to it, Miss Carter.

[Cheers; Rip drains the final bit of his tea.]