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]

[Indeed, he's glad for her lingering company, even if they both restrain themselves to temporary touches and quiet words from this point forward. Equally that she seems content enough to stay for the time, rather than abscond immediately now that the more rigorous part of the evening is done. Rip already doubts that she would allow herself to spend the night. The two times it's happened now, they'd both been more drunk than anything else. And each morning after, neither one of them had been entirely comfortable around the other, particularly Peggy, whom had tried to sneak away without Rip's noticing on each occasion.

It's an interesting set of weight to put upon the scales: the warm presence of another body in his bed throughout the night, or the avoidance of a third morning marred by awkwardness. In the end it's a matter left entirely in Peggy's hands—and one better, Rip thinks, left without the input of whatever opinion he might form should he give it too much thought. He's often in the habit of spoiling something by overthinking it—something Miranda would often accuse him of in the past.

So instead he tries to accept the good for what it is, and trust the notion of what comes next to someone else. Not the simplest thing for him, and thus it's good that Peggy offers distraction. Such a brassy stance even now, and Rip turns his head just enough to show off a single arched eyebrow.]

Sabotaged; that is quite the accusation to make. [An entirely accurate one, he knows, but far be it from him to simply admit that Peggy's right. Especially not as she continues on, clever and quick as always. Suddenly the ball he'd deemed fit to set aside has been sent spiraling into his court, and with the question of his desires, Rip can practically hear the lynchpin of the trap set into place.

And here he'd been, just having decided to avoid bad habits.]

I'm rather fond of the quiet, actually. [Of her, close enough to touch should he stretch a hand out just to the side. Stay or go, the choice remains hers—even if Rip decides for the moment, he's content to have her put off making it just a touch longer.]

[mucked]

But it's not, is it? Quiet.

[ peggy shifts and returns to her place, head swiveling so she can look at him again. she watches his profile, side-on, and admires all the details she'd first observed in a scotched haze one week prior. observed, yes, as his head had sat in her lap. piece by piece, she builds up a familiarity. ]

Because I can hear it too. [ she assures him. ] The faint scratch of the needle on the platter. I imagine it's ruined, now. [ the needle; not the platter. ] You'll need to fit a new one before --

[ before next week ]

-- before you can listen to anything else.

[ that little noise might as well fill the room. it's a pedal note behind their gradually calming breath and the internal thrum of their respective pulses. the more she thinks about it, the more she hears it. ordinarily, it's the sort of thing that should fray her nerves after the first minute. but there's still lead in her limbs and a kind of euphoria working its way through her system. and...

and there's no mistaking rip's real meaning. fond of the quiet, he said. and although she'd replied to them, all she'd heard underpinning those words was an argument for her not to get up and break the detente between them. so, grabbing at one of his pillows, she decides there's no profit in trying to undo the damage that's already been done. the needle's broken; rushing to the player won't change that fact. so she'll linger here a little longer. peggy stuffs the pillow beneath her head and settles. more comfortable.

and after their hushed and tired chatter falls silent, she winds in and out of a light, light sleep. cat-naps, nearly, as she's never out of it for longer than twenty minutes at a time. but eventually she outstays her own welcome and leaves him to occupy his bed alone. in the dead of night, she's careful-quiet. she finds her clothes and she shuts off the player and she pauses -- hesitant -- beside the tumblers they'd left out on the table. peggy downs what remains of both her glass. it's a little liquid courage taken before she rifles through a desk drawer, finding herself a piece of stiff paper and a good pen.

she scribbles out a brief note, unsigned: see you next wednesday. and then she tucks it into whatever book he's reading, choosing a page at random after she steals his proper bookmark from within.

peggy takes it with her when she leaves -- hastily dressed -- and carries her shoes and holster with her. ]