Chocolate-flavored Dessert Cream on the House

[thespaceopera]

[The bunks are filling up, but the new faces just keep appearing!

Are you a travel-weary passenger having trouble keeping your crew roster straight? Perhaps you are a fresh new recruit, finding themselves dumped into a new (and much less shiny) home. Or, maybe you've been around for a little bit and just haven't bothered meeting the other weirdos on this ship yet--what is their problem, anyway?

Well, this is the place for you!

All new passengers from the last few Shuffles, especially those who haven't met their crews yet, are welcome to post starter-comments here to invite those living on and visiting your ship to come and interact. Newbies could be just arriving on the ship, busying around where others can find them, or you can offering multiple options for interaction--however you'd like to set up your thread is fine. Just make sure to include the name of your ship in the header, so your crewmates can easily find you!

Everyone else-- go meet those newbies! Whether they are new to your own crew, or on ships you frequently visit, now is a great time to bump into them.]

Comments

[bigvessel]

Second-holy crap you really are a pin-up girl. I mean...you definitely have the forties look going. [And he's just going to tap casually at different buttons while he tries to oh so subtly work his mind around the fact that the woman is from seventy years in his past.

In the end it's just easier to accept it. He's had a weird enough day, what's one more thing tacked on.]

Yeah. Yeah that happened. So, what was it like? Man, I mean, wow you were there for William Donovan. The birth of the Office of Strategic Service. The future of the CIA. I mean that's just-[Something he should probably not be this excited about. So he clears his throat.] Kind of a history buff. Sorry. [And right into the next topic of conversation.]

Auto-pilot. Yeah, that's...good. [Especially because he has absolutely no practical experience with driving a ship. Though a part of him is itching to try.]

[mucked]

[ -- bewildering. peggy's not quite sure what to do with him. at first blush, it might even appear as though her stilted reaction is mere insult in the wake of being called a pin-up girl. and, certainly, it had begun in much that vein. blustery and indignant, she'd been prepared to give him a good verbal hiding for his trouble. but then...

but then he mentions something called the office of strategic service, and the words simply burn in her mind. perhaps it's a mere coincidence, but she can't shake her instincts. not least of all because fdr is quick to backpedal. why? perhaps he's a little more interesting than she first imagined. ]

Nothing wrong with a healthy interest in your nation's past. But I'm afraid I don't know anything about any Office of Strategic Service. [ ... ] Sorry.

[ now, the 'strategic scientific reserve' on the other hand... ]

[bigvessel]

[Well, that's certainly a telling look that he catches from under his lashes. Though, it's true, he's not sure if she's pissed about the pin-up girl comment which he realizes is probably a modern day equivalent to porn a moment too late, or if he's caught her attention with something he just said.]

Oh well. I mean...they even joined up with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. But I guess...that probably wouldn't be common knowledge at that point. But it's just, kind of cool you know? Taking lawyers and historians and bankers and actors, and just creating a secret intelligence service. He even had baseball players. It's kind of awe inspiring, right? [So he can't help but be a little disappointed not to get a first hand account. But, it makes sense.] What about the CIA? Does that mean anything to you? 1947?

[mucked]

Doesn't ring any bells. [ but she can take a wild guess at what the acronym stands for. still, a kind of clarity steals across her thoughts: the o.s.s. gives way to something called the cia. and the s.s.r. grew into shield.

oh, what the hell. they're crewmates, now. with a shrewed look: ] What about the Strategic Scientific Reserve, hm?

[bigvessel]

[His head tilts at the question, but he's quiet for a moment, like he's mentally flipping through all of his historical footnotes before he answers.]

No. But it kind of sounds like the name of an R&D department for the O.S.S.. [And he's definitely curious as he turns to face her again, arms crossed over his chest and gaze intense.] Was it?

[mucked]

[ softly: ] Not -- not quite.

[ goodness, but she's letting the conversation get quite out of hand. he's a fresh arrival on their little boat, and she's using his world to inform her own. nothing about it is particularly courteous. but then again, peggy carter never was ladylike to the core.

they arrive at an impasse. where peggy understands she cannot divulge just anything to a stranger -- but she's beginning to suspect he's a little more than cruise ship captain. but if what he speaks of truly is history, then this could all be declassified by his time. ugh, it frustrates her. her nose scrunches. ]

I've got a hunch. I don't half-doubt the O.S.S. is the S.S.R. But by another name -- in another universe. You'll come to learn quickly, I'm afraid, that such differences aren't uncommon within the fleet.

[bigvessel]

[Other universes. Yeah, he's seen those cartoons as a kid. And well, if she's from decades in the past, butterfly effect, etc. etc. Sure. He'll buy it. But if the SSR is the equivalent of the OSS then there's a pretty good chance...

He glances around like he expects to see some of these cameras they supposedly have trained on them before he steps closer to her, invading her personal space before he drops his head slightly, like he's avoiding any lip readings.]

And are you part of the SSR? More than just a communications officer in charge of swapping lines and answering walkie-talkies, aren't you?

[mucked]

[ oh, she doesn't like that. peggy's personal space is sacrosanct -- and yet she tolerates his approach, because she's just as unwilling to let the atroma get a perfectly framed shot of this exchange. after today, they'll have to be more coy in their conversation.

but for now, she whispers in return: ] That rather depends upon who you ask, but -- [ a curt nod. ] Agent Carter, SSR. And am I to assume you're with the OSS's descendant? You called it...CIA.

[ it's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't immediately assume she must fetch the coffee and answer the phones. perhaps that's what makes her behave so indulgently. ]

[bigvessel]

[Its a future where he has fellow female CIA agents. Where his boss is a strong woman that actually terrifies him and cows him like nobody else can do. So women with authority and skill is kind of common.]

That's right. Agent Foster, at your service. [And since this feels like a more proper definition he holds his hand out to her again with a grin. He won't even pretend he's not pleased to be here with a fellow agent. Even if it's one from an alternate universe.

But wow that undercover thing didn't last very long. But he figures if anyone can not blow his cover to the rest of the crew it'd be another agent.

[mucked]

[ fdr foster. how good it is to have a full name. feeling complicit, she indulges him in his second handshake -- this one firmer, and with more purpose than the first. whatever issues the s.s.r. might present, she can respect most of its agents. she imagines the same must be assumed for the o.s.s. ]

Very few in the Fleet are aware that I do anything but work for the phone company, Foster. I would appreciate it if it stayed that way, for the time being.

[ and implied in her expression is a measure of reciprocity. ] And if anyone asks, you're the very first cruise ship captain I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.

[bigvessel]

Of course. [And an easy smile accompanies the statement. They're definitely on the same page about this one, but if they're both what they're secretly claiming to be, then of course they are.

That dealt with, he takes a step back out of her space and slides his arms behind his head.] So, know where a guy can get a gun?

[mucked]

Aha. That'll be a sight trickier, I'm afraid. The Atroma doesn't much care for us arming ourselves. [ she relaxes a bit within her reclaimed space. loose fists perched on hips. ] Weapons are for sale at quite a few of our stops, but they'll cost you credits.

[bigvessel]

I'm sure that doesn't stop creative people. [Same could be said for needing credits, but, maybe stealing firearms isn't the best start to all of this.] Alright. So, how do you procure credits?

[mucked]

They're earned over time. And by entertaining our captors. [ there is venom in her voice; a particular bite that abhors this fact of their captivity. ] The more watchable you are, the better your salary.

[bigvessel]

That so? [He can hear the anger in Peggy's voice. But he doesn't have the same qualms. He spends his whole life performing in one way or another. And he's used to having someone in his eye and in his ear. If it's what he has to do to make his time tolerable...well.] How well do you do? I imagine you have plenty of fans.

[mucked]

-- I'm not certain it's all that gentlemanly to ask a woman how dramatic her life gets. [ but she can't be all that offended, because peggy smiles. ] I do alright for myself, and that's without any viewer-pleasing hysterics. Honestly, you mightn't be able to afford a side-arm straight off the bat but...give it until the next planet or station.

[ she supposes she could lend him the credits but -- she's not certain she trusts him that much. ]

[bigvessel]

A gentleman? Well, if that's really how you want me to behave around you, I can give a shot. [And he returns that smile with one of his own.

And because he can totally be theatrical in the moment, he puts his hand up to his chest.]

Oh, my dear, Lady Carter. Prithee, tell me when is the next planet or station? [And he's not even going to try to hold a straight face when he's done.] How'm I doing?

[mucked]

[ for all his trouble, he nearly gets a smile. but it's hidden beneath a cutting glance and a roll of her eyes. ]

Needs polish, frankly. [ huff. ] But the serious answer is that we're currently just outside a bustling little spot called Starlight. A space station. Weapons are damned expensive, but if you work yourself to the bone before we leave you might just find enough odd jobs down in the station to get yourself a modest pistol.

[bigvessel]

Was it the prithee? Overkill, right?

[But there's an answer and he listens to her with a nod. Working to the bone isn't exactly the most appealing idea, but neither is riding around in unknown space in a ship full of people he doesn't know without some sort of protection.] Alright, I'll look into it, thanks.

[mucked]

You have the unpleasant distinction of coming to us during something of a rough patch. [ ... ] But if you find yourself walking into an unsavory situation and you can find the time to give me a heads up -- and if you never call me Lady Carter ever again -- I just might let you borrow my gun.

Until you manage to purchase one for yourself.

[bigvessel]

[He grins at that.] eighty-six the Lady, can definitely do. [A pause.] Thanks.

[mucked]

-- It's this awful old revolved I picked up on a backwater dusty moon, but it's serviceable. And I'm working towards maintaining a small shooting range over on the Iskaulit. Sort of a larger company ship that drifts along with us. Bars, a gym, that sort of thing.

[bigvessel]

Well, if it can be aimed, I can handle it. [Part of their training, isn't it?]

And a ship? Like, an actual cruise ship? Not this shitty version of the Zion? Is it not possible to stay there?

[mucked]

-- I don't think there are any quarters on the Iskaulit. It's bigger, and it makes for a roomier meeting place. But I suppose if you're willing to jump ship, we can't exactly stop you.

[ after all, the starstruck is getting crowded. but she can't quite shake the note of disappointment in her voice that anyone should consider abandoning this assignment. ]

[bigvessel]

Oh. Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I told you I was at your service, I meant it. So it's, like the recreation ship? Go for the party, come home for the bed.