enter if you dare (i'm kidding we're 80% approachable)

[theroadwarrior]

Who: Crew and visitors for the Starstruck!
Broadcast: None!
Action: The SS Starstruck
When: March! And, y'know, until the next mingle too.


[EVERYONE GET IN HERE AND MINGLE AND STUFF OKAY.]

Comments

ota!!!

[mucked]

[ peggy is her usual busy self -- except lately, her attentions have wandered far afield from their little ship. she can be found in her quarters with the door propped open (in case she's needed). but instead of the usual array of cosmetics on her cramped metal vanity table, she's swept it all aside in favour of...papers. she's been recording what she can remember from the last year-or-so. a hundred thousand new memories crammed into her brain as she'd slept, and suddenly she feels older and none the more wise.

but at least she doesn't abandon all routine. by now, she was feeling a lot better. in the cargo bay, she concentrates on throwing punches at their hanging punching bag. the hits land solid, and well. but every now and then her right hook looks a little more emotional than calculated. after each workout, she spends some time stretching. quiet, and occasionally cranky.

and finally, crewmates are likely to catch her brewing tea in the kitchen at one moment or another. she never fails to offer anyone a cuppa should they walk in while she's doing so. ]

[storminside]

Someone had suggested to Ororo that she try and look up the first mate earlier. She was told that they'd shared an augment, or something to that effect; Ororo had yet to figure out what they were, what they did, and why they were important. So she'd gone looking for answers. But when she'd passed by their quarters, she'd looked particularly busy - far too engrossed in whatever work she had for Ororo to disturb her in good conscience. She figured she could bother her later on; there was the rest of the ship left to explore, probably, and quite a few other crewmates to meet.

It's quite a bit later on that she finally winds back around to the kitchen (the ship wasn't that big, and the crew wasn't as large as she'd first assumed), drawn in by the warm, welcome scent of tea. She hasn't had a cup in what feels like ages, so at first she doesn't even realize who it is that's doing the brewing.

"- Is that real darjeeling...?"

It smells wonderful - or perhaps she was just imagining it? What she'd give for a proper cup.

[mucked]

Peggy Carter's hair is swept back in curls -- pinned, it seems, in place. She looks frightfully bureaucratic on first impressions: blouse and pencil skirt both without a crease; nails painted a vibrant red; posture particularly poised. And even with the new member of the Starstruck's roster chimes in, Peggy doesn't rush to warmth. A month ago, she might have. But she still feels a queer distance between herself and this reality.

"Darjeeling," she half-confirms, "or something as near enough it makes no difference. Want some?"

She knocks out and dusts off a welcoming smile, but is no less stiff. Introductions can wait for the tea to be poured.

[storminside]

"Yes please, if you can spare a cup." Ororo steps into the kitchen fully, now that she's gotten a better look at who she's speaking to. She'd take a seat somewhere at the table, but she didn't want to seem rude. So she sort of hangs around by the entry way, hands clasped neutrally before her.

"I didn't think there would be tea here, not after looking at what our options for food are."

[mucked]

"Bought it down on the station," Peggy explained as she poured another cup. Honey and sugar were already on the table, but now she fetches the milk (or what she hopes is mostly milk-like) from the refrigerator and adds that to the squat little army of additives. "I stocked up, this time. Last I ran out, I was stuck with their watered down green tea for weeks."

[storminside]

Ororo can't help the little frown that wrinkles her nose. She's not usually that picky, honestly, she grew up on much less after all, but... Well okay, so maybe she's a little picky after years of living with people who practically mainlined coffee and tea daily. The thought of watered-down tea for weeks turns her stomach a bit.

"It's good that you managed to stock up, then. I was of the impression that the fleet's currency had been... compromised, or something to that effect?" She looks to Peggy for confirmation. She had no idea what to make of that, really, since her account had been frozen upon arrival.

[mucked]

"So they were," she admitted. "Which taught us all a good lesson in keeping a slush fund of credits in physical form. Under the mattress, so to speak." Peggy's smile was slow -- and it didn't quite reach her eyes. Presumably, she'd done this very thing on her own.

"And there were good employment opportunities on the station itself. I bought tea, some various essentials, a pair of shoes. Other things the Atroma generally overlook when stocking their ships."

never enough threads lmfao

[theroadwarrior]

[Max is restless in the cargo bay as usual when she goes punching the punching bag. And so much like their first encounter with each other, his gears are grinded with every little THUNK-THUNK of Peggy's fists followed by that fwipfwipfwip of the bag waggling back into place between turbulent punches. It'd be one thing if he wasn't trying to concentrate on the information on the network. As it is, he can't focus, and every little sound leaves an anxious rumble of vocals perforating the folds of his brain. He hears the squeal of tires in rhythm with the noise, the sound akin to a body hitting asphalt and being run over.

He hobbles over, ready to be a whiny bitch about it (of course).

But then he just watches her with a quirked eyebrow and folded arms.

Somebody is having to release some inner demons today.]

*never* enough.

[mucked]

[ each blow lands heavy. peggy's hands are wrapped, and she throws her fists like a brawler. if there is technique in her style, then it's buried deep beneath a proud history of gutter pugilism. of scrapping with an older brother. of knocking down germans and keeping them down. there is nothing precise about her violence, but it is practiced. she'd honed it in its own messy fashion.

after a minute or two, she uncurls her fingers from fists and plants her palms against either side of the bag. peg bows her head until her nose touches the canvas. she exhales, eyes squeezed shut. in the absence of her own noise, she can feel her attention snap back into place.

without lifting her head (but with a glance askew): ] How long have you been watching?

[ it isn't a challenge. not one with any teeth, at least. ]

[theroadwarrior]

[Max's stature hardly changes when she stops, arms folded loosely and brow raised, a piqued curiosity to the way he looks at her. Today he's clear-eyed, gray-blue, not the sometimes dazed and listless world that takes hold.]

'While.

Couldn't concentrate, too much noise.

[It's not judgement toward her work-out, not a finger wag at her, but just a fact. He's sensitive that way to sound. To his senses in general. He smells burnt rubber and asphalt right now; there's none of that to be found here.]

[mucked]

[ a toss of her head. peggy draws the back of her wrapped hand across her brow -- she is sweaty, and the majority of her curls have come undone. but for all she prioritizes her appearance, she seems unperturbed to be so unpolished now.

she gives the bag one last shove, and then retreats. she's still breathing heavy as she adjusts the wraps. ]

I'll take that as a sign that I'm doing it correctly, then, [ answers with a pinched expression. ] Right hooks aren't meant to be stealthy.

[ not an apology. still: ] Do you want me stop?

1/2

[theroadwarrior]

[... Ah, good question. He considers her from head to toe, as if that is an assessment, a way to answer her. She looks like she still wants to have a go at the bag. After a moment, he rubs the back of his head, thumbing the brand there unconsciously.]

Mn, I can leave.

It's the noise. The sound, it's — hmm. A bad sound.

[He's not sure of any other way to put it. Wishes he had one.]

[theroadwarrior]

[He turns to leave, stops, looks back with a scrunched nose.]

Not my fault in some way, that you're —

[He waves toward her.

Just to make sure he didn't do something or say something stupid. He's familiar with both.]

1/2

[mucked]

[ she's grown accustomed to this...gesture. his half-leaving, body turned and feet pointed towards the closest escape route. peggy isn't so surprised he wants to escape a sound he categorizes as 'bad', but she still feels a sad little dip in her spirits. ]

Your fault--?

[ her eyes search him. his desire to disappear might not have surprised her, but his concern for his own culpability certainly did. ]

2/2

[mucked]

[ she nearly breaks into a smirk: relieved, and anxious to clarify. ]

Heavens, no. You've given me no cause for grief. I swear it. [ she pats her hand atop her heart and then raises her open palm in open testimony. ]

[speedboat]

[ he knocks on her door just to get her attention, moving to sit on her bed before there's a reply. howard knows this is far harder for her than it is for him, and he doesn't know how to reconcile it. ]

Do you think they have that cheese here? ...Velveeta.

[mucked]

[ -- she doesn't look up from her task. ]

Of course they likely do. It's only a half-bloody-step up from the rest of the ersatz food on offer.

[ seriously, america. what's wrong with a good old proper cheddar? ]

[speedboat]

[ he shrugs, eyes darting around so he doesn't have to focus on her not looking at him awkwardly. ]

Works for me. ...You alright, Peg? [ he doesn't know how else to ask but just come right out with it. she still seems on edge or something, he can't quite place it. ]

[mucked]

-- Perfectly fine, [ she chirps. lying, of course. ] You know me. Trying to keep busy.

[speedboat]

[ he doesn't buy it for a second, but he knows better than to try and dispute her outright. ]

Anything I can... help with?

[resnipstance]

[Ahsoka usually leaves the First Mate alone to do her job and to her own devices-- Peggy is competent, and Ahsoka is a competent pilot, so their paths don't usually have cause to cross. Today, though, Ahsoka's attention is caught by the unusual sight of all those papers strewn across Peggy's vanity table in her room. She almost passes by the door completely, but then she stops and backtracks a little. Popping her head in, curious:]

What's all that?

[mucked]

-- Timelines. And...intel, frankly.

[ peggy finishes a brief notation before turning her chair and glancing ahsoka's way. she profits by no margin when she keeps such details a secret. besides, what sort of spy would she be if she couldn't speak the truth while simultaneously hiding it? her crewmate couldn't do much with the tightly tangled intelligence from 1947, earth, anyway. ]

Work from home, darling. [ ahsoka and peggy don't know each other too well, but the term of endearment is easy when two people share quarters for so long. and peggy's always been fond of plucky young women. ] Nothing that should rock this boat.

[resnipstance]

[Ahsoka makes a face, wrinkling her nose.]

Yeugh. Are they pulling in people from different-but-connected timelines in your universe too? Talk about a headache.

[mucked]

-- I'm afraid that was a headache I'd already had. [ peggy gestures smallishly with one hand, inviting ahsoka inside so she might grab a seat on the chest at the foot of peggy's bed. it's the best she could do for secondary seating. ] The Fleet's damn well crawling with others from...well, not home exactly.

[resnipstance]

[That earns Peggy a quizzical look.]

What do you mean?