driftfleet | voice. a quick sad post.

Entry tags:

voice. a quick sad post.

Who: Sam Winchester
Broadcast: fleetwide
Action: Red Fish
When: after a sad shuffle :C

[Sam's very much subdued the day that Dean vanishes. If he reacts more viscerally to it, to knowing that this Dean was returning to his inevitable death at Sam and satan's own hands, nobody'd know it — he closes himself up in his room, keeps himself distant for a little while. It helps, because it also gets him away from those damned echoes that have begun to snowball. He's tried his best to ignore them, and with Dean suddenly gone... he doesn't trust himself to be anything but stressed at the sight.

Anyway. Um. Best to move forward, right...? Get back into things. Working at the bar keeps his mind busy, as does helping with the garden, and there's also helping with the weird messages from the planet, and — dammit, Sam, get back into things. Fake it 'til you make it. This too shall pass, if you pretend hard enough that you're fine. So he breathes in deep, breathes out, and addresses the fleet.]

My brother, Dean, um. Dean Winchester's left the fleet. I wasn't sure how many people knew him, but...

[A pause.]

Anyone want to talk? I could use something to keep me occupied. Your choice of topic, just shoot. I can be a pretty good listener, too.

[Help me get out of this funk, huh.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

-- Which library?

Oh—! Uh, it's a library in a big bunker.

People don't really know about it; it's the library that belongs to a defunct secret organization that specializes in things like the supernatural, the occult, things like that. They were more scholars than anything. Called themselves the Men of Letters.

My grandfather was one of them. Unfortunately, the American sector had been wiped out.

We only just rediscovered the bunker a few years ago.

Men of Letters. Forgive the offense, Sam, but that sounds awfully pompous.

[ and a little too much like an old boy's club for her liking. ]

[He winces a smile.]

A little. They weren't very fond of hunters. I was able to meet my grandfather, uh — he time-traveled forward, anyway, and he pretty much referred to my kind as uneducated monkeys.

So pompous probably works best.

... He was a good man, though, for the most part.

[ a crinkle of her nose. she doesn't easily hide how she feels about that. ]

Bloody time-travel.

You're telling me.

Nothing's weirder than meeting your mom and dad before you're ever born.

[SO CASUALLY PUT OUT THERE THANKS SAMUEL.]

[ somehow, her mild smile suggests she rather doubts that's the weirdest thing he's ever experienced -- but peggy opts not to push the point. after all, she presumes he's in a bit of a precarious position. ]

About as weird as meeting a dear friend's fully grown son about seventy years down the line, I suspect.

[He blinks, and then rubs a hand over a sheepish smile.]

Yeah. Just like that.

We lead some pretty interesting lives, huh?

Exhausting is another way of putting it, I suspect. [ or it must be, because ever since she arrived in the fleet she's felt her excess energy coiling in her gut. things are quieter, here, even when they're not. and it's put her life back home in stark contrast. ]

[A smile. He sympathizes — he gets exhausted pretty easily back home, so...]

To be honest... this place, it's not so bad.

I mean, it's... um, a break.

Aha, a break? [ an unsettled laugh. ] Breaks have never sat well with me, I'm afraid.

No? Get too restless with answering your phones?

[He grins a rather cheeky grin, behind his cup.

Telephone operator, amirite. That's tooootally what you do. Yes ma'am.]

[ she's been here for over a year, now. it's time to come clean about her better strengths. drolly: ] I may have told a small fib on that front, Sam.

[ as if he hasn't already figured that much out. ]

[He smiles pleasantly.]

You, fibbing?

[... Yeah he had figured a few things here and there.]

Sounds like you've had to fib a lot in the past, Ms. Carter.

Side effect of having signed the Official Secrets Act, I'm afraid.

[ -- he seems a brainy sort. peggy throws the words out almost to test his understanding of what she's not quite saying. ]

[... Ah. He considers her response.]

You must have a pretty important job, if it's a matter of national security.

[But he sounds like he considered as much. He lowers his cup, figuring he might as well prove himself when it comes to investigations and whatnot. After all, this loser hacks a lot of crap and really loves picking up clues.]

You're pretty comfortable with guns and you have a fondness for puzzles, but I started knowing there was more after what happened with Bucky. [His cheeks color, just slightly, at the next admittance. Because he's basically a network peeping tom. He taps the rim o the cup.] I... might have spied on a few open feeds during that, to try and collect information, and I couldn't help but notice you carried yourself very well for a civilian who had just been badly injured. Led me to believe you've had to take control of a situation while you've been injured before.

[He smiles apologetically.]

... Communications. And all.

[ there's a hint of something in her expression. it's not quite pride -- but she's certainly pleased with his legwork. after some time, she'd stopped being quite so careful about it all. not least of all because of what's been revealed about the future. her legacy. ]

Spied on open feeds? [ she plucks up that wording rather particularly. ] Good for you. I'd expect nothing less of any communications officer worth his or her salt.

[ after all, she'd started on comms. ]

[He chuckles.]

Yeah, well. I've got my own breed of job that requires secrecy.

And snooping. A lot of snooping.

[He smirks, just slightly.]

... Nobody suspects the weird guy with long hair and lumberjack plaid can hack police databases and surveillance systems.

Nor do they much suspect the woman taking their lunch orders, as it turns out. [ a spy within her own damn spy agency. not a double-agent, exactly, but near enough to cause discomfort. her smile is rueful. ]

Although I must confess you'd stick out like a damned sore thumb, back home.

[He blinks.]

Who, me?

[nah man i'm so covert look at me, so covert.]

... Is it the hair?

It's not quite regulation, I'm afraid. And it makes you identifiable. [ peggy shrugs. ] But I doubt it's your fault. The future also seems to be running a deficit of decent ties, from what I can tell.

[ an odd conclusion, maybe, until you realize she's only been comparing her own year with the 'modern' fashions seemingly common to everyone else's. ]

I've never been a fan of regulation.

[About his hair, anyways. He grins a dimpled grin, amused.]

I got pretty used to ties — actually, I was pre-law at one point, so I kind of needed to accept wearing them. But, um. Flannel is plenty more comfortable for wandering heavily wooded areas and abandoned asylums. And whatnot.

You in your flannel -- reminds me of a stevedore. [ she's teasing. a little bit of deflection, of course, in the wake of revealing just enough about herself. ]

[He nearly spits his tea, thank you, Peggy.

But he recovers well enough, putting a hand against a smiling mouth.]

Wow.

Not the worst I've been referred to, but thanks. You have a lot of stevedore friends in your lifetime??

Friends? [ oh, she laughs. ] Good God, no. But I'll admit I spend more time than I like getting into trouble at the docks.

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