interfaith dinner mingle!!

[stefanged]

Who: Interfaith Center regulars & the not-so-regulars (party crashers are welcome too!!)
Broadcast: Nope
Action: Interfaith Center on the Iskaulit
When: Forward-dated to November 4th

[The Interfaith Center sounds far more bustling and busy than usual - and anyone peering inside would quickly figure out that a communal dinner is underway! Take off your shoes and walk in: the lounge has extra tablecloths on the floor as well as buffet tables with non-alcoholic beverages and all sorts of food, including Jordanian cuisine (or the outer space equivalent of Jordanian food).

The board games are out of their hiding nooks; the furniture's arranged for the maximum seating possible; and even the teddy bears donated by Kitty & Winn are out for cuddling, should anyone want them.

The kitchen's bustling with helpers - Stefan's running around at vamp-speed to make sure everything's a) done on time and b) cooked to perfection - but he sure wouldn't mind an extra hand. And if you're still not up for some food? Well, the prayer rooms are open as usual. There's always a quiet moment to be found, even if the laughter's louder and the scent of freshly-baked mansaf's wafting through the long corridors.

Anyone and everyone who's ever been inside the Interfaith Center has been invited (via text message - and Stefan even used the fancy emoji). If you're not particularly faithful or devout? Well, drop by anyways. There's more than enough food to spare.]

Comments

[mucked]

Me? Heavens, no. I just meant Steve. [ a puff of her cheeks. she's quick the clarify the misunderstanding, even as she chews over another piece of the stefan puzzle. ] My security officer.

I'm as human as they come, my dear.

[stefanged]

Oh. [He rubs the back of his neck nervously.] Sorry, I - I assumed a little too much there.

But yeah, I'm technically immortal. So when I said it was my grandfather who served in World War II, I might've... [his voice grows quiet:] meant myself.

[mucked]

[ she pauses -- mid-chew -- and reconsiders the man standing across from her. he'd hinted (either accidentally or not) before about something more. and here it is. the notion of immortality piques her interest, certainly, but...

but there's a strange comfort in meeting someone else who was there. she touches the edge of her thumb against her mouth, like chasing away an imaginary smudge of rice, and sets her plate aside. ]

Now, that's curious. [ shades of an older discipline sink back into her posture. she is, undeniably, a veteran. something in the way she stands. ] European theatre or Pacific?

[stefanged]

North African, actually.

[He stands up a little straighter, finding a little more of his confidence as he holds onto the counter for support. Now that he can be honest - rather than pretending he was his own grandfather - he feels, well, free.]

I wasn't directly in the field, but I was an ambulance driver down in Egypt for most of the Desert Campaign.

[mucked]

North Africa -- [ she repeats, a little amused with her own neglect of the lesser talked about fronts. a glimmer in her eye stands in for an apology, and she adds: ] What fitting flavours, then.

[ a nod towards the spread.

but peggy knows she can't simply leave it there. she's curious, still, and she doesn't mind if she steps on a few toes when she asks: ] Which side?

[ she isn't interesting in rousing grudges. she's lived here in the fleet too long for that, now. but she wants this answer before she goes sticking her foot in her mouth. after all, she can't easily forget his name. ]

[stefanged]

[He's quiet for a couple of seconds, wondering why on Earth she'd have to ask with his accent and his faith and then -

Right. Salvatore was about as Italian as he could get.]

Allies. [His sheepish, apologetic tone probably speaks for itself.] No, uh - I promise, my parents immigrated to the US before I was born.

[mucked]

[ -- although her posture keeps its starch, something else loosens in her harder lines. an easing of her brow, perhaps. a shifting of her jaw. she can't trust piecing together his story about his relative's action onto a facsimile in his own live. after all, lies are never quite so tidy. peggy understands that more than most.

but this? this, she trusts. she nods -- accepting. ]

Maybe we deserve a support group of our own. [ a wry twist in her tone. something suggests she'd name it, but never attend it. ]
Us relics from the war. There are a few of us rattling around, if you know where to look. [ ... ] I was in Europe -- mostly, though I won't tell you I've never set foot in North Africa.

[ a gentle, careful kind of description. even now, she tries not to tread too heavily upon what's still confidential in her file. ]

[stefanged]

[Peggy's nothing if not mysterious, and considering how many secrets Stefan has in his hero hair - he can't judge.

He does, however, let out a small laugh at the idea of a support group. He wouldn't dare show up; after all, he relates more to 2016 than 1943. As long as he plays human, he's too young for talk of war and rations and the battlefield.]

I see. I just hope your time there was more peaceful than mine. [IE, that it had been after the war and not during it.]

[mucked]

Peaceful enough. [ she neither confirms nor denies. it's easier, that way, to tread the outskirts of what's true and honest. ] It was after the war. Only a brief visit -- and then I relocated to New York. Haven't really looked back.

[ thoughtful: ] The, ah, security officer I mentioned? He served, as well.

[stefanged]

Steve, right? [He remembers a Steve, briefly, and how he had thanked Stefan for thinking to run a place like the Interfaith Center. It's probably not the same man, but if Peggy's offering this information freely...] I'm not exactly broadcasting my immortality to the public, but if you think he wouldn't mind...

[Words, Stefan. Use your words.]

I could... drop him a line? Let him know there's yet another one of us "relics" around.

[mucked]

He's a man of discretion. [ a soft flicker of uncertainty -- rare, on her face -- but she continues: ] And a man of 2015. And I think the pair of you might find some common ground. Maybe.

[ her gaze adjusts. she doesn't much like this -- making matches, and meddling in social lives. meddling professionally is something completely different and she does it without a care. but she's never been good at this side of it all.

but she can't help but be struck by how all these people somehow find their way to the future. and there she is, bringing up the rear. always. ]

'Immortal' doesn't quite cover it, however. More like a...very long nap. [ a scrunch of her nose. it's clumsy wording. ]

[stefanged]

A regular Rip van Winkle, then?

[He can't quite imagine sleeping through eighty-something years (if he did his math right). As complicated & chaotic as those decades had been, at least he'd lived through them. He saw them progress from bulky, giant computers to ones in the palms of their hands. He's seen the globe change before his very eyes, and he can't say he regretted a moment of it.

Whatever the explanation is, he's sure he'll hear it when the time comes.]

I'll see what I can do. Thank you, [and he means it, with gratitude on his lips,] Peggy. I'll drop him a line first thing tomorrow.

[mucked]

[ she can't help but think it must be bizarrely lonely at the far side of a timeline. but she keeps that thought to herself -- because neither him nor steve needs her pity. but perhaps they could use a dose of each other. good men, doing good things.

peggy pulls out her comms device and scrolls through a lengthy list. she calls up an entry for ROGERS, STEVE and displays the screen for stefan's sake. ]

His frequency. In case you want to contact him privately, without the rest of the fleet ogling.

[stefanged]

[He peers at the screen, memorizing the number and taking note of any patterns that would help him recall it faster.]
Got it. I'll certainly do so.

[Her kindness means a lot. Stefan's expression softens as he looks back at her - while he's no stranger to the Fleet, he also hasn't tried to mingle with the greater community in a while.

This dinner was an attempt: to invite everyone he'd ever met and to express just how much they meant to him. Even the ones he doesn't regularly converse with.]

Next time we have a dinner, God willing? I hope I'll see him here.

[mucked]

I'll ask him to accompany me. Next time. [ said almost shyly.

she isn't one for hesitation, and yet she's never been quite comfortable discussing steve in terms such as these. although they might as well have been 'together' since the moment he arrived in the fleet, progress has been slow. cautious. only lately have they decided to step off the ship as a couple, for example. and peggy still finds herself chafing against that happiness.

qualifying: ] All I need to do is describe the food, I think.

[stefanged]

[Somehow, Stefan hadn't put two and two together - at least, not until he catches her tone.

He had been running under the assumption that they were good friends, like him and Misty, and well. He'll keep that assumption for their sake.]

Of course. Bring some back too. [He sounds almost triumphant.] One bite of this, and I'd hope he'd come around for round two.

[mucked]

[ his discretion is appreciated -- not for secrecy's sake, exactly, but because her pride is a strange beast. she'd barely endured the assumptions when, after the war, the men around the office had discussed her past with captain america. somehow, the fact that it's realer and within reach now doesn't soften the association.

but now she smiles brightly. ] May I? Oh, you wonderful man. [ a sigh. ] As schemes go, it's perfectly wonderful.

[stefanged]

It's a pretty easy one too. Good food goes a long way in getting people to come.

[He glances back, at a tray of cooling baklava,] Let me see what I can set aside, just in case. No allergies or anything, right?

[mucked]

None whatsoever. [ she speaks with the certainty either of someone who's deeply entangled with steve, or else who's read his personnel files over and over again. in her peculiar case, both happen to be accurate. ] Nor me. Luckily. I look forward to enjoying all of it.

[stefanged]

Praise be to Allah, [He lets out a small, relieved sigh.] I'll give you a little bit of everything.

It's always something in the back of my mind, since well - I've got restrictions of my own.

[mucked]

[ a knowing nod. although his faith hasn't been the subject of much outright conversation, peggy stitches the details together with ease. although, in truth, she wonders whether those restrictions from from religion or from whatever strange circumstances have made him immortal. a deeper conversation, perhaps, for another day.

instead, her answer is circumspect and polite: ] It's rarely a bad thing to be thoughtful of others.

[stefanged]

Of course not, but it feels more pragmatic when I'm doing it for myself.

[See: the complete lack of alcohol in this space, even though Islam is the only faith that outlaws it.

Or maybe Stefan's still uneasy with the idea of him being considerate, or thoughtful, or whatever good qualities people have come to associate with him. His immortality's a curse, and while he understands its quiet blessings, he can't say he wishes it upon anyone else.]

[mucked]

Oh, my dear, anyone who thinks pragmatism and thoughtfulness can't go hand-in-hand ought to be shot. [ an easy, off-cuff remark. peggy breathes in her laughter and shakes her head and clarifies: ] Well, maybe not shot.

But they deserve to have their toes stepped on, at the very least.

[stefanged]

[He's laughing too, because well - if Ms. Carter shot anyone, it would be for damn good reason. It would also be the one and only occasion where he'd turn a blind eye to whoever landed themselves in that sorry mess.]

I wouldn't disagree with that. But uh, you know how people of the next few decades think. "Waste not, want not" isn't exactly in their vocabulary.

[mucked]

-- Nor is make-do and mend, from what I gather. [ a low, melodious laugh. she remembers the funny little pamphlets put out by the home office, maybe. or the board of trade. she can't quite recall the origin. little men made of thread-spools and banged up pots. mend and make-do to save buying new. ]

There's a lot of complaint over the god-awful protein gels and, certainly, they are god flipping awful. But I suspect a great many of our fellows haven't had to eat mock apricot flan or mock goose.

[ certainly, the gusto with which she still eats the present feast suggests she's more than happy to take advantage of better food when it can be found. but she's lived with some sort of rationing present for most of her life -- born in the shadow of the first great war, and cutting her career's teeth on the second. if anything the awkward little protein gels and powders manages to take some of the desperation out of 'mock' recipes. ]