video + text + action

[mucked]

Who: Peggy Carter & YOU
Broadcast: Y, fleetwide.
Action: Aboard the Starstruck, if you like.
When: Today.

[ a video feed flickers to life, and fights for a moment to adequately focus on its subject. peggy carter sits in the kitchen aboard the starstruck, cup of tea and her elbow and half a biscuit in her hand. dabbing at crumbs, she sets her food aside and offers the network a bright smile. ]

That message -- the ominous one, in the bizarre language? It put me in mind of the sort of cryptograms and puzzles you might see in the Sunday paper. [ her expression is cheery enough, although she's not being wholly honest about her interest in such games. she won't be the one to say the words bletchley and park.] I loved them. Them, and crosswords. I thought maybe some of you might like them, too. [ ... ] We could do a few together. I'm not saying we all join a club, exactly, but back home they were always better solved in good company.

Let's start you off with one that's easy enough. But there's no shame in needing a hint, if needed. For what it's worth, the text I'm attaching is, in its deciphered form, English -- not yet certain how the augments' translation will handle it. We'll see.

BLSTKBC YLBSFKGISRX XL QIYT SL SFVBWIKAKJR STR QKBZ VX V XSRVZU EIFELXR — V ELKBS LB OTKYT STR XLIA QVU NKM KSX KBSRAARYSIVA RUR.

[ -- and then an afterthought: ]

...By chance, has anyone been brewing their own beer?

Comments

[mucked]

[ her smile stays. but it's distant -- almost fixed in its politeness, like she can't stomach being any friendlier than the moment requires. if she warms at all, then it's only because she sees a note of something in his expression.

something she can't quite name. hmm. curious. ]

Eugene, then. [ she tilts the box under her arm, displaying the two cans, a disposable razor, and what looks like four good steaks of an undetermined meat -- all wrapped in a waxy paper. ] Are you in a hurry? If your not, I'll offer you a cup of tea.

[ just warm enough in her invitation. easy to accept; easy to refuse. ]

[survivalistcookbook]

Oh, well. I can't say no to a cup of tea.

[Businesslike. He can respect that; heck, he'd almost be disappointed in a way if she wasn't. But he gives a crook of a grin anyway, gesturing for her to lead the way. The toiletries and the steaks are tempting, but not half as much as this strange, disorienting kind of normalcy.]

After you.

you're* i knew i shouldn't have done that last tag before bed.

[mucked]

Brilliant. [ it's like a diplomatic branch -- creating careful webs between ships. peggy's convinced the ships of the fleet will, if pressed even only a little, come together in a strong union. but that doesn't stop her from feeling the weighty duty of her captaincy: to know the other ships, to know their crews, and try to puzzle apart their best faces and their worst.

to this length, she gladly ushers him down the long hall between the cargo bay and the kitchen. once inside, she makes a line straight for the kettle. ] Sam Winchester, over on the Red Fish, furnished me with these tea leaves. They're better than whatever powdery rubbish the Atroma gives us.

oh geez I didn't even notice

[survivalistcookbook]

Wow. I'm not even sure we get access to the powdery rubbish, honestly.

[He follows her without complaint and takes a seat at the galley table, unslinging his pack and withdrawing two carefully cloth-wrapped jars. The larger one is, as promised, full of a clear spirit. The smaller one - and it's much smaller, containing perhaps a few shots - holds a translucent dark-brown liquid.]

Where did Sam find decent tea all the way out here? Did he say?

[mucked]

He's growing his own -- he's a man with green thumbs, one presumes. [ peggy puts the kettle on with a quick, instinctive movement. like she's done it a hundred times before. but when she turns around, she's greeted with the sight of eugene with his two jars. the larger one she recognizes. but the other? ]

Hm. [ she taps its lid. ] What's this, then?

[survivalistcookbook]

Proof of concept. If you have contacts who are growing herbs or fruit, this stuff infuses like a charm.

[He unscrews the lid until it's just lightly resting on the rim, then holds it up in offering, for her to smell or taste as she wishes.]

Basic coffee liqueur. Steeped for about eighteen hours, then filtered and sweetened with sugar.

[mucked]

[ -- another hum. she wraps her fingers around the jar and lifts it near her nose. peggy sniffs, and at least manages not to make a face despite her personal distaste for coffee. instead, she smiles...not simply because of the ingenuity of it, but because she knows a few people who might appreciate a coffee liqueur.

curious, of course, she takes a sip. a-hem. ] Marvelous. I can imagine the combinations quite readily. How long have you been working on this?

[survivalistcookbook]

On the infusing? A few weeks. [More of a hobby project than anything, and he gives an idle shrug that says as much, pleased by her response.]
The real trial and effort was distilling and filtering the base spirit into something palatable before I started playing with it.

[mucked]

You're a credit to your ship. [ she sniffs the concoction once again before she returns it to him so he can seal it up once more. ] And I could see myself coming back for more.

[survivalistcookbook]

You're too kind.

[He huffs a laugh, tightening the lid and putting it back alongside the agreed-upon litre of no-frills space vodka.]

I've been thinking about moving operations into the Iskaulit. If only so I don't keep moonshining around a bunch of kids.

[mucked]

Not a terrible idea -- not least of all because of the potential for accidents. [ she grabs two mugs from the cupboard and tips them right-side up on the counter. ] Although, I'd suggest keeping it on the opposite side of the ship to the shooting range.

[survivalistcookbook]

Oh, yeah. I'm pretty sure no one is going to thank me if I put it too close to anything else. Especially if I do get the materials to start branching out into brewing proper.

[One small pot still in the cargo bay? Manageable. But the smell's going to be something else entirely if he starts working at a higher volume.]

Do you seriously want yeast extract to make your own marmite?

[mucked]

Believe it or not, I'm starting to miss the stuff.

[ -- something she'd never expected to say. ever. not even after moving to new york. ]

[survivalistcookbook]

No, I believe it.

[He leans his elbows on the table, watching her go through all the familiar motions of preparing tea - something he might offer to help with if the galleys weren't so cramped on these ships. It's another thing that's almost familiar, almost home, and for a second he can ignore almost everything else and imagine he's in someone's broom-closet flat at some lightless hour of the night or morning, relaxing and talking shop.]

There's this thought that fermented foods - live foods, something that takes a microbe or a yeast - are the ones that really shape our tastes. Bread and cheese for most of Europe, along with the wine and beer, but there's sauerkraut, preserved fish in Scandinavia, kimchi and soy sauce further east . . . heck, even cocoa has to be fermented before you can use it to make chocolate. [He gives a one-shouldered shrug as his conversational trajectory brings him back round, out of that imagined flat and into a spaceship that he's landed on only after the end of the world as he knew it.] No one is going to starve out here, but there's not a lot of living food, not like most of us are used to. I think most of us miss that in one way or another.

[mucked]

[ things start to brew. and peggy, turning so she can lean her hips against the counter, finds herself treated to a wonderful experience: a lesson. although she doesn't quite smile, she does offer him a patient expression -- pleased, it would seem, with the chance to hear him wax poetic on living foods.

comfortably, she crosses her arms over her chest. ] Do you work with food?

[ not-so-lucky guess. either he's a professional (of some sort) or he's got one helluva hobby. ]

[survivalistcookbook]

Current ship's cook, former food journalist.

[There's a hint of self-consciousness in the smile he offers in return - not exactly bashful, but aware enough that he does yammer on when it comes to topics he knows.]

So I'm mostly trained to talk about it, ad nauseum. [Pun intended and wholly unrepentant.] Still. Years of research apparently comes in handy when you're re-inventing recipes out of the culinary scrap pile we have to work with here.

[mucked]

[ food journalist! she doesn't mean to laugh -- honestly, she doesn't. but it can't quite be helped. and odd sort of sharpish bark, betraying more surprise than anything else. certainly, there are critics in the broadsheets. and word gets 'round. but she's never ever heard anyone introduce themselves as a food journalist, former or otherwise.

but she can see how it aids him. clearly. ]

More of a credit to your ship than I first thought, then. Fortunate them, with fortunate taste-buds. We just lost our cook here on the Starstruck.

[survivalistcookbook]

[Once, he might have been offended by that laugh. But living in times of actual need, in legitimate extremis, have lent some understanding to that reaction. Food journalism is a silly and puffed-up job in the grand scheme of things. Society doesn't really advance that much from knowing where to find the best tuna tartare in Vancouver. So the praise salves over an offence that he remembers more than feels, and he gives a rueful look and nod of thanks for it and goes on.]

I'm sorry to hear that. If I'd known I would have at least brought over some bread.

[mucked]

Next time, [ she promises on his behalf. ] I'll add it's not a sorrowful occasion -- we lost him to the Pathstone, those wankers.

[ and with that, she decides the tea is steeped. peggy ushers both mugs over to the table and takes a seat across from eugene. there's sugar and milk between them, but she uses neither. ]

[survivalistcookbook]

Man, Pathstone. [The agreement is a grinning thing, no attempt made to honestly sound as if he bears a grudge against the Pathstone, or even knows enough about them to form one. It's a quip to keep the rhythm of the conversation and to pass the time until the tea is in front of him, steaming and fragrant. He curls his hands around the mug, taking a cautious sip and humming in satisfaction. Plain, unadorned black tea - perfect.]

This is perfect, thanks. I don't think I've had a decent cup of tea since I was brought here. Let alone a good one.

[mucked]

[ it's good, really. to sit and enjoy tea with someone. half of her social circle have revealed themselves to be coffee-drinkers above all else. a pleasure, then, to sit with eugene. ]

Heavens, yes. [ another sip; another swallow. ] It took a damn long while to source anything worth drinking when I first arrived. All those insta-options taste like -- sawdust in water.

[survivalistcookbook]

[He gives an indelicate snort at that, casting a commiserating look over the rim of his mug.]

Yeah, useless for drinking. I guess you could use it to tan leather in a pinch, though?

[mucked]

[ a crinkle of her nose as the crasser notes of the joke are recognized. but even so, peggy laughs. ]

Tell me. Have you been with us long? [ the fleet. ]

[survivalistcookbook]

Sort of. I was here for a handful of months, disappeared for another handful, then showed up again about four months ago. [Weird. He knows. Like everything else around here.] You?

[mucked]

Just over a year, actually. [ a half-smile. ] We must have missed one another. How delightful it is to still be surprised by who else is in the fleet, even now.