driftfleet | April System Mingle

[ -- oh. even within the much kinder confines of the fleet, she only rarely comes across an offer to lend a hand. most people (understandably) allow the host to take the duty onto themselves for such a minor piece of hospitality. but peggy, holding more than a few grudges over hot beverages and the expectations surrounding who ought to make them, finds herself quietly appreciative of his words.

it stalls her for a moment. she gutters, trying to work her way around a polite refusal while also genuinely entertaining the possibility that she could enlist his help. when the silence begins to strain, her fingers curl around the kettle's handle.

she announces: ] There are biscuits in the tin. Er, beside the microwave oven. [ a glance over her shoulder. ] I don't normally like to share them but -- if you plate them, I suppose I could stomach parting with a few.

[Under different circumstances, with a different host, Rip might have indeed not made such an offer. Take, for example, the very properly British woman who raised him; he's learned from experience that in those rare days he had the opportunity to visit, he was to wait patiently while she prepared tea and biscuits and whatever else she saw fit to treat Rip with.

(Not that it's stopped him from trying to sneak in a time or two anyway; even as an adult, Rip has wound up with his wrist slapped.)

Yet in this case, Rip suspects Peggy might not be so adverse to the offer--a suspicion put into doubt when the silence stretches on after. He's on the verge of wondering if he should take it back when she finally does pipe up again, leaving Rip to nod with his assigned task.]

Tea and biscuits both? Somehow I have to wonder if trying on a single shirt was really that impressive. [Not that he'll complain; Rip's on his feet quickly, going for the tin of precious treats before nosing through the cabinets after plates. It doesn't take him too long; turns out they're stored in the same place on the Caprine too.]

Thank you, Miss Carter. This is rather kind of you.

[ -- well, crumbs. she schools herself out of a frown. even if he's only being polite, it remains a deeply disquieting thing to be called kind. mister schott insists, often, that she is. and at every turn, peggy denies it.

so, instead, she copes by offering rip a dismissive wave of her hand. the starstruck owns an electric kettle, but peggy neglects it in favour of the (admittedly wonky) hob. it'll take a little longer, yes, but she's convinced the tea tastes better this way. ]

Please don't mistake it for me making a fuss, Mister Hunter. [ ahem. ] If I don't finish the tin off today, they're likely to be stale tomorrow. Waste not, want not.

[ -- it's not true, of course. he'll be able to tell rather quickly that the shortbread in question is closer to fresh than to stale. but, evidently, she doesn't want the trouble of justifying her charity. ]

[Perhaps it has roots in that Rip has yet to fully see the camaraderie Peggy had spoken of earlier between captives of the Fleet, or even further back, to a time when Rip scrapped and scraped and fought for every bit of food he could get his hands on, and even then still wound up starving more times than he'd care to admit.

But from his perspective, they're in a situation where a decent meal hardly comes without effort, so such treats as these could be seen as luxury items, things to be savored. Peggy herself has admitted to the difficulty of getting tea, and her own reluctance when it comes to sharing.

Still. Rip can read between the lines readily enough.]

Of course, Miss Carter. I wouldn't presume otherwise.

[His task is done sooner than hers; opening a box takes less effort and time than boiling water. Still, he can wait--she's not wrong when it comes to the tea. There's something special about having it made the right way, the old way.

Even on his own ship back home, Rip always opted for both this and alcohol in it's true form, than whatever the food fabricators might provide.]

[ the real treat, it seems, is taking tea with someone who's at least a little amenable to following a hint and learning which buttons shouldn't be pressed. at least, that's peggy's take away when he accepts her mild rebuke with his own sort of mildness. grateful, she sets about the immediate task in a companionable silence.

she doesn't break it until her mis-en-place is complete: a pair of superb china tea cups (seemingly hand-painted), an empty pot, a satchet of dried loose leaves, and a pair of folded towels. they await the moment the water is nearly-boiling, and so she turns away from the counter -- still standing -- to address him once more. ]

How do you take yours? We've got real sugar, but the milk's a bit dodgy. Powdered, I'm afraid.

[Only a little. When it serves, Rip won't necessarily stop himself from tugging on a string to see where it might go--but this hardly seems worth it, when the blatant lie about the shortbread reveals enough of the truth anyway.]

A bit of sugar is more than fine. [Especially in light of all the bits and pieces she pulls out to make the setting complete. It's all honest to God genuine, what Rip would expect to see taking a cuppa back home rather than on some spaceship devoid of most decent things. In light of the circumstances, even if Rip did take milk he'd likely refuse it in this case.

It'd be too much a shame to put the powdery substance in the first real cup of tea he's had in days.]

So is this how the days go? [He's curious to see just how typical an afternoon one might consider this.] Our ships float along some unknown course until we come to some place deemed worth stopping at, then we're left to our own devices there?

[He's heard more, of course. Of opportunities for heroism and attacks from unknown sources--but he wants to find out what Peggy might have to say on the matter.]

[ relaxing by degrees, she leans her hips against the kitchen counter. her arms cross with a touch of stiffness, but otherwise peggy seems at ease in her own domain. for better or worse, the starstruck has been her home for nearly two years now. it's difficult not to feel more comfortable here than she did in some american cities. so whirlwind has her career been.

rip poses his question and peggy contemplates it. she'll be the first to express disappointment in how empty the days could be. but: ] It's a lot like the army -- a great deal of hurry up and do nothing. We drift, seemingly without aim, for weeks. There are crummy little way-stations along the way. Meager supplies; rubbish facilities.

[ she leans leftward to check on the kettle. not yet. ] And then there are the stops proper. Planets, asteroids like these, or sometimes? [ she finds it difficult to articulate this next point. ] There are these sort of floating barges in space. Large, large stations.

[ the concept is clearly foreign to her outside of her experiences in the fleet. ]

Some make jobs for themselves. There are establishments on the Iskaulit which pay its employees for their services. Two bars -- one considerably posher than the other. Whether its a jaunt to one of them, or to another ship, or a trip planet-side -- I try to get myself off the Starstruck at least once a day.

Anything to combat cabin fever.

[Rip, for his part, has yet to take a seat again. Instead he finds an empty space along the way, leaning casually against it. Oh, he'll place himself in the galley proper once the tea's done, but until then? It would feel a little too awkward for his liking to stare up at Peggy while they converse.

He listens to her description of things--and tempers a grin when she mentions floating barges, of all things. He can take a guess at what she means, although she's actually closer to it than she might suspect.]

Space stations. Large, typically man-made facilities designed to house a number of people in a specified location, yes? [He keeps his own amusement in check, although it's always a wonder to see people dealing with entirely foreign technology for the first time--particularly if they're amazed by it, rather than disdainful.

The rest, however--mentions of the "public" ship, jobs to be had, day-trips to be made. Rip's humor fades as he considers it; he's self-aware enough to know that cabin fever is less his issue than total and utter withdrawal. There's enough to occupy him at present: an archive to make his way through, cooking to somehow manage even though the Caprine's captain doesn't hold him to any particular duty in that regard.

An entire ship to learn, so unlike the one back home he knows so well.]

I'd imagine coming to a place like this must be something of a relief, then.

The asteroids? [ peggy's chin lifts. ] They're alright.

[ she teeters on the edge of something else. although it's not a terribly personal memory -- not the part she's willing to tell, at least -- she still shies away from committing an opinion to concrete. somethings aren't worth the battle, and she recalls how disdainful he'd been at the notion of settling

but, as he's under her roof and bound to enjoy her tea, peggy errs on the side of a lick of enthusiasm. ]

However, there was a spot where we stopped. Two systems ago. The planet was this uninhabitable thing at the very centre -- [ she holds out her fist, balled up, like the planet in question. then with her opposite hand, she draws a larger circle around it. ] I can't figure out how, but they'd built a sort of ring around planet itself. All the life-forms then lived on the inside of that ring. It meant that you could look forward and watch the horizon curve back toward you before it disappeared 'round the core.

[ a lot of words, really. she hadn't meant to say so much -- but the place had charmed her. ]

Edited 2017-05-14 03:37 (UTC)

[Clearly, the asteroids haven't earned her admiration--certainly not in the way as the system she describes moments later. Rip watches her quietly, but with the faint beginnings of a grin; not only is it likely due to some marvel of technology, particularly from Peggy's perspective, but what she describes speaks so much towards the willingness of a species to not only survive, but even thrive.]

Well, if I had to guess? I'd say its actually not unlike building a space station. [Seems reasonable enough, based on her description.] And rather brilliant too. The gravitational field of the core would in theory keep the ring in place, while potentially leaving the orbit of the core planet relatively unaffected.

It's quite impressive, actually.

'Impressive' hardly feels good enough a word to use. [ it had been beautiful. one of her most-liked stops, by far. there had been something so bewitching about standing on a bluff above a lake so big that its curve seemed visible. and then, later, racing to swim in those same waters. her settling had happened long before that trip, but only in that moment had peggy realized it mightn't be such an evil thing to settle. just a bit.

but then the water begins to nearly bubble, and she's quick to take the kettle off the heat and introduce it to the tea pot. in goes the makeshift bag, and now it's a waiting game for the perfect steep. ]

The local population on that planet all looked like very large birds. [ she turns back with a sly look on her face, as though eager to test his doubt. it occurs to her it mayn't surprise him at all, but it's worth a try. ] Beaks and feathers and all.

I'm almost sorry I missed it, in that case. [Indeed, her admiration reads nothing short of entirely genuine, and openly expressed at that. In the seconds before the water hits it's near boil, Rip suspects he may see Peggy actually happy, recalling the pleasant memories of that time.

But with her turn, that moment passes. Instead of recounting whatever images draws her admiration so, Peggy instead offers an entirely different fact. Rip is at least a little surprised; not jaw-dropped to the floor or anything so severe, but he does have to give it a moment's pause.

Large bird creatures. Huh.]

There's an alien race in the universe I'm from that's meant to be birdlike. No beaks, but they do have wings, which have feathers. [Rip had only had brief opportunity to learn about the Thanagarians, but he remembers the description well enough. They posed enough of a threat, after all, to warrant the Time Masters to do something unthinkable.

It's the kind of danger one strives to know all the can about.]

Aliens.

[ so, not merely a man familiar with time. this, in addition to his correction about the space stations, colours in a bit more knowledge about the man. her crew have grown accustomed to this shrewd look of hers -- the one that suggests she's looking forward to learning a thing or two about the person sitting (or, in this case, standing) across from her. ]

I've heard tell of that sort of thing. Back home. [ a furrow in her brow; no, she won't go so far as to describe her conversation with reinhardt. that wont' do either of them any good. ] But I always thought it was ridiculous. Unlikely, at least. People have assured me otherwise, however.

Have you met much in the way of aliens, Mister Hunter?

[He gives a slight nod to confirm that yes, they are speaking of aliens. The sharpness of her gaze, however, makes Rip wonder just what Peggy has in mind to do with this new little tidbit of information he's chosen to share. Perhaps it's too much, but he has already let it slip that he's captain of a brand of spaceship, or had been once.

Seems a logical step that aliens could indeed be a matter he might be involved in. More so for Rip, certainly, and he raises his eyebrows as Peggy says she's heard of such things too.]

Really? That's not the sort of thing you'd expect a typical person from your era to hear about, is it? [But Rip's fairly sure Peggy doesn't operate in so typical a line of work. Fair's fair. If she is going to dig into his background, certainly he can do the same to hers.

And knowing he's willing to press may in fact help dissuade Peggy from asking questions Rip would have to lie or refuse to answer.]

Likely not so many as you have, considering all of this. [He motions around them.] But there have been one or two along the way.

My era? [ she sense him honing in on something and so peggy chooses to laugh; downplay; deflect. ] Yes, certainly, I suspect every era has its crackpots and old men with addled brains claiming to have seen martians. Mine more so than most after that damned wireless programme a few years back.

[ war of the worlds, of course. a book peggy quite enjoys even if the hysteria over the radio show had been a bit ridiculous. she waves a hand to dismiss any notion of her believing in aliens before arriving here. it's true enough -- she'd barely believed reinhardt. ]

It wasn't until I came here that I abandoned my skepticism.

[ -- not only about aliens encountered in the fleet, but about aliens present back home in the 21st century. ]

Crackpots and old men, is it? [Oh, certainly there's some truth to it. Not everyone claiming to see an alien or a religious figure or the winning lottery numbers in their dreams is telling the truth—but equally, not all of them are lying. Something Rip knows well, because he's taken advantage of the fact that people are quite willing to be skeptical rather than accept a truth that alters their perception of reality more than once in the past.

As for Peggy—well. She puts on a masterful air if nothing else. Still, Rip suspects there's something going unsaid behind that laugh, even if he can't quite place it.]

War of the Worlds. [The reference, however, doesn't go unmissed—and not only because Rip's read it. No, Martin hadn't kept secret the fact that the boy he defied Rip's orders to save in the Old West had, in fact, been the very author of the story Peggy now cites.] A performance so masterfully penned and broadcast, people actually believed their world was under attack. Remarkable, really.

[Even if Peggy doesn't seem to appreciate it.]

But now you have. [It's the implication of her words, and Rip presses further.] Although one might ask if that's limited to the existence of aliens here, as opposed to back in your own version of Earth.

[ radio programmes simply aren't to her taste, perhaps. although peggy did quite like the book on its own merits -- and, as a young girl, once heard ullas in every rustling wind soon after reading it.

peggy peeps at the teapot. but, unhappy with its still-weak colouring, she taps the lid back into place and returns to their conversation. ]

One might. [ ask, that is. ] And if one did, I'd tell him the answer is both. I've had plenty of individuals from further along the century tell me stories about aliens visiting Earth. Attacking it, actually. 2012, I think.

[ she suspects her casual commentary on the future will get a rise out of him. ]

[It's a rather spot on suspicion; Rip stands a touch straighter when she mentions that she's already learned of details from sixty-five years past the year she claimed to be from.]

And are you reasonably sure said individuals come from the same particular Earth as you do? [His voice is carefully measured as he asks; Rip has already been made aware of the fact that the population represents not only different times, but different universes as well. If she's hearing tell of the future of another Earth featuring aliens, well.

There's still a concern, but less pressing of one.]

I'm as close to certain as is capable, Mister Hunter.

[ yes, alternative versions of her home have cropped up -- when she first arrived, she'd been met by a james barnes claiming to be captain bloody america. and yet, the same broad strokes still happened. shield got founded, then compromised. loki, the new york incident, ultron. all of it, nearly the same but for a few small tweaks. ]

There are too many specifics in common for it to not be the same -- or near enough as makes no difference. I already mentioned one of them to you. [ steve, also, but she'll keep that to herself. ] The man with the bit of unfortunate programming stuck in his head? He was part of a combat unit during the war whose existence, as far as I've been able to suss out, is unique to the world myself and these other people from decades on share.

[ she's got more evidence. stronger evidence, too. but it's not the sort of thing one explains so early on. ]

[…Damn.

Rip has thus far avoided telling anyone of the full nature of his profession, former or otherwise. He's presented himself as a man from what most see as the future, someone who understands history, and a one-time captain of a spaceship—but never the whole sum of these parts. He's not inclined to do so now either, but Peggy's certainty draws on his nerves as surely as the metaphorical nails. What was once a relaxed conversation with the promise of tea is now a very real problem, particularly since he's speaking to a woman who is herself quite clever.]

You realize it's rather dangerous to know so much about the future of one's world. [Still—Still. In the end Rip simply cannot help himself. It's likely too little far too late, but he has to throw the warning out there all the same.] Especially since there doesn't seem to be any definitive proof regarding if one retains the memories of their time here when and if they are sent back to their own homes.

[ -- her expression remains carefully curated. peggy has thus far kept a great deal of her information compartmentalized. not everyone has a full picture of what she's already managed to learn. it's better that way. easier on steve, she thinks, for certain. peggy allows herself to make that difficult choice without brooking anyone else's argument.

not that she senses argument, exactly, in rip's reaction. but she can't help but note the way he picks his way through a warning. it's the sort of thing she's agonized over again and again. does knowing what she knows harm what's to come? is it ultimately irrelevant? and who does it hurt the most? peggy has sublimated so much guilt into her bones.

for now, she plays it off. she'll lie, if she must. after all, who is he to her? a curious and interesting individual, yes. but they've only met twice. it'll take a few weeks more for her curiousity to distill into a more targeted interest in rip hunter's skillset. ]

For what it's worth, [ she hums, ] I often hope I won't.

[ remember.

now, that's a thing she hasn't told anyone else. compartmentalized.

peggy puffs her cheeks through with a sigh and gets busy pouring the tea. ]

Do you?

[He blurts it out automatically, before he takes a moment to consider the consequence to implying that the woman who is now so kindly pouring him a cup of tea is lying, or at least deluding herself. He can't help it, however; in the context of their current conversation, Rip believes very few people would actively hope to lose knowledge they gained of their own future. Granted, Peggy hasn't outright stated that any of what she knows reflects her personal timeline, so perhaps Rip's cautionary nature in this particular matter is getting the best of him.

Or perhaps there is a reason why she's dropping these particular breadcrumbs for him to follow after. It dawns on him that this could be manipulation to some end, but if so--then what?]

Might I ask why? [It's a bit personal, perhaps, but motivation will hold the ultimate answer. And on it's own, he thinks the question fair. After all, Peggy has admitted to some degree of settling here, so much that she even has a paramour. A life where one might find such happiness doesn't usually result in memories one wishes to merely forget.

Certainly Rip cannot ever imagine himself wanting to forget his time with Miranda again.]

[ peggy pauses.

her fingers steady the teapot's top. she stands, her back to him, and contemplates the pouring of the second cup. she cannot pinpoint exactly where, but somewhere along the line she's made a grievous error. some lapse in judgement or else some missed signal has allowed her to walk blindly into this cul-de-sac of a conversation.

after all, she'd expected him to let it slide. to be polite, perhaps a bit deferential, and be ever-so-gently thrown off the scent by her admission. it never, not once, occurs to her that his interest might be a professional one. even now, that's a blind spot she doesn't identify.

so! she pours the second cup. and, steeled, she takes both to the little galley table where they can both of them at long last take a seat. ]

It would be a bit like reading a book backward, don't you think? [ peggy understands (perhaps) that she can no longer depend on flying just beneath the radar of rip hunter's estimation. so sharp an inquiry proves it. still, she tries. ] I've been here for nearly two years, Mister Hunter. I know who will next sit the throne and I know what films will become beloved. I know about these idiotic things they call emojis. I don't welcome how bored I'd be if I went home tomorrow and remembered everything.

[ oh, heavens. she would be the furthest thing from bored. there would be an insurmountable task ahead of her, weighty with history. ]

I, for one, don't go to the horse races because I already know where to put my money.

[ peggy reaches for a bit of shortbreat and dunks it, utterly casual, into her tea. ]

[It's difficult to gage any sort of reaction while she has her back so neatly to him, and isn't that arguably convenient? Particularly as the silence of her pause stretches on, just for a beat or two extra, but enough that the spark of a question begins to form in Rip's mind.

Still. He would wait for her answer, be it truth or lie. He moves when she does, taking a seat at the table once more, offering polite thanks when she grants him a cup. The task of adding sugar to the contents provides him occupation while she spells out her answer, but he still pays rapt attention to it all the same. Such a tidy little story she weaves in the end, of wanting to be excited by the prospect of what's to come—

And yet. He stirs his tea to help dissolve the sugar, lightly taps the spoon on the edge of the mug to usher off the last droplets from the metal.]

If your goal is the element of unpredictability, certainly. [She's difficult to get a read on, appearing on the surface to be every bit a person engaged in casual, evening meaningless conversation. Rip doesn't know her well enough yet to assume otherwise—but he knows the nature of time travel, and all its temptations.

He curls his hands around the cup, but so much as he's missed it? Rip doesn't yet steal that first glorious sip of tea. Not when he knows what distraction it would bring. Not when the next question is potentially so revealing.]

So in all you've potentially learned, there's not a single thing you would care to remember? No detail of what's to come that you might try to wish to manipulate for the sake of what could theoretically be gained from it?

Edited 2017-05-27 01:07 (UTC)

[ peggy doesn't stand so much on ceremony. nearly the moment she takes a seat, she dunks a half a piece of shortbread into her tea. it's been left black: not even a moment's consideration was spared the sugar or the re-hydrated milk. she chews, thoughtful, on the softened biscuit. and she wonders whether the man sitting across from her even remotely expects to receive an honest answer. especially when he asks it like that.

she's still chewing when rip finishes winding his way through his question. her brows lift, briefly, as though she's considering the weight of her answer. and in many ways she does exactly that. quite apart from everything she's fated to do, peggy's learned a lot of practical knowledge. rudimentary computer programming, for one. the dragged-out fracas of the cold war for another.

hell, steve talks often and bitterly enough about the dodgers leaving brooklyn. someone might manage to make a pretty penny out of that, too. but she doesn't want to rise to rip hunter's bait.

so, after taking a proper sip which leaves a lipstick mark on the teacup's edge, she settles on her response. ]

Folsom Prison Blues. The whole ruddy record, actually. [ at folsom prison. ] What a treat it would be to find myself back home and still able to whistle Orange Blossom Special.

[ i'll ride that orange blossom special and lose those new york blues. ]

Edited 2017-05-27 01:34 (UTC)

April System Mingle

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