driftfleet | April System Mingle

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)

[Johnny Cash. Rip raises his cup, and huffs out a sound not unlike a laugh before he takes his first sip. His pause then is due in no part to her answer, but to savoring the familiar flavors dancing over his tongue, bitter tea and the sweetness of sugar, and even if it's not precisely what he might wish for could he do so?

It's a damn sight better than anything he's had during his days aboard the Fleet thus far.

That singular euphoric moment aside, however, sees Rip mulling over her answer. He's got not true proof for it, outside of his instincts and observations of Peggy, but in this he is sure: she's lying. There's something about her that speaks to a far greater cleverness, a keener instinct than one that might be satisfied with a few songs and otherwise unspoiled surprises.

Every details she's given him, after all, has been measured and chosen. A woman who served in the war, who befriended a wealthy civilian contractor. Who crossed the pond for an opportunity she won't name, but definitely would deny had anything to do with chasing another person.]

Well. I certainly can't fault your taste in music.

[He gives her this, and this alone. It is a rather good record.]

[ this is the best damn game she's played in a long while. now, this new fellow isn't the only person she's met with a bit of an ear for the give-and-take of a conversation. nor is he the only one with whom she's danced this particular conversational dance. but there's a particular delight in talking with someone who, 'from the future' be damned, talks a little like how she talks. it's like fencing, where the weapons are well-matched and the steps are traceable.

by contrast, many of her more cryptic conversations with the likes of romanoff (or even barnes) are rewarding in their own right. but utterly, completely, different. beyond that, they come stamped with someone else's vouchsafe. there's no skin in the game when she knows even a deadly russian-trained spy is (ultimately) on the same bloody side.

so, perhaps, she courts danger when she chats with someone who remains barely a step above a stranger. ]

Stays popular, does he? [ johnny cash. after all, she'd been under the impression that rip was from a very very long while away. ] And all the way to 2166. Good for him.

Edited 2017-05-29 04:11 (UTC)

[Somehow he doubts it's an idle remark, yet Rip has a ready reply, not missing a single beat as he offers it up with a shrug.]

Admittedly, I'm rather a fan of the classics.

[Another sip of tea; he might as well have just made a comment about the weather for how bland his retort was.]

April System Mingle

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