driftfleet | ( open ) may-mingling for those struck by stars

Entry tags:

( open ) may-mingling for those struck by stars

Who: starstruck crew & visitors
Broadcast: N/A
Action: on board the SS Starstruck
When: Throughout May

[ There's a fancy ball coming up so better get those dresses, tuxedos ~~and guns~~ ready. also there's still a ton of pumpkin-themed food all over the place, enjoy alla that. ]

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[He gives the usual huff of old-man-sigh, a half-finished meal of... some hideous mess in front of him. Gels and proteins and whatnot. It's not as bad as it looks. He does have to sweep a hand through his hair from time to time to keep it relatively out of his peripheral, though. If he hadn't so intense and sharp a weathered feature, he could probably audition for a boy band. As it turns out, survival isn't outweighed by his not giving a shit about hair.

Just ask the beard he grew a few years ago. Years ago? He'd shrug.]

Could, ah... roll around in mud and oil if you prefer. Won't judge your weird preferences.

[It's apparently a good day.]

[ bastard. of all the retorts, she doesn't anticipate one so scathing and articulate. good god, it must be a good day. but just because he's doing well doesn't mean she'll take this sort of lip lying down. a-bloody-hem.

she thuds two mugs down on the counter. heavily. aggressively, almost. ]

Max. [ a quirk of her brow. ] Don't be ridiculous. I haven't got any -- preferences. And if I did, I wouldn't tell them to you. And they most certainly wouldn't be weird.

[ some of these things are lies. she'll let him sort the wheat from the chaff. ]

[He hummmms around a spoon.

You signed up for this, Carter. This is your mess.]

Upstanding 1940's lovebird.

[... What? He may be beyond relationships, but he had one, and they probably did a lot of... preferences. Yes. Preferences. Mostly though, he just wants to make Peggy slam more mugs around. He glances up.]

You asked about my shower soap, not me.

[ her laughter is less like actual laughter and more like a warning shot. like a classic car, backfiring. sharp; percussive. ]

I assure you -- my curiousity was merely professional. For the good of the ship.

[ he's trying to get a rise out of her. peggy recognizes it; all the same, she succumbs. ]

[Hnn.

He quirks his brow.]

For the good of the ship, huh?

... Do you shower with soap? Should practice equality among the crew.

[He's been nearly beaten to death by women before, he will accept his demise.]

Certainly. Better than the soap you use, I reckon.

[ if only because steve had been a darling, assembling a spa's worth of bath products for her birthday. if max smells clean, peggy must smell nearer to a lavender grove. disconcertingly soft for such a hard and tempered woman. ]

Which is precisely why I don't leave out in the open for opportunistic gits to steal and use on themselves.

[ so help you, max, should you ever turn up for duty smelling like lavender. ]

...

Who, me?

...

Need to smell at least a little feral, or the dogs'll think I'm people.

Oi, now. [ a bit offended! ] Rock recognizes me just fine no matter what the scent. Perhaps he's cleverer than you.

[ -- not the first time she's floated this notion. ]

[Snort.]

He's definitely cleverer than me.

[Rock lifts his head nearby, interested, as Max points at him.]

He knows how to fetch.

[ she splurges, tossing a tea bag into each cup rather than steeping them together with a single bag. cantankerous as she can be, peggy clearly approves of his better moods. ]

I imagine you fetch well enough. Provided the proper motivation.

[His eyebrow quirks, and he folds his arms. Almost defiantly, even.]

Bribes, you mean.

Don't you try bribing me.

[They both know he's full of shit; if she needed something, he'd be there to get it, no questions.]

I'll bribe whoever I bloody well want to bribe, actually. You or anyone else. [ because that's what's important, yes. ]

[He furrows his brow.]

I refuse.

[Also important.]

... Mmmn...

Maybe if it's a good bribe.

And what, pray tell, passes for a good bribe these days?

[ translation: anything you'd like? want? ]

Huh. What do you think my answer is?

Crew trust exercise.

[Not really but still. It could be interesting.]

[ without missing a goddamned beat: ] Hard to answer, seeing as you've never told me your preferences neither.

[ she's got guesses, maybe, but the joke had been too tempting. ]

[He actually seems genuinely unsure, now that he considers it.]

... Hnn... Don't really have many anymore.

Prefer not to starve. Maybe get some good sleep. Not get shot.

[ max. have you no appreciation for comedic timing? she was so funny, just now, and you're ruining it. ruining it so much. ]

Well. I heard you like pancakes. With stuff on'em.

[Comedic timing is still a bit rusty, Peggy, forgive him.

He tries not to perk at the mention of pancakes. Ochako may or may not have spoiled him at this point.]

... Mmm... I guess I do. Sounds weird, when you put it like that.

[Says someone about something as simple as pancakes.]

Don't look at me like that. [ she addresses that slight almost-perk in his posture. ] I don't be making any bloody pancakes.

[SCOFF.]

Wouldn't trust you to make food in general.

[ she tries to look offended, but-- ]

No, you're right. I'm much happier doing a great many things besides cooking. [ ... ] New York had such great automats. I miss them terribly. And they were open late enough that one never had to worry about cooking no matter the hour.

[He cocks his head to the side, unsure.]

Automats?

[... Obviously, that's not car-related. What the hell is an automat.]

Little diners. They've got a whole wall of cubbies with pie slices, for example, sitting in them. You put in the appropriate loose change and you're allowed to open it up and have your piece.