Open: July Starstruck mingle log

[wingedman]

Who: Crew of the Starstruck and visitors
Broadcast: n/a
Action: Starstruck
When: July, post-calibrations

[July on the Starstruck is so bright, you gotta wear shades. Good thing everyone has a pair now! In other news, the first mate is in a coma, the captain is hella cranky, and the tunes now feature Lady Gaga and Queen.]

Comments

[outstandingbalance]

[Probably Natasha should have come over to check up on Starstruck sooner. There's so many people here she has to follow up with, one way or another, so many friends and so many people who have seen more of her memories, but that's part of why it's hard to face them.

More feelings involved.

Eventually, it's the feelings that brings her back, though.

She doesn't seek anyone out directly, but she can be found listening to their music. Who can blame her?]

[uwannagobro]

[ Rokurou's likely not one of those people Natasha had in mind when she decided to check up on the Starstruck, but as fate would seem to have it, he is one of the people she'll run across while there. Or rather, Rokurou will come across her during a warm up jog around the ship. ]

Hey, visiting again?

[outstandingbalance]

[Considering he wasn't in her head during calibrations and she wasn't in his, Rokurou might be about the easiest person she might run into. She flashes him a smile.]

Well, it's been a while. Seemed like a good time to drop in.

[uwannagobro]

You think so? It feels more like people are real sensitive right now after all those illusions that happened earlier.

[ Rokurou's unfortunately too... Rokurou to really talk sensitively about the subject. ]

[outstandingbalance]

Well, I gave it a minute. [All the more reason to like him, just now.] But at some point, that's exactly why you have to visit.

At least some people.

[A little smile.] Plus, I like your coffee.

[wingedman]

Didn't know you were into Queen.

[Sam leans against the wall, his observation mild-sounding. He's not sure what kind of music he'd imagined her listening to, though.

(And, really, who doesn't like Queen?)]

[outstandingbalance]

I wouldn't say into. But I'm also not going to say no.

[No one won't listen to at least a little Queen. It's a fact.]

Coffee?

[wingedman]

Do you just come over here to drink coffee?

[Sam wonders how much time she even spends on her own ship; he obviously hasn't been on the Heron lately, but he imagines she spends her fair share of time there, as well.]

I'll always take a cup, though. Unlike some people I could name.

[Peggy.]

[outstandingbalance]

Well, I used to steal Steve's shirts, but then he moved in with Peggy.

[That is probably a joke. Probably. She doesn't quite say it in a dead pan, a little sarcasm curling the ends of the words. The question is, does it being a joke mean she never tried it.

All things considered, it does seem a little like she's not spending much time on the Vanquish lately.

She will pour Sam a cup though.]

Some people have strong feelings about how they get their caffeine.

peggy carter -- all month

[mucked]

[ coming back from the marsiva was meant to be better. in many ways, it is. peggy finds a comfort in finding her feet back on her own ship. but it's a skinny comfort, and it's cold, and it doesn't come near enough to equaling out the deep unease felt for the fact that steve stays asleep. nearly a week passes, and he stays asleep.

mornings prove to be the largest deviation from her usual pattern of behaviour. for one, she's up and bustling around the ship far earlier without the first mate to waylay and distract her in the early hours. although ordinarily she might bother with breakfast, the crew's return to the starstruck sees their captain settle into liquid breakfasts: tea, tea, tea, and more tea. the variety she steeps almost always the delicate and nearly too fragrant white tea that had come into possession while they'd stopped in the asteroid system. ordinarily, she shares her brew with anyone willing to take a cuppa. not now; she hoards this variety to herself. and if she sits in the kitchen for her first few mugs, it's only to guard the remainder of the pot with a sharp eye.

afternoons are less predictable. often, they're spent in steve's room. it's barren, now, since he'd moved the bulk of his things into the captain's quarters with hers. but as the room is technically still his, it's where the atroma saw fit to return him after the detour aboard the marsiva last month. she leaves the door shut, for the most part, but on occasion it's left open to reveal a quiet domestic scene. peggy sits on a chair, reading in silence. she does her level best not to look too perturbed but she often she glances up as if to check on the comatose steve rogers.

-- but afternoons are also spent throwing herself into duties she probably doesn't need to do. she might spend hours at a time on the bridge, pouring over sigint that isn't much in the way of sigint at all. just blips on a screen. there's paper work. heavens, she might even be caught with her sleeves rolled up and a bit of elbow grease applied in an effort to scrub out and clean her own quarters. everything gets moved; everything gets dusted. it's make-busy work.

evenings see her finally take a meal, usually at a visiting mister jarvis's insistence. she eats it in the kitchen, or in her room, or once she eats while sitting on a crate in the cargo bay -- feeding rock scraps off a place balanced precariously on her lap. she doesn't avoid the crew, no matter how stroppy she might get with them.

after all, she's got a responsibility for them too. and, as such, she'll stop and chat with the whole lot. but ever since they'd returned, it's clear the first mate's coma has her distracted. distant. ill-at-ease. ]

[outstandingbalance]

[Peggy has been at the top of the list of people Natasha needs to check in with, but hasn't had the emotional stamina. When she feels like she's put it off as long as she can realistically justify, she steals her resolve, reminds herself that this conversation doesn't (and in Natasha's opinion, ideally won't be) about her, and she comes over.

She helps herself to the ship's coffee when she sees Peggy in the kitchen with her tea, offering a soft hey as she putters in the kitchen.]

[mucked]

[ somehow, despite the poignancy of what she'd seen in natasha's head, peggy has also been delaying in this meeting. being not at her best, she's not prepared to meet the kind of careful conversation she finds herself falling into when in the other spy's company.

peggy hides a grimace behind her tea. ah, well, she can't hide from these interactions forever. best to meet them head-on. ]

I wonder whether we ought to start charging for the coffee. [ -- but that doesn't mean she needs to meet anything head-on with grace. ]

[outstandingbalance]

Steve said I was always welcome. He was very specific about it. [Clearly they are both the souls of grace and delicacy today. She offers a slight smile, more tired than thin. Clearly the real fault here isn't that Natasha keeps drinking their coffee, it's that Steve isn't awake to make it for her.] You can't expect me to get through this visit without a little coffee.

[mucked]

[ dirty tactics, that. invoking steve's name. peggy frowns again -- knee-jerk unhappy with just about every layer she sees fit to untangle. she just about manages to choke back the argument that no one's required her to be here, whether she needs the coffee to get her through the visit or not.

she's defensive. she's sore. but she manages to mitigate her response a little bit. ]

Are you certain coffee is strong enough, then?

[directed]

[Rip means to give it a few days before he brings up the idea of a new crew member coming onboard the ship; everyone would likely be looking to settle back into their ships anyway, and the time would afford Gideon to familiarize herself with the technology of whichever ship she ends up on (The Paisley, as it turns out). Fortunately her augment works in their favor so far as a transfer is concerned; less so, the condition of one Steve Rogers, who has fallen into a coma.

Or been put into one; it's hard not to think the Atroma responsible for most things these days.

Unfortunately, the result is that Peggy is in something of a mood to say the least. Her earlier hours make sharing time in the kitchen unavoidable, which is well enough. Rip's able to focus on his work regardless of distractions. The problem comes those mornings when he doesn't beat her there—or more accurately, to the teapot. Before they'd all been sent to the Marsiva, he and Peggy had established a bit of a routine involving the tea they both drink. For his part, Rip would be more than happy to get back to it, along with everything else that qualifies as normal aboard this vessel.

Yet it isn't to be. Seems Peggy's taken to sulking her way through a whole pot of tea each morning on her own—meaning if Rip doesn't get to it first, she hoards the pot. He walks in one new day to find her already at the table, teapot on the table next to her. Rip takes one look over and sighs quietly.]

Miss Carter. [It's impossible to not know she's drinking some particular blend not normally used; the scent has filled the entire kitchen.] I'm surprised you haven't gone through your whole supply yet. [At least Rip is still rationing for his part. He moves to the cubby to get a mug for himself; in a pinch, it would do well enough.] Another morning where you're also not going to eat anything, I suppose?

[mucked]

I already ate.

[ but there is just enough attitude seething under her voice to suggest that, unlike the brunt of her lies, this isn't one told with any real intention of fooling anyone. peggy sets aside the notebook upon which she'd been fixing her attention -- even a cursory glance suggests that she's been plugging away at some ciphers. creating them, not solving them.

she looks up, now, because at the very least rip is one of hers, now, and she's got just enough decency remaining not to outright ignore a crewmate.

all the same she's in no rush to finish up the pot and pass it on for someone else's use. no, peggy is going to savour every drop of this white tea. it's not anywhere near her normal blend, but it nevertheless tastes perfect. ideal, even. ]

And you ought to be glad I'm ploughing through this supply and not -- [ ours is the wrong word. her nose crinkles, thoroughly dissatisfied. ] And not the one I've been sharing with you.

[directed]

...Why bother with the lie if you're not going to make any effort to be convincing?

[Honestly, she could just tell him to bugger off and mind his own business to the same effect. But since in the end she's made it clear that no, she's got no intention of eating breakfast, Rip takes the kettle over to the machine to fill it with water, glad at least that he doesn't have to deal with Peggy hoarding that too.

In the end, however, he understands grief and concern both a bit too well to give voice to his annoyance--any more than he already has. Beyond that, bickering with Peggy won't put her in a mind to agree to his request.

Except for one thing.]

It might just be a matter of time at the rate you're going. [And Rip does not want to walk into the kitchen one morning to find Peggy's switched to their (because yes, he does see it as theirs) regular stash with the same wanton disregard as she has her personal blend.

The kettle gets placed on the stove once there's water enough, and Rip in turn turns to face the ship's captain. She's set aside her notebook; perhaps now is as good a time as any to broach the subject on his mind.]

I've got something else I'd like to talk with you about, if you've got a bit of time. [She should; Peggy's not yet done with the teapot, after all.]

[willynilly]

[Ochako's not exactly the most attentive person in the world, nevermind the ship itself, but it would be hard not to notice Peggy spending an excess of time in the kitchen, especially since Ochako herself spends a lot of time there herself, messing around with the flavour combinations- force of habit from before the ship gained a cook.

She's tried not to push - she figures it's hard, with Mr. Rogers sleeping so long - but seeing Peggy lurk in the kitchen with just cups and cups of tea gets concerning the longer it goes on. So, one morning, she steels her willpower and at last speaks up-]

Ahhh, that tea smells really good! What kind is it?

[mucked]

[ peggy'd wondered how long it would take the girl to say something. day in, day out -- on each morning -- she'd watched the desire to broach the topic (any topic, maybe) build within ochako's expression. and day in, day out, peggy refused to make it easy on her. either she would pipe up in her own time, or she never would.

turns out today is her own time.

peggy glances up from her mug -- nodding. ] It's a white variety, I believe. Or whatever passes for one in space.

[ the blend does smell wonderful, even if the taste is a touch too fragrant for her personal taste. doesn't matter; she adores it anyway. ]

[willynilly]

Can I try a bit?

[Because...! Bonding, over tea flavour!? Or something!? She just wants to keep the conversation going, Peggy sorely looks like she needs a distraction or something.]

[wingedman]

I was just coming to make sure you were actually eating.

[Sam's been keeping a quiet weather eye on Peggy this whole time, although he hasn't seen fit to bother her - yet. Not necessarily because she's in a mood, but because he wants to give her space to process things. When he finally tracks her down, she's in the cargo bay.]

Nobody's introduced me to this fine fella yet. [Sam crouches down, offering Rock his hand to sniff before he reaches out to scratch him behind the ears.]

[mucked]

[ she's got her legs crossed at the ankles -- and although she'd been bent forward scratching rock behind his ears, she now sits back and props herself up with two palms curled over the crate's edge.

peggy's eyes roll when sam first addresses her. actually eating. good lord -- she eats, she'd argue, she just doesn't much care what. gels and protein solids pass muster when she doesn't much care about the taste these days.

but then he asks about the dog and -- and something in her softens by a degree. ]

Rock. [ she watches sam crouch with a smile that's more in her eyes than on her mouth. ] He belongs to Max. Or maybe Max belongs to him. Hard to say.

[wingedman]

[As much as Sam would never admit it, he's a bit of a mother hen. So maybe he's worried about the quantity or the regularity, when she normally has a healthy appetite. But he tries to sound more casual than scolding, because he knows she'll dig her heels in otherwise.]

Hey, Rock, nice to meet you. I'm Sam. [He's never had a dog before, but he likes them - likes all animals - and he's certainly stopped to pet enough while cooling down after his jogs.] Isn't that how most dog people are? You aren't sure which one's the owner. Or maybe that's cats.

visiting;;

[reconstitution]

[ oh jeez. ]

[ Probably found on the ship the later part of July because he is a concerned old man, but he needed to stew in his own problems the first part of the month. Let's be real, he's here to check on a few certain people. Bucky can be found in the hallway trying to find somebody, or in the cargo bay because dogs are important and Rock is his buddy. ]

[theroadwarrior]

[Goodness, the dog is absolutely coming over to see you; it stands to reason Max'll be nearby, likely working on some pet project or another. Lots of interesting stuff on the planet, after all. But ah — as Rock shoves a cool nose against Bucky's leg and gruffly huffs, Max turns to look at the visitor.]

Looking for someone?