driftfleet | Open: July Starstruck mingle log

[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?]

[ 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. ]

Edited 2017-07-13 15:09 (UTC)

[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.]

[ 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. ]

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.

[ 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?

[Never let it be said the Black Widow fights fair.]

It'll have to be. Barnes and I already finished off all my liquor. [It's a joke. A gentle one, and meant as a kind of consolation. The kind Peggy might accept—disguised as something else and presenting a tiny bit of information about Natasha's life as a peace offering.] I think coffee will be enough. God help me, though, I may actually put some sugar in it.

[ information, indeed. because barnes doesn't drink-drink, so at least one half of the endeavor must have been more social than all else. supportive, maybe. peggy files it away and (with a pang) considers it another bit of intel to share with steve in their slowly growing dossier on the pair.

when he wakes up. ]

Good Lord.

[ -- mild, wry, and utterly intended as a vague response to either statement. ]

[Natasha will take it as a response to both, because it seems fitting enough.]

We've earned it.

[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?

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.

Sugar?

[ so very intentionally obtuse. it's not fooling anyone -- but then again, it was never meant to. ]

Maybe so. Still won't see me polluting mine with it. [ she lifts her cup. ]

Well, I think we've established you have far stronger feelings about your morning beverages than I do.

[Gently, letting her eyes fall.]

We can blame England for that?

-- You can blame rationing for it, actually.

[ she liked sugar well enough, when she was little, but over time she'd learned to do without. ]

[A little twitch of the eyebrow at that.]

Probably best not to examine that too closely.

[The different ways British war time rationing and Soviet Russian deprivation influenced adult tastes in food was certainly an academic interest someone might have, but it won't be Natasha.]

But I meant your affection for tea. Pollute is a strong word.

Is it? It's just a word -- no more or less stronger than most.

[ she's resistant. perhaps because it'd only ever been said in the spirit of hyperbole. of stretched, molded, played with language. that might be a product of her upraising more so than how she takes her tea. understatement and overstatement in equal bloody measure. ]

Although it's true enough. I'd sooner drink nothing than a builder's.

Edited 2017-07-13 22:07 (UTC)

Then I'll say my point stands. [Natasha accepts that Peggy is resistant because she's Peggy. And Peggy in a bad mood, and they've all had a terrible month and a half or so at this point.]

Is it good? That. [Glancing at the tea.] Not the builder's.

It's my favourite. [ -- classically caustic, that. ] But despite it being something of an unexpected blend, I rather like it. It's got body.

[ or soul. or both. peggy's expression twitches and she knows she shouldn't put too obvious a point on it. ]

...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.]

[ she stifles a retort. that's the point. because maybe, just maybe, if she makes it through every last lovingly purchased tin of white tea -- too perfumed and fragrant even for her tastes -- then maybe steve will rouse up from his coma just to chastise her for her gluttony. scold her, perhaps, for her inability to ration it despite a good chunk of her life having been lived under various degrees of rationing. running through her stash is a bit like gambling with fate. peggy, by nature, isn't a superstitious person. but it's been barely a week and she's already run the well dry on just about every other coping mechanism she can imagine.

she'll tempt a good fate by first tempting a bad one. it's ridiculous -- a poor soldier's logic, really, and it's not no place in her head. so perhaps it's just as well that she can swerve its explanation when he mentions he'd like to earmark a bit of her attention.

peggy doesn't reply immediately. instead, she drains her cup (one of the lovely painted ones kept on the top shelf) and fills it once more. ]

I'm listening.

[ curt. she imagines there are a number of possibilities for what he wishes to discuss. there's the woman -- the ship? -- she'd met aboard the marsiva, for one. and any number of problems still yet arising from the calibrations. or it could just be some minute detail concerning the kitchen stocks.

peggy drops a kitchen cloth back over the pot once she's poured her next cup -- presumably to pretend as though it's being kept warm. whether it makes a difference, she can't really say. ]

[There's no need to.] Well, if it keeps you warm, that's the important part?

[Natasha sits down with her coffee, politely not on the counter this time.

She considers what she could say, toying with the idea of honesty before back-burnering it. She's not the only one who might find that awkward; Peggy isn't the most open person in the world about her private life.]

I assume you've been staying busy.

[Not just a poor soldier's logic; it's not logic at all. Rip's penchant for pressing ahead, for focusing on whatever goal or task he has in mind might have spared him for the moment--or at least given Peggy's ire one less source of fuel.

Things have hardly been easy between them since the night they'd spent drinking. For all that had been shared both during that binge and before, they've yet to find a way to simply be around each other. No doubt it's been exacerbated by Steve's condition as well, but--it's unfortunate.

He would like to think Peggy capable of looking at him without seeing the ruthless murderer of his past eventually.

The kettle is left to the heat; Rip could start putting together some manner of breakfast, either for himself or the crew, but instead he focuses his attention on Peggy--and on the matter at hand. He hasn't asked for much during his tenure, he thinks. Respect for the secrets that have now been laid open by the Atroma, mostly. The request he has now doesn't seem unreasonable.

(But then again, they all have their biases, don't they?)]

There's someone from my world who's been brought here. [Seems the simplest way to start, given the rather unique circumstances surrounding Gideon's existence.] Her name is Gideon, and I'm hoping to convince you to approve her transfer to the Starstruck.

[ she betrays little. little, or nothing. and it's a poker face all the more easily maintained because of her low spirits. having taken a recent path of emotional isolationism, it's altogether too simple to restrict her reactions from reaching her expression. rather than looking blank, however, she aims to look bored. unmoved.

although it's got very little to do with rip hunter. even given what had happened during the past month, she's prepared to accept him as someone multifaceted. more than the sum of his bad memories. it's a courtesy she doesn't announce or sign-post. no, a good lion's share of her behaviour around him sources itself in all the opportunities she'd failed to take -- discussing the cook's status with steve, for one.

but he names the person she'd met in the marsiva halls and peggy acknowledges her dearth of surprise with a small nod. ]

Alright. [ and if at first it seems too easily won, that's because it is. peggy soon follows up with, ] Convince me.

[ she might have agreed outright but rip's particular phrasing brings out the worst in her. she intends to make him do precisely what he'd outlined to try. ]

Busier than I was aboard the Marsiva, that's for certain.

[ she believes, absolutely, that natasha could walk out of this conversation if she didn't want to have it. and so there must be some part of the woman that invites it, even as she doesn't welcome it. even as she need coffee to endure it.

but peggy wonders why. is it because of what she'd seen in natasha's had? because of what natasha had seen? or because of steve's coma. there are too many variables in the air. none of which please her. ]

And we're a man down. So there's plenty of work to go around.

[ sort of. ]

[Or all of the above. Natasha could probably at a few other reasons too. The worst part was that every reason not to have this conversation was also a reason to have it. Didn't work the same way in reverse.]

He always does have bad timing, doesn't he? [Peggy knew that as well as anyone. Probably better.]

Open: July Starstruck mingle log

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peggy carter -- all month

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