open » youth is wasted on the young

[mucked]

Who: Peggy Carter + OPEN
Where: Various spots
When: From July 3rd to mid-month.
Rating: PG, most likely.
Summary: Peggy digests some unexpected developments, fires away her disappointments, and throws herself into more productive endeavours. Hopefully. Fingers crossed.
The Story:

FIRING RANGE (backdated to july 4th)--

[ steve's confession, of sorts, scatters her emotions and sends peggy's fledgling optimism deep underground. perhaps it'd been the sort of thing she should never have nurtured: hope; expectation; excitement for the few decent possibilities wonderland might have offered to offset so much horror and disappointment. but she'd made a mistake when she'd allowed herself to put the cart in front of the horse. to put it mildly. it's a mistake she won't make again. of all those involved, she blames herself most -- for courting distraction when she ought to be focused on survival. just as it had been during the war, she should brook no time for love nor distractions. it only gets people hurt.

so the day after her conversation with steve sees her at the firing range. she's got one of those modern firearms, given to her by sharon, and she decides she'd better grow comfortable with it. and quick. now that her wound is feeling much better, there's no excuse to hang back and wait out disasters when she could wade into them instead. it's a cold comfort to squeeze out a few whole clips on a muggy 'independence day,' knowing that others might yet be celebrating elsewhere on the grounds.

afterwards, while field-stripping the gun and giving it a good cleaning, she sits well-back of the range itself. her expression is stony, and when she fumbles with the unfamiliar barrel and utters a sharp curse. it's said with far more vehemence than the error merits. ]

THE VENDORS (july 9th)--

[ curiousity (paired with an appetite for diversion) eventually gets the better of her and she ventures into the orchards. she'd like to tell herself she'd only been walking, without intention, and meandered in their direction. truth is, she wants to see these wares with her own eyes. touch them, perhaps, with her own fingertips. peggy goes from stall to stall with her notebook tucked protectively under one arm.

she'd heard about the prices the vendors might place on their goods. the concept intrigues her a little more than it ought to, especially considering she'd arrived with very little currency of her own, but she manages to resist the urge to make a purchase. after all, she'd never been one for ownership; it'd never meshed well with her chosen career.

but she does try to snag the attention of another resident as he or she walks by, asking: ] Pardon, but...have you bought anything from these fellows?

[ is it worth it? ]

AROUND THE GROUNDS (all month)--

[ the mansion was already beginning to feel oppressive. but now, understanding the true cost of opportunity the building might represent, peggy feels driven to spend as little time under its roof as possible. she begs a thermos from her bedroom closet and fills it to the brim with hot black tea -- making do with ordering cup after cup in the dining hall and pouring each one in succession into the vessel. this becomes a mid-morning ritual, with a square of toast smeared in jam taken for a quick breakfast. on any given day, she might be found sitting with her back against an outer wall at the stables, or on the edge of the fountain, or perhaps on a blanket by the lakeshore.

although the place changes, the scene is otherwise always the same: peggy, her gone-lukewarm thermos sitting open beside her, and a notebook canted against her knees while she writes slowly and deliberately. either because this is a new undertaking, or because she herself is so recently arrived, only a handful of pages have thus far been filled. some of the sentences appear legible (intended in english) but others, should anyone peer over her shoulder, are gibberish. coded, most likely.

when strangers or rare familiar faces walk by, she'll at least do the decent thing and give a cordial nod. despite her sour mood, it doesn't register all that much differently from her customary distance and chill. ]

Comments

vendors!

[determinedest]

[It's a child that's passing by as someone calls out. Their chin snaps up at that, scanning their surroundings with lidded eyes until they light upon the source of the disturbance.

Have you bought anything from these fellows?

The reaction is instantaneous. They shake their head so fiercely that their hair whips, lips pressing together into a pale crease across the dark of their face.]

N-no. No.

[mucked]

[ -- perhaps it shouldn't be so jarring to find a kid amid the stalls. and yet. although wonderland seems to draw on all sorts, she can't help but feel especially affronted about the young being part of this fracas.

especially one who seems a little, well, perturbed by the interruption. ]

Perhaps it's for the best. [ a huff. she won't be getting anything actionable from the kid, but she may as well try to be polite. ] I hear the cost can be steep.

[determinedest]

It's memories. [She deserves a fair warning, like anyone would. Chara had given - Chara had sold something, something important, and they're not even sure how to ask what it was. How would they know? How would they remember? Something significant boiled off and away, gone. Forever.

Was it the same memory they gave to them in a little glass jar in a dream? How could they know?]

They take something you remember. You don't get to choose.

lakeshore

[krmvgivv]

[Dipper's just taking a walk, but his eyes, as always, are drawn to writing, especially when that writing would look like gibberish to anyone else. But Dipper is damn good at codes, and he can recognize one when he sees one. He slows to a stop, looking over her shoulder, and starts trying to decode it in his head, mouth moving slightly as he tries to read the message.

If it's a simple replacement cipher, he'll get it pretty quickly, though not, perhaps, quickly enough to be remotely subtle about the fact that he's standing behind her staring obviously over her shoulder at her writing. If it's more complicated then that, well, it's possible he'll need a pen and paper to actually crack it.]

[mucked]

[ it is a simple replacement cipher -- a holding pattern, of sorts, until she can retire to her room and transcribe it into something a little more complex. from what he can gather immediately, from snippets of sentences, it seems to be brisk bullet points of thoughts and recollections and memories. the current page lists events from 1945. names of cities and villages in france, italy, germany.

but the glance is a brief one because she all too quickly understands that she's being surveilled. the notebook snaps shut. and peggy, keen to gain the advantage of height, rises stiffly to her feet. ]

Yes. [ a bit snappish, maybe, despite his age. ] Can I help you?

[ she dislikes being caught off-guard. ]

[krmvgivv]

I don't need help! That's a Caesar cipher. I can crack those in my sleep.

[It occurs to him a moment too late that maybe that wasn't the kind of can I help you she meant. He rubs the back of his head awkwardly.]

...I like codes. I just don't usually see people besides me or Grunkle Ford writing with them.

the vendors

[easily]

[Rebekah knows better than to buy anything from the vendors; that they come with too steep of a price tag, but she also is curious and thinks it's important to know what you're up against at all times. And sometimes she simply gets bored, there isn't always a lot to do in Wonderland. It's a combination of all those things that leads her out to the stalls on this particular afternoon.

What she doesn't expect is for a stranger to be asking for her opinion. Still, she can give it.]

I haven't, nor would I advise doing so considering the rumors about the payment

[mucked]

And yet, [ peggy responds while she takes measure of the blonde, ] I suppose there's still a certain thrill to window shopping.

[ she's hardly earnest in her verdict. indeed, her tone is so very far from thrilled. when she speaks, her words are dry and so intentionally distant. it's as though she sounds willing to talk about paint drying if it means keeping a social chasm between herself and another person. nevertheless, she wants information. ]

I'm surprised anyone ever really stoops to purchasing anything out here.

[easily]

Certainly, and it's always good to know what is being put out there, even if you have no plans on engaging with it.

[Rebekah rather likes socializing herself but she can pick up when that's not what the people around her want and she knows how to get to business]

Desperation will make fools of all of us, and this place can make people desperate.

[directed]

[It's likely that a great deal of the mansion's residents are taking the opportunity to celebrate today: the Americans their independence, and most others the convenient excuse for a party, something to escape the tedium of day to day life in Wonderland when some event isn't looming overhead. Neither stands as a compelling reason for Rip, and less so given that the mix of alcohol and explosives would likely attract the attention of his former teammates aside. While the few encounters he's had with them outside of his first with Nate have been tolerable, Rip isn't looking to invite others—or to press his luck.

So instead he means to attend to his own task. This most recent set of transformations has reminded him that he won't always have the benefit of technology to rely on, even now that concerns about introducing futuristic weaponry into a foreign time period no longer plague him. Still, the day doesn't see him heading out to the firing range with bow and arrow in hand. Rather he's got a pistol holstered at his side, loaded to fire bullets rather than any sort of laser.

It seems he's not the only one with the idea. Peggy Carter, a woman Rip has spoken to on occasion, given advice to, though from his former perspective as someone who gives a damn about preserving history. Someone whom Rip thinks it better not to take lightly, no matter how many claims she may make towards patience or ignorance.

And now? A person not only removed from any of the day's festivities, but who looks rather unsettled. Somehow Rip doesn't think it's got much to do with a rebellious set of colonies tearing themselves away from the motherland, this tumultuous set of emotions worn on her face. She's rather intently focused on her target, and that's fortunate for Rip. The last thing he wants to do is startle her mid-pull of the trigger.

Instead he waits for the pause; he's counted her shots, and Rip knows she isn't out. But when she lowers the gun regardless, he greets her, standing just on the edge of her vision, casually leaned against the post of the firing stand. For good measure, however, he's got his hands raised, empty and palms pointed outward; Rip fully expects he'll have a gun pointed at him, but he's unbothered by the prospect if his grin is any indication.

No, he's rather looking forward to what might come of this little chat.]

Hello, Miss Carter.

[mucked]

[ it doesn't speak well of her that she levels her barrel at him on instinct. instinct, or emotion, or something else. she'd been ploughing through clip after clip, looking for some measure of relief in the stink of cordite. but the modern piece she's been firing with hasn't got near enough recoil; it feels like a toy, although she knows it shouldn't. and in a breath between shots he speaks her name (ever formal) she can't quite help but swing her step and raise her gun.

it's an unhappy reversal. not so long ago, he'd held her at gunpoint. and what was it doctor palmer had said? this iteration of rip hunter is the sort to shoot first and ask questions never. for just a fraction of a moment, she feels like being that same sort.

but her better angels shout her down. look at him, holding his hands up. open. a play at being peaceful. there's a flicker of something deeply unhappy in her eyes and, easing her finger off the trigger, she lets the gun's aim drop to the ground below. peggy doesn't relax her grip on the weapon. part of her still spoils for a fight. ]

Mister Hunter. [ still not captain. she's saving that correction for a better day, should a better day ever come. ] Come to hide from all the Americans, too, are you?

[ a bit of truth hidden deep under a brittle joke. ]

[directed]

[Who says it doesn't speak well? She's been disrupted while holding a gun in her hand, and by a man who at best is an unknown force, and at worst an enemy. It's smart to press her advantage while she has it, more so because she's compromised by some unspoken emotion--all the easier to see when he faces her.

Her eyes are red. He hadn't noticed before.

He waits, the picture of patience as Peggy wars between whatever it is--instinct or emotion or other--and the more rational part of her mind. His hands stay lifted, his fingers outstretched right up until she lowers the gun. Like Peggy Rip makes quiet note of the reversal. In his case, it had been physical injury, a leg left unusable thanks to Chronos' attack. Peggy, however, seems perfectly fine in terms of body. Rip sees no struggle in her movements; even the wound in her gut seems to have healed well in the weeks between that day and this.

Rip crosses his arms once the pistol is pointed at the ground. He might normally have slid his hands in his pockets, but she's only just decided him not so immediate a threat. The tight hold on the gun urges some measure of caution, and better it not look like he might be reaching for the pistol at his hip.]

Something like that. [His head cocked to the side, he peers rather openly at Peggy. She must be aware of how she looks--so utterly on edge, and not of something safe like anger or righteousness.] Bit ironic though. A pair of Brits come to fire off guns at a shooting range. If you think about it, it would seem quite an American activity.

[Right along with fireworks and getting drunk on beer and whatever else the people of that nation might see fit to do on this holiday. Of course, Rip doesn't give a damn either way--but he's also not the sort to blurt out what he really wants to ask this soon.

Let Peggy back away from that edge a bit first.]

firing range!

[normandysbest]

[Shepard finds herself at the shooting range more often than not; there's space to test out bigger things in the Checkerboard Hills, or the more advanced range Miranda set up during her time here, but in her continued effort to get out of her room she ends up outside, sniper rifle slung over her shoulder on it's strap and targeting visor sitting inactivated around her head.

She hears the gunshots before she sees anyone else, and Shepard can't help but quirk an eyebrow that anyone else here, let alone another woman. It feels nice. Familiar. More like her squad back home, with the familiar stance, with determination.

Shepard offers a little wave as she approaches, making sure it's from the side; it's largely unwise to sneak up on anyone with a loaded weapon.]

Hey. Don't usually see people out here.

[mucked]

-- That surprises me.

[ her greeting is, decidedly, a non-greeting. with a bullet still in the clip, she lowers her aim and eases her grip just enough to suggest she's prepared to step back from the exercise just long enough to make nice.

she turns to glance the other woman, and she allows herself to appear a little stunned. both by the rifle and the visor. it's a lot to stomach, some of this 'modern' weapons. ]

Given the dangers apparently present, I would think that more people would make an effort.

[normandysbest]

[It's not at all weird to Shepard. She's used to half-conversations over gunfire, weird stinted opinions at a training range. But she can tell the other woman's on edge, and again, it's wise for her not to piss off anyone with a goddamn gun.]

I'll be honest, a lot of the people who want to learn self-defense don't pick firearms. Their either from worlds too old to know about them, or they figure there's no point to learning something that could fail 'em. Wonderland puts us in situations all the time where there's a lack of bullets. Hell, even I started learning how to pick up a sword.

[She doesn't blame 'em. Guns are hard, and while they're effective, they require a lot of other tactical training, too.]

Besides. Not everybody's cut out to be a combatant. Even here.

Firing Range

[beautifullies]

[ There's something to be said about being in a modern time with modern things, and a woman who's from a completely different time. Two different times, really. She's wearing her customary outfit as she makes her way to the firing range, but her gun is from the 40s because she'd rather go with something modern (according to her) than the single shot rifles of the 18th century.

With someone else out with her, Claire takes a fortifying breath and glances over. ]

If some shots don't entirely meet their target, please know I'm still learning. It was suggested to me that in this place, I ought to know how to handle a gun, so here I am.

[ Honestly, she knows how to shoot but she's much better with a knife. Or punching someone. ]

[mucked]

[ peggy sits off to the side, cleaning the barrel of what is (to her) a futuristic pistol. she recognizes the piece in the other woman's possession, though. and when she sees it she feels a quiet ache for something familiar. ]

We all have to start somewhere -- [ is her rather reasonable reply. short-tempered though she might be, she at least has patience for someone making an effort to arm and train themselves. ] You'll get no flak from me for it. Promise.

[beautifullies]

[ Oh, God, someone who sounds like her. It's like hearing a piece of home - one of them, at least. ]

You're skilled with your gun. Your shots are as good as anyone I've seen shooting in combat.

[ Which is to say, Claire is very curious about how this woman learned, though she's coming to understand that things are more modern - a fact she'd been delighted to learn went in favor of women. ]

What made you decide to learn how to shoot?

vendors

[saved]

( peter tries to keep his distance from himself and the vendors. it's dangerous. he's been in wonderland for a year and a half, and they always know exactly what items to keep out, which will be most appealing. he can't say he didn't come to the vendors now, looking, hoping for some information about a life that he never lived, a life in an alternate universe.

he tears his gaze from the photo album, which might hold the answers he's looking for, at the question, and then clears his throat and slides a hand behind his neck. )

...uh, yeah.

I've bought a couple of things.

[mucked]

[ he's bought a couple of things. it's a more honest answer, peggy decides, than she'd anticipated hearing. for the most part, she might have assumed that regardless of whether someone had made a purchase they might as well be dishonest about it.

(lord knows, she would have lied.)

peggy spares a glance at the photo album but makes no comment on it. instead, she tries to keep her focus on the fellow. ]

Were they worth it?

[ a stupid question, maybe. how could he know? if he paid in memories, he might not remember their worth. ]

[saved]

Yes.

( peter's answer comes too quickly especially given what going to the vendors means. he slides a hand behind his neck, ducking it with a wince in the aftermath of his own quick answer. he'd run out of webbing. there wasn't time to make more. an event was on its way, and he couldn't chance not having enough. )

I got what I needed to help keep people safe so yeah.

( it would be worth it even if he has no idea which memories were given, even if death in wonderland isn't permanent. it's still terrible to go through, and after five, people lose a part of themselves irrevocably. maybe they lose a small piece every time they die. )

( stables )

[wildwest]

[ quite frankly, the mansion unnerves him. not only does it appear to be some sort of gilded cage, but it somehow manages to make him feel even more out of step with everyone else than he did back in purgatory. like trying to move in time with a dance you never bothered to learn the moves to. it was frustrating as hell, being around all these things he ought to have seen blossom throughout the ages, things that happened during his extended lifetime. but the witch had denied him the right to bear witness to any of it, casting him to the bottom of that godforsaken well. darkness had engulfed his world while it changed around him, forcing him to deal with the culture shock of essentially going from 1887 to 2017, having missed all those things in between.

it's only natural that he tends to gravitate towards things he's more familiar with. like the shooting range or the bar, or in this case, the stables. he's been out riding since the crack of dawn on the chestnut gelding he's taken a liking to, managing to circle back to the stables around midmorning. riding in jeans is surprisingly comfortable, which makes him all the more willing to comply with wynonna's insistence that he put a little more effort into blending in with the masses.

he tugs on the reins when he spots the lone woman, slowing the horse down and bringing him to a complete halt when he draws near enough. ]

You waitin' on someone, ma'am?

[mucked]

[ under other circumstances, peggy might have made her peace with staying sat on the ground. but when the stranger approaches on horseback? well. she steadies one hand against the stable wall and rises to her feet. the notebook, chronicling little bits of memory and ephemera, sits shut on the ground next to her thermos.

her hands find her hips. although a potentially aggressive stance, it comes across more like the posture of someone given to rigidity. her poise is at attention even when she doesn't mean for it to be.

she eyes the horse before she eyes the man. it's been something of an open curiousity to be around so many of the creatures since taking up her post at the stables. it's not that she's never been near them before -- but the opportunities have been few and far between. ]

Not at all.

[ she knows her answer is a bit of a lie. as adamant as she is about not waiting on anyone, there's a part of her that will always be waiting on steve rogers. late, late, late as ever. but he doesn't need to know it. ]

Merely enjoying the weather. [ well, another lie. isn't she starting this conversation off swell! ] And the sights. Magnificent creature you've got there.

FOUNTAIN (post-zombies)--

[shrinkage]

[ ray palmer's too much. he's too loud and too big and despite how it appears he does think quite a lot about how he interacts with others. it's in those moments where he acted instead of thinking that he feels as if he's failed. when he lets his emotions-- fear-- guide his actions instead of taking control of them, it weighs on his conscience.

so he does something he knows is less than acceptable and keeps track of peggy's routine around the mansion grounds. it makes him feel even louder and too much to see her so quietly take the new world she's found herself in. everything she does seems more alike to leonard than to rip or ray himself, which-- probably means she's seen him paying attention, oops.

he hovers in the public space of the fountain closer to lunch than breakfast one day, a small picnic basket dangling from the crook of his elbow. once he sees her notice him, he puts on a smile that's too bright and waves before approaching her. he doesn't try to pretend he'd been passing by, or act surprised at this being a chance meeting. if she wants to do the blowing off this time she's got all the space to do so, now. ]

Hi. I hope I'm not bothering you, but I wanted to talk? I feel like I owe you an apology. Or ... two.

[ he holds out the bribe basket which he definitely procured just for this encounter because everything he does is too much always. ]

And I brought conciliatory treats!

[mucked]

[ -- peggy carter does indeed damn well know when she's the subject of someone else's reconnaissance. the suspicion steals across her late one day before the disaster in alexandria, but the opportunity to confront him never properly presented itself before the event touched down and put a spanner in everyone's works.

and the next time she sees him, afterward, he's obvious in his intention to head her off at the pass. so to speak. peggy's got her notebook tucked possessively under one arm, and her thermos gripped tight with fingers tipped in rich red polish. she's witnessed ray around the mansion, paired voice to face, but this is the first time they've bothered to actually strike up a conversation outside of those concerning (to her) devices.

she stops in her tracks and drinks in the sight -- a bit too much cheer to him, certainly, and that makes the recent miser in her want to scowl. but peggy bites down on that urge for the time being. especially (especially) when he offers the basket off the crook of his arm.

maybe peggy ought to engage with his apology (or two) first, but she doesn't yet know whether she can trust them to be actual apologies. so, instead, she puffs up her posture and peers at the basket. she's got a question to ask before she accepts his bribe. ]

What sort of conciliatory treats?

[ no hello. no how d'you do. just a spark of suspicion laced with bare curiousity. ]