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

[wildwest]

[ a shrug, as if it's not that big of a deal.

but it is. he may not articulate it often enough (or at all, really), but it makes him uncomfortable to know all the details of his life — accurate and inaccurate alike, exaggerated or not — are quite literally an open book. someone could go pull a book off the library's shelves and learn everything they ever wanted to know about him. it's invasive in ways he can't quite put to words. ]

I am a dentist, and I do — and did, for a time back then — work with the Marshals. That was not a lie.

[mucked]

[ not lies, no, but she's beginning to backfill some of what might have been elaborations on the truth. or dodges of it, at least. it's just as well she doesn't go digging for more or she might make a hypocrite of herself when trying to pry into his history.

but whatever else might be at play, a bit of air-clearing helps her stand a little straighter. stay a little more confident. ]

Only fair, then, that I should be a bit more exact in my own report. I'm more precisely from 1947. Which makes me feel a bit as though I'm splitting the difference.

[ between when he's from and when he ends up. it'd be laughable if it wasn't so tragic. ]

[wildwest]

Still closer to my original time than any of my current associates. [ sixty years vs one hundred and thirty. ] I did not have much of an opportunity to exist in that modern world before findin' myself here. Months at best, but there's a difference between standin' still and bein' able to really absorb how much the world around you has changed and bein' constantly in motion while dealin' with problems that were best left in the past.

[ he personally helped wyatt put down some of those outlaws who became revenants. it's surreal, sometimes, to have to help do so again. ]

[mucked]

There certainly is.

[ -- a difference. and one she'd barely managed to ask steve about before their lines of communication broke down. but she'd come out here to avoid considering steve, his situation, or anything else about him.

so, instead of leaning on that second-hand expertise, she talks about herself. shocking. ]

I know it's not quite the same -- coming from '47 to here. But it feels like every day, every conversation, brings up something everyone thinks I should know but I don't. Current-future events or changes in style or...hell, whole bloody world wars.

[ she gestures at him and at the example that had at long last cracked his story in two. ]

I'm sorry. [ sympathy, not apology. ] Whatever happened to displace you, Henry, it can't have made for a simple adjustment.

[ she can be kind about it, she supposes. now that she's had a taste. ]

[wildwest]

World Wars? Plural? [ there was more than just one global scale conflict? good lord. waverly earp, you have failed him in filling in these blanks. he feels like this is something he ought to have known about. ]

Witch threw me in a well, [ he says with another shrug (doc, these kinds of things just don't happen to normal people). ] And it's Doc. Most people call me Doc.

[mucked]

-- I served in the second. [ said almost as casually as if they'd switched back to describing their school-days. the war was dreadful, yes, but she'd managed to bury a great deal of that dreadful under steely resolve and the understanding that it had made her better. harder, yes, but unarguably better. with war had come opportunity, and with opportunity had come growth. and...

and whatever else she might have said is utterly waylaid by his next claim. ] I beg your pardon. [ her chin lifts; peggy frowns. ] Did you just say a witch threw you in a well?

[ alright, alright. he wins the round for huge fusses mentioned casually. good lord. ]

[wildwest]

Second? [ he has to remove his hat to run a hand over his hair. there's a bright red line where the brim's been pressed up against his forehead. a sign, really, of how infrequently he goes without it. ]

I was dyin'. Chronic tuberculosis. Was diagnosed when I was twenty-two. It ought to have killed me, really should've. History says it did. [ he fiddles with the hat in his hands. ] I was made an offer I could not bring myself to refuse. But the deal I brokered with that witch went sour in ways I could not have predicted.

[mucked]

[ second, yes, but she doesn't clarify further. old habits die quite hard -- and peggy is long-since accustomed to obscuring both her life and her career. it's easier done, indeed, when 'henry' -- doc -- reveals a bit more about himself. ]

Oh. [ the epiphany steals quick across her face. the year, the name, the disease. the vocations! peggy's no american, but some stories are unavoidable. even so, given the conversation as it's already unfolded (and his attempt at subterfuge), she decides to make no big fuss about it.

let him keep his mystery, even if only by charitable dispensation. ]

Before coming here, I would have accused you of telling rather tall tales. [ but it seems that magic is real and witches aren't that surprising. ]

[wildwest]

Believe it or not, there's quite a bit I would not have believed possible, had I not been brought to this place. Other worlds — people from Mars? That's farfetched, even for someone like me. And yet, there are people who've never even heard of Earth livin' in that very mansion alongside us.

[ nevermind the fact that wonderland itself didn't seem to be on earth, either. but that wasn't exactly his area of expertise. he's a doctor, not a theoretical physicist. that particular brand of scientific jargon goes right over his head. ]

[mucked]

-- Good Lord, are there people from Mars here?

[ evidently, she hasn't caught up on exactly how unbelievable some of these claims may yet be. ]

[wildwest]

Apparently so. Perhaps not Mars, specifically, but most definitely other worlds besides ours. I've spoken to a few, heard about others. Supposedly the whole mansion took a trip into space for a while some time prior to my arrival.

[ the horse nickers, shaking its head and doc somewhat as well, given that the reigns are still held in the palm of one hand. he turns momentarily to tend to the animal, patting it on the neck. ] Easy there, old boy. I'll put you out to graze shortly.

[ he puts his hat back on when he looks back over to where peggy's standing. ] I trust that you will keep what you learned about me to yourself. Not exactly keen on everyone findin' who I am and bombardin' me with questions. They find out I'm Doc Holliday and even those who have not heard of me will have easy access to the means to educate themselves.

[ oh, he's thought about burning all the books in that damned library that mention him, wyatt, virgil, and the others — not to mention what happened down at the o.k. corral. but what would that really accomplish when someone could just ask the closest for another copy? with his luck, the singed books would likely magically reinstate themselves to the library's shelves of their own accord. ]

[mucked]

[ she keeps her expression schooled. if it's news to her that the mansion took a trip to space, she does her level best not to show it. doesn't much matter; her earlier shock should make it altogether too easy for the man to assume she's well outside of her element. but, bit by bit, she takes control over her reactions.

especially once he makes his request. ]

I'm happy to be discreet. [ she isn't sure what to call him any longer, so she leaves off a name entirely. ] Goes with the badge, really.

[ which is a nudge that's as good as a wink, in the end, to suggest what sort of federal agent she may or may not be. not that she's got the badge on her. ]

[wildwest]

Much obliged, [ he says with a tip of his hat, the unspoken "i am indebted to you" embedded in the statement sincere. perhaps one day he'll decide he's fine with the entirety of wonderland knowing who precisely he is (or maybe an event will deny him the right to choose when that is and do so for him), but for now, it's nice to just exist. to not have someone asking about the o.k. corral or spouting off nonsense they think they know from having seen one too many western themed cinematic features. ]

There are not many present who understand what it's like to go from an era like mine into one that resembles what's represented here. How... disorienting it can be to feel constantly out of step with those around you, nevermind how often you feel completely lost when they mention words or things or even events [ like the world wars ] that you have no prior knowledge of — especially when they say it like you ought to. Should you need to air some of that frustration, my door is always open.

[mucked]

[ she could be honest with him. she could tell him -- how every familiar face (and those that aren't) hail from some 70 years beyond hers. that they know and remember new things, and some of them claim her like some fabled hero out of their history books. the peggy carter, one had called her. co-founder of an agency she'd never heard of. owner of a legacy she hasn't yet lived.

and then there's steve. her right partner, gone off dancing with someone else. and she could tell him every last detail -- lord knows, she's gleaned enough of his. but instead of reciprocating, she tries to deflect his good offer.

with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, she asks: ] And which door is that?

[wildwest]

[ the people of purgatory act like he and wyatt were born with pistols in their hands, like fighting outlaws was something they both actively set out to do. none of them want to see the incident at the o.k. corral for what it really was, don't want to talk about how he was a dentist who fell into gambling and gunslinging because he was too sick to properly practice or that wyatt had wanted nothing more than to be a farmer. life doesn't always let you choose, and history tends to enjoy making mountains out of molehills. ]

Fourth floor, room seven. [ he answers, reaching up to grab the horn of the saddle with one hand. it's one boot into the stirrup as he hoists himself up and over, back into the saddle. the deflection's read loud and clear, but doc doesn't call her on it; nor is he offended. ] You have yourself a good rest of the day, ma'am.