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Rip Hunter ([personal profile] directed) wrote in [community profile] entrancelogs2017-08-05 02:58 pm

In the dark recess of the mines where you age before your time

Who: Rip Hunter and You?
Where: The Republican Convention
When: August 4-8
Rating: PG/PG-13 max probably.
Summary: Politics and bloggers and security, oh my! Rip--really doesn't care so much. He's just there to get a job done.
The Story:

[The convention is made of up any number of people vying for the spotlight, but Rip definitely isn't one of them. Very specifically, his task is to make sure the spotlights are pointed in the right direction, the microphones don't suddenly broadcast high-pitched feedback, and the people in the back can hear whatever prettily-worded promises are being made from the showman on stage.

Not a simple set of tasks by any means--made all the more complicated when half of his crew seems more enchanted by the opportunity to make their dreams come true rather than do the jobs they're being paid for. Honestly.

And it doesn't get any easier after the needles are found; security is everywhere, and behind-the-scenes workers are put through their rigors too. Worse, as the leading force behind Legends Staging (a name based on a bad joke that wound up sticking), Rip has to be at least somewhat reachable for when a problem happens or someone with political ambitions decides that they just have to make some important, impromptu announcement, podium and all. Typically speaking, it's not too hard to find him even when he's stolen to some quiet spot to take a break--which yes, even he does from time to time.]


{{ooc: what it says on the tin! Rip works in staging, meaning setting up for whatever speeches or what not happen. hit me up for anything--although politicians trying to get a vote might be a little discouraged from the heavily British accent coming out of his mouth. still, impressions are important, right?}}
mucked: (☂ it sounds like settling down)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-05 07:46 pm (UTC)(link)
[ oh, what she wouldn't barter for a moment of peace and quiet and time to herself.

peg carter's got only a passing interest in the politics of a nation where she can't even vote. and that passing interest hinges almost entirely upon her employer's interests: like nesting dolls, her consumed by his. and so it's been for a grand total of two years.

and because it's been two years, she knows better than to hide in her hotel room or anywhere near the business centres dotting the convention hall. if she wants a breather, she's got to take it in the nooks and crannies of the building. she's got to nest somewhere mister palmer (call me ray, peg, he'd insisted even in the early days) won't go looking for her.

it's this escapism that sees her tucked away in the bowels of the convention centre's backstage area -- narrow halls and corners housing everything from extra bunting to spare amps. she's sitting cross-legged on one of the latter and has a binder opened up on her knees. for all anyone can tell, she must be spending her afternoon pasting little coloured tabs onto the some (all?) of the binder's pile of pages.

what a shame that cell signal still reaches this far into the building. it's a thought she has on more than one occasion, whenever her phone bzzts testily by her knee. and after tapping out a dutiful reply, she glances up the corridor to see -- well, someone.

someone who looks like he belongs here when she most assuredly doesn't. and from her read of the situation, he most likely wants to commandeer the amp she's re-purposed as a chair.

peg hugs the binder (still open) to her chest and tries to extricate herself from the precarious nest of papers, of folders, of well-highlighted reports. she gets as far as sticking her bic pen into her loose bun of hair before she loses the whole contents of one file-folder to the concrete floor. ]


Oh, God. [ she winces. ] I'm in your way, aren't I? Of course I am.

[ peg flashes the stranger an apologetic smile before she kneels to collect the mess she'd made of the quarterly bio-tech reports. ]
mucked: (☂ there's this image of you and i)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-05 09:42 pm (UTC)(link)
[ oh. there's a shock. and it's enough of one to make her pause mid-collection. she's gathering pages of a4-size paper, collecting them in a sheaf. and although there are still a handful littering the floor ahead of the amps, she stops long enough to get a better look at him.

it's not every day one runs into a fellow expat. they weren't ruddy unicorns, mind, but they were infrequent enough to merit a fresh flicker of a kinder smile the moment she recognizes the note of his voice. it's cadence. ]


Close -- [ peg admits. and although she doesn't rush to stand she certainly doesn't rush to grab the last few papers either. ] Right part of the river. But the wrong side of it. Lambeth.

[ she slots what she has picked up into the back of the thick binder. ]

Bit far from home, aren't you?

[ to say nothing of her. ]
mucked: (☂ in that detective motion picture)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-05 10:18 pm (UTC)(link)
[ whitechapel. so perhaps she can't help the curiosity that steals across her face. it's not as though she'd never been -- being only a recent arrival, by contrast to most. but that borough still brings out every scrap of lore and hint of a bogeyman she might ever have learned about. well, when it comes to the city. what a storied and maudlin existence it'd once had.

storied and maudlin once again, she supposes, but isn't that all of the world now?

peg just about manages not to stick her foot in it. everyone's likely already made the same old ripper jokes. it's easier, really, when he goes on to say something else -- something about the damned pages -- and she's left dumbstruck for a moment before... ]


They're not mine. [ which sounds wretched suspicious. so, with a huff of laughter, she clarifies. ] The notes -- they're not mine. Someone else did the highlighting. Which probably only proves you right, I'm afraid, because now here I am trying to glean what's important and what's not.

[ it's ridiculous, really. and the subject matter (cost analysis on better blood lancets to take better blood samples) really isn't in her wheelhouse. ]

But all I'm truly managing is identifying the difference between what's orange -- [ she flips a page that's 60% orange highlighter ] -- and what's blue. [ the one he's got in his hand, it seems, is the culprit on that front. ]

-- Cheers. [ she should have said that earlier. he's down by the ground alongside her, lending a helping hand, and she should have thanked him before just this moment. but no, she was too busy smiling over a familiar sound. ]
Edited 2017-08-05 22:19 (UTC)
mucked: (☂ 'cause the hypnotist entranced him)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-05 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[ -- it's a simple salvage operation from thereon in. peg props the binder open on the amp's canted surface, and begins slotting pages back into place. there's no hope of finding each one's proper home on so quick a notice. she must make do with rough approximations or else she'll be here for the better part of the next half hour monopolizing this poor man's equipment.

and once that's done? well. then there's the matter of supplementing the pages he's returned to her, as well, and she proves herself a little less meticulous with these ones. if only because she feels ridiculous for having spilled all of her work over all of his.

(and all of it punctuated by a pleasant enough smile when he offers what might easily be construed for sympathy. blimey, she hopes it is.)

peg slams the binder shut with an almost emotional not of finality. it's spectacle, really. truth is, she'll have to properly sort the pages once she's found herself a new hidey-hole. but before then, there's his offer of a hand up to contend with.

her apprehension doesn't go hidden. out of a strange and unnatural habit, she rubs the palm of her hand on the knee of her slacks (as though scrubbing away germs in a most laughable, useless manner) before she takes a leap and puts her faith in the grip of his hand. the hold lasts only as long as it takes to help her find her feet again, at which point peg is quick to let go. a dash younger, she's only ever known the world since the uprising. except -- she works in heady, lofty circles where handshakes are risks one undertakes to pretend like business is done as it always used to be. ]


Alright, Whitechapel. [ she tries to smooth over the moment with a brassy instant camaraderie. ] Your amp is yours again.
mucked: (☂ i'll be here waiting)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-05 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
[ weighty as the moment might have been, it passes quickly. but it's not without its wake. she could probably count the amount of people who'd so nonchalantly offered up either of their hands in the last 48 hours on only one of hers. mister palmer not withstanding. and speaking of... ]

Probably. I imagine they do. [ she's reclaimed a bit of her dignity now that she's found her feet. peg holds the binder against her hip, reaching to reclaim her mobile with the opposite hand. ] But those people aren't really my concern.

[ it's not to them that she owes her elbow grease, as frustrating as the work can be. often was. certainly is, today. and to that end she follows up her brief defiance with a more measured explanation. ]

It's only that for such an awfully large facility there are very few places one can go and get anything done. It's all greasing palms and dodging voice recorders. If it's not a politician out for your vote, then it's a newsie out for your scoop.

[ her shrug is one-shouldered. ] But things were quiet back here.
mucked: (☂ we will drive them)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-06 12:03 am (UTC)(link)
[ he's not the only one with work to do. and yet, she sees fit to stand aside and linger while he loads up the dolly and eases it back onto its wheels. he chatters on about hiding places and her lips part -- perhaps you can show me -- but before she tumble her way into what ought to be harmless flirtation, her ringtone buzzes with some fresh notification.

her attention drops to the phone. ten, fifteen years ago it might have been considered rude. but so much of one's life is spent digitally, now; peg hardly thinks twice before she puts the current conversation on hold in favour of reading...well, reading mister palmer's lunch order. her cheeks puff with a sigh.

by the time she looks back up, her countryman has managed to finish the cadence for himself. it doesn't stop her from smiling. smallish, maybe, but bright in spite of it. ]


I'd like that. I suppose next time I ought to make the soundboard my desk. Keep it fresh.

[ -- although she does walk alongside him as he departs with the trolley, she does so while wedging the binder under one arm so both hands can set to work assuring her employer that someone, somewhere, must have sandwiches with gluten-free bread.

but at the end of the corridor they go their separate ways. it might've stayed so, too, if the very next morning (early, well before the day's agenda kicks into gear) didn't see her ducking backstage for yet another moment of stolen peace. ]
mucked: (☂ it's only natural dear)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-06 01:29 am (UTC)(link)
[ returning to the scene of the crime (so to speak) simply makes good sense. she'd meant what she'd said the day before: the staging area for the day's speeches and larger sessions was indeed a quiet one before the bustle descends. and, at so early an hour, only the crew seem to be milling about. but this time, peg's not come with any paperwork tucked under arm.

thing is, she's been awake for a short jaunt already. her phone went off while she'd been drying her hair and for the ensuing forty-five minutes, her routine had been hijacked by some issue involving cuff-links. it had only just been solved about a quarter of an hour ago, and before something else could kick off she'd made her quiet exit. there hadn't been any need to wait around -- her employer would make himself known, again, if he needed something.

she could have gone anywhere. back to her accommodations, or out for a spat of fresh air. she might have searched out some breakfast or caught up on her daily blog readings. but, no. she came back here. it'd been an easy choice, albeit one made in her gut. because whatever his name really was, she liked the man from whitechapel's smile. and the more she thought about it (and the further away she got from the situational panic) she really liked the way he'd hurried, thoughtless, to help her back onto her feet.

not many would.

so she ducks under a half-raised banner without sparing a glance at the candidate's name. and she leans against the metal piping of a bit of scaffold which, feet and feet and feet above, must hold a magnificent array of lights. she'd only intended to head back to the same hallway (maybe find the soundboard; maybe leave a cheeky note), but she'd never intended to come across him so soon. certainly not as he's checking of microphone inventory. and definitely not while he's carrying a tune.

aces. ]


Oi. Whitechapel. You're on the wrong side of the mic. [ she could listen to a lovely singing voice all day, she suspects. far quicker and readier than to a load of hot air and empty promises. peg folds her arms on a metal pipe about sternum-height and angles forward -- smiling as she catches him unawares. ]
mucked: (☂ 'cause the hypnotist entranced him)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-06 02:12 am (UTC)(link)
[ -- it's almost enough to make her regret offering an interruption. maybe, maybe, she could have held her tongue and listened longer. certainly, she'd played the dutifully quiet audience until that point. but he's a bit of home, whether he means to be or not, and the song only further entrenched that impression.

funny that she should find something familiar in the very heart of something so -- well, american.

peg gives her head a shake when he explains away his preference. just as well, perhaps. she likes the charming little narrative of the stagehand plying his voice in private. likes it better, too, if she gets to bear witness to some of it. but he quickly shifts the focus from his work to hers. ]


Don't let it fool you. [ she leans her chin against her knuckles. ] I'm still very much on the clock. But I thought I'd get a proper look at the venue, this time.

[ it's a slim excuse, but just about valid if she cared to argue it. ]
mucked: (☂ so much depends upon)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-14 07:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[ liability reasons.

never, perhaps, has so dull a phrase elicited such a burst of goodwill. she smiles -- and in that smile she proves herself quick on the uptake. her attention fractures between him, the wider space, and the tugging certainty that she'll still be on the clock even after he's off it.

peggy had been leaning forward. now, she leans back -- fists gripping the scaffolding's metal pipe as a means of anchoring herself in place and trusting her balance to the structure. good lord, how long has it been since she's been on a date? nothing that's proceeded past the usual swipe-left-swipe-right rigmarole. nothing that's gotten beyond a few cheeky words exchanged with no cemented plans to meet in person. things always get in the way.

it always feels easier to cancel or refuse when you can't look a prospect in his eyes. which means it's just about time to look the man from whitechapel in his -- remarkably bright, she notes. ]


Later on? [ she echoes -- amenable, but never prepared to make anything too easy. not even for a charming near-stranger with an enticing voice. ] How much later are we talking?

[ peg makes a display of checking her watch. whatever time he says, she'll agree. doesn't mean there can't be a bit of a dance about it. ]
Edited 2017-08-14 19:39 (UTC)
mucked: (☂ i got a plan)

[personal profile] mucked 2017-08-22 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[ each proposal sits so vaguely on the tip of his tongue. seven or eight. an hour or so. he hedges, peg thinks, and tries to cover ground but not too much of it. to use another analogy, she decides he's casting a wide net and hoping one of its knots might catch.

just as how he doesn't invite her to dinner, but to a dinner break. it's all so very safe. curiously safe coming from a man who'd offered his hand without a second thought. so she makes a show of weighing her options as though she might have a better offer waiting elsewhere.

(she definitely doesn't.)

peg ducks under the scaffolding pipes and joins him on his side. ]


Let's split the difference and call it half-seven. [ she might be able to sneak off for the evening; the timing works in her favour. if she's bold, she may even turn her mobile to silent. ]
Edited 2017-08-22 22:39 (UTC)
waverides: (ғɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ)

[personal profile] waverides 2017-08-05 08:21 pm (UTC)(link)
( Gideon had been delighted when Rip had signed the crew up to the convention. It wasn't the job itself that excited her but the chance to see, perhaps meet some of the candidates that came.

That was if she actually got away from the rig. Gideon had tried getting away earlier but Rip had caught her before she could get two foot away from the stage. Now she was leaning against it, watching the doors for any new arrivals. It was still a little early in the day but perhaps someone would arrive early, trying to beat the press )
waverides: (ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ)

[personal profile] waverides 2017-08-05 09:46 pm (UTC)(link)
( His attention causes Gideon to turn, resting her hands beside her on the stage. She knows that he's disappointed, and sadly it wouldn't be the first time. It's amazing that Gideon still has a job with how lacklustre her effort to the job is )

You know what I want.

( They've talked on a personal level a few times. She wanted to work in politics, not be the politician but to work with them, assist. Do something )

And this is the first time we've worked in this environment.
waverides: (ᴇɪɢʜᴛ)

[personal profile] waverides 2017-08-05 10:25 pm (UTC)(link)
) Her expression looks a little hurt at first, though she knows that Rip's not being intentionally cruel, just frustrated at her work so far.

He's right, though. Working would help him, and no doubt help her, and they had several days of the convention for Gideon to do her meet and greets.

There are a few seconds where Gideon's gaze doesn't meet his before she stands )


What do you need?
waverides: (ғᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ)

[personal profile] waverides 2017-08-05 10:53 pm (UTC)(link)
A soundcheck?

( It was something that Gideon had never done before, at least not on the microphone end of it but she doesn't question it. They're in an unfamiliar place and given what the event is everything needs to be perfect, and no doubt tested more than once.

She takes the microphone, following him a couple of steps )


What do I need to do?
waverides: (ɴɪɴᴇ)

[personal profile] waverides 2017-08-05 11:24 pm (UTC)(link)
( Gideon does as she's told, fiddling with the microphone a little in her hands whilst she waits. At his signal Rip receives a little baffled expression because it's very on the spot, and Gideon's not the speaking kind )

Something? Rip... ( She is at least speaking into the microphone ) I hope your actual sound tests are a little more specific.
waverides: (0010111)

[personal profile] waverides 2017-08-08 09:34 pm (UTC)(link)
It would help.

( But she chuckles a little, head dipping for a few seconds as she thinks of her answer. Gideon doesn't really need to think on it -- she knows exactly why she wants to work there, and she's told him before, but perhaps not coherently or convincingly enough if he's still questioning it )

There are a lot of options, a lot of ways that politics can go. There are many ways that you can help people but it's belief, and trying to do what's right.
waverides: (0011100)

[personal profile] waverides 2017-08-14 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Honesty.

( Cliche, but it was true. Lies didn't help people, not about matter that really meant something )

Putting the funding where it needs to go -- hospitals, research, housing. People need to be safe, and they need hope.
waverides: (0010001)

[personal profile] waverides 2017-08-25 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Everyone could be more honest.

( there was a point to lies, some lies, but times had changed. if people were to survive they needed to be able to work through it.

when rip says that she's done gideon looks relieved, feeling a little awkward and very under pressure stood up there. even though they were just talking it was in a way that many others would have been able to hear, and whilst gideon had spoken from her heart she'd made sure to carefully word it still )


Only that I'm not doing a soundcheck again.

( she probably would if he asked her to, if he needed her to )
boilover: (third degrees of fun more like)

[personal profile] boilover 2017-08-07 06:38 pm (UTC)(link)
Hey, English. Tell me something. Does orgasm have two s's or just one?

[Mick is currently scrawling messy words on half a napkin while sitting on the equipment instead of moving it, clearly not overly giving a fuck what their brave and fearless leader was doing. Mick didn't want to make his dreams come true, he had no dreams. He just really wanted to write a good porn and have someone at this dumb nerd convention read it and praise the genius that is Mick.

He looks up lazily and gives Rip an indifferent look.]
When's lunch by the way? I'm starving.