entrancelogs | open » please don't be a stranger in my place

Entry tags:

open » please don't be a stranger in my place

Who: Peggy Carter + YOU
Where: Mansion grounds + the 'Palace'
When: August 25th to 27th
Rating: PG13ish
Summary: Peggy struggles with spatial anomalies, with the universe being bigger than she thought it was, and with life in general. Will match prose/brackets.
The Story:

( DAY ONE )

Even after the announcement made by Darcy and Steve, Peggy Carter isn't looking to stay a homebody. Not least of all because somehow (somewhere) in all this spatial mess, she's gone and misplaced one of the very few items brought with her from home. (Home! What a funny concept, just now!)

So, she's on the hunt. It's not an easy endeavor. Quite apart from striding into the kitchen and ending up in the music room, or entering a stairwell only to find herself standing in mild bewilderment in the middle of someone else's bedroom, it seems she can't quite manage to get back to her own quarters without ending up in the lake.

That's right: in the lake. And so if someone doesn't catch her misdirected elsewhere, they might come across Peggy as she's stalking her way back to the mansion with her heels in hand and her clothes soaked through. The unexpected dip has forced her curls undone and her makeup to run. By the stormy look on her face, it's entirely possible this isn't the first time she's made this particular and sodden walk. Little does she know, she's got a lot to be thankful for. At least the lake hasn't taken to freezing yet.

All she damn well wants is to get back to her bedroom.

( DAY ONE + TWO )

With a bit of charity from a fellow resident, she may yet manage to make it through this event with (most) of her dignity intact. Incapable of making it back to her bedroom, Peggy is forced to rely upon the kindness of (near) strangers. It's a position she hates to be in, but it's entirely possible she'll be knocking on your door with a quick and sheepish request to make use of your closet. I'll only be a moment. Hand to heart. She promises with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Good Lord, this is humiliating. Begging, hand to mouth, while dripping lake water all over someone's doorway.

The Asgardian garb isn't really her style, but it's any port in a storm -- and until she can make it back to her own wardrobe, she might as well make do and mend. And if the whole ruddy place is meant to be so transformed into a palace then perhaps she may as well look the part. Albeit under duress.

( DAY THREE )

-- But it becomes soon apparent that she's not wholly herself in these fabrics and armours. Never great at sitting still, it now feels like tenfold a challenge not to rush to the threatened defenses and do something about it. At first, she tries to resist the siren's call to arms. And when she does begin to wander the palace, she tells herself it's because she's curious about this place that shares some metaphysical connection (apparently) with her own home-world. She can be found leaning her cheek against the warm walls with interest, or tracing the impossible architecture of an arched doorway.

"--Must've taken ages to knock together something like this. Touch more ambitious than Hampton Court. And that's saying something," she comments to passers-by.

But in the end it's with relief that she finally manages to access her own room again -- keen to peel away the alien fashion and find herself a proper pencil skirt again.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Groot isn't entirely sure what exactly it is that she's knocking on the door to ask for and he should really ask Rocket before he let a stranger in because it's Rocket's room buuut he's not here and she looked so sad. What to do? He's really not sure! He held up his finger to make sure she paused and waited before he shut the door and trailed off to get what he thought she might want. That way he could help without potentially upsetting Rocket.

When he opened the door again, he presented her with a sock. A clean, white sock.

This is what she wanted, right? A sock? He understood that thinking, socks were great. They could be used to keep stuff, they could be used as a weapon, they could be worn or slept in. She could really use a dry sock. They were a genius item, way better than a shoe. Shoes were just deceptive non-sock lies. He held it up a little further and insistently. "I am Groot?"

Well, damn. This is troubling.

Peggy might have looked sad (and soggy) at the outset, but her disappointment quite quickly gives way to confusion. Concern, even. Bewilderment, certainly. And when the little tree, root, plant (?) chap actually bids her to wait and be patient.

She isn't convinced she knows why she heeds the creature, but she does. Drip-drip-dripping in the hallway with her hands on her hips until the door opens and...

"A sock?" She counters, hop-skipping over what she presumes to be a friendly introduction while she bends over to snag the item and inspect it more closely. "Oh, yes, thank you. That'll be good for drying oh about a third of my face."

Somehow, her gratitude doesn't sound all that sincere.

She didn't like the sock? "I am Groot?"

He wasn't sure what there wasn't to like about the sock. Did she really think it was that useless? Hmm. He held up his finger again and watched her for a second, making sure she was paused before he shut the door again and searched for what else it could be that she'd want from him. Clearly she was weird, strange and needed something that fit her and her current mood.

Which is when when he opened the door next time, he threw a sun hat up into the air and in her direction. "I am Groot." Only weird people like hats. "I am Groot." You're pretty weird. "I am Groot." Maybe it'll make her head look better.

Looks too small right now.

Again, she's asked (commanded?) to wait. And if she listens then perhaps it's only because there's something strangely less humiliating about sorting through this interaction with a odd little bark creature if only because of how out of the ordinary it all is for her.

Turns out she doesn't make good on her suggestion that the sock would only do to dry her face. It's still hanging limp in her hand when the door opens again and she's tossed a hat. A hat! And Peg does like a good hat, but it hardly seems the time and...

"You're Groot." Only now does the odd speech pattern get noticed. She frowns, holding the hat upside down and tossing the sock into its hollow. "Look, Mister Groot, this is all well and good but have you got a flannel?"

Ah! A flannel! Groot beamed and bounced up and down, nodding his head. "I am Groot!" Yes, he had one of those. Once again, he held up his finger before slamming the door shut in her face with all the command of this situation. If Peggy had known Groot a little more or had been perhaps warned by anyone who knew him just how bad he was at understanding humans at this age, she might have known what was coming.

But even so, he opened the door and grinned as he held out a spoon to her. Wooden, long, a nice easy grip handle.

A perfect flannel. "I am Groot!"

Now, by this junction one might think she ought to return the favour and introduce herself. I am Peggy, she could say, and be done with it. But Lord no. Not when she's near teeth-chattering from her splash in the lake, hair falling in undone curls on her shoulders, and her blouse heavy on her arms. This time, however, she does peer through the doorway when it opens -- almost wistfully, as though keen to be invited inside. Careful, young sapling, for next time she may just shove her foot in the door and invite herself.

"Flannel. Flannel. But here you've brought me -- good God, I pray that's not some unfortunate cousin." Awfully rough humour, that, but she's in an awfully rough mood and what on earth is she supposed to do with a wooden spoon?

Peggy grimaces, but does the honourable thing and accepts the offering just like all the rest. "Is it really so much to ask for a flannel and a cup of tea?" Maybe he can't understand her. Maybe (and she's only just beginning to realize this) he's little more than a child. The big eyes do seem hauntingly...puppyish.

Groot slowly cocked his head to the side. Oh no, she seemed to be getting more upset. Why was she so upset? He gave her everything that she wanted and he had no idea what else to do. He wanted to invite her in but could he? He looked around the hallway nervously before gesturing at her. "I am Groot?"

Was she hungry? Thirsty? She didn't want a spoon or a hat. So what did she want? He paused and slowly took in the sight of her, thinking very hard and clearly trying his best before once again, he slammed the door in her face.

He rushed around the room, leaping around the junk in here and trying to find what he needed to make the sad human feel less like a sad human and more like a happy human.

When he returned this time, he opened the door slowly and behind him, he was dragging along a fridge with his vines. Yes, a whole fridge. A heavy item at least three times his size. She had to want food, right? All humans wanted food always. Well, here was food. He paused and looked up, blinking at her hopefully before slowly smiling.

Agent Peggy Carter is fluent in a number of (European) languages. She doesn't speak a lick of whatever bastardized version of English this creature speaks, if it's even a language at all and not just the same child-like construction repeated ad infinitum. But that doesn't stop her from at least interpreting a measure of -- what? Disappointment? Self-reproach? Something in his gradual consideration that makes her feel just a spark of guilt for being so impatient.

But just a spark and nothing more and she goes promptly back to nursing her no-good awful bad mood. Doubly so when the door slams in her face again and she's left tapping a toe and glancing down the hallway, very much prepared to stride away and be done with it.

-- Lo and behold the door opens once more but this time she's faced with the marvel of whoever the bloody hell Groot is dragging a refrigerator. And if her bad mood dissipates now, it's only long enough to whisper a soft and sharp bloody hell. Sod the other stuff, which she tosses onto the floor by the doorway and instead takes a step forward to investigate this new development.

"Strong little bugger, aren't you?" Not to mention persistent. Even so, she's frowning when she asks, "alright, what's inside?"

He nodded his head eagerly. Groot is strong, Groot is very strong and very proud. He told her this but he told her it in the usual way so it was likely lost in translation as he hurried around to the front and opened the fridge. Instead was various kinds of sodas, cakes, snack bars, milk, some sandwich items and what looked like a head of a plastic children's doll.

Groot beamed and grabbed some of the cake, pulling it from the fridge with his vines and carefully holding it up to her with a small smile.

"I am Groot?" Problem solved?

There are certain points in life when a person is called upon to question every twist and turn of fate that's brought them to where they currently stand. Peggy, for her part, must wonder why she's being offered a bit of crumbling cake out of Groot's prehensile vines.

And, bless her soul, to be polite she tries to accept this gift of cake and juggles it unsteadily in her palm. Peggy is in no rush to sample this serendipitous bit of dessert. So instead she makes for an even sadder image as she stands, soaked to the bone, with cake sitting on her bare palm.

"...Cheers."

What else is she supposed to say?

Yes. He finally did it! Groot was very happy as he closed the fridge door with a slam and started to push it happily back into his room. As he did so, he left the door of Rocket's room wide open accidentally, not really thinking about it. Why would he? He just really wanted to help the poor wet peopley human and he did.

Once the fridge was back in place, he turned around and looked for a drink to offer her. What did lady people tend to like? Maybe water? Water was good for humans.

And that poor wet peopley human takes an opening when she sees it. With a broad step, and bringing water with her, she allows herself inside. It's -- well, it's a room. It's got more in it than hers, evidently, but the room itself is less noteworthy than the creature who'd been slamming its door in her face for the better part of five minutes.

Still, she holds the cake. And still she doesn't eat it.

"Look, as thrillingly hospitable as you've been," well sort of, "all I really want is something I can use to sop up some of this water."

She's not convinced it'll do her any good but -- but it's better than swallowing her pride once more and knocking on someone else's door.

Blink. Blink. He cocked his head to the side, tried to understand what she was saying and then, because he really was perplexed, he picked up another spoon and held it out. Spoon? Is she asking for the spoon? He gets that, cake is hard to eat without the --

Oh. Oh, wait, water. Water. Wet. Wet peoples hate being wet.

Something clicked in his little head and the spoon is soon abandoned as he ran off excitedly and returned moments later, finally, with a towel in his hand. Wet humans like to be dry. He Held it up and grinned with such pride.

"I am Groot?"

Oh, stuff the spoon. A spoon would be lovely, yes, if she had any concrete intention to eat the cake. But she doesn't. Indeed, the moment the plant-fellow's back is turned, she delivers the piece back to the bizarre fridge from whence it came.

Although! Although she feels a touch of guilt when he returns with exactly the thing she's wanted this whole time. A click of her tongue communicates some disappointment in herself -- but she winds her fist in the terry-cloth and gladly begins to towel off her face, her hair, her throat.

"Finally, yes. Bless your little bark-clad feet."

Yes, he did good. See, look, he knew all along. He waves a hand in dismissal like yeah, he was just build up to this, totally didn't stick a fridge in the doorway because he was confused. He climbed ideally up the fridge himself and sat on it so he could be more eye to eye with her, pointing at her general wet appearances.

Did she go swimming? Here? Without a towel already? That's not very smart!

"I am Groot?"

Alright, alright then. Truth be told a bit of eye-level contact doesn't seem like such a terrible idea and when the creature climbs all the way up she takes a step back to better accommodate this new field of vision. He's quick, isn't he? And nimble.

She wonders if there are more of him.

"Me?" She asks, pointing at herself in a physical echo of his gesture. Certainly, he might be asking about her sopping state and with another half-beat she might have figured that out. But Peggy goes for the more obvious answer: "Peggy. I'm Peggy."

Groot held out his tiny hand, all formal and polite like, because even trees are capable of manners and he remembered well what he'd been taught about meeting fancy people. And she seemed kind of fancy. He wasn't sure why, she just did.

It's a pleasure to meet this strange wet fancy woman.

"I am Groot!"

Had Peggy any notion of how Groot was referring to her in his thoughts, she might have scowled most fiercely. As it is, considering she hasn't the foggiest, her scowl is only around mid-fierce. And it even manages to lighten a little at the prospect of a handshake.

His grip is so small. Peggy offers what she can: a flat of fingertips, polished in red.

"Yes, that much I'd gathered. Shockingly."

At least they knew each other now. That made them all friends. Friends were nice, they were there for you and reached high up things and got rid of birds who were being sassy and mean. Like those prissy pigeons back at the manor who kept throwing shade at him.

He held his hands out to her and made a grabby motion.

"I am Groot?" Pick him up, he would like to see the world from where she is. Maybe explode with her a little. He couldn't do it by himself, too tiny. He'd get trampled.

From handshakes to pick-em-ups, eh? Peggy's hesitation is visible. It isn't that she's disgusted by the notion of handling this little tree fellow. Rather, she already considers it a strange sort of intimacy and one she's not certain she's prepared to entertain. But then the words sound out again -- I am Groot -- and she can hear their plaintive tone. For the first time, perhaps, she properly understands the intention beneath the repetition.

He wants up. It's incumbent on her to make that happen. Perhaps it's quid pro quo for the towel and the cake. However uneaten. So Peg tosses the towel over her shoulder and holds out a hand and...

And. Well. She's not about to grab him by the middle. Instead, she offers a flattened palm and watches for his reaction.

"Go on, then. Get a wiggle on."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

open » please don't be a stranger in my place

Day one

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject