It may very well be the worst thing that's ever happened to you! | OPEN MINGLE

[vitaelamorte]

Who: EVERYONE!
Where: EVERYWHERE!
When: Friday October 27th - Tuesday October 31st
Rating: PG-13, warn if you're gonna go higher!
Summary: A catch all for the Horrible Memory Truth Event!
The Story:

For the duration of this event, everyone's entire room will be replaced with a memory playing on loop. They will likely recognize the moment as soon as they see it – it is a moment they remember as the worst moment of their entire lives. It could be a memory from home or something that happened in Wonderland. Lengths of the memories will vary, but they will find that these are not memories they can merely watch – they can step into these memories and attempt to make changes to them, and the memories will be long enough that they have time to make changes (though no more than 24 hours). However, anyone who tries will find that it is futile. No matter what you do or how hard you try, the outcome is always exactly the same somehow. No changes you make will prevent that horrible outcome. It just happens over and over and over again no matter what you do.

On top of that, perhaps complicating any attempts to make changes, everyone will be forced to be honest for the duration of the event. No lies or half-truths are allowed, and filters will be gone for the entire five days. If something bothers someone then they will blurt it out, regardless of whether or not it hurts someone's feelings, and no one will be able to simply keep quiet when they have something to say. They must be truthful and honest with every word they say.

This is a catch-all log for all of your Worst Memory needs! Please mark your threads clearly in the subject line with your character's name and Room Number + Floor for character rooms, or just location if you're making a top level for a public place in the mansion (like the tea rooms or the kitchen) so people can see if there's already a thread available. And here's the plot post if you need it!

Have fun!

Comments

[directed]

[She speaks with the same rage that Rip felt in those first moments of learning the truth, too hot and wild for anything more than clipped words and decisive action. But Rip had been broken minutes later; the truth of the Time Master's methods had been too much, and seeing Raymond's death, knowing that he had been the puppet of the people who had raised and taught and trained him, who gave him purpose--

His anger hadn't been able to endure that breaking. Not without the Legends.

But they had been there that day. As defiant as always, and when Peggy talks about carving out the rot, destroying it utterly, his answer comes with quiet certainty.]

We did.

[They had destroyed it all, in the end. Left the Vanishing Point no more than a wreckage, and taken up the mantle of protectors of time themselves.

For how that has turned out.

But Peggy doesn't stop there. She speaks not of his home then, but her own, what she dreads may be waiting in her future. What she must know, Rip thinks, given just how many people are here from so far ahead in her time, and how willing they've all reportedly been to share.]

What have you learned? [Now his gaze falls to her, with far less judgment than one might expect from a man obsessed with the preservation of time. In light of all that's been revealed, how can Rip not feel a measure of sympathy for what might be to come in Peggy's future--or for her desire to try and change it?

No matter what lessons this event might try to teach.]

[mucked]

[ good -- the word is breathed more than said. and it's more a look than a sound. mild, still-queasy approval that there should be some comeuppance for a power grown so unwieldy and corrupt.

less good, of course, is the trap-door now opening up beneath her within this conversation. peggy and rip have been dancing around this question for some time now -- as she tries to veer just about clear of confessing how much digging, learning, asking she's been doing in every interaction with people from her home. from her future. and he's always allowed her to dodge just barely out f the way, revealing little to nothing.

but that safety isn't allowed to either of them just now. she can't hold his inquiry against him -- not after how many questions she's asked and how detailed his answers have been. ]

I've learned my own agency, back home, doesn't have much mileage left in it. [ she could have concluded that already -- she's been digging at its decaying roots for some time now. ] And I've learned it'll be me who fashions its replacement. I've learned it'll be called SHIELD. And I've learned that over the decades it'll be overcome and compromised by an enemy that should have perished at the end of the war. [ a beat; peggy's expression sours further as she realizes she's going to have to tell details she'd rather keep to herself. ] HYDRA -- a Nazi deep science division. I put the last of their commanders behind bars in '45.

[ it's her turn to lose her appetite. ]

Perhaps bars were not enough. Of course, according to you, it won't change a damned thing. Knowing all of this. I'm just as likely to go back home and found the very foothold HYDRA will use to fester and grow for God knows how long.

[ too many words. she doesn't usually talk this much. peggy drains the last of her lukewarm tea before it's her turn to pour herself anther cup. ]

I have learned will get themselves assassin. An old comrade. Programmed. Brainwashed. [ her brows rise -- the word is said pointedly. ] He was here in Wonderland. Told me all about it himself.

[directed]

[Strange, how easy it is to speak of a situation that so mirrors the one he wishes to keep from Wonderland at large. Yet when Peggy spills out the truth of that future, sews in her frustration over what Rip has told her must be, what truths are generally believed about Wonderland, he finds it all too simple to find words in his sympathy. Oh, he knows well that desire that no doubt burns within her now. She'd said it of the Time Masters with such easy determination, and now the source of that wisdom stands painfully clear.

Cut it out. Burn it down. Build something better—only now she's learned that the seeds she plants are poisoned even before they've been buried in the soil.]

That is exactly what you'll do. [He doesn't speak until she mentions the futility Rip has often warned her of, ever since their first meeting.] Everyone who has been returned to their home dimensions only to be pulled back has confirmed the same, myself included: we remember nothing of Wonderland beyond Wonderland itself. [There is no hope for the future, as things stand. No chance to correct the wrongs that will happen, the lives that will be lost.

He means to offer a different brand of comfort, however. Surely there has been good done with the horrors; even if her legacy has been ruined in the end, she herself said it took decades. But Peggy continues on, calling on another measure of sympathy and like experience with Rip. Someone she once knew, who had their mind warped, and Rip naturally frowns as Peggy's attentions turn to her tea.]

If that programming has been undone, he might have meant it as a confession. [Rip has, each time it's come up. Not an apology, nor a call for forgiveness—and never, never a justification. He doubts there will ever be true absolution found for what he has done. Considering the forces at play for this "old comrade," perhaps he felt the same.] But without knowing them, or the context, there's not much way to be sure.

[mucked]

[ she's not deaf to why he might take that particular tack in his reply. a confession, rip suggests, and peggy raises her eyes to watch him directly. tea steams in her cup, kept blessedly hot thanks to the thermos. without looking, she screws the lid back into place.

had it been a confession? at the time, peggy had felt too blindsided to even consider the motives behind what barnes had revealed to her. in many ways, since then, she'd simply assumed it had been an attempt to get ahead of the story -- to tell her before someone else did. a selfish but ultimately very human motivation. ]

The context is something I only know in fits and starts. Haven't had much opportunity to peel away the intel on that particular chestnut. Even if I wanted to, they're gone now. Barnes and Rogers both. No one else involved wants to talk about it. And I can't blame them.

[ she blows on her cup of tea -- old, fruitless habit. a good analogy (perhaps) for all the changes she wishes she could make but likely never will. ] I don't want to talk about it either. I don't suppose we can't find a safer topic.

[ peggy takes a risk when she tries to conjure up any earnest question. ]

Why, exactly, does your revolver glow? [ she's been dying to know, really, since that first day when she stepped out of his closet and found the gun aimed her way. ]

[directed]

[She watches him, and for a moment their eyes meet before Rip lowers his gaze. The slow movement of her hand makes a find staring point, and one might think Rip fascinated in how Peggy closes the thermos once her next cup of tea has been poured.

In truth what she's doing barely registers at all.

She points out the futility of speculation in the next breath; fitting, given the overall theme of these days. It's almost ironic that neither Steve Rogers nor this Barnes are no longer around, during the event which would see them sharing the truth whether they want to or not. Perhaps that would have them reliving it, behind the doors of their own rooms.

But Peggy makes it clear why she isn't hunting down answers. Whether those others wanted to or not, Peggy's clever. She could take advantage, should she opt for that measure of selfishness. Instead it manifests itself in other ways, in not wanting to know when the truth would be impossible to keep secret.

And that's well enough. She's been kind to him during this brief encounter; not asked certain things she could, not attempted to go into his room. A safer topic is almost welcome.]

The power generated and stored within the gun that allows it to rapidly fire emits a light that shows due to the weapon's design. [As a revolver, though it is, in fact, only that in appearance. Rip unholsters the gun in question, holds it up for her inspection.] So in other words, because I wanted it to.

[Not the stealthiest of things at times, but it's served him well. And to demonstrate—and perhaps take some of the edge off his frustrations—Rip points it at the wall next to his door and fires a blast. There's scorching left behind to be sure, but not enough to blast through the wall itself. Just a touch of target practice, as it were.]

[mucked]

[ the form does not follow the function, then -- although peggy isn't snide enough to suggest that it might be described as the aesthetic trumping the pragmatic. after all, if she lived a purely pragmatic life then she wouldn't be wearing heels. she wouldn't be missing her pin-curls. she wouldn't have gone out of her way to at least have lipstick on despite having essentially shut herself out of her own room.

-- and when he fires she winces as though she's expecting a different caliber of noise. but it's not a bullet; there's no powder. no brief familiar ringing of tinnitus after the trigger's pulled. ]

I've seen it's like. [ she explains all too easily. ] Not in style, maybe, but certainly in its lack of bullets. Although -- the ones I saw would have disintegrated the wall. [ ... ] Probably.

[ peggy hums out her curiosity as she holds out a hand. eager, perhaps, to inspect it for herself. if he'll allow it. ]

They were powered by something called a Tesseract. [ one of many artifacts, according to steve, that need to be better kept out of bad hands. ] What powers yours?

[directed]

Well to be fair, I wasn't trying to blow a hole in the wall. [His gun is on a lower setting at the moment; though the event is undeniably a horrible one, he doubts he'll need anything more than the ability to stun someone should they attempt to cross the threshold of his room or take out their frustrations on him. Yet he can't help but be amused by her reactions, in spite of everything going on around them. A safer topic indeed, and Rip has always enjoyed the look in a person's eye when they get to experience some new bit of technology.

Even if Peggy has apparently seen something similar before.]

You do realize I'll be expecting this back. [He turns the gun with practiced ease before offering to Peggy, handle first.] It's got a miniature photonic device in it. Maybe not enough to disintegrate entire walls in one blast, but it will get the job done when I need it to.

[mucked]

You do realize, [ she echoes his wording, ] I haven't the foggiest notion of what a photonic device is. Or does. Or why one might miniaturize it.

[ thanks to the event, she rather avidly owns up to her own ignorance on the topic. something she might ordinarily have swept under the rug, or at least tried to immediately rectify with a half-dozen carefully posed questions.

but it doesn't stop her from leaving her cup of tea on the ground and sitting up taller before she takes his 'revolver' into hand. it's got a familiar feel to it despite the glow in its guts. a bit more unwieldy than her ppk, but isn't as though she hasn't handled a grip like this one before now. ]

But I take your meaning to be that the gun's power varies. [ and that his bold shot moments earlier was considerably less bold (maybe) than her muscle memory tried to convince her it was. it's tough not to see a gun leveled and feel a prickle along the back of her neck. had it been similarly adjusted the day she'd stepped out of his closet?

peggy raises the muzzle and sets her sight on the same scorch mark his earlier shot left behind. but old habits still slink into her posture, even as they stay seated, and when peggy squeezes the trigger she's still accounting for a force she knows intimately: recoil. it's a minute element of human compensation, maybe, and expressed only through those thousands of a second as a bullet normally travels down a barrel. but there's no bullet, no kickback, and peggy's hand dips low with the force of that compensation, force which doesn't meet any force from the gun in turn -- and it drives her shot beneath rip's original target. and not by an insignificant distance. ]

-- Shit.

[ earnest, raw, upset. she lifts the barrel with a cluck of her tongue, obviously disappointed in herself. she doesn't need to wonder what's gone wrong; she'd felt the recoil's absence in her very bones. it was eerie. uncomfortable. ]

[directed]

Oh, absolutely. But given that we are under the effects of an event where we're forced to tell the truth, and you asked me how it works, I couldn't not answer the question.

[So in the end it's entirely Peggy's own fault that Rip's explanation defies her understanding--which he might even be able to tell her should she ask.

But instead the moment is consumed by watching Peggy take her aim, confident and sure in how she holds the gun even if, unknown to Rip, the revolver's size doesn't match her preference. He expects that certainty with how she handles the weapon. After all, he'd watched her practice out at the shooting range, then strip apart her own gun with practiced ease.

What neither of them can predict, however, is just how badly her shot would turn out to be. Even Rip frowns as the shot goes low--extremely low, a second scorch mark appearing quite a distance from the first.]

That was--terrible. [A statement he could perhaps blame on the event, but equally, they both know Rip couldn't say it if he didn't believe it true.] I'd have thought you'd at least get a little closer than that.

[mucked]

[ it's bad enough that she's disappointed in her own showing. now, she must face his unadorned judgment for how wide and how low her aim had fallen. peggy isn't embarrassed and she isn't humiliated -- but she certainly feels frustration for the disparity between what she knows she can accomplish and what the circumstances have allowed her. it puts a snarl in her lip.

she turns the revolver in her hand and grips its barrel -- surprised to find the metal cooler to the touch than she'd expected. another development from the future that defies what she knows should be true. there must be something to the technology that offsets the heat of each shot. certainly, otherwise, firing in succession would prove a dangerous endeavor. ]

It's the damned recoil. Yours doesn't have any. And, hell, a gun with a nose like that-- [ she swears again beneath her breath while passing him back his blaster. but peggy is quick to tug her skirt hem up to mid-thigh, just level with the tops of her stockings. she bends her knee and loosens a slim walther ppk from a rather fashionable holster fastened with garter clips. if she's shy about the reveal, it doesn't show in her face -- it seems a spirit of competition reigns instead.

peggy wastes no time sitting up and raising her arm and firing off three consecutive shots which bury themselves in a tight cluster in and around the first scorch mark. she compensates for the kickback each and every time, perhaps proving her preference for this particular firearm. the shots are loud, ringing through the hallway and leaving the smell of gunsmoke on the air. it's not the safest challenge, but it damn well beats hanging 'round feeling sorry for oneself.

calmer, now, she flips the ppk around in her hand and offers him the petite pistol. only now does she see fit to tug her skirt back down her knees. ] Go on. Fair is fair, Mister Hunter.

[directed]

[She practically pushes the revolver back into his hands, sniping the whole while about how his gun being easier to fire thanks to future technology apparently is entirely to blame for her bad shot. And while it may well prove true--though Rip has no idea yet of how soon--there's no hiding that hint of amusement in his eyes at her marked frustration. Perhaps not the kindness of reactions, but honestly, what else does one expect when their fellow gets so huffy?

...As it turns out, Rip should expect a great deal more from her. Not the least of which is a suddenly tugged up skirt, showing an ample portion of Peggy's thigh that Rip can't quite help but take in before he realizes just what's happening.]

Bloody hell. [She may not be feeling particularly shy, but Rip knows better than to gawk. He turns his head back towards the wall, just in time to see three bulletholes where previously there had been none. As is true of so many "traditional" guns, the noise of the rapid shots fills the hall. He winces at the noise, but doesn't move to cover his ears; after all, he's used to all manner of battlefields.

Something settles in Peggy, it would seem, now that she's proven her marksmanship. Her skirt gets set back into place (something Rip sees on the edges of his vision), and then her gun is presented to him. Not surprising, really. No doubt with her complaints of recoil and the lack thereof, she expects Rip to fumble much as she had with his weapon.

Unfortunately, being from the future as he is, Rip has certain advantages in his favor.]

As you wish, Miss Carter. [He takes the gun, and as Peggy had, straightens his spine before taking aim. The first shot is a touch wide, though not nearly so much as Peggy's had been, and by the second and third it would seem as if Rip knows precisely how to adjust for the recoil or anything else.

His bullets land nearly as close to the center as hers had.]

[mucked]

[ she blinks with each of his shots. it can't be helped -- not under the press of close quarters and the exhausting last few days. but in reality, peggy's gesture is more charitably made than he might suspect. although she'd felt compelled to prove her own deft hand with her own traditional gun, she doesn't actually want to set rip up for failure. not least of all because she can make an educated guess that he's held and used guns like this one before. after all, not so long ago he'd alluded to blending in with a given time period.

even when he succeeds, her point is proven: ] See? You knew what to expect. I damn well didn't. It's a miracle I hit where I did.

[ and, of course, had she taken a second and third shot with the 'revolver' then she might have closed the distance all the better. ]

At least mine doesn't glow. [ a sniff, a shake of her head. imagine if you will the sort of trouble that would cause hidden beneath a skirt. ] Not terribly subtle, your piece.

[ peggy leans back against the wall and reclaims her tea -- drinking deep. truth be told, she could just about do with something a touch stronger now that they've mussed up the wall and probably startled folks on the floors below and above. ]

[directed]

--You're coming dangerously close to sulking, you realize. [Everything from her assessment of his experience to the opinion on his gun, all of it seems to come less from a place of critical analysis and more a child's pouting fit. Yet he seems amused even as he calls her on it, a glint in his eye that speaks to teasing more than judgement this time.

…Although make no mistake; there is still some judgement there. An appropriate amount, he would think.]

I don't need this gun to be subtle. On the occasions where I needed to go unnoticed in any given era, I ensure my weaponry matches the time I'm in. [So it's exactly as she's assumed, right down to his experience with a variety of guns and their recoils.]

[mucked]

I think I can be forgiven a bit of a sulk. Given the weekend.

[ a refreshingly earnest opinion, really. it's one she'd ordinarily defer and detour and decline to admit. it's not that peggy is self-effacing, exactly, but she would normally have made an attempt to rise above such petty bait. to prove (as she so often tries) that her shortcomings don't matter.

(when, of course, they do.)

she meets his teasing look with another impatient shake of her head. ] But! All I'd need is a couple days -- three, tops -- with your gun and then I imagine I could outshoot you with it.

[ maybe only barely. but if she had a chance to adjust, to drill, to learn how not to correct for its lack of kick? well, peggy's got a healthy confidence in her own skills. not least of all because she can see where his shots with the ppk were just a little off her own. ]

[directed]

You might be surprised. I'm the source of all this misery, and yet nearly everyone has seen fit to tell me how I shouldn't blame myself. One person was particularly adamant that I do something other than dwell in my own misery for the duration.

[What a silly person who clearly doesn't know Rip at all.

But her challenge remains. Three days, she claims, and it might well be true. Rip knows just the same as Peggy that his shots hadn't quite hit with the same level of accuracy. He turns his head to look at her for a moment, as if considering the offer.]

You do understand that putting futuristic technology in the hands of someone from the past is literally a crime when I'm from? And one that I specifically work to both prevent and correct.

[Never mind that he'd done just that a few moments before. He simply has to give Peggy a hard time. It seems appropriate, with the way things are headed.]

[mucked]

[ it's her turn to take back what belongs to her. in this case, it involves leaning leftward just enough to coax her ppk back out of his hands. but with her mug in one grip and the gun in her other, she isn't quick to reveal her holster all over again. ]

Worked. [ peggy isn't correcting him -- rather, the word nearly carries an interrogative. the barest hint of a question mark. she's rising to his defiance with a bit of her own. gladly, almost. ] Your Time Masters are finished, aren't they? Which leads me to think you're not much of a lawman any longer.

And it's not a crime here -- [ doubtless he'll confirm or deny whether that's true soon enough; it's not as though wonderland hasn't already crossed that line when it comes to peggy and technology. ] -- and besides, if you refuse I can always try my luck with the closets. See if I can't replicate it from memory.

[ peggy smirks. ] Which option do you think might result in the bigger disaster, hm? Mister Hunter?

[directed]

[He'd almost forgotten he'd been holding the thing to be honest. But when Peggy does reclaim her pistol, Rip in turn picks up his neglected cup of tea, lukewarm now and still bitter without the benefit of any sweetener added to it. He takes a sip and briefly frowns, almost a wince at the reminder of what can happen to such a good drink if not tended to properly.

Shame, that.

But seemingly one never content to leave well enough alone, Peggy tries to needle him about his profession by playing both sides of the coin; suggesting at first that he's got no mandate to uphold, and then in the next breath appealing to Rip's professional ethics by suggesting he might help unleash some great horror if she were to attempt to recreate his revolver on her own.]

The Time Masters are finished, but I've taken up their task in the aftermath. [Point the first. Another sip of tea, another moment to brace himself afterwards, and Rip continues on.] And you, Miss Carter, cannot replicate a bottle of decent whiskey from memory. I somehow suspect you won't have much luck trying to recreate a pistol that you don't even know the inner workings of--much less anything worse.

[Maybe she'll end up with a showy laser pointer at best. Rip almost hopes to see her face if that is the case.]

[mucked]

[ a vigilante through time, then. is that really any better? although peggy can appreciate the position. the last year and a half have been a study in vigilantism just outside the ssr's purview. she empties her mug, but rather than rush to refill it she leaves it sitting on the floor.

now it is time to smoothly reholster her ppk. this time, with a touch more discretion than when she'd drew it first in a rush of ego. ]

I care more about my guns than I do my whiskey. [ she certainly paid a different kind of attention to his gun than she has any bottle of booze. ] But if the inner workings are that much of a stumbling block, I suppose I could always tap a shoulder. Call in a favour with one of the engineers. One of the scientists.

Tony. Or Ray, for that matter. [ a soft hum. ] Ray might be best, actually. I fear the bells and whistles that would come with any Stark-design.

[ she speaks frankly, openly, candidly. more importantly? she calls him ray. not doctor palmer. not even raymond. ]

[directed]

[Some days, Rip has to wonder.

But! The Legends cutting their way through history ever so much like a chainsaw isn't the current topic up for discussion. He once more politely turns his head when Peggy reholsters her gun; though her actions speak of greater care this time, it's the proper thing to do. And of course, there is the debate between them to focus on--one that takes an interesting turn when she calls out the names of those whom might aid her in her endeavors.]

Ray now, is it? [Not Doctor Palmer, and not even Raymond. Her point stands entirely true, of course; no doubt Ray could indeed build her a weapon akin to Rip's. Same for this "Tony Stark," if his claims about building an exosuit are true.

So clearly, the best tactic now isn't to try and argue a lie he can't even give voice to.] I didn't realize the pair of you had gotten so close.

[mucked]

[ ...altogether too late she realizes the knot she's tied herself into. peggy had gotten used to calling him ray. just as she'd gotten used to how he called her peg. and as strangely alright as that phenomenon has become, she considerably less alright with spitting those details out for someone else to hear.

her lips purse tight as she shakes her head -- but it's about as close to a lie as she can take it, because the next few words out of her mouth are plain and adulterated truth: ] He's a friend.

[ she supposes. certainly, he supposes. peggy frowns, too, because she can taste the next confession rising like bile in the back of her throat. ]

And he was my -- employer. During that event. Surely you know the one.

[ don't make me say it. peggy buries her attention in another tart, tearing it in two and shoving one half into her mouth. flipping hell, she needs to shut it. ]

[directed]

[He might have remarked on that admission of friendship, particularly where Ray is concerned. After all, Rip knows exactly what Dr. Palmer is like when it comes to such matters, how he insists and pushes and never relents, believing always in something better to be. But before he can question if she'd been goaded into accepting Ray's likely proclamations as truth, Peggy cites what is perhaps the truest source of their connection. The strange little event that tied them together, not unlike it had Rip and Peggy too.

Though in a completely different fashion, when it comes to the details.]

...Yes, quite. I, ah, do remember it quite well. [She grabs a tart from the box and Rip is reminded that he two has one in there, now perhaps best used in case of the emergency of speaking too much.

For example?]

I hadn't realized he was the one you were making excuses to when you and I had our little date. [Not a revelation he meant to speak out loud. The proclamation of "bollocks" is quickly muffled. Good thing he does like the flavor of the bakewells; it'd be a shame to have to suddenly fill his mouth with a taste he hated.]

[mucked]

[ rip wouldn't be wrong. ray palmer has been the very definition of a persistent bastard. but she has a grudging respect for persistent bastards -- the ones who won't stay knocked down. the idealists, the futurists, the ones with the hardest heads. it's an admiration that feels most natural when it's being hidden.

or, at the very least, downplayed. something this event hasn't allowed her to do. not about shield, not about ray, and now not about this either. peggy chews her way through the frangipan and the frosting while she forces herself to meet rip's eyes -- it's only a matter of time before something else comes bubbling up. but when she swallows, she finds she can't swallow the truth alongside. ]

Of course you hadn't. [ realized. ] I've worked hard to make certain you didn't. Wouldn't. It's no big reveal to say we've both been avoiding the topic. Our...little date, as you've put it.

[ peggy peels the slivered almond off the top of her remaining half a tart. ] Equally, Ray hasn't realized for whom I was making those excuses. And with a two parts effort to one part luck, he won't ever have to.

[directed]

[She meets his gaze, and it's rather damn impressive he thinks. This should all be subject matter they've gone over before, laid to rest between them the first night Peggy had shown up at his door with the request for a drink and the offer of silence once what needed to be said had been spoken. Yet it would seem the event now at play has once more brought the matter to the fore--and even as they both chew, Rip suspects it won't be dismissed so easily.

A thought proved right as soon as Peggy's no longer got pastry and frosting muffling her lips. Peggy cites her own efforts, leaving Rip to nod in quiet reply. Impressive in will and secrecy then. It's not as if Rip and Ray haven't spoken since then, but not about the convention.

Which proves the point that follows well enough.] I reasoned as much simply because he hasn't approached me about it. We might never well hear the end of it if he did know. [Two parts effort indeed, and Rip can only hope that somehow, this particular truth doesn't get told to Raymond while Rip's got no choice but to say it.

But something else in what she said clicks with him then; it's his turn to look her in the eye, curious at her phrasing.] But he does know you went on a date. As you were then, at least.

[mucked]

[ she might manage to look him in the eye, yes, but she doesn't manage to hide how she winces. it's first a soft intake of breath -- hissed inward between her teeth -- and then a sort of coiling tightness through her shoulders. her wince is sourced in a lot of things, not least among them the acknowledgement that she believes in rip's assertion: they would indeed never hear the end of it.

...and another source is one she can't help but tackle aloud: ] Must we keep calling it a date? Stupid question. Of course we must. [ she eats that slivered almond piece off the tip of her finger and then traces a lazy circle in the air. indicating, however wordlessly, the event all around them. it was a date and so that is what they must call it. ]

I suspect he suspects I was meeting with someone. [ and she's got a good track record with hunches. ] But it's been easy enough to carry on the conversational fiction that I went MIA because he was simply too demanding as a boss. In that regard, he's none too difficult to throw off a scent. Good Lord, you know I think he actually thought I was probably something like an assistant or a secretary?

[ not so easy, now. everything gets considerably tougher when other people begin to realize she's prone to short-changing the truth even in the most innocent conversations. she hasn't enjoyed ray's gradual realization about her nature and her vocation. ]

[directed]

[He nods at her wince, her mutual understanding that Ray's eagerness might well know no bounds should he discover just what they each had been up to during the event--and equally, afterwards. Nothing like a "date," of course, but weekly evenings spent together, sharing drinks and each other's company.

Which, one could argue, is exactly what they'd done during those days not spent as themselves. Right down to Rip providing the whiskey.

But she asks something else first, and Rip gives her a frown and a dry "we must" at the same moment Peggy herself utters the words. They hadn't been themselves, no, but their meeting had indeed been a date; Rip can recall the nervous excitement that the version of himself then had felt when gathering the bits and bobs necessary.

And how each time he considered the fact that he did have a date with "Lambeth," he couldn't keep himself from smiling.

Back to the matter at hand, however. Peggy updates him on the situation, in a manner reminiscent of offering up a report on mission status. He shakes his head at the end of it, at Peggy's amazement of what Ray might have been convinced of.]

You were rather good as a PA, from what I recall--and Dr. Palmer is quite trusting of people. [A trait that's been both good and bad at times.] He has the ability to quite willfully see the best in everyone, and believe in positive outcomes.

And he considers you friends, so why would he assume you might tell him anything but the truth?