open » i've got an atlas in my hands

[mucked]

Who: Peggy Carter + YOU
Where: Library, Rabbit Hole Diner, and other locations.
When: Early Feb
Rating: PG-13; will warn for changes in individual threads.
Summary: A catch-all for the first half of the month. There are some open prompts under the cut, but I'm also posting some closed starters in the comments. Hit me up if you'd like something other than the options below.
The Story:
[ DURING february's first few days, peggy pays a few productive visits to the »LIBRARY. she arrives armed with a scrap pressed into her palm. the paper is thin and torn, jagged, from a puzzle book -- folded in threes with precision and hard corners forced onto its asymmetrical shape. while she walks from stack to stack she traces the list's edge with the pad of her thumb. in reality, she doesn't need it. she'd long-since memorizes the book titles recommended to her in order to bring her loosely up to speed with popular science. so the list is a flimsy talisman, maybe, but during these visits it represents purpose. forward momentum.

her reading list is accumulated over multiple days, as though some reflexive defense mechanism convinces peggy to take her time. patience is rarely her strongest suit but she nevertheless makes an effort, knowing that a rush will only leave her rudderless and once again without distraction. to that end, she allows herself to wander off-path. maybe she's come for non-fiction, but she detours through a shelf of thrillers and mysteries and adventure stories.

she touches the spines as she passes them by -- her little list peeking between her knuckles like an ace at the ready. peggy never intends to appear lost but catch her at an odd moment and she might want some help. after all, stark never gave her author names to go with the titles.

LATER, with her coursework assembled, she goes elsewhere to conduct her reading. a great deal of it happens behind her bedroom door as she readjusts to a solitary life now that jane has returned to her husband. but some of it happens at the »DINER. with a whole booth claimed for herself, she sits with the dust jacket removed so bystanders can't easily discern what she's reading stephen hawking's a brief history of time, incidentally. it takes some two or three chapters to really dig into work she couldn't already recognize in passing -- and, on occasion, she offers up an audible scoff when she finds herself confronted with a colourful explanation of scientific discovery which nevertheless somehow manages to neglect howard stark's contribution.

she orders a plate of chips (hot; crispy; salted) and implores the wait-staff to keep them coming. instead of tea, she asks for a milkshake. not a quarter of an hour passes before she's cracked open a journal and uncapped a pen. her annotations are, for the time being, made in pitman shorthand -- and so appear as a series of near shapeless scribbles to those who aren't fluent. even so, there's no secrecy behind that choice. merely a swell of impatience after she'd worked so hard to contain it earlier.

and yet peggy's not averse to interruptions. not exactly. she may not be the most welcoming conversation partner, nor is she particularly fond of idle chatter, but she doesn't chase off interruptions or inquiries.

OTHERWISE, known associates and strangers alike are free to run into her »OUT & ABOUT. whether she's 'commuting' from quarters to library or grabbing a quick breakfast in the dining room early in the morning. she doesn't have a precise schedule (on most days) but she's not impossible to chance upon. she's nearly always immaculate -- from heel to hair-pins. having a project in hand puts her in a better mood. ]

Comments

[luchnik]

[ once his eyes zero in on movement, he keeps one eye on it, the other continue to search for other signs of life. he has no proof that the person walking towards the stables is the source of the laser - but it's the only person he sees around. it's been long enough that he expects to have been found out by a robot or the most enhanced residents of wonderland.

he shifts on the roof, quietly, not letting the dark figure out of his sight. he needs to get a clear view of the face, know who to track because pouncing on an unknown figure in wonderland isn't risky, it's suicide; he doesn't quite know the odds but he's pretty sure they tip towards the running into someone who could kill him with a flick of the finger end of the scale. granted, that wouldn't stop him if he had something real to accomplish here, but this is reconnaissance.

his hold on his bow shifts as well; no arrow is drawn, but that can be rectified in seconds. ]

[mucked]

[ the stables stink like horses. as stenches go, it's not a terrible one -- but 'stench' is still the best word to describe the pungent earthy smell of hay mixed with animal. peggy's boots (this was never an outing for heels) scuff on the dirty ground, but the sound is easily lost under the shuffling and snorting of steeds.

and a few whinnies trumpet up from the far stalls when a few of the creatures find themselves agitated by a stranger in their midst.

by all rights, it would make the most sense if she continued walking -- straight through the stables -- and reappeared by the far barn doors so she might keep on trekking towards the mansion. but peggy makes different use of her time, scaling the inside ladder to the loft and shoving her upper body out of a hatch -- leaning far forward -- to get a better view of the shadowy figure on the forward peak of the stable's roof. ]

-- If that's one of yours, Tony, I'm going to be very cross with you.

[ she shouts, pulling her gun as if prepared to "shoot" what she suspects is a robot sent to keep tabs on her around the mansion. the pistol isn't leveled, yet, but simply held in hand. ]

[luchnik]

[ he hears her approach - and turns just in time, his bow now at the ready, with an arrow drawn.

the voice that comes out of the shadowy figure's direction is not tony's - sorry peggy, but this is not the droid you're looking for - but it is altered by digital means. he recognizes that voice, and that recognition makes oliver damn happy he bothered with the voice modifier. lowering his speaking register works fine on people who have never met him, but a government agent who already suspects him? it's no time for taking chances. ]

Laser gun. [ that explains one thing, but raises so many other questions. is her world vastly different than his own? is it home tech, or can the closets supply them with such high powered weapons? does that mean that if someone knows exactly what an atom bomb should be like they can wish one into existence? or, an earthquake machine? he underestimated the closets severely if that's true. or, did stark build it for her? he needs to get an in there. he's gotten used to relying on felicity's tech support, it's hard going back to doing everything for himself.

he doesn't think she was shooting at anything but a target, she wouldn't be calmly retreating if she was. so he focuses on the situation at hand. he's going to need a quick getaway, but he's also going to need her not to shoot him as he's making it.

he loosens his bow. ]

Is that one of his? [ he doesn't expect an answer. he expects questions. a lot of them. but it's a tactic. start a conversation. as soon as he gets that gun down - he can make his escape. ]

[mucked]

[ there! a flicker of movement. a man, dressed darkly, and -- good god, is that a bow? and soon a voice follows it. it's true enough that she doesn't recognize what she hears, except to recognize that it's somehow being disguised. there's a tinny, pitchy quality -- better than hearing something over a radio, but not quite like how one hears undoctored sound.

-- so, the bugger's been watching her since she'd been at the range. well. that puts an unpleasant chill up her spine. peggy doesn't holster the gun but she doesn't swing it 'round to point at the archer. for once, she's interested in ending this peacefully.

he asks after the gun. why? is it notable? perhaps, to an archer. ]

Hardly. [ her voice is iron. her gun might not be pointed, but her resolve is. ] If it was, I imagine it'd be bigger. Stark men aren't terrible good with being subtle. [ and then: ] Are you following me?

[ does she even expect the truth? ]

[luchnik]

[ his eyes are fixed on her, body ready to respond to the slightest movement. he knows better than to underestimate that resolve in her voice; he's used that very tone before putting people down, before causing them a world of pain.

but she does answer his question, and he files it along with the rest of the information he has on her. another piece of the puzzle. where it fits? he'll figure out later. ]

I'm following up the laser. [ his own tone doesn't waver, but he does feel like a simple honest answer (he had no idea who was behind it, after all) might be his best course of action in this case. he's not interested in a confrontation with someone who doesn't have it coming. that isn't to say he trusts her or wouldn't shoot her if he needs to - but for the moment, he'd rather not.

he was doing recon. he saw something strange. he looked into it. it's easy enough to understand, and should cause a lot less hostility. ]

[mucked]

Bit nosy of you, don't you think?

[ her free hand curls on the edge of the barn's hatch. it's the point of pressure that keeps her balanced as she leans outward, squinting at the hooded man. man? the voice sounded masculine, but if it was being altered in some fashion... ]

[luchnik]

No.

[ nosy implies idle curiosity. he wasn't thinking it was a sign of a party he was missing or a site of juicy gossip - he thought it was a weapon. and he was right. a danger he needs to assess, learn to cope with, for his survival and the survival of others. ]

Where did you get that from. [ it's a long shot without applying stricter methods, but he's not entirely opposed to employing them, even though he knows he should at least try to be smart about this.

his patience grows thin, and he still hasn't had anyone to probably take his anger out on. ]

[mucked]

Now, that is nosiness.

[ she's a bit flinty. peggy has all sorts of reasons to be a bit careful about describing where she got the gun, but most of them are personal. so the lie she's got to tell needs to be a good one. or, at least, good enough not to invite more curiosity. ]

But if you must know, [ she holds the gun up perpendicular to the floor. like pointing at the stars. ] I got it from the vendors.

[ much better than describing it as the gift it actually is. ]

[luchnik]

[ one of the first things she's told him was there are only bad barters here, to stay away from the vendors. it's one of the few things he takes without a grain of salt - he believes it, and he believes she believes it too.

which makes this a lie. he expected a lie. but it's not the obvious 'closets' route - which gives him a tiny sliver of hope that maybe they're not the answer - and it's not that she's always had it - an answer that could be used to boast familiarity and competence, both good deterrents in a stand off like theirs.

it's a lie, but it's a curious lie. ]

That's survival.

[ this can end in one of two ways - he makes a getaway or someone gets hurt. a part of him itches for the second. he knows he should choose the first. he's gone down many dark paths, but he's always maintained some measure of sanity - if someone didn't do harm to him or others, more so - that someone has helped him - it didn't matter how angry he was, he wouldn't hurt them, not unless it was life and death, and this isn't.

it's an open space, but it's small. he could use a smoke screen - but he'll get hit too. he's going to have to take his chances - considering the speed of the contraption, it's a chance worth taking. with a quick, fluid motion he draws his bow once more, aiming not at the woman - but at the building, allowing the rope to pull him up and away from the stables, to fade back into the darkened wall of the mansion. ]

[mucked]

[ it's funny how those words have gotten around. bad barters -- it's a dash of careful cynicism she'd picked up from rip hunter, not unlike the gun itself, and it's one she's carried through a myriad of conversations. she doesn't realize, just now, how it damns her. because of all the lies she could have told, it ordinarily ought to have been the safest.

but before she can even begin to ascertain how her lie landed, things begin to move and they begin to move fast. the stranger draws his bow again and peggy, swearing softly beneath her breath, nearly swings her gun to at least level the draw. but at the last moment she manages to see the difference in angle -- the intention being not to hit her, but to hit elsewhere, and it's all she can do to follow instinct and step back inside the stable's hatch to take cover behind its wall.

the arrow finds its back in the siding. and peggy, although she could have at least tried to, didn't so much as fire a shot. whoever she is, whoever she wants to suggest she is, she's clearly not a creature who'll shoot unless she's got conviction on her side.

either way, the archer gets his escape. and peggy gets to trudge back to the mansion with storm clouds in her mind. ]