nysalogs | the sky was made of amethyst ( & open )

[ She listens quietly as he speaks, nodding at points, not interrupting. Jim is more than capable of spearheading this particular issue and she's more than happy to let him do so; this isn't in her wheelhouse, not really. The technology is advanced for a woman of the 20th century and while she has a good grasp on some of it and the ability to learn quickly, she understands that efficiency is key here.

She's on the surface engaging in espionage, monitoring the political climate. What happens in the sky above is better left to those who have an intimate understanding of that world. They all have their parts to play in this. ]

That's more than a semblance of a plan. It sounds like a damn good one to me. [ She reaches over to pluck a bit of food from the centre of the small table, popping into her mouth before continuing. ] So you're looking for a team, [ she clarifies with a thoughtful air, chewing as she speaks. She points at him. ] I may have someone for you. From my understanding, he's one of the greatest scientific minds of his time. [ Peggy smiles briefly, inclining her head. ] Which is after mine, as it happens, but I knew his father and the apple didn't fall far from the tree. I'll speak with him and send him your way if I can.

Edited 2018-06-09 04:03 (UTC)

[ This is probably the most confident Jim's felt on El Nysa, despite how much of it is dangerously unknown, just because it's something he understands. Could he help with the problems with the shamans? Yeah, probably. But so can dozens of other people, while the number who can pop the hood on a space station are lower. ]

I'd take on anybody at your recommendation, [ Jim says. Not chewing as he speaks. ] I've got a couple who I'm sure are dedicated, but I know there have to be more people from high-tech worlds, or who have compatible experience.

[ Who knows if this guy'll work out, but giving it a shot can't hurt. Mm, food. ]

There's more from Voss. By the way.

[ She's taking a sip of her drink when he replies and she smiles into it; he trusts her, and she trusts him. It's nice to have something of a team of her own between Steve and Tony, Jim and Eggsy. Losing John Watson was a blow and one she still feels keenly — in this new world, it's important to find people who can help make sense of it, protect it. This helps. ]

I can vouch for Mr Stark, [ she interjects. Then raises an eyebrow when he circles the conversation back to Voss. ] I shouldn't be surprised, the man does love to talk. What more is there?

[ Jim raises his eyebrows like Oh, boy. ]

Well, he's noticed the lack of 'blessings' from Thesa, in the form of refugees. Which he thinks is a bad omen, of course. [ And it might as well be. No more people were woken up because the Natha have fucking dipped. ] He started to go on and on, practically ranting about it. His opinion is that the cycle of violence that El Nysa has been in - for the past two centuries, he said - has caused the changes in the moon. He says he's been doing research and it's led him to believe that centuries ago, Thesa sent more 'messengers', but that they all must have been killed by the native Nysans out of xenophobic aggression.

And. [ Here's where it gets really interesting, in Jim's opinion. ] He said he was in a hurry, so I asked why. He was preparing to leave on an 'annual summer pilgrimage' to the west to seek 'greater understanding of Thesa'. He's going with a companion, but he wouldn't say who. What's out west, do we have any idea?

[ She frowns sharply at that, setting down her glass on the table. ]

West?

[ Peggy shakes her head, thinking over the mental map she's plotted of the surrounding region — she hasn't traveled as much as she'd like, tied to her post as a member of the Royal Guard and the goings on in Olympia. Jim is aware she wants to correct it, she does still mean to venture south to Wyver again someday. But out west? ]

There's nothing out there. That is, [ she amends, lips pressing together, ] there's an island called the Outlook. It's where my group crash-landed; we camped out for the night before hiking out towards the West Outpost and, eventually, Olympia. It took days and it wasn't a walk in the park, not with the things living in the forests.

Why would Voss... [ She's about to sit back in her seat when the next thought strikes, and she straightens. ] Bloody hell. [ It's a whisper. ] If he's made this pilgrimage every summer around the same time, then last year's would have happened before my group got here. If that's where he's headed, he'll find evidence of the pods we came down in.

[ The pods. He's seen the wreckage of one - up on Thesa when Dorian had held his forum for them, and had put out a display to sum up their strange history on the planet. ]

Shit. I didn't even think of that.

[ Of course he wouldn't, though, because Jim's only been here a few months, and he's never been out that far. Moments like these he laments the lack of a publicly accessible timeline of what the refugees have been through-- maybe that's a project for another time, if they all live through this. ]

And the Natha aren't here to throw one of their cloaking tricks over it. [ A beat. ] Unless they already have. It's not like that area is totally closed off or anything, is it?

[ Even if they've already masked the wreckage, they're still not here, and anything could go wrong. ]

Sending anyone out there to try and destroy or remove the remains would probably look even stranger than just Voss finding it.

[ She shrugs at his question, uncertain. She hasn't been back to the Outlook since the day they arrived, but to her memory, the area is uninhabited. At most, maybe some scouting parties sent out from Olympia once in a while. But the threat of invasion from nations outside their grouping of isles is relatively unlikely, given the toxic fog.

Then again, that's what they've been told. ]

Unfortunately, I agree. [ She huffs out a breath. ] Trying to cover our tracks will look even more suspicious. They could still put two and two together, trace those ships back to those of us who arrived last summer. They know we came in from the west, the Outpost had a festival welcoming us. Our descent was a meteor shower seen as a blessing.

[ #yikes ]

But there's no way of knowing, not unless we follow him. [ Which she can't manage with holding down the fort here. ] Curiouser and curiouser, as they say.

A meteor shower that brought 'prophets' from the moon. Meteors seen streaking across the moon during an ill omen. And the very real possibility that Voss and his mystery companion are going to find space pods in the western wilderness.

[ It's not going to take a genius detective to put something together, there. Hopefully the Natha had foresight about the area - they've been observing the planet for hundreds of years, after all, and annual means Voss has done this before.

But putting faith in such quiet overlords whose attention locked access to the refugee network during the abductions, without actually aiding them in locating their peers, is a tall order. Especially while they're absent. ]

Getting busted stalking the man probably won't help either. We'll just have to hope. And play real dumb if he finds anything.

[ It's a headache and a half, certainly, but nothing entirely new. They still don't know how long the Natha have been rescuing people from the Storm, but somehow Peggy doubts they're the first refugees to be placed planetside. Maybe they're the first group in decades, otherwise others would have come forward (surely?). But if the Natha are competent enough to spirit them away from their own worlds, then it seems doubtful they'd slip up by leaving evidence of their descent out in the open.

Doesn't it? ]

That shouldn't be difficult. [ Playing dumb. Peggy's lips quirk. ] We've had to do that since we got here. It's a wonder any of us have kept the secret for so long, but I suppose the Natha were vigilant about that. But maybe things will change with their absence.

[ Well, Voss did say he thinks there were more, but that they were driven off by natives. Killed, or maybe they live elsewhere, somewhere past the fog. Maybe they integrated, had children, told no-one. ]

No one wants to risk the safety of their friends in stasis, [ Jim says with a shrug. Then he moves to refill their glasses. ]

Where are we even supposed to be from, as far as the natives who don't think we're blessings from the moon are concerned? Do any of our mystery colonies have a name, do we have a culture?

[ That's the question, isn't it? Are these people so caught up in their own cities that they haven't bothered to learn who else was sharing the isles with them? No one has tried to poke holes in their stories — or, at least, in Peggy's own experience. Not even the commander of the Royal Guard. ]

When I first approached Ashti about joining up with the Guard, she didn't seem to find it unusual that I'd come from elsewhere. I told her my brother was a soldier who had been killed in the line of duty and I wanted to honour his memory. [ That much, at least, is true. ] She didn't ask what battle he fought in or where I came from, only remarked that she'd heard of colonies where the genders weren't seen as equals and that Olympia would prove them wrong.

[ Peggy shrugs, picking up her glass again. ]

It seems we get away with so much because no one cares to look too closely. That's naive to say, of course; I'm sure there are skeptics. [ Like Cree. ] But I've managed to dodge the worst of it.

Yeah, what colonies?

[ This is, of course, a rhetorical question. But seriously, there's nowhere to go. It's ridiculous that no one's asked, and that they don't have a collective cover story. Not that a collective cover story would even work, considering how different they all are. ]

It's entirely possible that some of the extremist focus on us is because we're practically ghosts, that way. Then again, even natives have a hard time answering questions about their own history. Maybe it's just a familiar lapse expect of everyone.

[ But it's weird. ]

[ She exhales loudly at that, almost a laugh, but she's far from amused. ]

Frustrating, isn't it? But I suppose we aren't the sort of people to accept things at face value.

[ Her and Jim, she means. Other refugees too, like the ones who have since returned to stasis; but the two of them have been digging a little deeper where others haven't. That's no fault of theirs — call it an insatiable curiosity as well as part of their particular jobs.

She takes a sip of her drink, knowing it's only a matter of time until Jim asks about her own background beyond what she's offered. ]

But maybe that isn't wise, given what you said about Voss' theories about previous 'messengers.' Maybe laying low is an unspoken understanding. Curiosity killed the cat and all that.

[ But satisfaction brought it back. ]

I don't think face value exists.

[ Not with people, not with politics or anything else. Something larger is still going on here - larger than the extremists, and Olympia versus Wyver.

Maybe even larger than the Storm. ]

The truth about us is going to get out eventually. Probably in our 'generation' of messengers. And we're going to see just how deep a wound lying to everyone is going to leave.

[ She smiles briefly at that, not unkindly. ]

You're an honest man, aren't you, Captain Kirk?

[ She doesn't mean it in any condescending way. But his approach — face value doesn't exist, the repercussions of a lie that runs this deep and this universal — strikes her as a man of integrity. (Which one would want in any commanding officer.) She's a little more flexible by necessity, although rarely when morality comes into play. (Rarely and not never, wartime has a tendency to blur the lines.)

But they aren't at war. Not yet. ]

There's no point to being otherwise, in my line of work. [ Moar food. After a minute, ]

I'm held accountable for everything I do, and say, at all times. Doesn't matter if I'm on duty or if I'm on leave nowhere near a starship.

[ Hundreds of people have to have absolute faith in him every day. More than that-- Starfleet defends every Federation world from forces that would happily annihilate them. Jim has experienced the loss of that faith once; never again. ]

Why, is it weirding you out that I'm not asking you about whatever it is you don't want me to ask you about?

[ She raises her brows, mildly surprised. She never doubted he was a perceptive sort or that he could be frank — but perhaps not that frank. It does worry her a little that he'd picked up on that much, but everyone has secrets, and the more closely they work together when it comes to protecting the people they now call neighbours, the more unlikely it is for her to appear as a humble secretary. It's one thing to downplay one's competence and quite another to pretend you aren't capable of it at all and when there's work to be done, what's the better choice? Why, that's no choice at all.

Peggy's smile hitches into something a little more amused as she sets her glass back down on the table. People who have known far less than him have pried her much sooner, it's true. But different circumstances, different priorities. ]

I never said anything of the sort. [ A one-shouldered shrug, elegant as ever. ] As unconventional as it may seem at times, we do work together — and I'd like to think we're friends, too. Far be it from me to compromise either relationship. By all means, ask; although I'm not sure what it is you're expecting.

[ Jim is Very Tired, and now he's got whiskey in his system, which eases the brain-to-mouth filter a little. (A little more, anyway; Jim Kirk ten years ago would have picked at it ruthlessly from the first notice, or worse, shied away and labeled her untrustworthy. Now he's - well. This.) ]

Neither am I, [ he admits, looking at her. He's guileless, sticking hard to the honesty they were speaking of. Jim isn't sure, just knows there's something she's evasive about, and it's something that keeps bumping up against their conversations. ]

I don't really mind it. Unless you're secretly bleeding to death under the table from whatever accident you had.

[ It's not the most diplomatic offer of 'forgetting' it and moving on, but it's a friendly one. Whether or not it's a good idea, Jim trusts her, and that much is clear in the easy manner he has even now.

He never claimed to be graceful. ]

[ John Watson had hated her keeping secrets from him, although his frustration had clearly stemmed from a place of concern. (Steve Rogers, too; God, that's a fine fix she's gotten herself into.) She does it to keep people safe. It's years of knowing how dangerous her line of work is, how unfamiliar this world is despite the long months spent digging into its shady underbelly. If she can keep her mess out of everyone else's lives, the better she'll sleep.

That Jim says he doesn't mind? That surprises her and it shows, flickering across her face like it does. Then, inexplicably, she laughs. ]

If I were bleeding to death under this table, I'd take your ire over Dr Fraser's any day. [ She shakes her head, resting a hand lightly over her thigh now that they've brought it up. It does throb fiercely, but sitting helps. And so does the Pact that binds her to Steve Rogers and his accelerated healing. ] I'll be fine. And as for the rest... [ She exhales. ] I'm just trying to do what's right. That's all any of us can do, isn't it?

[ He's curious - he's curious as fuck, but he doesn't mind it, no. In a way, it feels like a cop-out, to ask and get an answer. A part of him wants to figure it out on his own, beat the puzzle. (Wouldn't feel like cheating. Cheating is valid, if you can make it work.) Too competitive by half, even if it runs quieter, these days. ]

If you were bleeding to death, I hope you'd talk to Dr Fraser.

[ Pointed. They're gonna let it go because they're friends, but if she's ever backed into a corner--

It's not like Jim doesn't already know something's up. Okay? Okay. ]

Yup. It's a process.

[ She does feel badly for keeping Claire in the dark. They became friends almost immediately, both having woken up with the first wave of refugees and assigned as roommates upon arrival in Olympia. But there's never been any need to mention it, regardless of how much the other woman has confided in Peggy about the intricacies of her own life, however unusual.

Her smile quiets a little and she drops her gaze to her glass, considering it for a moment before looking back at him and saying, ]

If it's all the same to you, I'd rather we keep this particular instance from her. She has enough on her plate.

Why would I tell her? You're not bleeding to death.

[ Right, Peggy? Jim finishes the last of the whiskey that's still in his glass, and makes a kind of 'oh!' noise. ]

In case you ever are-- [ he gets up, and then has to pause. ] Shit, that hit me harder than I thought.

[ Yikes. Anyway, he shakes it off, and goes to his backpack, which has seen better centuries. He digs out a slim black nylon sleeve, and returns to the table, pulling it apart to fish something inside of it out. ]

I was actually thinking about Claire, with these. It smells bad because I'm the worst chemist, but here. [ He holds out a silver packet. ] It's skin glue. Really, really durable skin glue.

[ She raises her brows in lieu of a shrug to his first comment, then watches him get up with some measure of curiosity. She reaches one hand out to steady him, just in case, but then he moves on and she simply chuckles under her breath. She doesn't feel the whiskey much but that may be more a remark on the long nights spent in a pub with the Commandos or boys from the office than anything else.

She does knock back the last slip of liquor in her glass when Jim returns, though. ]

Skin glue, [ she repeats, flicking her gaze from the packet to his face. ] To use in place of stitches? You invented this?

[ 20 year old Jim is ashamed of his rollercoaster tolerance these days, but he'll acclimate yet.

Anyhoo. Jim frowns. ] Invented? No, this is old, one of the stop-gap precursors to muscle and dermal regeneraters. It's questionable 'cadet chemistry' they make us learn in the command track when we're dumped on a blistering asteroid covered in oxygen-depleting space lobsters for two weeks in a survival course armed with a pack of bandaids and a fork.

[ He mentioned his job was nuts, right.

Jim sits back down-- ] I gave the formula to Dr Watson, because the mysterious and enigmatic Alan Foster told me he'd be able to cook it up better than I can, but he's no longer present. So it's just me and Spooky trying not to burn our eyebrows off in the jungle.

[ She's familiar with outrageous survival courses, although the wilderness of the Scottish Highlands and instructors posing as Nazi officers have nothing on the perils of space travel. Different times and all that. ]

Your 'old' is my 'new,' [ she remarks wryly before moving on. The mention of John earns a pang she hasn't quite allowed herself to address — another one of her first friends here — and she reaches to fiddle with what he's laid out between them amongst the plates and glasses. ] This is remarkable. I suppose it has its basis in the cyanoacrylates scientists were cooking up in labs during the war, but I doubt anyone considered using it for treatment in the field. More's the pity. Now that you've said it, it seems so obvious.

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