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

[ Tightly, ] I rode.

[ And she can mount her horse easily from the other side, although dismounting is altogether unpleasant. But that's beside the point; she knows it's ridiculous to keep dancing around the bloody subject when it's so clearly out in the open now. He's been a damn good sport about it but even she recognises when one crosses the line from stubborn into bullheaded and proud. So she takes a breath, exhales silently (not bracing herself, just... Jesus, Carter, you're standing in your own damn way again), inhales again and then: ]

Although that doesn't make being shot in the leg any less unpleasant.

[ Eyebrows. Margaret, they seem to say. ]

With a bullet?

[ Total barbarism. This is the dark ages!! Jim shakes his head. ] No wonder you're halfway on your ass. [ Friendly-like.

Well, ]

I'll put off the obvious questions considering we've been at this for hours and we're both kinda drunk. Let me walk you home, though. I'll play twenty questions with the horse.

Of course with a bullet, what else.

[ As soon as the question is out of her mouth, muttered under her breath though it may be, she realises there could be a number of what else's — an arrow, maybe, crossbow bolt, something more fantastical or advanced from the belly of the robotics labs at the Institute. Not this time. But it was still a robot.

Peggy looks like she's about to protest the offer but backtracking now is relatively useless bluster. So she presses her lips together and gives a sort of flick of the wrist in lieu of another sigh. ]

Well, all right, then. And I'll have you know Queen Mab is an excellent conversationalist; I have it on good authority.

[ Bullets are mysterious horrors, to Jim, like tales of iron maidens and burning witches. They used EXPLOSIONS to HURL FATAL SHRAPNEL at each other at the speed of SOUND. He makes a face, but doesn't comment further. (Some might say he's being hilariously squeamish about ordinary shit in the face of 'transporter accidents that turn crewmembers into goldfish/replace them with alternate universe versions of themselves/one time my first officer got a giant mind-controlling space jellyfish stuck to his head', and so on.) ]

Glad to hear it, [ he says sportingly. ] You need another minute?

[ Assuming she doesn't punch him in the balls for that: off they go, with Jim keeping a close eye on her, and respectfully not pulling any mother-henning.

The cool night air helps him feel less slightly buzzed, which is handy with the alcohol re-asserting itself in his bloodstream now that the abrupt adrenaline spike is fading. ]

[ She does not punch him for that comment but she does level a Look his way that's more exasperated than irritated. He could have helped her onto her horse and let her be on her way but it seems chivalry didn't die out in the centuries after she was born, so she'll accept it — she's proud, but not that proud.

But as they're walking (limping, on her part), her horse alongside them, she does say, ]

You didn't have to do this. [ Peggy glances askance, voice soft. ] Especially after the trip you've had.

[ It's not that late, but he could have had an early night in. Honestly, Jim. ]

Edited (lmfao a day later, a correction IGNORE ME ) 2018-06-29 15:16 (UTC)

If I only did the things I had to do, I'd be some jobless degenerate in a ditch in Iowa with no friends.

[ He wants to do these things. He wants to be in Starfleet, and be supportive to his friends and comrades. Suck it up, PegLeg. ]

You can still be on the horse, if you want, I'm not going to complain about the height difference.

[ And he'd help her down. ]

[ She huffs out a breath, quietly amused. ]

Being on my horse isn't precisely conducive to a private conversation.

[ They'd have to speak up to hear each other, even just a little. But it's late and voices carry on these streets. However, it would do her a world of difference if she were riding; her injury hasn't had time to recover in the slightest and she likely isn't helping by insisting on walking. But —

But she does slow down even more when she sees two members of the Guard walk past. She isn't in uniform and it's dark so they likely won't recognise her. But their conversation about an incident at the Institute does float over their way. Maybe she should get on that horse, in case word gets out there was more than one intruder and neither got away unharmed. ]

[ Peggy slows, and Jim sees who they walk past - he shifts his body language to a more drunk than he actually is, though not comically. On the edge of it; people stumble and limp when they're hammered. ]

That's a good point, we need to have way more-- private conversations. The horse is a nice touch, or would be if that thing was real, but I told you that was a vicious rumor. Sam's like that, Bones calls it 'prone to exaggeration, if not outright fabrication', [ this very poorly mimicking an American southern accent.

He goes on for a minute or two. Sounds a bit like he's hitting on her, not well enough to be smooth, not bad enough to be bothersome. Nothing of interest to hear. Maybe some Olympian guard will think there's rumors about Steve Trevor boning horses, though. ]

[ Under cover of darkness, she shoots him a bewildered look for all of half a second before her features rearrange into something smoother, more cool, the long-suffering expression of a woman wandering the streets with her intoxicated companion. She doesn't reply further than mmhm (were she to latch onto an American accent, same as him, but execute it flawlessly it would be even more telling).

Once they're out of earshot, she exhales silently. ]

I'll still have to go on patrol and there's no hiding this when I do. But staving off the questions for now does help and I do appreciate yours, Mr Kirk.

[ Jim turns and walks backwards, hands in his pockets, smiling a little. MAYBE he was being sincere with his flirtatious rambling--

ok no, but. ] I'm just enjoying our evening out, Miss Carter.

[ Something's going on. Some real shit. He'll have to ask, sooner or later, if she doesn't come out and tell him. The things they talk about and the mysteries they want solved demand a kind of even-keel honesty to reach maximum efficiency.

Not tonight, though. ]

[ She watches him with a smile that's at once amused, wry, almost exasperated. Anyone else would have pressed by now and now they are both keenly aware there's a great big elephant in the air between them that is going unaddressed. She's too tired (and tipsy) to grapple with it tonight, so she appreciates the reprieve, but she's sure it's only a matter of time until this comes to a head.

She's a damn good spy but certain coincidences cannot be stopped or explained away after a certain point. It's how Eggsy Unwin came to know the truth. And likely that's how Jim Kirk will, too. But not tonight. ]

Because it's the first bit of relaxation you've had in several weeks? [ She raises her brows. ] That's certainly why I'm enjoying it. To say nothing of the company.

[ At home, Jim would never share information like this with anyone who wasn't Starfleet, who wasn't of a rank cleared for it. But he's not at home, so he's sharing all this with a woman who claims to be a civilian. It's impossible not to wonder what her perspective is; what exactly she'd be doing at home that she's doing or not doing at home. ]

Because I'm halfway to hammered [ he says, still walking backwards. Tempting fate. ] And tonight feels like progress.

[ An answer from Voss, a half-step forward in the form of a hunch confirmed. Better than the sea of nothing it's been for ages. ]

I agree about the company.

[ She hums in agreement, lips curving in a slight smile. ]

Tonight was certainly a step into a promising direction. I suppose it pays to have an eye for detail and a nose for trouble.

[ Which they share in spades, it seems. She adjusts her grip on the reins of her horse, hanging on a little more steadily as she navigates cobblestoned streets with her injury. Stubborn to the last, that Peggy Carter. And so is he. ]

Which you certainly posses if you insist on walking the way you are now. We don't need another bad leg between the pair of us. There's still work to be done.

[ *doing or not doing here, heckin words ]

[ Jim huffs a laugh. ] I claimed to have a trouble radar pretty recently, [ he says. ] Just before a chemical booby trap froze my navigator and I in a gas-to-solid form wave.

[ Space, man. And then he turns, doing a little hop to avoid losing his balance on the uneven pavement.

Look ma, no hands. He grins. ]

I'll behave.

[ And she thought she had it bad with traipsing through booby trapped enemy bases. Her brows raise but she says nothing more on that subject. But she does quip: ]

Sorry, you'll what? I wasn't aware you were capable.

Yeah? [ Eyebrows. ] Look who's talking, Pegleg.

[ #friendship ]

[ Mildly, ] I object to that remark.

[ And that nickname. ]

You're making it sound as though this was on purpose. I assure you, I don't set out for a day of work with the intention of getting wounded.

[ Wounded, not injured. There was a distinction on the front. ]

I'll be right as rain in no time.

Edited 2018-07-07 17:24 (UTC)

[ Chipper, ] Nobody does.

[ And yet here we are. ]

Hopefully. You know it's gonna get nuts again in like, five minutes.

[ Being wounded sucks anyway, even if nothing is going on. That much, he understands extremely well. ]

You got your shampoo guy to fetch you tea in the mean time though, right? [ Jim nods towards the residential street they're coming into, assuming this is her neighborhood. ]

[ She laughs again, although it's more breath than sound. ]

Captain Rogers is as American as they come. [ She's joking, she takes her tea black so there's nothing to get wrong about it, but: ] I don't think he'd know how to brew a proper cup of tea even with me hovering over his shoulder. Although God knows he'd try his best.

[ There's a pause as she fishes her keys out of her pocket. Her apartment is on the second floor of a modest stone building, the stairway behind a wrought iron gate. They're a few minutes away still, but close enough. ]

Or dump it in the cove in lieu of a harbour.

[ Man, keys are weird. Jim's given up on his, and just leaves his garbage apartment unlocked with everything of value out on the small table while he's gone. That way if anyone robs him they don't have to tear the place apart.

He frowns a little, puzzled. ]

Why would you dump tea into the ocean?

[ Historical apocrypha joke? ]

[ She shoots him a look, puzzled in turn. But then it clicks a second later — with how far in the future Jim is, history is vast. Distilled. She certainly doesn't know everything that's come before her. So she opens her mouth, as if she may just try to explain the American Revolution, then thinks better of it. ]

It's a long story. [ There's a pause, then she amends, ] American history, to be precise. Just one of a series of events that led to the colonies breaking away from England and gaining independence. [ She shakes her head, smiling a little. ] Probably not relevant here.

[ Jim makes a 'huh' sound, trying to place the story. (He probably will later; something in the two weeks dedicated to Starfleet's non-interference policy in an ethics course.) ]

Hopefully not, [ he says, of relevance. Colonies, lol. He envisions for a brief moment some kind of effort for refugees to band together and separate from Wyver and Olympia. Yikes. ]

No tea dumping for anyone, how about that.

[ Don't be so sure, Jim. Some refugees do want that. ]

Sounds like a solid plan to me. [ And just as she says that, they come up on her building just on the bend of a narrow, quiet street. It's summer, which means the flowering vine creeping along the stone face is in full bloom, the night air lightly perfumed with whatever this world's equivalent is to honeysuckle. ] Well, here we are. The stables are just around the back; I can manage.

Thank you, captain.

[ Yeah this generation of refugees couldn't prevent a giant object from being stolen by bandits, no one's founding a city-state. ]

You sure? Don't need me to piggyback you in?

[ Blatantly trying to rile her up-- he's grinning, though. (And wow what a cute place, Jim really does love in a shithole.) ]

Anytime. Have a good night, Peggy.

the sky was made of amethyst ( & open )

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject