[ CLOSED ]

[revlon]

Who: Peggy Carter (revlon) & Various
What: Catch-all log with a focus on the October event and subsequent fallout.
When: October.
Where: Olympia.
Warning(s): N/A but subject to change.

"Closed" only meaning that I'd prefer a bit of planning or a heads-up before a starter is tossed in here!

For reference, Agent Carter is with the Royal Guard and has been volunteered for Option #1: capturing those responsible and turning them in to Ashti. She will also be dabbling in Option #5 and thus gathering any and all information that seems relevant to the attack and its perpetrators.

Comments

closed; byerly vorrutyer

[revlon]

[ It's late in the evening on the day of the attack. Peggy had been rushing around all day to help in the aftermath, ferrying people to the Sanctuary or questioning those scattered around the market — which yielded less results than she'd hoped, everyone's recollection of the bombing is hazy. But suffice to say it's been a long day and she's rather looking forward to getting home, eating some dinner, and soaking in a hot bath. She knows she'll have to get up early tomorrow and jump headfirst into the investigations and it's not as if she isn't used to keeping these hours from her years in the war, but —

Hang on.

She slows in her walk, head cocked and listening. She'd heard something not too far away and with all that's happened, she's understandably ready to spring into action. Just as she stops walking, she hears the telltale tinkling of breaking glass and she takes off in that direction. When she spots a silhouette helping itself in — or out — of a dark window, she skids to a halt and draws her pistol. ]

Stop right there.

[vorrutyer]

[ He hadn't meant to break the window. He'd intended to just pick the window lock, and failing that to go around to the back door...But unfortunately, he'd grabbed onto the frame too hard, and the damned windowpane had popped out and shattered as he'd tested it to see if it would slide open, and so here he was, having made a considerable amount of noise and with a cut on his hand and with a lovely woman pointing a gun at him.

What a predicament. Well done, Vorrutyer. Why couldn't he have just stuck to what he knows? Surveillance. He's a surveillance operative. Why didn't he just...Ah, the follies of ambition.

He raises his palms - one intact, one bleeding from the shallow slice along his life-line - and gives her an ironic, sheepish smile. Perhaps he can talk his way out of this? Though, given that he knows that stern, no-nonsense face, perhaps not. ]

Thank heavens you're here. I called for a locksmith ages ago. But really, Guardswoman, is a gun necessary?

[revlon]

[ She doesn't bother hiding her eyeroll. ]

Oh, God, it's you.

[ But that doesn't mean she's dropping her arm, either. The safety's still on, so that's in everyone's favour. But this is one hell of a compromising position to find someone in, especially with the city on high alert as it is, and she studies the building, the window, and then the man with a quick flick of her eyes. ]

And I don't know, is the gun necessary? You tell me.

[vorrutyer]

Not for me. I'm docile as a little lamb chop.

[ He lowers his hands very slightly, his eyes narrowing just a touch. Is this woman to be trusted? She's bloody righteous, that's to be sure, and righteous people are at times quite hard to deal with. All those pesky rules and regulations, always getting in the way of actually accomplishing anything.

Well. What's the alternative? Let her haul him in and lose the trail? No thank you. ]

Though you may wish to keep it close at hand. There might be someone else lurking about.

[revlon]

[ She may be righteous but she's been known to bend the rules when they don't suit her — more often than not, as history shows, but there's no one around here who knows that about her. Appearances, in her line of work, are everything. Peggy cocks an eyebrow. ]

I'm listening.

[vorrutyer]

[ Is she really? How...unexpected. He cocks an eyebrow in her direction. Doesn't lower his hands, but says, softly: ]

You can't enter someone's domicile without official permission from your superior, correct? Such as the domicile behind me?

[revlon]

I've been known to nip in and out of private properties without anyone strictly saying so.

[ In fact, most instances she's had to do it had been a personal call rather than professional. Breaking and entering is rather old hat for her. But he does have a point — this isn't her world, these aren't her rules. She's wearing the uniform still. And all she has to go on is the word of a man she hardly knows and barely trusts. ]

But there was always a reason — and I've yet to hear one from you, Mr Vorrutyer.

closed; prior walter

[revlon]

[ One thing Agent Carter is especially good at is sweet talking her way into some information. It's something anyone in her profession should excel at, particularly if you wanted to get out of enemy territory alive — and while the situation in Olympia isn't that dire (yet), it does call for it. Misinformation is flying left and right as it often does in the wake of these things and it's difficult to sort the good from the bad if you haven't got anything to work with at all. Which means shedding her Royal Guard blacks and 1940s proclivities for the local garb and blending in as an Olympian and not a refugee.

She's at a pub in the early evening, getting chatty with the bartender (because they hear everything), when she spots Prior in her peripheries. She hasn't seen him since they met and she's got no earthly idea what he could be doing here. It's a little ways away from the residential district. He could be exploring, that's not too unusual, but with the city so tense and with how distressed he'd seemed upon arrival, she's — concerned.

Peggy makes her excuses and gets out of her seat, slipping through the crowd towards the end of the bar, and slots herself neatly behind Prior and the gentleman he's been speaking with. She pulls her hood just a bit lower over her uncurled hair and toys with her whiskey glass. Yes, she's eavesdropping. ]

[priorly]

[It's funny, sweet talking happens to be something Prior's known for too, although with no purpose really other than... talking. And being sweet. Well someone's got to be the innocent party around here, or it would all be spies spying on counterspies, informing on informants. Really, it's very cold war, and here he'd thought he'd been born just late enough to avoid all that.

But, spending enough time with Byerly, a girl can get paranoid. Not to mention the constant activity on the network, people buzzing about M and S and other uncertain initials. Surely anyone who knows anything would have got out of dodge by now.

But Prior's never been asked to do more espionage than finding out who's wearing what to the Windmiller Christmas do.

As a result, he's altogether inconspicuous, standing at the bar because the stools are of a height incompatible with his leg, and leaning over to ask the female companion of the gentleman he's been talking to if she knows the amber of her earrings is exactly the right shade to bring out the blue of her eyes, and how clever if she did.

While she laughs, he reverts to an earlier topic.]

But it's ghoulish isn't it, selling blood? Are you sure it's really coming from the institute?

[revlon]

[ Christ. That does make her want to sit up a little straighter in her seat; she doesn't, it would be too obvious, but she does narrow her focus to this conversation. Prior doesn't specify what kind of blood — he doesn't have to. It isn't a secret that the sickness is spreading and maybe it's airborne but this is far more sinister. Infected blood being sold through the Institute? The very place that's meant to be helping find a cure?

Peggy takes a sip of her (watered down) drink and waits for the right moment to cut in. She'd rather not. She'd rather follow Prior out the door or wait for his companions to leave before asking any more questions. ]

[priorly]

[Prior's companion seems like he could stay in place all night, gradually working his way through the stock of the bar. It's Prior who finally makes his excuses and leaves, as a rowdy group the other man knows come over to join them.

Outside the bar he presses his back to the wall and lets out a sigh, testing his temperature with the back of a hand pressed to his forehead, unsure if it's the noise, the heat or the company giving him a headache.]

[revlon]

[ She waits just long enough as to not appear suspicious before getting up and following him out. She checks to make certain no one else has the same idea — about him, or her, but that's just a reflex at this point. Peggy can disappear into a crowd if she wants to and she had gone out tonight and done precisely that.

But she knows Prior, at least marginally, and she comes up alongside him and keeps her voice soft and her hood up. ]

Are you all right?

[priorly]

[Prior looks up quickly, betraying some residual nerves, before letting them melt as he thinks he recognises the hooded figure. Splaying his fingers he makes a show of fanning himself, just a little silly.]

Delicate composition, that's all. And these modern places play their music so loud.

[There was no music playing - besides the point.]

closed; alan foster (b. wayne)

[revlon]

[ After the initial broadcast about S-8 (alias The Shady Man, apparently) and the information she gleaned from her subsequent conversation with Qrow about his encounter, Peggy does two things: she contacts John Watson and she contacts the man she knows as Alan Foster. Both men receive different pieces of intel as relevant to their particular skillsets, although Mr Foster is also asked for a meeting in person. What she has to tell him warrants a face-to-face discussion — and she'd like to check in at the Institute, given what she's since learned about it (and the Royal Guard).

She shows up at the Institute in plainclothes; trousers, blouse, her wedges and handbag from the 1940s. She doesn't want to draw attention by being in her blacks or wearing the gemstone issued to her upon recruitment with the Guard. Even so, a guard is the one who escorts her through the building and to the labs where Alan is located. Peggy waits until they're left alone before taking a seat on the edge of his worktable, looking only about half as exhausted as she feels. ]

Mr Foster, [ she says, voice light and polite. ] Thank you for agreeing to meet me at such short notice. I hope I haven't interrupted anything.

[beknight]

[ He hasn't slept. Bruce isn't keeping track of that kind of time — he only notices if his hand isn't as steady as it should be or his vision not as clear as it always is. The call from Peggy is a welcome reprieve. The wing is bustling with people, either shouting orders or celebrating progress, or decrying the lack of it. He usually leaves his door open unless there's a sensitive call. ]

[ As noisy as it is, security's been increased. Guards are on all the corridors now, even the ones who know him by name and face ask to see his identification. ]

You haven't.

[ He pulls up a chair with her — his coat hangs a little loosely around his shoulders, his sleeves are rolled up. The watch he usually wears is on the table with the rest of his instruments. Chemistry equipment fills the sink, an assistant usually handles that. ]

It's good to see you, Ms. Carter.

[ He could call, but it's always better to talk in person. ]

We can speak freely here. The glass is soundproof.

[revlon]

Are you confident in that?

[ A few days ago, it had seemed such an idle — if paranoid — suspicion that there are eyes and ears everywhere. But since learning that there was infected blood leaving the Sanctuary, that the Institute is most definitely involved in that, and that the Guard cannot be trusted, she's not sure how much to risk. For all that they've been welcomed by Olympian society, they are still outsiders. And when things go south as they have now, outsiders are always the first to blame.

Peggy folds her hands in her lap, studying the other man with a mild expression. To anyone looking in on them, they could be having the most mundane conversation. ]

What I have to share with you is quite — sensitive.

[beknight]

[ It's not paranoia if they're really out to eavesdrop, so the saying goes. An assistant knocks and brings them some tea, Bruce closes the door behind her. His fingers brush the lock, he decides against it. ]

I'm sure.

[ His body language too, is casual. Just chatting to a friend while waiting for his distillation to finish. Bruce's chair lets him watch the experiment out of the corner of his eye — his attention is squarely on Peggy. ]

[revlon]

[ Her gaze flickers to the assistant who enters the room and she offers a polite smile and words of thanks. Once they're alone again, she breathes out, pinching at the bridge of her nose. God, she's tired. This hasn't even been the most taxing week she's endured, most things pale in comparison to the war, but being in an unfamiliar world with an unfamiliar history is difficult in its own way. ]

I assume you heard the transmissions about the Shady Man? S-8. [ She knows he has, but she asks to clarify, anyway. The posts made about S-8 and the two pieces to a cure. She knows Alan keeps tabs on everything. Peggy helps herself to the tea — green, not her favourite, but it'll do — and continues. ] I spoke further with the young man who tracked him down. Qrow? He told me S-8 was an android.

[ She shakes her head, hands wrapping around the warm cup. The word is mostly unfamiliar to her. The stuff of science fiction novels. But she worked on Project Rebirth, she knows Howard Stark, so it isn't too outside the realm of imagination. ]

[beknight]

I've been keeping up, [ he says, just to confirm her instinct. He falls silent at the word — feels like pinching the bridge of his nose. ] do you believe him?

[ An android isn't outside the realm of his possibility. Ivo, T.O. Morrow, Waller had kept tabs on their projects and so did Bruce, the moment he learnt. The existence of Superman meant an arms race, and what better to send against him than strong, fast machines that learnt? All one needed was a kryptonite heart, and the Man of Tomorrow would be history. ]

team up »

[ettersberg]

[ ostensibly, nightingale is out for a stroll. in truth, he's looking for information, for clues, for anything that may help bring those responsible to justice or cure those affected. he isn't as invested as perhaps he should be, as he thinks he should be. grief is still a heavy blanket that dulls his other emotions, his capacity for investment and caring. if not for the knowledge that peter would be disappointed if he woke tomorrow and found nightingale had not tried his best, if not for the knowledge that if molly should wake, he'll need to have created a space that she will be comfortable in, he might not have managed to leave his bed this morning, or the morning before, or the one before.

so he's out. he's looking and he's trying and setting one foot in front of the other and he already knows from experience that it will get easier with time, even if it hardly feels that way right now.

he rounds a corner and is confronted with the image of one peggy carter, trading blows with someone nightingale would hesitate to call a gentleman. she seems to have it well in hand, and so he remains quiet in order not to distract her. it isn't until the man is on the ground that he clears his throat. ]

Good afternoon, Ms Carter. [ he offers. a moment later, they're both faced with more men, acquaintances—nightingale assumes—of the one currently moaning in pain on the ground. ] Would you like some assistance, perhaps?

[revlon]

[ Honestly, it's not as though she goes out looking for trouble. It often finds her — most likely because she'd been poking around in places she shouldn't. In this particular instance, it's the theatre district. There had already been rumours of infected blood leaving the Sanctuary and being sold in this part of the city as a weight loss miracle and she'd been curious to see who was peddling the goods. She'd intended as posing as a potential buyer. But someone, perhaps the man she'd encountered the other night (and who'd gotten away), had tipped them off.

And so here she is, getting into another fight. Peggy has it under control when Nightingale approaches and so do reinforcements for the other side. She exhales dramatically, hands on her hips. ]

Afternoon, Mr Nightingale. And please, go right ahead.

[ Said just before she dodges another blow from another associate, his M tattoo peeking past the sleeve of his shirt. She pops back up and throws a punch of her own. The problem is, of course, if any of these associates have special abilities like the other one she encountered. But one step at a time. ]

[ettersberg]

[ she hasn't struck him as a brawler, but from the first time they'd met, nightingale has considered her someone intelligent and perhaps dangerous. certainly someone with the capacity for it: intelligent people often are. seeing her now both confirms his impression and surprises him.

that is something to consider at a later time. for now, he flings his hand out, muttering a soft word under his breath (impello) and one of the men advancing on them is thrown back into the brick wall by a seemingly invisible force. nightingale knows how to box and he knows how to handle a gun, he knows how to handle himself even in a fistfight, but he doesn't let it get that far.

wouldn't do to get his coat dirty, now, would it? he sidesteps one man getting closer and moments later, that man, too, lands in a crumbled heap against the wall, blood seeping from a wound at the back of his head. perhaps nightingale had thrown him a little harder than necessary. the first one, though. the first one is getting up again, seemingly unhurt and decidedly angry now. ]

[revlon]

[ What he does next distracts her — not long enough to get into any trouble, but she doesn't expect magic. Ridiculous, of course, given their first telephone conversation as well as how long she's been in Olympia now. A few months does not an expert make, but magic is commonplace here. Nightingale had said as much to her, which is why he's comfortable with being so open about it. But it still surprises her to get so up close and personal and in combat, of all things.

No time to dally, though. A flicker of her gaze could very well be a lifetime with how quickly this is moving. She dodges and weaves again, not keen to waste all her strength in throwing punches and kicks when she doesn't know what else could be coming. She uses her opponents' brute strength and sheer size against them, when she can. Peggy throws one into a stone wall with her bare hands (no magic for her, thanks very much), and spins 'round and comes face-to-face with the first one she'd took out.

She swears just before he clocks her across the jaw and sends her stumbling back. It doesn't faze her much; she's already charging at him, kneeing him in the stomach and he doubles over with a grunt; enough that she can jab an elbow into his back and knock him back down. That done, she draws her pistol and aims it steadily, and he freezes in getting back up a third time. ]

Smart choice, [ she says, catching her breath. Her eyes dart to the other associates, unconscious heaps by the wall. Peggy shakes the hair back from her face, then says to Nightingale, ] I don't suppose you've got any handcuffs on you?

[ettersberg]

[ he'd already thought of her as capable; the way she handles herself in a fist fight is only further evidence that his impression was correct. that she carries a pistol does not raise his eyebrows, though it is something to file away. (he recognises the make of it.) ]

I'm afraid I don't, no.

[ despite being a copper. a detective chief inspector doesn't go around carrying handcuffs; that's what underlings are for in the hierarchy of things, though nightingale never truly had any until peter, and peter is hardly an "underling" of any sort. ]

[revlon]

Pity, [ she tuts, already casting about for another idea. ] What about that magic of yours?

[ Peggy doesn't shift her focus from the man in front of her or the ones sprawled nearby. She's already aware that they might have powers too. She's already had a run-in with one and lost him in the chase because she was unprepared. ]

I'm not leaving these men here.