[ semi-closed ]

[revlon]

Who: Peggy Carter (revlon) & Various
What: Overflow for the winter gala and general catch-all for January
When: mid-Dec and all of Jan
Where: South Outpost, more to follow
Warning(s): N/A

[ captcha is the devil so the party is moving on. also: the mysterious jan plot will likely go in here. ]

Comments

[cacoethical]

Ummmmmm...

[Dirk's face scrunches up with uncertainty, a dubious sort of grimace.]

Well, aside from being tough, capable, clever, charming, and just alarmingly, desperately handsome...

[About which he almost sounds serious until he's halfway through saying it. He is serious, in a way -- that he's being hyperbolic doesn't mean he doesn't have some persuasion of faith in himself. It's just that it's vastly more difficult to elaborate upon it in any genuine way than it is to jest.]

No, not really. Not much time for hobbies until recently. Maybe I'll try crosswords.

[revlon]

[ Peggy nods in sympathy, leaning onto the balcony railing. ]

Honestly, it's a little strange to have any kind of free time. I'm kept busy enough with the Guard, I suppose, but it's not quite the same. I'd say the holidays are the perfect opportunity to catch up on some light reading, only I don't recognise any of the local novels.

[ She pauses, then her lips quirk. ]

Maybe that's a good thing. Call it an education in Nysan culture.

[cacoethical]

Mm. I think before I came here the only thing I had that even approximated a hobby was running for my life. I've done quite a lot of that.

[He says this perhaps worryingly casually, accompanied by an eloquent shrug. It is what it is. Or... was what it was. It's not even that much of an exaggeration. Perhaps the calmest time in his life, perversely, was that he'd spent locked in a room as a child, being poked and prodded and tested by scientists. That had, at least, slipped eventually into a sort of horrible routine.]

Which is an only slightly facetious way of saying that I suppose my work is my hobby by virtue of being all I've got.

[Dirk has a penchant, as is no doubt becoming entirely clear, for saying slightly alarming things as though he has no idea of how alarming they actually are. The truth is that most things alarm him, and in doing his level best not to allow that to bury him, he occasionally loses his sense of proportion.]

You know, that's an interesting question, though. Does literature here more or less adhere to genre expectations with which we might be more or less familiar? I mean, it could be anything. I haven't looked. For all I know, book shops here are absolutely replete with anthologies of poetry about frogs.

[revlon]

[ The first bit makes her brows raise sharply; because, yes, it is startling just how offhand Dirk makes running for one's life sound. Not that Peggy is unfamiliar with the situation, she's had to do it once or twice herself, but she's not about to admit to that. Nor did she expect to hear it from the gentleman across from her — which isn't saying much, a lot of people's lives aren't what they seem. She's proof positive of that. ]

Well, then.

[ Which is a terribly polite, English way of saying nothing at all in the face of something unexpected. Peggy clears her throat gently and latches onto the next thing (filing away the first for later). ]

I wouldn't be opposed to reading about amphibians in iambic pentameter, [ Peggy teases lightly. ] Although I do wonder if fairytales exist in a world where magic is very much a part of life.

[cacoethical]

You know, I can't say I would either?

[Dirk gives a little huff of laughter, hunching his shoulders as though they've just shared some kind of moment, an inside joke -- or as though he's quite aware he's being particularly silly, and is absurdly delighted by it.]

I expect they must have fairytales. Things can always get weirder.

[This he says with absolute conviction. Dirk's life rarely stops getting weirder, as it happens.]

Or maybe they've gone so far that it just slips right back 'round again and they tell children loads of stories about desk jobs and toasters and things.

[Utterly mundane things, that is, which he might also like to write about, given some of them are still so utterly foreign to him. It's all a matter of perspective.]

[revlon]

[ She leans in and offers, in a tone of rather mock seriousness, ]

Every story has a moral, even the ones about desk jobs and toasters.

[ Peggy doesn't wink, but it's a near thing with the way her lips quirk as she leans away again. ]

Unless we're talking about something by the Brothers Grimm. Then you just get princes trapped inside stoves or worn-out dancing shoes. If there's a lesson to be learned, I haven't the foggiest.

[cacoethical]

Perhaps simply that life is inexplicable, alarming, and bewildering and will continue to be so until it kills you.

[Dirk gives a one-shouldered shrug, again far too bright and casual for the words that've just come out of his mouth.]

Which, come to think of it, is probably the moral of any given story involving toasters, for that matter. Kitchen appliances in general, extraordinarily alarming things in my experience.

[Which is, this time, sort of a joke, though a joke based firmly in reality. He has, after all, seen a microwave oven indirectly kill a man.]

Lots of food for thought here, though. Clearly I'm going to have to do a survey of local literature.

[revlon]

[ All right, well. For all that Peggy Carter has an excellent poker face and for all that Dirk's said some generally alarming things since this conversation began, his rather chipper delivery of until it kills you is what finally gives her some pause. Even as he continues speaking, she watches him with a mild expression of mingled bewilderment and something that toes the edge of concerned. ]

I'd be interested to know your findings, [ she replies automatically, although that's only half of where her attention is. How does she even begin to address that first bit with a man who is, still, effectively a stranger? Acquaintance at best after tonight? ] And you're welcome to give me a ring about them. But, er — is everything quite all right, Mr Gently?

[cacoethical]

[There's a brief flash of incredible brightness, the widest of smiles at Peggy's suggestion she'd like to keep in touch. Dirk is still startled and overjoyed whenever it happens that people actually want him around -- it's not something to which he's grown in the least accustomed. The question, though, brings him to a halt, drags something hesitant and almost alarmed into his expression. He looks like a man who has never been 'quite all right' in his entire life and has mostly resigned himself to that fact, and is therefore somewhat perturbed that he's being asked about it.

It's a very long story. A very long story he doesn't feel like telling, even, at least not tonight.]

Perfectly! Really excellent, actually.

[So he's waiting for it to all fall down around his head.]

I have been told I have an occasionally alarming turn of phrase. Sorry. No filter. Think I lost it somewhere. Ages ago, even; much too late now.

[So... no, but yes, but no. But yes. Mostly yes. He's fine.]

I will, though. Give you a ring about my findings, once I've found them. You too! I mean, anything.

[No, seriously. Anything, and at just about any hour too.]

[revlon]

[ Well, "excellent" is all relative. Peggy's made a life out of reading other people so she picks up enough to know that there's more to it than this; but she also doesn't know Dirk very well. In fact, she's only just met him. So she can't very well go digging into the why and how of it all here. But he seems like a nice enough man and she sincerely hopes he's got someone for him here. Or, well — she could check in.

She studies him gently, then offers a smile. ]

All right. Although I don't think I'd have anything very interesting to report.