womanofvalue (
womanofvalue) wrote in
sixthiterationlogs2016-12-27 09:49 am
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(no subject)
WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: #43 - The Vincennes
WHEN: December 27th - Evening
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Open (Gathering Style)
When the gifts had arrived, Peggy had treated them at first with the same suspicion as anything else here. Things simply weren't that good to be true, but these gifts had people's names on them this time. With the exception of several that she couldn't begin to understand (such as that one from a man named Ivan, that she barely recalled interacting with), the rest were so kind and thoughtful that she soon found herself with a wealth of possessions she hadn't hoped to possess here.
The party had been borne of one single thought: I have nowhere to wear such lovely things and when she'd found the wine and liquor from others (including Tony, which didn't surprise her in the very least), she knew that she could change that. She'd posted a quick notice at the inn using some of the cardboard of a box and the lovely fountain pen Helen had given her, then did the same at many of the public buildings, inviting people to her home and inviting them to bring any food or drink they might like to provide, as well as suggesting this as an opportunity to wear their fanciest.
She set out her drinks (the ones she was willing to share) and made sure to tidy the home so that it was presentable. In her youth, back during her first engagement, she might have imagined entertaining like this on a regular basis, but that had been swept away by the war. Instead, Peggy was left hoping that such a gala would be acceptable and that she wouldn't simply be here alone tonight.
Setting her new record player (and her single record) down, she cranked it to begin playing the record that had come with it (a pressing of the Glenn Miller Band), and then she began to convince herself that there was nothing more that she could do.
WHERE: #43 - The Vincennes
WHEN: December 27th - Evening
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Open (Gathering Style)
When the gifts had arrived, Peggy had treated them at first with the same suspicion as anything else here. Things simply weren't that good to be true, but these gifts had people's names on them this time. With the exception of several that she couldn't begin to understand (such as that one from a man named Ivan, that she barely recalled interacting with), the rest were so kind and thoughtful that she soon found herself with a wealth of possessions she hadn't hoped to possess here.
The party had been borne of one single thought: I have nowhere to wear such lovely things and when she'd found the wine and liquor from others (including Tony, which didn't surprise her in the very least), she knew that she could change that. She'd posted a quick notice at the inn using some of the cardboard of a box and the lovely fountain pen Helen had given her, then did the same at many of the public buildings, inviting people to her home and inviting them to bring any food or drink they might like to provide, as well as suggesting this as an opportunity to wear their fanciest.
She set out her drinks (the ones she was willing to share) and made sure to tidy the home so that it was presentable. In her youth, back during her first engagement, she might have imagined entertaining like this on a regular basis, but that had been swept away by the war. Instead, Peggy was left hoping that such a gala would be acceptable and that she wouldn't simply be here alone tonight.
Setting her new record player (and her single record) down, she cranked it to begin playing the record that had come with it (a pressing of the Glenn Miller Band), and then she began to convince herself that there was nothing more that she could do.
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Helen blinked at him for a moment, trying to decide if she was honestly being asked if Nikola was good in bed. There was truth, of course, and then there were lies. Which should she offer Ravi?
"Firstly, I should be offended that now you think sex with me is reduced to transitive sex with Nikola but I will answer your question. Yes, he's good in bed. I'm not going to give any further details, though, because that's...personal."
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He sips at his drink and gives her a curious look. "You must have met some other heavy swingers, then, if you're immortal."
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"Then, of course, there was the whole matter of everything I did during the second great war but considering the Nazis were abhorrent creatures who were barely human, there wasn't much negotiation there."
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"He was a friend of my father's. Mine too, for that matter, but at the time I was fighting to be allowed to sit for a degree at Oxford so I was a bit preoccupied with other things. Salk, Watson and Crick, the Curies. I knew all of them and worked with them to some extent. Given the nature of my longevity, I didn't want to have my name on many things. Too many questions."
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"It's my dream to be known in history for curing something once thought uncurable," he says, pouring himself a little more wine to drown his woes at not getting to rub elbows with his heroes.
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"Curing something incurable? Well, I could take a crack at it. What is it that you're working on? Between the two of us, we have nothing but time. We could at least use our brains to give you an avenue to pursue once you get home."
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Ravi glances over his shoulder, noticing how many people are here and how small the house is. "It's a fairly private conversation," he admits, seeing as Mark is the only other person who knows the truth. "Not really party fare."
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Some of them being, of course, her true age and the men she'd spent her formative years around. Of course, she'd already told Ravi these things so the cat was out of the proverbial bag.
"But I will hold you to an eventual explanation, Ravi."
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"I'll hold you to it," Helen reminded him gently. "But, as it is, you're free to pepper me with questions whenever you like. I want to keep my mind sharp and my memories fresh. Talking about them is the best way to do that."
She'd noticed that it was harder and harder to remember things now. Not the short term, of course, but the older memories were harder to come by. She wondered if it had to do with aging normally once again or if something more foul was at play.
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"Try not to have your mouth on me when you ask?" she said, giving him an impish grin. "Because I don't like to confuse myself."
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That and his brain, of course, because attraction for her had always been about more than just the physical. Without a mind to go along with the physical beauty, Helen had always lost interest quickly.
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"So it seems that the shopping I didn't intend to do worked out well? I like how it looks on you."
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"Did I manage to remember to get you something?"
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It would help if they had injuries - pain control, sedation, hypnotic uses. It would, also, take the edge off when invariably she had a long, hard day.
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"Seedlings, though," he wrinkles his nose, "Bad on me."
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Helen never fancied herself a drug dealer but, when in a pinch, marijuana had quite a few medicinal properties to be exploited.
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He's awful with patient, but good with determined and passionate pursuit. He can wait, especially if there's something good that will come out of it.
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"Besides, with Mark to help me, I have no doubt we'll be sitting on a field of plants by spring."