sixthiterationlogs | wind, water, earth, and frustration

Entry tags:

wind, water, earth, and frustration

WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Outside Bungalow #45
WHEN: August 7th, Afternoon
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Closed

There had been times, during the war, that Peggy had thought that the most menial of tasks had been behind her, then the SSR had come along and she'd learned the joy of taking and fulfilling lunch orders. It had been mind-numbing, but it hadn't been digging out ditches and holes to hide out the bombing. Now, in this odd little village, she's learning a whole new sort of frustration.

The bathroom in her little bungalow, along with the kitchen sink, has been backed up and flooding for almost two full days now. Every time she thinks she's got it scrubbed and dry, it starts up again. She'd thought that she was being clever, situating herself with nothing to the south but the river, but it looks as if the proximity is now doing her in.

When she wakes and hears the slosh of water, she debates picking up and leaving if not for the fact that she's settled in and she does have the advantage of not worrying what's to her south and the west, to a degree. So it's with a frustrated heart and a headache that she begins the work she's done for the last few days, ending up with several sopping pieces of fabric that she's now having to walk to one of the nearby trees, hanging each and every one of them to dry out.

If she has to use them again, she really may decide to move out.

Wiping sweat from her forehead, she notices that her nail polish has chipped to the point of non-existence and she can feel her hair frizzing up. She's not sure whether she's grateful that she's no longer obsessing over whatever's brought her here, but she's also not happy that it's as a result of sleepless nights and the issue at hand.

"Bloody flooding," she snaps, her temper running short as she stares at the way the riverbank is starting to slowly encroach closer and closer. Wherever they are, it seems the elements are not on their side between the wind and the water.

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Kate's been pillaging. Not randomly, not widely, just concentrating on the houses where Miss Jo had taken the curtains from. There's all kinds of useful things in those houses - in particular, fabric. Linens, tablecloths, towels. All can be re-purposed, reused, sown into additional clothes, unravelled for thread. Made into a woman's necessities (thank God and the Mother Mary that there are towels around, is all Kate can say).

So it is that after lunch today, she'd walked over the bridge to spend some time continuing her search. It's on her way back that she really pays close attention to the fabric drying on the trees, and the woman currently swearing at the water.

"The water gettin' in your house, Miss Peggy?" she calls out, coming to a stop. There's a basket on her hip, and with her hair plaited and tucked up under her red cap, she could look like a country girl out for a stroll. Except, at least, for the mud on her boots from where the bridge hadn't quite covered the new water's edge.

Edited 2016-08-08 09:41 (UTC)

"I don't think anything is left in the river," she huffs, though she knows it's hardly the truth. She presses the back of her hand to her forehead to stay the frizzy flyaways that threatens to escape the way she's tucked her hair under a make-do handkerchief while she waits for the cloths to dry. "Every morning now, the toilets and the sinks are backed up and flooding. The river's no better," she says, wondering just what it is they've been thrown into coping with.

She stares at the cloths in the trees and then back at her house. "I'd say I should just move, but I picked this location for the vantage point." And she's hesitant to give that up. "Is your home experiencing any sort of plumbing disasters or is it just me?"

"Well, I'm still at the Inn," she says, a trifle apologetically. "And that still seems to be runnin' just fine, although I haven't been checkin' the unused areas."

From her suddenly thoughtful expression, it's clear that once she gets back, that is precisely what she is going to do.

"Is... We didn't have any of this fancy plumbing in my ma's house," zero apology here, "but is there a way to maybe stick somethin' down the pipes? To try and clear it? Or is that not how it all works?"

She's learning. She's trying to learn. But there's only so much a girl can grasp on the fly, she's increasingly becoming aware, and until it becomes a problem, she has...

Well. She has an hysteria-inducing amount of other things to try and hold in her head.

Edited 2016-08-10 01:59 (UTC)

"It's a bit the opposite way, I'm afraid," Peggy says, leaning up on the tips of her toes (too short without her heels, she thinks) and hangs another one of the wet rags from a low-hanging branch. "It seems that whatever's happening to the river is pushing all the water up from the plumbing and into my house. If I could figure out where the junction to turn it off and block it, then I might have some luck."

"Unfortunately, I wasn't left blueprints," is her wry remark.

"Ohhhhhh." It's drawn out, yes, but actual understanding lights up her face. Kate sets her basket down and walks closer to grab any wet rags left, to pull hang on the branches.

Laundry.

Laundry day is her least favourite day of the week, but she's been raised to help where she can.

"Where would the water for the house be comin' from? Not a well, I'm guessin', but would it be a dam somewhere? Or would it be from the river? If from the river, could someone go swimming and block the pipe just until we sort it out?"

Peggy smiles warmly as she watches the way Kate works, feeling a kinship in this small task. She's hardly ever going to be accused of being a wifely woman who stays at home and does the chores, but there's a simplicity to this that she appreciates.

"I imagine there's some sort of piping running under our feet," she says, though she's not exactly sure who installed it. "I think whoever was here last did a poor job of it, considering how awfully flooded my home looks every morning."

Until her stage career, Kate and her family have never had the money to employ someone to do their laundry. Or rather, have a live-in maid, as their distance from the town made using a laundress there impractical. It's what she's grown up with. Soak on Saturday night through Sunday, wash all day Monday.

Her hands might be pale now, but for years, they were reddened with the work of it. On the other hand, her shoulders and arms, her arm, all are strong after that. Even if the burn is reminding Kate that she needs to build up that strength again.

"What about the houses around us?" Kate asks, glancing over. "Similar vantage, but maybe the plumbing's better? It can't really be sanitary to have to mop all this up every day."

It's not just that she likes what she's seen of Miss Peggy so far that has her concerned. Miss Peggy is a good worker, willing to pitch in. And they aren't so secure they can afford many people getting ill.

Peggy tips her head to the side, biting her lower lip as she works out the best way to be kind and not say that the reason she's picked the house she has is due to the need for a strategic overview of the area to the south, given the span of it and the river. Abandoning it would mean going to an unknown part of town that doesn't have such a clear vantage point.

"I think this one has a few features I particularly like," she says. And besides, she's already put down roots and she's quite stubborn. "If all goes extremely poorly, I'll just take apart the pipes myself."

The irony is, Kate would understand. She's stumbling towards that understanding herself. She'd started to think in terms of lines of sight after her ma's arrest, after her brothers were outlawed. Which way will the police come. If I go this way through the trees, can I be seen.

But Miss Peggy has a posh voice and had been wearing the remains of red on her nails, and Kate doesn't want to spoil whatever image she presents to the older woman. Someone nice. Someone who doesn't understand the basics of how to move stolen cattle around.

So she goes with the explanation, assuming it's mostly correct. Goes with it, and tosses Miss Peggy a sudden smile.

"Good luck without the tools. Although I've heard that bashin' things a fair bit can help."

Peggy gives a laugh and surprises herself with how much she wants to do that. "If you knew me back home, I think you'd find that there was several men who knew me who might accuse me of being far too quick to using violence to solve a problem," she confesses. It's something she needs to start up again, because keeping herself in peak physical shape will no doubt come in handy here.

She's lacking a partner, though, which is an unfortunate thing. Even Mr. Jarvis would do just well.

"Have you any experience solving plumbing backups? Or is it more of the hitting it to make it work experience?"

"More the hitting," Kate confesses with a quick, mischievous smile. "As I said, we didn't have any of this in me ma's house. We had to fetch the water from the dam at the base of the paddock.

It's worked with chimneys and stoves," she adds, brightly. "Sometimes a broomhandle is best."

She doesn't add insulting it, but then, Kate feels that this is heavily implied.

"Maybe you can come take a look," she offers. It's not that Peggy absolutely trusts Miss Kelly, but there's a sense that if anything were to go wrong, she has no doubt that she'd be more than capable of handling it. After Dottie Underwood and Whitney Frost, she's a little overconfident in that regard, even if she has a beautifully healed wound from the rebar puncture.

Strange, of course, how that had become so cicatrix-like upon arrival, as if it had been years ago and not just barely weeks.

"Maybe you can see something I haven't. Or we can just plug them up and I'll visit the inn for my needs."

If it came down to it, while Kate is far stronger than her small figure suggests - she's a farmer-raised, and the work is hard - and with three older brothers knows how to throw a punch, how to kick and aim and scream, mostly what fuels Kate in any physical scraps she's gotten into is sheer, bloody-minded stubbornness and temper.

She's also exhausted.

"I'd be more than happy to help," she offers. "Even if it's just to find out that I can't tell anythin' at all.

And the Inn'd be happy to help. Speakin' as the main person who lives there."

Miss Jo spends most of her day there, when she's not off on other chores, but Kate goes upstairs and sleeps.

Peggy gestures towards her house, not minding at all that she's inviting someone she hardly knows in. The truth is that she doesn't really know anyone, despite the fact that a few of them seem to come from her own future. It means they know her, but she doesn't know them, which is something that feels rather uneven and something she should be wary of.

"It's just in here," she guides, nodding towards the bathroom. "At least, the worst of it. The kitchen sink tends to keep glugging," she says with heavy disapproval. "Maybe I'll fold and stay at the inn while things flood. Of course, then it'll be a touch of disaster relief when I return." But she can't imagine abandoning it for someone else to deal with. That would just seem wrong.

The viking that lives next door with Jo was making his way back earlier than usual. He usually came home in the evenings with his arms piled with wood and thing from the woods unless he stayed home and helped Jo with whatever tasks they had to do. Today he was returning early, the water proof bag was over his shoulder clearly with things inside, and one of his arms had bits of timber held close to him.

It was while making his way home that he sees the woman next door looking towards the river. He can tell that frustrated look, he's seen it on enough faces over his years. "Good afternoon." He spoke in his heavy accent, coming to stand not to far, still holding the things he had brought to take home. "All is okay?" He asked to make sure she was alright. He had never spoken to her, but its hard to live next to someone and not notice them about. With his English approving he felt a little more confident in speaking to others.

She glances up, having not even noticed him until suddenly he's right there, which says a lot as to how distracted she is and how much the flooding has caused her to lose her marbles, a little. Normally, she'd have spotted him ages ago, but today, she's more occupied with her drying rags.

The worry, of course, being that they'll dry only to be needed all over again. "I've got flooding," she says, as if it's an awful disease that she has to cope with. "In the kitchen and the bathroom and soon enough, the bedroom, I'm sure."

He should have announced himself before coming so close, but the idea had slipped his mind. Silence was a key in hunting with a knife the way he does. He offered a nod when she explained.

Flooding, that he knew well enough. Not yet in the house he was staying but knew enough of water side villages. "Water belong in river." He spoke with a nod. This is something he had told Jo more than once already. He didn't trust that indoor pluming it was unnatural. The river was good enough why did they need the water indoors? "Maybe time to move, or find way to stop water?" He asked with a tilt of his head. Plumbing was not something he understood much less could help.

She gives a strangled laugh that must sound rather funny, but she's really not in a joking mood anymore. She's too exhausted and sleep-deprived to really be in a mood for amusement. "I've settled down some shallow roots. I'm not entirely in the mood to move, given that I picked my home for the location."

And also, it's admitting defeat. She's a touch too stubborn to acknowledge that this is part of why she's sitting here hanging things to dry instead of picking up and moving.

"Is yours flooded?" she wonders.

He wasn't sure why she laughed, but even if it was certainly a strangled sound, he still offered a light smile to her. Laughter was a good thing even when its not a full sound. Though he knew a good chunk of the words she spoke already just from dealings with Jo, he was still having issues with full sentences and accents.

He looked lost a moment, but gathered enough that she didn't want to move.

"Maybe ask someone how to help?" He offered, a little lost. Plumbing and to much English just went over his head. At least he understood her question.

"No, don't think." he spoke making a perplexed face. "Jo has not mentioned."

"Do you know anything about it?" Peggy suggests, because she would welcome the help of a plumber or anyone who knew what to do about pipes that suddenly worked on the whims of the river's water levels versus what they were supposed to do.

She sighs as she hangs up the last of the wet cloths and gives him a smile. "I'm being rude," she says. "I'm Peggy Carter," she introduces herself. "You're my neighbour, yes?"

Thorfinn shook his head quickly. Luckily his long hair was braided up so, it didn't go flying at the quick movement of his head. "No, strange magic." He held a hand up. How else did one explain plumbing to him? Everything he didn't understand he assumed to be magic. "Water belongs in the river." He repeated his belief for the second time.

He smiled in return and looked a little confused, a second until he realized what she was asking. "Yes," he shifted the hand holding the pack to put it back to his shoulder and point to Jo's house. "There, Nice to meet, Peggy." He wondered idly what kind of name Peggy was, where her people came from. He then shifted the hand from pointing to Jo's house to his own chest, to motion to himself. "I'm Thorfinn, pleased to meet you." Pleasantries were coming along easier the more he used them. Forming words he had already learned into new phrases, crafting words that once made no sense.

She nods, grateful and somewhat pleased that she hasn't managed to mix things up and she is, indeed, meeting one of her neighbours. She wonders when Jo had picked up the man, but it's hardly like she's in a position to judge. Who knows what sort of background and relationship they have, after all?

"And yes, water does belong in the river," she says with a heavy sigh. She gets the feeling the man doesn't know much in the way of plumbing, but she could use a hand. "Will you help me with some of the rugs? They're a bit heavy when soaked."

Thorfinn saw nothing strange about living with Jo, but his youth had been spent on a war ship with a band of raiders, his winters spent in the care of whatever family in Gorm's Village decided they wanted to take care of Askeladd's ward. He was always in the homes of strangers or on their lands. At least with Jo it was something welcomed and not forced upon him.

He gave Peggy a strange look when she asked her question. He hadn't heard Rug used before so he tipped his head some. He understood help and heavy, but not what she wanted lifted or moved. "English not so good, how you need help?" He asked still looking confused and yet, he held up a finger. "Come back." He spoke and moved to go drop the timber and the bag in Jo's yard so his arms would be free to help the woman.

Peggy blinks when he moves away, but he does return. So, at least she hasn't then been abandoned by one of the first new people she's met here that didn't arrive with her that fateful day. She gestures inside and points to where one of the rugs in the hall is sopping and keeping the water from starting a lagoon-like path into the main room. "This," she says, gesturing outside. "We lift, hang," she adds, miming what they need to do.

And with luck, she won't use all her towels sopping up the mess. She does need to bathe, at some point.

He wasn't gone very long, just a moment or two before returning to her. He nodding looking the direction she pointed and followed her along into the house.

"Oh." He finally understood what she meant. The strange magic that made the water stay inside was not working right. It was much like when waves would crash over the edge of the ships back in his youth. He gave a nod an moved lift the rug up, even water saturated it wasn't much of an issue for a man used to the manual labor he was used to. "Where want?" He asked once he had it up. He knew once the rugs are out the rest wouldn't be so bad. At least with his limited knowledge.

Peggy scans the area around them to look for the best place to put the rug, seeing a tree roughly twenty feet away that they can drape the rug over in order to let it drip dry. She's going to have an extremely bare-bones home for a little while, but seeing as they're also currently living in the Edwardian past, it's hardly like she's got much decorating to do.

"There, I think," she indicates. "I'm not sure how clean the water is," she warns, mainly because there's not a good place to disinfect. She does need to check in and see if soap is on the way. "We'll be careful," she says, as much to herself as to Thorfinn.

Thorfinn didn't understand germs or their dangers. He wasn't overly concerned with any dangers from a rug or the water soaking it. Though he did not when she indicated where she wanted it. Still looking a little lost at her words. Clean water? Did it matter? He didn't think so.

Moving across the yard where she had motioned he moved towards the tree with the rug. He wasn't fond of how it felt against the exposed bits of his skin as he was wearing the tanktop shirt. It was a good thing the shirt was already dingy cause the water and rug would surely make a mess of it. At least he intended to go home and change anyway. His laundry needed done, and he didn't expect anyone else to wash his stuff. "No worry. This nothing." He spoke in return to her words of being careful. The contraction of We will, went over his head like a lot of what people say. He took it as her telling him to be careful.

Peggy's smile of appreciation broadcasts her gratitude, she hopes. There's something about being back in this sort of situation that's calming. While tensions constantly run high and things are never secure, there's something to be said for the fact that it's a community pitching in. She knows that someone is there to watch her back. It's very dependent when it comes to trust, but it also means that they're more likely to survive.

The rug is a slight bit more of a struggle for her, only because the water is making it heavier and harder to carry. Still, she's able to heft it up to the branch in question that they want to use, stepping back to survey her little community of rags and rugs, all of them drying out from the disaster. "I'll have to owe you something in thanks," she says. "Not that I have much to give."

Her smile certainly got the message across. Thorfinn understood. Where words lacked him he could usually pick up on body language well enough. Little skills that used to keep him alive, are not just skills that help him day to day. Survival was the most important thing to the small man helping her, if the community was helping out it was good. If not, he'd find a way to keep himself alive. He was hard wired for survival.

Helping her heft it over he stepped back brushing some of the water off of his arms. The water more or less soaked the shirt he was wearing but he wasn't that bothered by it. "No worry." he repeated with that same awkward smile. "More?" He asked, wondering if there was anything else she needed down. Having spent the past four years of his life in slavery he didn't really expect anything in return for helping others, which was why Jo was in charge of all the trading. Hard work however, no matter how trivial made him feel more accomplished.

"No, I think that will be the last of it," Peggy admits, surveying the space around her with satisfaction. Of course, if it rains, they're going to be in a little spot of trouble because she's only prolonging things. Then again, if she has to end up staying at someone else's for a night (or one of the spare bungalows), she supposes that it won't be the end of the world. "Is yours the same?" she wonders.

Or is it just that she's the only one to develop such bad luck? If so, she's got a word or two to share with whatever universal deity is responsible for giving her such a crapshoot.

He had to think a moment about what Peggy was asking before shaking his head some. "No, no water like that." He spoke after thinking best how to explain it. "Jo knows better." If it had happened it was while he was out. He didn't trust that water room. It went against all the logical ways he considered things to be. Though, he knew well enough that water inside was perfectly normal for 'modern' people. It just wasn't his idea of something safe.

He shrugged then, trying to convey that he doesn't fully grasp it. "This... umm." He stopped, words, so many strange new words. "Is not how home is. No water in hall. All outside. I do not understand it." He was proud of his english, but he had to pause often and recall words Jo had given him.

Peggy wishes that she had the exact same situation. She wishes that the water was all outside instead of inside, but it seems that the home she's picked has a rather precarious flooding situation that she can't quite control.

"If you have a spare room, I might decide to borrow it," she jokes with as warm a smile as she can muster. "I feel like this is a test of my patience." That, or her devotion to hard work in order to repair the situation.

"Ask Jo?" He spoke with an apologetic shrug. "Her Hall, I just stay." He tried to explain. He didn't feel he had any right to invite company over. It was Jo's house in his mind, he was forever a guest. It was something he needed to learn to get past but after the last four years of his life the idea of anything being his seemed to foreign of an idea.

"What is patience?" He asked after a second, looking up from where he tossed the bag over his shoulder.

Peggy gives him a courteous nod. She might have given him a squeeze of his shoulder were it not for the fact that they're strangers, but she does appreciate the kindness more than she can say. She lets out an amused laugh, though, at his question.

"Patience is," she begins, trying to think of the best way to explain this, "it's sitting back and not acting rashly, no matter how much you want to. It's being smart."

Thorfinn smiled in return to her laugh and gave an awkward shrug. Some words didn't translate well to him yet, but he was hungry for knowledge.

"Ahh!" He made a noise and nodded. "Þolinmæði! Patience. Yes, I understand." Sometimes he felt so proud when words connected, now knowing the proper word he smiled. "Patience important. Thank you, Peggy."

"I'm not exactly the best advocate for it sometimes," she confesses, given that she often can charge into a situation without really thinking much about it. She does rather hope that it's not that she's bullheaded, but rather that she's just stubborn about her goals. "Are you a patient man?" she asks, careful to keep her words slow.

Thorfinn's smile didn't waver, instead he nodded to her words. Now that he had an understanding of what she was asking he could answer. "Yes, not always. Comes with age." He was proud of the fact he was a patient man, though his hindsight was jaded, he was always patient when it came to things he wanted.

"Good comes from the wait." He offered his view before scratching behind one of his ears. It was a tick he had, one he does when he is unsure of himself.

"Well, then, I look forward to three centuries from now when my patience might grow in," Peggy jokes, thinking of course that she might develop it sooner, but for the moment, she thinks her brash and straight forward tactics in the field have consistently yielded results and it's difficult not to keep wanting to go with that.

"What sort of good?" she prompts gently, encouraging him to talk of his life.

Thorfinn chuckled a little, getting the jist of what she said. Some of the words like centuries were over his head but he got the basic idea. "Maybe soon." He spoke after his chuckle with a shrug, one never knew what the gods had in mind.

"Many things." he spoke as he pondered an answer. He looked over Peggy once more and smiled. "Well, take plants." he motion down as an example. "Take much long to grow big, much waiting." He tried to make sure his words made sense and he used the right ones. "Pluck to soon and no good."

He's right. Even with her own limited gardening experience, she knows that if you want a garden to turn out right, you can't rush it along. Still, it brings a fond smile to her face to think of how many times in her youth that she had forced something to happen because she was tired of waiting. "Love," she says quietly. "Love can be like that too, but sometimes, if you're patient, you lose."

Like with Steve. If only they had managed to get around to things sooner.

"I know not of love." He admitted with a shrug, it was something he had been curious about but he hadn't needed such a thing in his youth to survive, and as an adult there was never time for it. His sister had gotten on his case for being as old as he was and unmarried, but he saw no real point in it. Love didn't keep you fed, and if the words of an old drunken priest were to be believed the only love that existed was in death. "I know farm and work." He went on before looking back to her and pieces clicked.

"Love hurt you?" He had heard love could hurt.

She's not sure, sometimes, whether the old saying of 'it's better to have loved and lost' is true. She'll never regret loving Steve, but the ache that still accompanies her is a hard one to bear. "Yes," she says quietly, but her voice remains firm. "Yes, I loved someone with all my heart and I lost him."

She'd thought to death, but apparently, she'd just lost him and wasn't good enough to find him. She's not sure she'll ever forgive herself that, in the long run.

He nodded softly, thinking of Arneis for just a moment, the look of resolve when she climbed onto the cart with her dying husband knowing the trouble that would come of it. Though love was alien to him, he thought maybe that kind of pain might be the same.

"Sorry, for the loss." He spoke looking over to her sympathetically. "Maybe new chance here." he added with a shrug, since he wasn't sure what to say really.

She doesn't think that there's much of a new chance at all. The truth is that back home, she had only begun to allow herself to think of that. Between Jason and Daniel, she had thought about allowing her heart to move on because she had closed the door on Steve, but now that she knows that Steve isn't dead and that people from the future come here, this sliver of awful hope has opened and made it awful and impossible.

It's made her want to think there might be another chance. "I don't think so, not here," she admits. "I think we're just a tad too busy trying to survive, really."

Thorfinn nodded a moment before smiling her way. "Survival good, yes, but people need people. People marry and have children even while surviving. Never to late, unless your to old." He added the last bit with another shrug. "I must go, have to finish work. Nice meeting Peggy." He added a half bow to it.

It's a promising thought, though she's not entirely sure she's ready to abandon her purpose and life in order to focus on a family especially when her heart still resides with others. She musters up a smile, though, appreciative of both the help and the advice. "Thank you, Thorfinn," she says, imbuing the words as sincerely as she can. "I appreciate it, really, I do."

"Welcome, Peggy." He gave a nod of his head before turning to head back across the lawn for the porch. Looking back he remembered. "Good day!" He's been trying his best to remember all the words to be polite. After his little call he scooped the pack off the porch and vanished into Jo's home.

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wind, water, earth, and frustration

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