sixthiterationlogs | 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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"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.

wind, water, earth, and frustration

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