sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Peggy & Stella's House of Intrigue
WHEN: Backdate to March 4th
OPEN TO: Stella Gibson, Percival Graves
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Closed to specific characters

Since she arrived, Peggy has been accumulating information. At first, with Killian's help, she'd put together a decent map picking out routes in the canyon and mapping terrain. After the incident that left her stranded for nearly a full day, she'd shifted her focus to something a little less dangerous. She'd begun to write down people's scrubs colours, their backgrounds, histories, whether they believed themselves alive or not, and began to cobble together working notes.

Now, what she needed was second opinions. She'd been staring at this puzzle longer than she could think about without growing sharp with frustration and needed the help of others to take a look at what she had and determine whether or not she'd absolutely lost her mind. It was why she'd put the kettle on, set out some of the few remaining biscuits she had left, and left word for specific parties that she trusted to offer their analytical minds on her notes.

Thank goodness she had been gifted with a pen and notebook, though even that is beginning to run out. If she decides to analyse another aspect of this strange village, she might have to simply learn how to make paper herself, which certainly wouldn't be a hardship after spending all the time learning how to fish in order to keep herself properly fed.

For now, though, patterns. Patterns and people and predictions, as if she could somehow work a way out forward if only she could see how it all came together.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Peggy isn't the only one who's been taking notes. Stella has been a detective for over fifteen years, and there are certain habits she finds extraordinarily difficult to break — such as the need to keep notes on everything, to write things down in order to try to make some sort of logical sense of them. She'd got a collection of folders, pens and paper over Christmas, and has since put them to good use, though she's had to be careful how much of the paper she uses; the result is that she ends up fitting as much information as possible on a single page, without having considered that anyone else would want to read it. She has the paper in her diary, of course, but she'd prefer not to use that for anything else unless she has absolutely no choice.

When she'd heard Peggy had intended to invite Graves by for tea and to attempt to sort through the information they all had in order to attempt to draw some sort of conclusions about this place, she'd thought it seemed a good idea; she knew Peggy just well enough to trust her judgment, and though she'd not known Graves as long, he seemed a level-headed, intelligent person. Perhaps between the three of them, they can make at least a little sense out of a place that, at times, defies any attempt to be described or categorized.

Stella spends most of the morning sitting on the end of her bed going through her own notes — what there is of them, tightly packed on both sides of a couple of sheets of paper, somewhat organized but still written in her own almost illegible scrawl. For the briefest instant, this almost feels like being back in her hotel room in Belfast, sorting through her innumerable piles of case notes and paperwork. All she needs is a glass of whisky — though she supposes the tea will do.

She'll head for the living room if she hears the sound of Graves's arrival at the front door — but for now she is content to allow Peggy to finish up in the kitchen while she herself finishes going through her papers.

Peggy's got the door half open, intending to call over to Graves the moment she hears him enter as she works on putting together a small little assortment of tea and biscuits, wishing that they were far fresher than they are, but knowing that her baking is actually abysmal and she wouldn't wish that on anyone in the world. Once she's sure that it's open and ready for visitors, she settles back on the sofa, smoothing her skirt as she does. While she's aware that this is her home, there's a sense of organization and time that goes into putting your face on and dressing up to take on company.

"What do you think?" she calls out to Stella, while they wait on their guest to join them. She's been staring at the puzzle for so long that the pieces are genuinely blurring together, she worries, and normally she needs a breakthrough or a new lens on the situation. Glancing towards the door, she thinks she hears a noise there on the stoop. "Come in!" she calls. "It's open!"

"Hello."

Graves says by way of greeting when he arrives, entering through the open door. It's an appointment he will not miss for the world -- he has met them separately, but in the two short meetings, the both of them have a keen intelligence, a savvy, and a no-nonsense attitude that speaks to an impressive capability that he doesn't see often. Credence has found somewhere else to be at this time of day, but Graves expects him around in the evening. Until then, there is ample time to help out however he can with Stella and Peggy.

He is polite when he enters, nodding to both of them. They're in the middle of something, he realizes, hard at work at deconstructing the mystery of this village and its hidden band of observers, and he hangs up his coat neatly. Immediately drawn towards work instead of promised tea (an occupational hazard when one's life revolves mostly around work), he starts for the notes, brows knitting thoughtfully.

"What do we have here?"

Edited 2017-03-18 04:23 (UTC)

"Useful information, hopefully."

Stella had come into the living room, her own little folder of notes in hand, in response to Peggy's question — but Graves's arrival has distracted her slightly. She offers him a brief, polite smile in greeting, then circles the coffee table to sit down on the sofa on Peggy's other side, setting down her folder of notes before reaching for the teapot and pouring out three cups.

"I think Peggy's notes might be a little more extensive than mine," she admits, matter-of-fact rather than self-deprecating — the other woman has been here longer than she has, and that's only to be expected. She's not yet read them in detail, of course, not having wanted to pry, but she imagines they will get to all of that today.

She's not as nicely dressed as Peggy, but she's made an effort to look neat; her hair is clean, her button-down blouse and trousers washed and pressed. It's not what she'd prefer to be wearing, even for work, but it's close enough and miles better than the scrubs.

Peggy glances up to greet Graves with a polite nod of her head, not drawing too much attention away from the task at hand that she's been studying, still trying to place her notes in order. The ones about people's backgrounds, she places in order, as there is the potential that they're being brought in at specific times for a reason. "Please," she invites the both of them, gesturing to her notes.

"They're here for the sharing," she assures, given that she's been staring at them for so long that they look as nonsense, sometimes. "I believe I've moved past the stubbornness of trying to solve this on my own and I'm finally admitting that I need fresh eyes." Even as she admits this, however, there's a lingering edge of frustration given that she's of the mind that she ought to be able to solve this herself.

They are as capable as they are beautiful -- a rare, coveted combination, Graves notes as he takes in their information, silently absorbing, looking through everything intently, fascinated. He's careful not to disturb the existing arrangement, and he smiles very briefly at them both before he goes right to business.

"The villagers are lucky to have the two of you." He says absently, fixating on one particular set of notes, of their backgrounds and how she's seemed to place them in some sort of order. He looks through that set, sharing it with Stella when he picks up on just how she'd set them.

"These are when they came in." He's quiet for a moment. "Do you have the dates for when village anomalies began and ended?"