[ spy etiquette. the irony (she suspects) isn't lost on either of them. peggy turns back around from poking her nosy way through a stately wardrobe. god, she could do with a drink. whiskey, maybe.
instead? she takes a seat on the edge of one bed. only when she bends to sit does she betray some stiffness about her abdomen -- a wound, perhaps, still plaguing her. ]
Do you wish you got out in it more often?
[ maybe -- maybe -- this might be marginally better topic. ha. ]
no subject
instead? she takes a seat on the edge of one bed. only when she bends to sit does she betray some stiffness about her abdomen -- a wound, perhaps, still plaguing her. ]
Do you wish you got out in it more often?
[ maybe -- maybe -- this might be marginally better topic. ha. ]