[ sevenish or so, and peggy wrestles with the same question that plagued her last week. should she maintain habit, or should she break with it? and ultimately she comes to the same conclusion: it's somehow easier to face the music and hold with tradition than to break with it. and if she did break with it, it's only because of her own guilt seethes just beneath her skin.
-- guilt for having enjoyed herself. guilt for taking her eyes off the ball long enough to forget that this mansion is a gilded cage. guilt, too, for trying to remember the rise and fall of soft reverbing trumpets from a song she finds she can't recall at all. her attention had been swallowed up by the dance.
but here she is. back in this hallway, sparing a glance over her shoulder for the wall she and he had both sat against during the last event. her head is still turned when she bids her arm into raising to the door and knocking her knuckles hard against the wood. and when the door opens, there she stands.
she will not wait to be invited before she steps inside. habit is habit, after all. to adhere to it broadly only to compromise on its expression, here at the threshold, would suggest weakness. and peggy carter believes she simply can't afford to be weak.
but her smile is warm enough. nothing amiss there, nor in the sweep of red across her lips -- once again a dark and iconic red. all her lines have re-sharpened since the wedding reception. she must have come in from outside because she's wearing a study wool coat. beneath it, once it's unbuttoned, her blouse is seen to be a cloudy grey-blue. but like its white siblings, it doesn't lack for starch and structure. ]
Hullo. [ she tosses her coat over the back of her chair. it's a bit like planting a flag. ] All is well, I hope...
no subject
-- guilt for having enjoyed herself. guilt for taking her eyes off the ball long enough to forget that this mansion is a gilded cage. guilt, too, for trying to remember the rise and fall of soft reverbing trumpets from a song she finds she can't recall at all. her attention had been swallowed up by the dance.
but here she is. back in this hallway, sparing a glance over her shoulder for the wall she and he had both sat against during the last event. her head is still turned when she bids her arm into raising to the door and knocking her knuckles hard against the wood. and when the door opens, there she stands.
she will not wait to be invited before she steps inside. habit is habit, after all. to adhere to it broadly only to compromise on its expression, here at the threshold, would suggest weakness. and peggy carter believes she simply can't afford to be weak.
but her smile is warm enough. nothing amiss there, nor in the sweep of red across her lips -- once again a dark and iconic red. all her lines have re-sharpened since the wedding reception. she must have come in from outside because she's wearing a study wool coat. beneath it, once it's unbuttoned, her blouse is seen to be a cloudy grey-blue. but like its white siblings, it doesn't lack for starch and structure. ]
Hullo. [ she tosses her coat over the back of her chair. it's a bit like planting a flag. ] All is well, I hope...
[ her pleasantries are almost too pleasant. ]