[To the record player first then, and given their conversation during the dance on Saturday, Rip expects the quiet backdrop of Elton John to fill the room in short order. Since Peggy has opted to head in that direction, Rip in turn goes for the drinks. It's with a practice eased that he pours first her glass, then his, exchanging the bottle in favor of taking both cups in hand, ready to offer Peggy one of them.

Yet it would seem she's not quite at the point of receiving it; her back is still to him, and while Rip can't see precisely which record she's looking at, her utter lack of commentary leads him to believe she's somehow got second thoughts about Elton John.

Perhaps understandable ones, given all else that man is linked to.]

It's hard to be grateful when you know it's just the calm between the storm. [Another event would happen soon enough, and they would all be scrambling once more, escaping some measure of danger, playing along with whatever lives they'd been assigned--

Reliving their worst nightmares all over again.

Rip moves to her chair, not to sit in it, but rather to lean against it's arm. It allows him a better view of Peggy, more her side than her back, and a place where she can in turn see him while they talk. Seems only natural, and he already plans to move when she decides to claim her seat anyway.

When she decides just what she wants to listen to.]

Besides, the empty hours are more a reminder that we should be doing something to try and get out of here.