[ trumpets and french words both writhe their way like undercurrents through rip's room. quiet enough to let themselves be heard over the music, but loud enough to crowd out the silence that might otherwise stretch between them as he hesitates before handing over his notebook.
while he'd fetched it, she'd taken a mouthful of whiskey. it begins to work its warmth through her body -- an initial bleeding edge of comfort during yet another strange wednesday. habitual, but weighty. although peggy has already promised herself that she won't drink as many cups as she did on saturday. or as many as she did the wednesday preceding it. not enough to compromise herself or her behaviours -- not enough to let these moments get muddled all over again.
and that's one part of why it's so appealing to ask after his notes. yes, it does indeed trespass into a conversation they tend not to half during their appointments. but rip is the one who invoked the notion that maybe, just maybe, they should be doing more with their time. and maybe their evenings together weren't ever meant to be included, but peggy now folds them in with determination. ]
-- And yet, Mister Hunter, your lips are moving and you're finding a way to caution me all the same. [ and she never fails to draw attention to these busybody statements of his. the ones wherein he does exactly what he states he doesn't have to do. she hears the words for what they are because she's used them herself, and so perhaps her high horse is undeserved. nevertheless, it's become a point of careful teasing -- tonight and on other nights.
peggy only takes her seat once she's claimed the book from his care. and she does at least set her glass on the table before she cracks open his notes, glancing upward with a kind of look, i'm being cautious before her fingers touch the pages. and -- hell -- there is a lot on offer. she only scans a bit of it to begin with, because under a quick glance only a few of the words leap out as immediately legible. peggy knows she wouldn't have too much trouble with a bit of effort and peace, but for now she makes do with a broad survey.
-- those diagrams catch her eye, however. alongside the calculations. there's math, here, that she's never seen before. that alone is somehow more enticing than all the rest. her attention lingers (perhaps a beat too long) before she shuffles the pages back to a very early bullet point. missing words.
she taps the thought with the edge of her fingernail, laying the notebook flat on her knee. ]
...Have you been able to figure out what you've forgotten? At the end of the last event.
[ there's no warm-up. no lob. no easy first question. as gentle and sweet as the music is and as warming as the whiskey's become, peggy has in one question stripped back the social aspect of the evening. she's set an agenda; she's dictated the tenor.
no subject
while he'd fetched it, she'd taken a mouthful of whiskey. it begins to work its warmth through her body -- an initial bleeding edge of comfort during yet another strange wednesday. habitual, but weighty. although peggy has already promised herself that she won't drink as many cups as she did on saturday. or as many as she did the wednesday preceding it. not enough to compromise herself or her behaviours -- not enough to let these moments get muddled all over again.
and that's one part of why it's so appealing to ask after his notes. yes, it does indeed trespass into a conversation they tend not to half during their appointments. but rip is the one who invoked the notion that maybe, just maybe, they should be doing more with their time. and maybe their evenings together weren't ever meant to be included, but peggy now folds them in with determination. ]
-- And yet, Mister Hunter, your lips are moving and you're finding a way to caution me all the same. [ and she never fails to draw attention to these busybody statements of his. the ones wherein he does exactly what he states he doesn't have to do. she hears the words for what they are because she's used them herself, and so perhaps her high horse is undeserved. nevertheless, it's become a point of careful teasing -- tonight and on other nights.
peggy only takes her seat once she's claimed the book from his care. and she does at least set her glass on the table before she cracks open his notes, glancing upward with a kind of look, i'm being cautious before her fingers touch the pages. and -- hell -- there is a lot on offer. she only scans a bit of it to begin with, because under a quick glance only a few of the words leap out as immediately legible. peggy knows she wouldn't have too much trouble with a bit of effort and peace, but for now she makes do with a broad survey.
-- those diagrams catch her eye, however. alongside the calculations. there's math, here, that she's never seen before. that alone is somehow more enticing than all the rest. her attention lingers (perhaps a beat too long) before she shuffles the pages back to a very early bullet point. missing words.
she taps the thought with the edge of her fingernail, laying the notebook flat on her knee. ]
...Have you been able to figure out what you've forgotten? At the end of the last event.
[ there's no warm-up. no lob. no easy first question. as gentle and sweet as the music is and as warming as the whiskey's become, peggy has in one question stripped back the social aspect of the evening. she's set an agenda; she's dictated the tenor.
it is not a date. ]