Tsk, tsk, Miss Carter. There's a price to be paid first.
[Yes, he types it all out, two 'tsks' and a proper name. He expects there will be a scowl on her end when she sees it—one that deepens given that he doesn't add anything else for a beat after.
[ oh for the love of! tsks and all! he's perfectly correct in his prediction -- peggy sits, chewing on a bite of cake, with her mouth bowed into a frown. she can't decide whether she's more annoyed by how her blitz failed her or by his chiding tone.
what doesn't annoy her -- not one bit -- is his question. surprising, maybe, except this whole conversation turns upon their ability to ask and answer in relative freedom.
the fork hangs from between her teeth while she taps out a fresh reply. ]
I chanced upon someone singing and playing a guitar. And I, inquiring further, thought I might like to hear more.
[ and he will be her means of discovery, she decides. peggy knows she could probably go to the library and uncover the sound for herself -- but she rather prefers the idea of drawing upon rip as the resource-rich connection that he is. a whole person full of experiences and preferences and personality.
besides, his musical curation thus far hasn't steered her a step wrong. ]
[She's only got herself to blame, right along with her earlier comment about Twenty Questions. But it's not a point that needs to be made in the end; Peggy confesses where she'd received her introduction, and even before she sends the message Rip has gone to the closet to conjure a record or two.
The thought that she might lie to him, somehow hide the truth, never even occurs to him.]
You're rather in luck then. I'm quite familiar with the group. [Enough so that he has to struggle to decide just which of their LPs to pull. It only seems fitting to start with the first, and ultimately he decides on the Let it Be as the last, with Hey Jude to help cover some of the span.] You'll have a few options for when you come by next.
[ it doesn't for a moment occur to her that maybe, just maybe, this group is somehow bigger than simply any other group. that they might in any way be iconic. revolutionary, even, by some standards. to her, it's just another something she didn't already know.
but it certainly is rather nice to feel no push-back on this request. not that peggy had been expecting it -- rather, she'd got a good enough lay of the land since rip's return to recognize another important pillar of this slow-built trust between them. some future-spoilers can be encouraged because she can be relied upon to draw a line for herself -- even if that line is, sometimes, well in advance of where he'd suggest she draw it.
what's important, maybe, is that there's a line at all. ]
[It's the Legends' influence and it's the still undefined thing that exists between him and Peggy, but the choice to introduce her to a broader spectrum of music remains an easy one. And more, it's something of a selfish thing--he rather enjoys being part of her association, of taking the journey with her in discovering new ways in which notes and melodies might connect, build upon one another and create something beyond her imagining. It's been a cornerstone of their association near from the start, and so much more importantly, one that they have made theirs, in spite of Wonderland's interference.
Small victories, perhaps, but important ones. Ones Rip needs.
She asks knowing exactly whose turn it would be, but admitting as much would be too easy on her, even then. She'll get her records, but as he's said: there's a price to be paid.]
I think we're even at the moment. [A pause, seemingly while he considers.] Perhaps it's a good point to stop then, while neither of us is quite ahead.
[Before Peggy finds opportunity to wind the conversation back around to what she first called for, the truth behind a cake made in abstract image of her, right down to it's flavors.]
I think you're only frightened about what I might ask next.
[ he says they're even. are they?
there's nothing that feels even about this. sitting here with one knee bent and another forkful of cake in her mouth. it's good. better than good, really, and she doesn't quite know how to tell him so. had he been here in the room he would have every reason to see it: the relish behind her eyes and the way she chases crumbs with the edge of her finger.
but he's not here. there is only her and the cake and this device. she can't say thank you and she can't ask another question and she can't describe to him how much this cake, bizarrely spectacular though it is, tastes like home. ]
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[ technically, by rules that neither of them agreed to aloud, it's meant to be his turn to level a question. not hers to pepper him with follow-ups. ]
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[Yes, he types it all out, two 'tsks' and a proper name. He expects there will be a scowl on her end when she sees it—one that deepens given that he doesn't add anything else for a beat after.
Until:]
Why the sudden interest in them?
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what doesn't annoy her -- not one bit -- is his question. surprising, maybe, except this whole conversation turns upon their ability to ask and answer in relative freedom.
the fork hangs from between her teeth while she taps out a fresh reply. ]
I chanced upon someone singing and playing a guitar. And I, inquiring further, thought I might like to hear more.
[ and he will be her means of discovery, she decides. peggy knows she could probably go to the library and uncover the sound for herself -- but she rather prefers the idea of drawing upon rip as the resource-rich connection that he is. a whole person full of experiences and preferences and personality.
besides, his musical curation thus far hasn't steered her a step wrong. ]
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The thought that she might lie to him, somehow hide the truth, never even occurs to him.]
You're rather in luck then. I'm quite familiar with the group. [Enough so that he has to struggle to decide just which of their LPs to pull. It only seems fitting to start with the first, and ultimately he decides on the Let it Be as the last, with Hey Jude to help cover some of the span.] You'll have a few options for when you come by next.
[On Wednesday, one would presume.]
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but it certainly is rather nice to feel no push-back on this request. not that peggy had been expecting it -- rather, she'd got a good enough lay of the land since rip's return to recognize another important pillar of this slow-built trust between them. some future-spoilers can be encouraged because she can be relied upon to draw a line for herself -- even if that line is, sometimes, well in advance of where he'd suggest she draw it.
what's important, maybe, is that there's a line at all. ]
Cheers. [ ... ] Is it your turn or mine?
[ she knows damn well whose turn it is. ]
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Small victories, perhaps, but important ones. Ones Rip needs.
She asks knowing exactly whose turn it would be, but admitting as much would be too easy on her, even then. She'll get her records, but as he's said: there's a price to be paid.]
I think we're even at the moment. [A pause, seemingly while he considers.] Perhaps it's a good point to stop then, while neither of us is quite ahead.
[Before Peggy finds opportunity to wind the conversation back around to what she first called for, the truth behind a cake made in abstract image of her, right down to it's flavors.]
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[ he says they're even. are they?
there's nothing that feels even about this. sitting here with one knee bent and another forkful of cake in her mouth. it's good. better than good, really, and she doesn't quite know how to tell him so. had he been here in the room he would have every reason to see it: the relish behind her eyes and the way she chases crumbs with the edge of her finger.
but he's not here. there is only her and the cake and this device. she can't say thank you and she can't ask another question and she can't describe to him how much this cake, bizarrely spectacular though it is, tastes like home. ]
See you Wednesday, Rip.
[ if not sooner. ]