[ —she nods, reaching for a recently filled tea cup and sipping thoughtfully while the question is considered. ]
I like being useful.
[ it's an easy confession. and common enough. she could explain a thing or two about her definition of usefulness, but first it might be good to ask... ]
What year was it? Back home?
[ she wants to know what references they do (or don't) have in common. and although it might feel like an out-of-the-blue request, peggy has inhabited something of a chronological grey area for too long. she likes pinning down these details early. ]
[ serge can tell by dress and manner alone that she’s neither natively french nor from the same time period, but to him, everyone in the future just looks like that—as if they’re from the future. his fashion knowledge does not extend into what hasn’t yet happened. ]
Back home? Let’s see… we had just come into the new year when I arrived here, so it must have been 1883.
[ there’s a moment where he falters: has it really been a year since his arduous journey with gilbert? how difficult to imagine. ]
[ 1883. long ago, but not too long ago. in fact, it's about as long backwards to serge as it is forward to the future folk from peggy's homeworld. ]
1947. It's not often I've got the advantage of years on someone else.
[ —she smiles, oddly tickled by the circumstance. ]
And I suppose I ought to fill in the other blanks. Born and raised in London, but I've—worked in Paris. [ that's one way of putting it. ] These days, however, I work across the pond. In America.
[ serge smiles, too. even though it’s not strange for people to be ahead of him, there’s something about how close they are while still being from completely different periods that strikes him as funny. people from the new millennium feel worlds away. he could have gone to school with peggy’s grandfather. ]
You’re quite the traveler! The only places I’ve been are the places I’ve been forced to go. I was born in Tyrol, then whisked to Paris, then Arles… it’s been a journey, to say the least.
[ he manages a laugh, even if it’s partially forced. ]
How… is America? [ no, that’s not quite the question he wants to ask. ] Do you plan to return to London when your work is over?
[ hearing another person describe their travelling history in such terms—places where they've been forced to go—ignites every curious bone in peggy's body. remarkably, she swallows her questions and recognizes that she's interrogated this poor young man to within an inch of propriety the last time they spoke.
she'll be gentler, she resolves, this time around. ]
America is all shades of different. Exciting, aggravating, but I like it there.
[ she half-smiles. peggy has never really asked herself whether she'd want to return to london, someday, but everything she's learned about her future from other people seems to suggest she won't. at least not for long. ]
I imagine I'll stay put. For the time being. There are other people here—from my world—who assure me that I make a life for myself in America.
That is the appeal of America, from where I’m standing.
[ he and gilbert would do no better there than they have in paris, though. he doubts even without the stranglehold of catholicism on his personal life, their relationship is more dysfunctional than a honeymoon to the land of opportunity could change.
sensing a brief lull in the conversation, the waiter comes to take their orders—although plenty of restaurants do the self-service touchscreen in lunatia, that’s one piece of technology that serge can’t quite accept. he does crave human interaction, like any normal person. but serge, who had not yet looked at the menu with any intention, still politely flounders until he selects the first thing that catches his eye.
a world without french cuisine is a sad one, indeed.
once the orders are placed, serge relaxes once again, settling his hands in his lap before continuing the conversation. ]
—um, you said there are others from your world here? From your future?
[ peggy orders the closest thing on the menu to a roast dinner—some selection of variably prepared vegetables and a slab of protein. although quite enthusiastic about her meals and the food she eats, she's hardly picky. rather, she trusts her new acquaintance's choice of restaurant and waits to see whether that trust is fulfilled.
once they're alone again— ]
Plenty. [ it was once a difficult thing to admit. now, as she's gotten used to it, the truth flows with more ease. ] And nearly all of them some seven decades in the future. Most of them are strangers to me but we have enough in common to recognize that we're from the same place.
[ at that point, serge wonders how they could have anything in common. there are probably other people here from the same “earth” that he knows, as well as the same “paris,” but too much of a gap in time means they might as well be another universe away.
peggy is likely the same, to him. even if she’s the closest he’s gotten to someone being from a place he recognizes as normal, he now gets the impression that they’re still different. unless he meets someone he’s personally met from home, he’s learned very well that even the name marie antoinette has a different weight depending on the origin. ]
I guess that’s better than being too close. They would know more about you than you do!
[ …don’t even know what to say to that. they’re coming from a conversation about serge’s uncertain future, and while it’s true that knowing what choice he went with in the end would help ease his mind, he can’t say he would prefer it. even if he’s able to change the future set up for him, it’s hard to wrap his mind around someone else knowing it, from his perspective, first. ]
What… sort of feeling is that? [ so he asks, but he can guess. ] If the question isn’t too personal.
[ too personal. but the reality is that peggy has grown all too accustomed to her future infamy. already, there has been a half-dozen instances of people recognizing her from news articles or textbooks or pictures hanging up in shield offices. ]
It's—surreal, frankly. You start to appreciate the ones who lie to you and let you introduce yourself as if they don't already know your name.
[ if it ever once was too personal, serge probably thinks it still is—and he’s just about to retract the question entirely when she offers up an answer anyway. it’s a good one, too, like something he would read in an interview with a polished professional. she’s just much more sincere. ]
Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m certain I know nothing about you except what you’ve told me. [ he smiles. ] It’s a proper friendship from the ground up, no?
[ —his position catches her (ever so slightly) off-guard. and so it brings a smile to her lips, brief and soon buried in a cup of tea. she may breeze through life appearing exceedingly self-assured (and for the most part, she is) but friendship has always set her off-kilter. ]
Yes, [ she agrees, ] I suppose it is.
[ and with that in mind! ]
Thank you for that. It's more appreciated than you know.
[ it’s not that serge is bad at interpersonal relationships, but compared to how completely unskilled he’s proven himself to be with romantic relationships, friendships come easily and naturally.
he shakes his head politely. ]
It’s only how I truly feel. Though… people tell me I come on too strong sometimes.
[ he shrugs, a quick motion of the shoulders, like it’s something he can’t help. ]
I would rather have too many friends than too few.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I like being useful.
[ it's an easy confession. and common enough. she could explain a thing or two about her definition of usefulness, but first it might be good to ask... ]
What year was it? Back home?
[ she wants to know what references they do (or don't) have in common. and although it might feel like an out-of-the-blue request, peggy has inhabited something of a chronological grey area for too long. she likes pinning down these details early. ]
no subject
Back home? Let’s see… we had just come into the new year when I arrived here, so it must have been 1883.
[ there’s a moment where he falters: has it really been a year since his arduous journey with gilbert? how difficult to imagine. ]
Um… yes, I believe it was 1883. And yourself?
no subject
1947. It's not often I've got the advantage of years on someone else.
[ —she smiles, oddly tickled by the circumstance. ]
And I suppose I ought to fill in the other blanks. Born and raised in London, but I've—worked in Paris. [ that's one way of putting it. ] These days, however, I work across the pond. In America.
no subject
You’re quite the traveler! The only places I’ve been are the places I’ve been forced to go. I was born in Tyrol, then whisked to Paris, then Arles… it’s been a journey, to say the least.
[ he manages a laugh, even if it’s partially forced. ]
How… is America? [ no, that’s not quite the question he wants to ask. ] Do you plan to return to London when your work is over?
no subject
she'll be gentler, she resolves, this time around. ]
America is all shades of different. Exciting, aggravating, but I like it there.
[ she half-smiles. peggy has never really asked herself whether she'd want to return to london, someday, but everything she's learned about her future from other people seems to suggest she won't. at least not for long. ]
I imagine I'll stay put. For the time being. There are other people here—from my world—who assure me that I make a life for myself in America.
no subject
[ he and gilbert would do no better there than they have in paris, though. he doubts even without the stranglehold of catholicism on his personal life, their relationship is more dysfunctional than a honeymoon to the land of opportunity could change.
sensing a brief lull in the conversation, the waiter comes to take their orders—although plenty of restaurants do the self-service touchscreen in lunatia, that’s one piece of technology that serge can’t quite accept. he does crave human interaction, like any normal person. but serge, who had not yet looked at the menu with any intention, still politely flounders until he selects the first thing that catches his eye.
a world without french cuisine is a sad one, indeed.
once the orders are placed, serge relaxes once again, settling his hands in his lap before continuing the conversation. ]
—um, you said there are others from your world here? From your future?
no subject
once they're alone again— ]
Plenty. [ it was once a difficult thing to admit. now, as she's gotten used to it, the truth flows with more ease. ] And nearly all of them some seven decades in the future. Most of them are strangers to me but we have enough in common to recognize that we're from the same place.
no subject
[ at that point, serge wonders how they could have anything in common. there are probably other people here from the same “earth” that he knows, as well as the same “paris,” but too much of a gap in time means they might as well be another universe away.
peggy is likely the same, to him. even if she’s the closest he’s gotten to someone being from a place he recognizes as normal, he now gets the impression that they’re still different. unless he meets someone he’s personally met from home, he’s learned very well that even the name marie antoinette has a different weight depending on the origin. ]
I guess that’s better than being too close. They would know more about you than you do!
no subject
As it turns out, even the strangers seem to know more about me than I do.
[ her smile is awkward and long-suffering. ]
Rather, they know about my future—something I could only guess about before they started sharing details.
no subject
[ …don’t even know what to say to that. they’re coming from a conversation about serge’s uncertain future, and while it’s true that knowing what choice he went with in the end would help ease his mind, he can’t say he would prefer it. even if he’s able to change the future set up for him, it’s hard to wrap his mind around someone else knowing it, from his perspective, first. ]
What… sort of feeling is that? [ so he asks, but he can guess. ] If the question isn’t too personal.
no subject
[ too personal. but the reality is that peggy has grown all too accustomed to her future infamy. already, there has been a half-dozen instances of people recognizing her from news articles or textbooks or pictures hanging up in shield offices. ]
It's—surreal, frankly. You start to appreciate the ones who lie to you and let you introduce yourself as if they don't already know your name.
no subject
[ if it ever once was too personal, serge probably thinks it still is—and he’s just about to retract the question entirely when she offers up an answer anyway. it’s a good one, too, like something he would read in an interview with a polished professional. she’s just much more sincere. ]
Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m certain I know nothing about you except what you’ve told me. [ he smiles. ] It’s a proper friendship from the ground up, no?
no subject
Yes, [ she agrees, ] I suppose it is.
[ and with that in mind! ]
Thank you for that. It's more appreciated than you know.
no subject
he shakes his head politely. ]
It’s only how I truly feel. Though… people tell me I come on too strong sometimes.
[ he shrugs, a quick motion of the shoulders, like it’s something he can’t help. ]
I would rather have too many friends than too few.