Old-fashioned is relative. Pretty sure I'd need a PhD to accurately guess how far off I am from my time, but we're talking galactic years, not centuries.
[ AND YET it's still garbage, go figure. ]
Where I'm from, the local government is usually a bunch of rich people bankrolling the military and calling the shots. Sounds like your norm is a little old-fashioned too, unfortunately.
[ Is this confidential information? Does it matter if the countries she's serving no longer exist? ]
Before I got here, I'd heard about — [ more like uncovered and attempted to take down ] — a group of wealthy men pulling strings in politics and the economy. No telling how far it went but I suppose I'll find out when I get back.
[ When, not if. ]
But that's a headache for another day. I've got enough of one for now.
[ Disappointing. Not surprising, though. Johnny's interest is more empathetic than intellectual, so it's easy to follow her lead and leave the subject for another day. After a short pause, ]
You know, I've heard booze can help with that.
[ Until you have to suffer the hangover headache the next day. Just never stop drinking, obviously!! ]
[ And in 12 hours, she'll find him at the bar of the suitably sketchy establishment, as promised. Dutch isn't working, but she's obviously made enough of an impression that guy who is working is doing her friend a favor, anyway; he's currently in the middle of pouring two shots of something that's... whiskey analogous, at least. Johnny slants a look towards Peggy, giving her a subtle once-over, confirming her assessment that she's still in one piece.
His brow furrows, mock-concerned. ]
Aren't you a little old to be out this late?
[ You know, centuries old. Skipping friendly greetings and going straight for shitty jokes means he likes you, congratulations. ]
[ She very nearly misses the 12 hour mark, sleeping through most of the day (night?) in some valiant effort to recover from the previous one. But her implant pings her awake with time to spare and somehow, even nursing a set of fractured ribs and a mild concussion, she manages to look as put together as ever when she breezes into the bar. Sure enough her typical curls are loose waves but they obscure the bullet graze that cuts from cheek to temple — a result of her newfound ability deflecting an otherwise nasty shot.
Red lipstick really does wonders for feeling like one massive bruise, all things considered. His greeting startles a chuckle out of her, something she immediately regrets when her side flares in pain, and she slides gingerly into the seat next to him. ]
Please don’t start, [ she says, levelling him with a look that’s both exasperated and amused. ] I might crumble into dust otherwise, ancient relic that I am.
[ Or because she’s held together by stitches and sheer force of will, who knows. But it’s good to get out; better, that the place is dimly lit. She nods at the glasses. ]
Getting started without me? Your yesterday must have been quite the ordeal.
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no subject
Earth, yes. Although I could be considered old fashioned to some, given the year. This place is five centuries ahead of my time.
[ And yes the similarities remain. ]
But where I come from, a military with the power to overrule local government is the exception, not the norm.
no subject
Old-fashioned is relative. Pretty sure I'd need a PhD to accurately guess how far off I am from my time, but we're talking galactic years, not centuries.
[ AND YET it's still garbage, go figure. ]
Where I'm from, the local government is usually a bunch of rich people bankrolling the military and calling the shots. Sounds like your norm is a little old-fashioned too, unfortunately.
no subject
[ Is this confidential information? Does it matter if the countries she's serving no longer exist? ]
Before I got here, I'd heard about — [ more like uncovered and attempted to take down ] — a group of wealthy men pulling strings in politics and the economy. No telling how far it went but I suppose I'll find out when I get back.
[ When, not if. ]
But that's a headache for another day. I've got enough of one for now.
no subject
You know, I've heard booze can help with that.
[ Until you have to suffer the hangover headache the next day. Just never stop drinking, obviously!! ]
no subject
no subject
Ever been to the Dorado? Charmingly seedy, rough crowd. Nothing you can't scare off with a well-placed kick to the shin. Also: free drinks.
[ THANKS DUTCH ]
no subject
[ Especially since a rougher crowd would be more forgiving (or at least ignorant) of a couple scrapes and bruises to the face. ]
Just give me 12 hours to get my head on straight and I’ll see you there.
no subject
[ And in 12 hours, she'll find him at the bar of the suitably sketchy establishment, as promised. Dutch isn't working, but she's obviously made enough of an impression that guy who is working is doing her friend a favor, anyway; he's currently in the middle of pouring two shots of something that's... whiskey analogous, at least. Johnny slants a look towards Peggy, giving her a subtle once-over, confirming her assessment that she's still in one piece.
His brow furrows, mock-concerned. ]
Aren't you a little old to be out this late?
[ You know, centuries old. Skipping friendly greetings and going straight for shitty jokes means he likes you, congratulations. ]
no subject
Red lipstick really does wonders for feeling like one massive bruise, all things considered. His greeting startles a chuckle out of her, something she immediately regrets when her side flares in pain, and she slides gingerly into the seat next to him. ]
Please don’t start, [ she says, levelling him with a look that’s both exasperated and amused. ] I might crumble into dust otherwise, ancient relic that I am.
[ Or because she’s held together by stitches and sheer force of will, who knows. But it’s good to get out; better, that the place is dimly lit. She nods at the glasses. ]
Getting started without me? Your yesterday must have been quite the ordeal.