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[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.

Jun. 11th, 2016 03:33 am
aspeggysays: (to say)
[personal profile] aspeggysays
It had been a precision operation, and it had all gone to hell when the boat was late. They'd split up, Peggy and Dernier going back up the cliff to signal again, Barnes leading the rest of them up the beach, their footsteps covered by the sound of the surf and their dark clothing disappearing into the foggy gloom. Barnes thought there might be a way over the rocks, another possible escape route, just in case the boat never showed up at all.

It had been sheer bad luck that Peggy and Dernier had run into a patrol at the top of the cliff. They'd run, forced toward the enemy base by shouts and shots in the dark pines. It had been startlingly good luck that they'd spotted a sentry at the base taking an unauthorized leak and managed to sneak past, leaving the patrol to search and shout to no avail.

Dernier had taken a shot somewhere in the confusion, Peggy didn't know when because he'd kept silent about it until they'd found a little hidey-hole, and then collapsed.

She'd gritted her teeth and glared at him, fixed him up as best as a former nurse could with no medical supplies, and then left him behind. She needed something to fish the bullet out with, and better bandages. "Don't you dare die," she whispered in his ear before she left. He rolled her eyes at her. She thought it would have been more appropriate the other way around.

Somehow, when she opened a supply closet door and found the hotel on the other side, she wasn't surprised. She used one of the phones to get the staff to deliver what she needed -- she didn't want to risk wandering too far from the door she had to go back through -- and turned back to the doorway that led back to her home world.

Just as she was about to step through, she sensed someone walking up behind her as if they might intend to follow her through. Or maybe they were just curious about the door. Peggy didn't really have time to speculate.

"If you want to help save a life, come with me," Peggy said. "It will be dangerous."
aspeggysays: (to say)
[personal profile] aspeggysays
From the nexus, it looked like an adequate setting for a rest cure. A big house, surrounded by a lot of land; sunny days, clear nights. A few more amenities than Merry Olde England, which she'd also considered for the purpose, but no shelling, no gunfire, and no planes flying overhead. Peggy stepped though the doorway with little hesitation.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," someone said from down the hallway, "how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

Peggy flinched and froze, her thoughts immediately jumping to Steve. But the conversation continued, Steve was still dead, and Peggy was done jumping at shadows. She continued down the hall and settled into a chair in the parlor. That proved to be a mistake.

The room soon filled with young women, chattering about a Mr. Bingley. They took Peggy's presence without blinking, but oddly, insisted on calling her Lizzy. She did her best to fade into the background as the conversation circled endlessly around the question of marriage. It hit her on a raw spot, all the talk of marriage when the only man she'd ever thought about in that way was dead, but she had endured far worse. Her smile never cracked, her eyes remained dry. She found the door back to the nexus with some relief.

The next time the nexus threw her into Longbourn, they family was about to leave to attend a ball. Peggy had never been to a ball; she tagged along. She even danced a few times, but she didn't mind that it wasn't more. Afterwards, the cozy talk with Jane was a nice bonus. Peggy found she enjoyed a little sisterly gossip.

She came back a few more times after that -- to talk to Jane, she told herself. To encourage Lydia in her little rebellions against the social limits. To run interference for Mary when she wanted to play the piano. Just to get a good night's rest. It was half way between the rest cure she'd been looking for and picking at a scab. The talk of marriage, the constricted choices reminiscent of the childhood she'd fled at the first opportunity -- but the sisterly chats, the quiet nights... and the knowledge that whatever troubles any of these people had, none of them were going to die. It was more than she knew about anyone back in the War.

And then, today happened. Peggy arrived, and as usual, no one noticed that she'd been away. "Have some fish, Lizzy," Mr. Bennet said, so Peggy did. It came as a complete surprise to her when Mr. Collins, the family guest, asked to speak with her.

Five minutes later, she found herself breathing harder than usual, her voice a low growl as she threatened to gut Mr. Collins with a fish fork if he didn't learn to listen to what a woman was actually saying instead of only to what he expected to hear. She was not going to put up with this.

She stalked out without looking back, trusting Mr. Collins to come up with some explanation for the rest of the family. He didn't seem like the type who'd admit that a woman had frightened him.

Peggy took a seat in the garden, feeling pleased with herself, and just a tiny bit guilty as well. Good thing she hadn't done that to any of the more annoying men at home. But when she heard someone approaching, she turned to greet them with the dangerous smile of a woman who had just let loose, and was willing to do it again. "I think the next step in this situation is Meryton. Steal a uniform. Find a war. Want to come with me?"

[The only thing I'm taking from the miniseries "Lost in Austen" is the basic concept. Peggy knows who she is, but none of the NPCs do, they think she's Lizzy Bennet and react to her as Lizzy Bennet, don't notice any discrepancies, etc. Replace any and all Austen characters in the same way (don't feel like you have to follow the Austen plot, either), arrive as as an era-appropriate version of your character (no Austen double required), or simply have them show up as themselves, no door changes (though for the sake of not getting stuck on details, let's just say that the NPCs aren't going to freak out about them not belonging or anything, these are some really accommodating NPCs!) Just please be clear about what choice you're going for, and feel free to drop me a line if it gets complicated :)]

Jul. 24th, 2015 05:05 pm
aspeggysays: (private)
[personal profile] aspeggysays
Early 1944 (Depths of Winter) | Northernmost Hydra facility
Peggy's Home Universe

"It was a routine mission," Agent Carter reported. She was the only one who'd seen everything, but the fellows had seen a lot of it. They stood in two ragged rows behind her, and she could feel their attention, and their support. It hardly warmed her, considering what had happened.

Character death | PG-13
morethanhuman: to fit right in (we're painted red)
[personal profile] morethanhuman
In the dark, Erik ran, the sounds of skittering and and an eerie humming echoing, ambient, in the air around him. They didn't wear metal, any of them, except the ones who carried knives— but they didn't need knives to hurt, to kill. He'd seen that firsthand.

He rounded a corner into a long gallery space, one entire wall made of glass, an arresting view of the city's grandeur and the vastness of the ocean that surrounded it. Even after weeks of this, living in the half-light of flares and sputtering neon, it still caught at him— he was under water, miles from the sun or a breath of fresh air. Like the vastness of space outside his window on the Proserpina, the ocean was endless, and he was stuck in this tomb of a city trying like hell to find his way out. Looking out over the city with fish swimming like flocks of birds between the skyscrapers, Erik spared a thought to wish he could have visited it in its heyday.

Those seconds of distraction cost him. A splicer dropped in front of him, startling a shout from him as he reeled back, jerking himself out of reach as it swiped at him with something— not metal, glass perhaps?— he felt the pull on his upper arm, then the burn as the pain set in. Almost too fast to track, another one skittered out from the shadows, and Erik could hear the hyena laugh that signaled another wasn't far off. Fuck. Where was the goddamned door, anyway? He'd been working for an eternity to make his way back here, and he was so close—

"Find a better hiding place, monster," the one in front of him hissed, its teeth bared in an insane grin, and Erik didn't waste another second before lashing out. A cloud of slender blades hovered by his left shoulder like a wizard's familiar; his left hand shot out and the blades flew, zipping through the air like hornets to pierce the splicer's flesh, burrowing in and through and out, only to twist midair and come back for more.

Ignoring the screams, Erik gestured with his other hand to the hulking splicer advancing on him from the right. Lightning arced from his palm, tracing a parabola between him and his attacker, the purple light illuminating his own fierce satisfaction at the sight of the splicer writhing in agony. The swarm of blades finished their bloody work just in time for Erik to turn, wild-eyed, as the third splicer dropped to the ground behind him. His pulse was racing, the taste of ozone in his mouth, and he threw both his hands out in front of him, metal and electricity flying free.

Three splicers lay dead at his feet. His arm throbbing, blood seeping through his sweater, Erik reoriented himself and headed toward the bathysphere station. The door wasn't far— he'd be home before he knew it... as long as there were no more nasty surprises.

[Find him in Rapture during or after the splicers attack, or once he's come back through the door. He's singed and filthy and bleeding from a long cut on his left bicep. He's injected himself with the Electro Bolt plasmid, which gives him the ability to electrically charge or shock things at will. For those who see him regularly, he's been stuck in Rapture for over a month.]

Apr. 8th, 2015 06:59 pm
aspeggysays: (gun)
[personal profile] aspeggysays
Three days after arriving at the Nexus Hotel, Peggy Carter went down to the edge of the island with a beach umbrella she'd taken from a beach in Spain, a brightly colored banner from the halls of Gondor, a broken lance picked up on the sidelines of a tourney at Camelot, a pot of paint from an elementary school in Alaska, and her most interesting acquisition, a needle gun that she'd traded for her usual sidearm on a space ship somewhere between Escobar and Beta Colony.

She fixed the pole of the umbrella firmly into the ground, attached the lance at right angles, and fixed the banner to this frame. The paint made a neat, rather small bullseye in the center of the banner, and she was ready.

Twenty paces across the smooth lawn, turn and fire. The projectile whizzed through the air, and when it hit the target, it broke open and dozens of razor sharp strands whirred and shrieked as they cut the banner of Gondor into shreds in a radius of about a foot and then disappeared into the vastness of space that surrounded the island.

Silence descended. A few streamers danced in the breeze where the bullseye had once been.

"Well," Peggy said. It wasn't often she was at a loss for words, and it only lasted for few seconds. "Why yes," she announced. "I'd trade my .45 for one of these any day."

She put the safety on with great care, re-holstered the weapon, and went to take a closer look at the damage.


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