[ Peggy's really fucking bad at compartmentalising, but luckily for her, all she's seen of this place since being experimented on – yikes! – is the inside of the safehouse, which is familiar in the way that, like, a punch to the face is familiar, in that she's definitely been punched before, and it's not that she liked the experience, but she at least knows what happens when a fist makes contact with the bridge of your nose.
Alright. Maybe the metaphor got lost in translation, metaphorically speaking, in transit from the dumb part of her brain to the smart part. But there are things here, at least, that she understands: somewhere tucked away in one of the drawers, she finds a pack of playing cards in a remarkably good state, probably down to the fact that they're made of plastic, but she's not complaining. So she sets up at a table, shuffling the cards with practiced ease, and flags down anyone wandering by. ]
Hey. Wanna play blackjack?
» 002. FIGHT CLUB
[ As if it's not extremely obvious thanks to the fact that she's 5'5" and the best way to describe her build is 'reedy', Peggy's not actually going to be stepping into the ring any time soon. But this place, a little bit to her chagrin, is infinitely more familiar to her than even a safehouse or a punch to the face; it's dingy, and dirty, and everyone here looks like they have or are about to commit at least one crime. These are, in short, Peggy's people. She posts herself up at the bar, orders herself what she's pretty sure is the future-equivalent of a Long Island iced tea, and leans over to whoever's nearby at the bar to say, as the woman in the ring is tossed unceremoniously onto her back and struggles to get up again, ] That's definitely a fakeout. She's gonna get up.
peggy palmer · oc
[ Peggy's really fucking bad at compartmentalising, but luckily for her, all she's seen of this place since being experimented on – yikes! – is the inside of the safehouse, which is familiar in the way that, like, a punch to the face is familiar, in that she's definitely been punched before, and it's not that she liked the experience, but she at least knows what happens when a fist makes contact with the bridge of your nose.
Alright. Maybe the metaphor got lost in translation, metaphorically speaking, in transit from the dumb part of her brain to the smart part. But there are things here, at least, that she understands: somewhere tucked away in one of the drawers, she finds a pack of playing cards in a remarkably good state, probably down to the fact that they're made of plastic, but she's not complaining. So she sets up at a table, shuffling the cards with practiced ease, and flags down anyone wandering by. ]
Hey. Wanna play blackjack?
» 002. FIGHT CLUB
[ As if it's not extremely obvious thanks to the fact that she's 5'5" and the best way to describe her build is 'reedy', Peggy's not actually going to be stepping into the ring any time soon. But this place, a little bit to her chagrin, is infinitely more familiar to her than even a safehouse or a punch to the face; it's dingy, and dirty, and everyone here looks like they have or are about to commit at least one crime. These are, in short, Peggy's people. She posts herself up at the bar, orders herself what she's pretty sure is the future-equivalent of a Long Island iced tea, and leans over to whoever's nearby at the bar to say, as the woman in the ring is tossed unceremoniously onto her back and struggles to get up again, ] That's definitely a fakeout. She's gonna get up.
» 003. NETWORK
un: peggy.palmer
hey losers
fuck marry kill: spongebob, patrick, squidward