3965/Pub Nite

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Pub Nite
Date of Scene: 28 October 2020
Location: Swordfish Bar (SHIELD)
Synopsis: Peggy gives May a way to handle SHIELD's newest recruit prospect, the demon Levian.
Cast of Characters: Melinda May, Peggy Carter




Melinda May has posed:
Sometime after leaving HR, Melinda May sent a simple text to the woman who was the Director of SHIELD back when she was a probie. It contained one word: 'Drinks?' And only when there was an affirmative response was a time sent. No location. Because really? Where do a pair of SHIELD agents safely go for a beer these days?

The SWORDFISH, of course.

Thus, May finds herself sat at a pleasant little corner table where she is comfortably out of the way and yet not actually 'lurking'. She watches some of the younger agents play darts in the corner, waiting for her 'date'.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The invite was a little surprising. Not unpleasantly so, but Peggy had done little social with the modern agents. It seemed like half the current crew didn't know what to do with her, and half were still intimidated by her as the once-Director. Therefore, her response was fairly quick to accept and she's only about five minutes behind May, to the bar that was once one of her most often used bases. A place where she feels like SHIELD grew up. It's certainly changed now.

As ever, she looks around when she walks in the place. Partially reading who is here, partially trying to see the bones of the place she knew among the more modern decorations and busy, happy, drinking agents. She's looking a little different since that last mission, the burns, which are still faint pink, newly healing skin at the side of her face, having taken a lot of her long curls. So, now she's in a curly sort of bob, hair barely longer than her ears, but somehow pulling it off with style. She's carefully combed it so it covers the worst of the burn scars. Any other injuries are nothing but things that will ache in the rain. A pint of Smithwicks ordered, she slips up to May's table and gives a little tip of her head. "I cannot say I expected the invite, but it's lovely to get a *pleasant* surprise, for once."

Melinda May has posed:
May would be surprised if Peggy *didn't* pull off the new look with style. She doesn't ever remember the woman being anything but. Far more so than May herself has ever been... outside of Shanghai, anyway. Once upon a time...

She offers Peggy a rare smile. It's not big. She is no longer the vibrant young maverick Peggy would have first known. This job has taken a lot from her. But the smile is there, regardless. "If I'd known you wanted one, I'd have given you one ages ago," she admits. It never occurred to her the former Director might miss that. Maybe because she actively tries to avoid it, herself.

Her fingers are loose around a simple Guiness. Nothing fancy. Nothing unique. Just rich and dark, with a good head of foam on top.

"I won't promise not to mix business with pleasure." A beat. "But I'll keep it brief."

Peggy Carter has posed:
Seeing the stout in front of May, Peg gives a brief nod of approval. "Good woman. I heard they kept Smithwicks on tap here just because I used to drink it. Of course, it's not *good*...it was just the only beer from home they *ever* had in New York. Now, I feel like if I don't drink it, I'll be kicking some poor, thought bartender's puppy or some such." Peggy deadpans lightly, taking a good sip of the beer that is a comfort beer, if not a good one. Even the Guiness gets a bit more respect that Smithwicks.

The question of mixing business and pleasure just gets a wry, matte red smile, "I'd expect nothing else. In fact, if you didn't I would start wondering what the set up is. Business is life, these days. No complaints."

Her shoulders roll in a touch of a shrug otherwise, not quite meeting the woman's eyes as she answers the next bit. Perhaps she doesn't care for anyone to see the loneliness that comes with her strange state of affairs. "...No one invited me out in the old days either, well, other than Howard. No one dares try make friends with the Director. And when I *wasn't* Director, it was the SSR. They usually didn't ask us girls out for boys night. So... the invite is... It's appreciated." There. She dares eye conact. Just for a moment of earnest gratitude.

Melinda May has posed:
Ah, but May has a reputation for being the distant Ice Queen. Terror of Probies everywhere. Someone older agents respect. Not someone they generally drink with. Though, occasionally, Barton or Romanoff will break that taboo. Sometimes even Johnson, bravest of the younger souls.

Thus, when Peggy actually opens up to her -- even just a little? There's a mild blink that reveals a deep respect for her table partner. And, perhaps, no small amount of empathy. Not sympathy. *Empathy*. She's lived that, too. Different era. Different circumstances. Same result.

So, that small, rare smile returns. "Who wants to go to boys night, anyway?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Oh, god, no. They're so bloody boring and will end up talking about their wives in a way that makes me want to deck them." Maybe not nowadays, but it's been that long since she's been invited to *any* night, so who knows? Peggy shakes her head and gives the woman a wry smile, "This is infinitely better. But, as you said. This isn't just about pleasure. So, before some probie dares get courage to attempt and buy one of us a drink..."

Peggy then shifts her body a bit, facing May more dead on. Even in this SHIELD bar, she's sitting in a way that she seems to take care that no one else could read her lips other than the person she's talking with. She keeps an eye on the room from behind May. She's still more than a bit paranoid. "...You have something on your mind? More about those...Drones we fought? Or something else?"

Melinda May has posed:
May scowls at mention of the drones. "Yeah, I don't even know where to begin with those," she says. She knows there are analysts working on them. But Morse has taken point on that, rather than her. "No. I got saddled with a prelim interview." Yeah, she looks so happy about that. "Potential recruit named Levian. Heard of him?"

She is expecting an affirmative answer. But she waits for it nonetheless. Habit.

Peggy Carter has posed:
That name gets a surprised arch of both Peggy's brows, the knowledge of it clear, but that is the last thing Peggy expected tonight to be about. "...Yes. Rather. He's... a complicated case, from what I know. And a complete wreck of someone pretending to be... A normal person. He's *not* normal." Peggy's evaluation is flat an honest, no judgment on if the man is a demon or something, but all the judgment in the world if he can effectively blend into the background.

She then takes a longer sip of her beer, this probably being a conversation she's very happy to have that beer on hand. Her eyes are all curiosity for May now, however. It's not business that bothers her.

Melinda May has posed:
May snirks openly at the idea of Levian as anything approaching normal. "Apparently," she says matter-of-factly, "he's the young son of a demon lord and an elemental demon. And he wants to save humanity by working for us."

She takes a rather healthy swig of her stout. "Have I ever told you how much I *hate* magic?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
That just gets another deep drink of her beer. Peg is smirking, the look of someone who has seen it all but is a little tired of having to see just so MUCH of it all. "...Yes. That is what I got from him and another associate who has a certain... expertise in these areas. The story sounds a little thin to me but, hell, May, the man... *Demon*... is so completely fumbling and useless, I don't actually know that he'd be capable of holding up a good cover story. The last we spoke, he though 'Everyman' would be an appropriate last name to blend in."

Peggy smirks deeper, shared understanding and the hate of magic well engrained in her eyes as she stares over her mug towards May. "I hated magic. I think demons might even be worse. Especially young ones with just enough power to maybe be a useful asset."

Melinda May has posed:
May grunts her agreement. "I have had to deal with so much magic, lately," she tells Peggy, "I'm surprised Palamas hasn't ordered a transfer, yet." Working for WAND is *not* on May's bucket list. But, then, so much of what she's done in recent years falls into that category. "I swear I've met half the mages in the city." Fought beside most of them, too. And survived!

"Is it true you have a banishing spell for him?" That would be a very good thing in May's books. She adjusts her slouch, leaning forward instead. "Do you *trust* him? Would *you* recruit him?" For her part, May looks skeptical.

Peggy Carter has posed:
There is a momentary pause from Peggy, dark eyes levelling on May. It's the consideration of just how much she trusts the woman. It doesn't last long. The decision is, for once, a fairly easy one. She gives a single nod in affirmation, giving up her solo upper hand over the man. While it might not seem like a big deal as teamwork goes, it matters a lot for a once-director with control issues. It seems May is well in the trusted territory. "I do. A friend, my expert associate, happened to be around one evening when I met the demon. He was highly concerned about the matter and gave me a way of controlling him, if I needed. I figure it's a good insurance policy."

The other question gets a bit more of a grimance. It's not as easy to answer. Peggy sighs, sinking back into her chair as her long legs cross below the table. She's not even drinking about this one, she's just thinking. "...I do not trust him. Partially because he is a demon but, more so, because I suspect he's incredibly incompetent. Either he's playing a large con on all of us and is brilliant, where we shouldn't trust him, or he's an absolute idiot and I still don't want to send him into the field. However, if he has...talents and assets we need? Maybe it's worth the training and testing."

Melinda May has posed:
As far as May is concerned, it *is* a good insurance policy. "Huhn." She sits back, a bit of a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, either your insurance policy doesn't work... or the demon is as honest as he wants me to believe he is." She gives a mild shrug and takes a sip of beer, confessing. "He told me you had it. He wants me to trust him, too."

She snirks again at Peggy's description of him. "Yeah, that's my problem. He *appears* greener than any recruit I've ever seen. Hell, school girls are less naive, these days, than how he presented." She lets out a soft breath. "But he held his own in the drone fight. Helped Croft and Coulson cover my back and took a good number of the things down when he did."

So she can agree that he has talent. She's just lost the easy ability to trust, oh so long ago.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"I don't trust him. One useful mission does not an agent make. Especially not him. Constantine would have banished him back immediately, if he had his way..." There's a bit more of a grin that hits Peggy's lips, "I'll admit pissing off Constantine by keeping him here is a bit of a plus of this whole situation." The tone with which Peggy says the 'expert associate's' name is almost a frienemy quality? She sounds both annoyed by and fond of him.

Peg takes another breath, remembering her beer with a good sip. It'll be empty before the conversation is over, at this rate. "However, if he's a useful enough weapon to train and learn to trust... Then he's useful. We can keep him out of certain missions, protected areas, only send him with people who know they are training an untrusted probie. He could earn his keep, maybe. Is that worth it? That is not a question *I* need to answer any longer. But, if I were still in charge, that'd be the numbers game I was playing."

Melinda May has posed:
The look of pure, unadulterated irritation that passes over May's features at the name 'Constantine' doubtlessly makes it clear she's met the bastard. "I'm all for pissing off Constantine," she agrees.

Yep. She's definitely met him. She just doesn't share a shred of Peggy's underlying fondness.

Ultimately, however, she nods. "Yeah, well, the final decision isn't mine, either. But, I've got to submit my assessment of him and decide whether or not to recommend a follow-up interview." She picks up her Guiness. "I think maybe I'll just pass it up the line. He's a potential asset... but not necessarily a potential field agent."

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Asset, not agent, sounds the best assessment to me. If he wants to earn his way to Agent, he's going to damn well *earn* it. And it won't be easy." Peggy nods in firm, clipped agreement to May's recommendation, "But if you wish to add to the report that yes, I've got a banishment parchment, you may. I do not know if it's able to be copied. I doubt. More so, I do not know if it's *actually* effective. I will trust that this one would work, even if we could not make another. So, it would have to be sent along with the asset, like a leash." Peggy's tone says she really has no issue treating the demon like a poorly trained dog. Maybe one gets a little heartless in old age.

With that final agreement, Peggy downs the last deep gulp of her beer. Perfect timing for business and beers, if they are to keep the night to just business.

Melinda May has posed:
"A leash would be good." May agrees. As far as she's concerned, the banishing spell really the key to making the recommendation worthwhile. "Thanks. I'll do that." Besides... a demon asset? That sounds like something right up Palamas' alley.

May just prays the WAND director *doesn't* actually demand she transfer. She much prefers Coulson.

That does, however, conclude the business portion of the evening, as far as she's concerned. So, she actually allows herself to relax when she takes her next sip of stout. She falls silent for a moment or two. It's not particularly awkward. It's just that she's not given to smalltalk. Unless something piques her curiosity.

"So..." she says slowly, regarding the other woman with a faintly canted head. "How *are* you doing, Carter?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
One last, quiet nod of agreement to the plan, but it feels like a solid one. Peggy smiles at the emptiness of her beer, "Good timing. If you really didn't care to sit and socialize, I shan't tempt you for another beer. I doubt either of us are much to sit around and talk about our wives lack of cooking skills." Peggy states wryly, the call back to a previous conversation and what she somewhat assumes most of these after work beers are like. "...though they always drank scotch. That may be a better idea than Smithwicks."

Then the question comes. A genuine question. Peg is good enough at reading people, even reserved people like May, to realize that she's not asking out of some bland, careless habit. There might be actual interest behind the ask. That makes Peg frown a touch. She's not used to personal questions or talking to someone she respects enough to answer them.

"...I would say just fine and move on with our night but...I suspect you may actually care. Where in, I will dig down into the recesses of business and actually think about it for a moment. If you agree to answer the same?" Tit for tat. Vulnerability for vulnerability. It might not be the most healthy answer, but it's a spy one.

Melinda May has posed:
Actually, it may be the healthiest answer either of them can give. Thus, May nods. "I care." She looks away briefly, gazing over the crowd of younger agents letting off steam. "I won't force you to answer. This isn't an interrogation, and I won't be running to Fury or anyone else with what you say." She glances back. "That's not what the SWORDFISH is for."

She's not sure why she's explaining herself. But, she is. "I just thought... well, you've had a helluva time. And I doubt anyone else has thought to ask." Because they don't ask her.

Not that she'd tell most of them, anyway.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"I'm sure they don't think to ask you either. So... I'm asking." But then Peggy realizes she's never answered either. Only fair. She makes a bit of a face, the look of a woman who is quite unaccustomed to opening up like this. It's not comfortable, but she's not trying to fight it either. Deep down, it's probably a good idea. It just means she has to think about and piece through emotions she's so conveniently set aside. That's stretching a new muscle.

She then holds up one finger, as if to say 'a moment'. She stands and scoops up both of their beer glasses, walking them over to the bar. Two refills obtained, essential for this talk, she slides beers onto the table and butt back into seat.

"...Better. And I am... alright. Physically, more than fine. Whatever magic the team worked, when I was first revived? True magic. But it is... lonely. I feel very much like I am uncertain of my place in this world. I do not assume I shall ever retake my position. In truth, I should not. Director is a job no one should keep for decades. But I am not... I am different than a field agent. Never just one of the boys." She takes a deep gulp of her beer. That was all uncomfortable to say, truthful as it is.

Melinda May has posed:
Accepts the new glass with a murmur of thanks. She listens silently to Peggy's confession. "Mm." She nods faintly as Peggy finishes. "I haven't been 'one of the boys' in a long time." She was, once. As much as a woman in the 90's could be. It was better than in the 40's, certainly. "I don't think I want to be, any more."

Respecting the deal between them, she takes another healthy sip of her stout and places it down. "I'm alright." Yes, she echoes Peggy's words. "I'm tired." Her tone speaks of bone weariness that's far different than a lack of sleep. "I tried to retire, you know. It didn't work out. Then, I tried sticking to desk duty." A quiet snirk. "That didn't last very long, either." Big surprise? "So, I suppose I'll die with my boots on one of these days." There are worse ways to go. Especially for women such as they. "But... I'm tired." She's angry. She just doesn't say it. Because she doesn't know how. "I don't want to be recruiting innocents -- even demonic ones -- into this life. I just want to catch the bad guys and fly my plane."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The other dark haired woman listens quietly. Patiently. She's taken a sip of her beer, but then Peggy sets it aside, because May's words are a bit more important than a drink. There is no surprise on her eyes, but a touch of sympathy and frustration as the commentary about trying to retire comes. "...I didn't know about the retirement. That is... Unfair, at best. Frustrating as hell, really. Dangerous, at worst. Is it better to be missing one of your best from the field, or have a burnt out agent in the field? Of course, I'm sure you've done this weighing, by now." Peggy still clearly doesn't like it.

Then her lips set a bit tighter, seeing something a little deeper there. "...and angry. You're allowed to be angry about it all. Frankly, I'm a little angry too. I feel like you are all fighting the same damn fights we were fifty years ago. And you know, you can tell them to sod off about the recruitment? Just because they make you drag in on some rescues, doesn't mean you have to pull them in in the first place."

Melinda May has posed:
Oh, May's weighed that cost many times. "I blame Loki," she says flatly. It was after he attacked New York that she was recalled. Though, to be fair... she wanted to help, then. "At least, they sent me back to Shanghai." Until she ended up being recalled early in the year. She's still not sure why. Asia was... a good assignment.

She snirks softly. "I don't know. Perks of being a field leader, they tell me. I get to be more involved in the HR process." She shakes her head. "But I have no freaking clue who thought recruiting the demon was a good idea. The first time I met him, he tried to kill me." To be fair, she tried to kill him, too. "Even the mages I was with didn't like him."

She rolls her eyes.

The demon isn't really the source of her ire. But he's a good scapegoat.

"Frankly, Carter, you know what I like best about you? You're old school. Unenhanced," her hand rolls briefly, "aside from your longevity." She doesn't envy the woman that. At all. "With so many agents running around with superpowers... I'm honestly surprised they keep old warhorses like us around at all."

Peggy Carter has posed:
A wrinkle comes to her nose about the demon. Peggy looks less than thrilled about it as well, but they've mulled over that situation enough. Her beer helps wash it down and away, a pint and a half in is enough to get her a little looser. Cheeks a touch warmer, not drunk, but some of the forever uptight nature of the ancient battleaxe is easing away. She might even look a little younger, though her frame doesn't seem to have aged much beyond her thirties. There's something behind the eyes which is always exhausted.

"I...saw the tests for Project Rebirth. I saw what Steve went through. And I saw..." Peggy sighs, her jaw tightening a bit more, "how many failed experiments so many other countries, cells... People did. Hell," She shakes her head with another grimance, "The whole reason they put me in cryo was this failing serum that they used to keep me alive... far longer than is right. I sure as shit don't want anything else in me. If I can't do it myself then I shouldn't do it."

Melinda May has posed:
May nods to that, relaxed in her own way by her own drink. "Superpowers bring a lot of collateral damage," she notes. "I'm good enough at that all on my own, without adding superpowers to the mix."

She doesn't really understand why the powers that be, way back when, thought keeping Peggy alive was so damned important. Not that she begrudges the woman her second shot at life. She's just as glad to have her perpective. The woman was a force of nature when May was a probie. But the agency went on without her when she went into cryo. So, what did they gain?

"I suppose," she says after a moment or two, "we are here to remind them that the rest of the world is a lot more fragile than they are. And just as capable."

Peggy Carter has posed:
A small, thoughtful sound escapes Peggy's throat as she considers that commentary on superpowers. She doesn't verbalize anything, but the agreement, and the discomfort, is there. She doesn't look like a woman who is necessarily even comfortab;e in her own skin, after being gifted such a second chance. Such a power of longevity. She's a woman who has now seen multiple generations past her, and never gotten to rest.

Maybe she does understand that exhaustion May feels. Maybe better than most others. She takes a last gulp of her beer, killing off that final drink like one of the pros. As she rests the glass down, she gives May a quieter smile. "Then...I guess that's what we keep doing. And pulling their asses out of the fire, when they forget. But... we're both unfairly busy. I need to go make certain a demon leash is still where I left it, and you have a report to give." She stands, giving May a brief salute, "Don't worry about the tab. I covered it."

Melinda May has posed:
May pushes herself back and rises from her chair. "Thanks, Carter. Next time, it's on me." That assumes there is a next time. And maybe that's a good thing.

"Let me know when you find the leash. I'll pass it along." She actually gives the other woman another small, tight smile. If they weren't so out of the way, away from the center of attention in the bar, there'd probably be rumours flying tommorrow about the strange cracks in May's face. But... that's the advantage of the SWORDFISH. Even she can blend into the scenery.

Giving Carter a simple nod in farewell, she strolls toward the door and out into the night. Shame reports won't write themselves.