4017/Hair of the Dog

Hair of the Dog
Date of Scene:	03 November 2020
Location:	Food Court: Triskelion
Synopsis:	A hungover Peggy and May have a nice breakfast chat about an old friend of Peggy's and solo work.
Cast of Characters:	Peggy Carter, Melinda May

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Peggy Carter has posed:
It's late morning, most of the breakfast crowd long gone and it's about 10 minutes before the food court staff is going to start pulling all the breakfast stuff to change over to lunch, which is why Peggy's dared duck into this room instead of going straight back to her quarters. To the regular agent's eye, she looks her normal self. Perhaps her hair is a little mussed or that dress is a bit wrinkled but they're all busy, right? Maybe it's just one of those mornings. To an expert eye? Peggy definitely slept in that dress. Her hair is due a shower and, the most damning evidence? She doesn't have any lipstick on. She did *not* sleep at the Triskelion last night.

A little closer, her eyes have the bleary look of someone who needs a lot of tea, probably another pint, and some hangover food. She's trying her best to be as subtle as possible as she walks on her vintage t-strap heels over to the fried breakfast food line, "...can't have bangers and mash on a morning like this, can we." She mutters to herself. Honestly, they haven't served bangers and mash since she was Director, but a girl can dream. She's considering the hangover options.

Melinda May has posed:
May's steps are crisp in across the tile of the commissary. She has a travel mug in her hands. It's empty. This will not do. She has *way* too much paperwork, today, to run on an empty mug.

On the bright side, she's avoided any more magical entanglements lately. That makes her very happy.

Not that you'd know it to look at her. She still doesn't crack much of a smile around this place. But she's not scowling. And, as she slides into the short line behind Carter, she can't help but look a little curiously at the wartime agent.

"So..." she says speculatively over the other agent's shoulder. "Rough night?" A beat. "Or a fabluous one?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
Looking up and over to May, Peggy arches two brows and gives the smallest bit of a wince that she's been caught. "Of course *you'd* catch me, sneaking in like some naughty adolescent." Peggy's rasping voice is definitely on the edge of someone who smoked probably one too many cigars last night, and the scent of it (at least they're GOOD cigars) is still on her dress.

She gives a low chuckle, rubbing one hand down her face as she considers just how to answer this, but her smile may have done it alone. It's not the smile of a woman who is miserable or fighting through insomnia. It's the smile of someone who looks happily guilty about drinking like she's 20 again when she's very much NOT 20 again.

"Uh... fabulous, I suppose, is the better answer there. Unwise and a good reminder that I am *not* in my twenties any longer, or even really my thirties, but rather worth it. I think. Talk to me after something fried and at least two cups of tea. I wish they served a pint around here...hair of the dog is really the best cure."

Melinda May has posed:
May... almost smiles at that. For a moment, it's there in her eyes. She clears her throat, however, and lets out a knowing "Mm," that speaks volumes. Oh, there's no disapproval there. There is complete understanding. Even empathy.

Because she's not as young as she used to be, either. And even she likes to pretend, occasionally. It's just been a very long time since she has.

"Good for you," she says finally, a nod of her head. "I hear Javez likes to concoct this weird raw egg and musili smoothy for hangovers. But you can't pay me to try it. I'll keep the hangover, thanks."

She notes the cigar smell. She prefers pipe tobacco, herself. But at least they were good cigars.

Peggy Carter has posed:
A skeptical brow is lifted about the raw egg and musili, those unpainted lips pressing together in a line that speaks volumes. Peggy seems to MAYBE be considering it for a hot second before she wrinkles her nose with a small shake of her head. "...We ate a lot of strange things on rations. I've had more barley tea than I care to consider in my life. But, I think I shall...pass." Instead, she grabs a plate of fried potatoes and some sausage. Close enough to bangers and mash.

"Tea? Then maybe we can sit and you can help an old woman pretend she was doing something awfully important all night last night, instead of the children speculating if I wore this dress to debrief yesterday afternoon." Which she did. She absolutely did.

She swings by the tea station with May, not thrilled with their selections either, but then woman has always been somewhat picky about tea. She finds one of those strong black blends in a silk triangle. It'll be enough, at least. That is made and she ways for May to get whatewer the other woman cares to drink, but is certainly watching her tea selection with curious, evaluating eyes. It says a lot about a woman and Peggy is just British enough to judge.

Melinda May has posed:
"Yeah, the war's over," May says. "And they haven't instituted rationing yet. Let's not tempt fate."

Again, though, she very nearly smiles at Peggy's subtle plea. Instead, she gives a very serious nod, looking for all the world like whatever they're discussing is of world shattering import... rather than just a light breakfast conversation. "Tea. Definitely tea." A beat. "The strong stuff." And true to what she said, she selects a strong, black tea of her own. Next best thing to coffee, really. She has been known -- frequently -- to select a green tea instead. Or even a milder black. But, today?

Way too much paperwork for anything less.

She follows Peggy to a table off to one side, and slides into the chair.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The table is chosen strategically -- the far corner where not too many people will notice, but also away from the windows. This hangover is one to write home for the ages, but Peggy still doesn't seem in too bad a move over it. Once they are settled in, she gives May a smile that might almost be conspiratorial if it wasn't for the headache behind it. "Now I absolutely owe you that pint. Maybe even two. ... Next week." She chuckles roughly.

Now, settled in with food and tea, her hands wrap around the mug, hovering it close near her features, not quite drinking yet but letting the steam bathe abused sinuses and the scent of it at least helping ease some of that headache. "...I know you were still a rookie, but did you ever work with James Howlett? He was a consultant,,, back before I went on ice. Lucky Jim, we called him in the war. Good man if... not all that good with authority." The few rumors around SHIELD about him were, at the time, that Peggy was the *only* one allowed to handle him. He was one of the 'consultants' that remaind on the Director's own list, apparently due to old ties from the war.

Melinda May has posed:
May considers the question, swirling her tea bag by swirling the mug. "Lucky Jim..." A small frown settles on her features as she thinks. "I don't think I worked with him, no. Heard some tall tales. The things he was rumoured to survive..." They were worse than the rumours that circulate about her and Bahrain.

Her head cants. She's a smart analyst, never mind a smart agent. Her eyes narrow in thought and a faint glitter of amusement sparkles across them. "So, the mystery man last night reminded you of him?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
"The mystery man last night *was* him. We missed VE-Day this year... Spent it together every year, from the end of the war until 1984. In fairness, neither of us realized the other was alive this past May, but he said we should make up for it last night." Peggy gives a little, disapproving grunt at herself from the previous evening, "And I... didn't protest. Much." She finally takes a testing sip of her still slightly too-hot tea, but that's when it's the best, really. Near tongue scalding and a reminder you're alive.

"Mutant. An exceptional healing factor, among some other...enhancements. I haven't seen his current file, but it seems that healing factor applies to the aging in his cells as much as injury to his body. In short, I was a fool to try and keep up with him, whiskey OR cigar wise. But..." Her expression goes a bit more serious, she's not just telling this to May to brag about her old social life.

"He's back in the area. Probably will for a while. He is a... very skilled asset, if you know how to manage him. Someone worth getting to know a bit more. Even if we don't try to pull him on the books."

Melinda May has posed:
May's brows rise as Peggy begins to explain her friend. And her friendship. "Ah..." she says softly, understanding dawning. "No wonder he was so lucky."

She cants her head. "Always thinking like a director, hmm?" Utilizing her friend as an unofficial asset counts. She considers the idea. "You'd best be the one to approach him, then. Unless you want to loop someone else in." Someone like her, really.

Peggy Carter has posed:
A thoughtful, unhappy sort of sound escapes her throat, not really a word, just a moment of checking herself. Figuring out if that's all she was doing, using an old friend and trying to bring him back under the umbrella. She takes one last sip of her tea then starts poking at the potatoes, probably the only thing she actually will eat off the plate. "I suppose. Old habits are... hard to stop. But it's not just that." She levels bloodshot eyes on May, weighing things behind her gaze.

"You know... You, most than most people, know what it is to work alone. How lonely it can be but you get to the point that it's hard to trust anyone else. He's ... like that. But he came back and instead of reaching out to some call girl or just cleaning things up and running, he called me. First thing back in the city and he called me. It...matters. I think there's a part of him which is tired of going it entirely alone. And I trust him. So..." She gives a smile that is almost wry with her next words, "Starting a ...reintroduction into society for him, by inches."

Melinda May has posed:
May regards Peggy for a long moment and then simply nods. "I hear you," she says. Yeah, she gets it. There comes a point when it's hard not to think of work. Not to see everyone around you, civilian, agent, or otherwise, as an asset. "If he came to you, and you trust him as much as he does you... then, go with your gut. You've been at this longer than I've been alive. And I'm considered part of the fixtures around here. So... Yeah. I get it. Don't bring him in. Keep him off the books. And give him someone to trust because he needs it, not because we do."

She doesn't make such long speeches often. But... when she does? She means them.

She feels them.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The advice is appreciated. Peggy watches Melinda with a slightly more furrowed brow now, some heavy thoughts behind her gaze. Thoughts she's not going to speak in the middle of the SHIELD cafe. "Off the books it is. Maybe you can meet him sometime. We usually meet down at McSorley's. Yeah, it's an old dive but...it's our old dive. You should come out sometime." There's a weight behind those words that she suspects May will be sharp enough to pick up on. A suggestion that it's not just a beer, that there is more to be said outside of these walls.

And, with that, she lets a softer smile cross her tired features. The rest of the morning is spent on more idle small talk, dancing around a hangover and eating about half the food she picked out, before she excuses herself for a much needed shower.