9943/Napalm Feelings

Napalm Feelings
Date of Scene:	02 February 2022
Location:	R and D Labs: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Peggy and Fitz and an extra special dinner together -- take out curry and experimental weapon discussions. Nothing better on which to built a friendship!
Cast of Characters:	Leopold Fitz, Peggy Carter

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Leopold Fitz has posed:
From the outside looking in the lab might seem to be a very calm sort of environment, a place for agents that can't quite hack being out in the field. Perhaps for some people that is true, but it obscures all the various things that can come up, just working in the lab. All the strange technology that passes through, the dangerous substances, the unknown threats that they have to deal with and classify. It's not exactly for the faint of heart.

But at the same time you rarely get shot at. Having spent some time in the field, Fitz definitely prefers not being shot at. And the climate control is a prettty big perk too. Air conditioning in the summer, heat in the winter. It definitely beats being out in nature.

And while not ever lab jockey is on the same level as him, he's certainly had the chance to work on some interesting things. He's played around with temporal mechanics. He was one of the few trusted to look into the alien Nth metal. And of course his prize D.W.A.R.F. drones are a highlight.

And today? What exciting thing is Fitz playing around with? Pretty small robots actually. It definitely doesn't look very impressive. More like kid toys if kids wants really rough looking toys. No doubt he has a pretty good reason though.

Peggy Carter has posed:
While Peggy isn't a constant fixture in the lab, she does stop by with tea or dinner about once a week. She's done it since the holidays, when she had that harder heart-to-heart with him. She doesn't generally force conversation. Heck, she's started bringing her own reports with her. Just some quiet co-working with a man she considers a friend. That's it.

Therefore, it's very possible that this is one of those nights. But instead of bringing food from the cafeteria or a simple pot of tea, she has heavenly smelling curry from the local pub. It practically preceeds her on the air as she knocks on the door with her toe, announcing herself, and then ducks the rest of the way in. "Chief calling... with dinner." Probably a bribe dinner. No one brings curry this rich AND a six pack of ale without having some sort of bribery in mind.

Peggy's looking to be in better spirits these days herself. She's definitely softer around the edges and tends towards her more forgiving wrap dresses instead of her tailored suits, but maybe that's just the softness of being behind the desk a lot.

Leopold Fitz has posed:
It looks like a certain someone is bucking for a promotion -- and to displace Daisy -- as the Bringer of Food.

Of course the fact that he is being plied with a particular fine repast should probably be a pretty big warning sign. But sometimes certain social nicities are lost on the man. There is also probably the simple fact that he would jump to follow through on any project that Peggy assigned to him in the first place that might play part and parcel too. Why expect a bribe for something he would already do anyway?

These little meals have becoming something of a tradition, but it still seems to startle Fitz each time, her appearance unexpected. On this particular early evening he does not even seem to realize that she's there at first, peering down at the little robots that populate his desktop, staring at them through some elaborate headgear that no doubt dials up the magnification on them to some ridiculous degree. So when he does lift his head, when he does spot her and blinks in apparent surprise it is one giant eyeball that is shown off in that large lense.

"Sorry, I must not have heard you come in," Fitz offers in typically distracted fashion, if sincerely enough. And then something tickles his nose. It's almost possible to see him lift himself an inch or two as if to catch a better whiff of it. "Is that curry?"

Bingo. Mission accomplished.

Peggy Carter has posed:
A wider smile flickers across Peggy's lips as she sees that large eye flicker in her direction and the lifting that comes when he leans in to catch the scent. She grins widely. "Lamb curry, beef curry, naan, and Smithwicks. I felt like something a bit more fancy than the food court and hadn't brought dinner by for a few days. Of course, the beers are all yours. I wouldn't drink them *all* in the lab." She winks gently at him.

She then brings the take out around to the nearest open lab bench so she can set it out and start doling out containers. "From the Butcher and Belcher. I hope you don't mind a bit of spice. God... I'm starving." Her stomach does audibly growl as she takes a deep scent of the spicy, hearty food on the air. It's been forever since she indulged in a proper pub curry. "How go the robots?"

Leopold Fitz has posed:
\He seems a little surprised when she suggests that he doesn't down the six pack whole while in the lab, as if the thought has not -- could not -- occur to him. Because of course it hasn't. Though in all fairness he's hardly the only one who takes his work seriously in this particular building. The irresponsible sort doesn't necessarily tend to last all that long in SHIELD. Particularly in SHIELD headquarters.

"Of course not," he assures her, taking that head gear off and swivveling about in his chair to lay it aside, his hair faintly mussed as he's clearly had it on for awhile it would seem. Ahhh, the disheaveled genius. There's more then a few of them in this building too. "It smells amazing," he assures her, clearing a little space on the desk, shuffling some papers aside and, of course, gathering up his little mechanical playthings. "It's going fairly well. I mean, it's not exactly serious work. Yet. But by building and working on these scale models I'm hoping to develop some useful theories and applications," he offers up, words slightly undercut when his own stomach growls noticably.

It would seem that she's not the only one who's hungry. Chances are she knows when she ate last. The same might not be true for Fitz.

Peggy Carter has posed:
There is no need for things to be fancy between them. Whatever small, casual friendship Peggy's tried to gently develop over the last few months, it's not one that stands on airs. She would much rather share box curry while sitting on lab stools than head out to some fancy steak dinner where both of them are horribly out of place and missing their comfort zones -- the offices. "No clue if you prefer lamb or beef but I know I want to try both so we're sharing halvsies in the lids. Chief's orders." Peggy grins. She doesn't even know which box she picked up. She just opens the lid and starts pouring half from one into the other. There they go. Halvsies.

Once they both have food, and Peggy's got her quite unalcoholic ginger ale open, she takes a few bites, watching him as he digs in as well. Her dark eyes flicker over to the robots for a few moments then back to the disshelved scientist in front of her. Yes, she certainly has something else in mind.

"So, if the robots aren't quite... serious work, I don't suppose I could steal your attentions for a bit? I've been in need of some, ah... Specially tailored weapons in the fight against those Angel-creatures. If we're sending a few more people into the fight, I'd love to arm them with things I know are effective. Fire. Specifically. A took a bloody flame thrower into the last row."

Leopold Fitz has posed:
It is entirely possible that Fitz has not left the Triskelion in the past several weeks. Technically there isn't a need to. His lab his here, his quarters are here and he would just as soon eat in the cafeteria as anywhere else really. Combine that with unpleasant temperatures and far too much snow on the ground and there's really no need to leave. So yes, eating here at his half cluttered workstation suits him just fine.

"Halvsies is perfect actually. A little bit of a mix suits me best," he agrees without hesitatio. It does seem that is his genuine preference rather then 'just making good with the boss' and he offers his bit of help, switching out the plates and containers to make the whole divving up process a little easier at least. And then he is diving in ravenously, enough so that it might call into question whether he's eaten at all today. Bah, who has time to keep track!

"Of course, nothing I can't set aside," Fitz assures her at once, cracking open one -- just one -- of those ales. It would be practically criminal not to, and really, curry isn't quite the same without. As she mentions her needs his gaze goes distant for a moment. Hand and mouth still operate mechanically, reflexively, but for that moment he's not really in the room anymore, seeing things that only he can see.

"I mean, there are ways to make fire more portable. We could get it down into gun sized. Problem with fire as a weapon is that it is a little imprecise," he muses aloud. He must be hungry. The food has not been entirely forgotten yet. "And no matter how you do it there needs to be the fuel tank. You can minimize it, but it's still a disaster waiting to happen from one stray shot," he adds before those eyes actually go dreamy. "Plasma," he says, perhaps not terribly helpfully. "It should be possible to use super-heated plasma in a cartridge form. It will burn, worse than fire. Worse than napalm. But it will also burn hot enough that it shouldn't have time to spread. One big burst, then nothing," he says, giving his head a little shake. "Would assault weapons be acceptable? I don't think I can compress it down into a round that will fit into any standard sort of sidearm. We'd have to build it from the ground up if you need it compact."

Peggy Carter has posed:
While she's enjoyed many of their more casual talks, having some actual work on the table is always nice. Peggy isn't a delicate eater, or one who apologizes about consuming and talking at the same time. She's mostly just polite enough to not talk with her mouth full, but that's it. A touch of curry stains at her cheeks and she mops up the sauce with naan before licking it off her fingertips.

"Someone else mentioned plasma but... the issue here is, the things are so large AND so tough, don't know if something that moves that fast would be effective. It's... complicated. I swear these things are as much supernatural as they are physical beings. The way silver might hurt a supposed werewolf, I worry that *specificaly* fire is their bane. When Daniel and I went out, he was using old fashioned, properly explosive grenades. The most effective hit we made on them was a grenade beneath the tank of a flame thrower, it took out one entirely. So... How do we get that *fire driven* punch while being a bit more... portable? I don't suppose we can make napalm bullets, hm?" Peggy asks with a wry smile, only half teasing about that. If he said yes, she'd prbably be overjoyed.

"Oh. And I promise, the curry isn't just for the bullets. I was truly craving it, but... seeing someone else in this place actually enjoys a proper curry, well, I might use the excuse more often."

Leopold Fitz has posed:
It's not as if Fitz is diving head first into a trough to eat either, but there does seem to be a certain amount of priority in shovelling food into his mouth almost as quick as possible, at least now that he has come back from his dreamy 'scientific state'. So when she mentions supernatural, his nose wrinkles a little, mouth screwing up in distaste for just a moment. Yes, yes, he knows the theory, that advanced enough technology is fundamentally no different than 'magic' to one that does not know any better. Hogwash! Science is science.

Still, it is an interesting enough challenge. "Oh. It's that sort of problem. Well, the flame gun will still work, though it is more of a close up weapon," he admits thoughtfully, eating away, pausing only to take an occasional sip of that ale. "A napalm bullet. It's possible. Again, probably easier and better delivered from a cartridge. Nilitary grade weaponry. 5.56 or 7.62 calibre would be best. The issue is to keep it stable so that the gun doesn't go up it a ball of burning jelly the first time it gets jostled too hard," he points out before shrugging. "But it might be possible to get it down to something smaller," he admits.

Again, he gives a little shake of his head and a brief, tenuous smile. "It does make a nice change of pace," he admits, the smile vanishing almost at once as he purses those lips instead. It's almost possible to see him working through the engineering difficulties in his head.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Well... it's going to likely be myself, Melinda May, or Daniel carrying the damned things, so I *think* we could manage to have some of a care, but this is war. Jostling does happen. And any of us can handle larger cartridges. I won't be handing these things out willy nilly to any civvie who volunteers for duty, I promise." Peggy's voice has the flat, charged tone of a woman who has been to war before and will go again. This is the tone she likely used over battle maps with Chester Phillips before SHIELD even existed. Despite getting so much softer around the edges, she's still a woman perfectly comfortable with war when it's necessary.

"And... I was a bit worried this might be too much spice for you. Good to know you're a proper Scotsman who can handle his curry when the time calls for it. Maybe, when this mess is over, you will let me drag you out to the pub properly?" Peggy's dark eyes search for his for just a moment. It seems this isn't JUST about weapons.

Leopold Fitz has posed:
"I'll start with the cartridges then," Fitz says decisively. It's something that he does well, when he is in his own little baliwick. "The engineering on them is pretty straight forward and I can make them all but entirely safe for use in almost any standard issue assault rifle," he says confidently, the amount of curry in front of him rapidly vanishing. Someone was /very/ hungry. "It will also be easier to ramp up on the production side if you need more available. I'm pretty sure that to get this down to sidearm size we're going to have to go custom, so it means building the weapon and ammunition from the ground up. That's a little more of a commitment."

With the food -- at least his half of it -- almost gone, he claims a piece of paper and begins to sketch absently even as he nurses that ale. "I should have a prototype cartridge for you in a day or two. If testing shows no potential pain points you should be able to deploy within the week. Sooner, if you want to pick just one or two models of rifles to test it with," he offers up.

Again he smiles briefly at her worry, giving a little shake of his head. "It was a bit of a Saturday night tradition, growing up, my mum and I. Definitely used to it," he assures her before blinking once more. "Of course Chief. Any place that can throw together a curry this good is worth checking out," he agrees.

Maybe he's turning a bit of a corner?

Peggy Carter has posed:
The promise of these bullets this quickly brings an earnest, warm smile to her lips. But it grows when he dares open up about his mother and immediately agrees to going out for curry like this. Peggy looks genuinely a bit shocked (pleasantly so). She thought she was going to be pulling teeth for a bit over this one. "Well, that's the best news I've heard in ages. Tempting you out of this office for curry, that is. The cartridges within a week? I'll take it too."

Peg takes another swig of her ginger ale, well over half way through her food and finally having decided it's probably worth slowing down. She leans over a bit, head tilting so she can look at the sketch he's starting. "Redirect all your efforts here for the next few days. Enough to arm all three of us would be... incredibly helpful. If we can get more of the trained front lines fighters with it? That'd be even better. Then, we'll get this all deployed and I'll take you for curry next weekend. Sound proper?"

She settles back into her chair, reaching for her fork again, "Need to get every chance in I can on the good stuff, before heartburn wins the day."

Leopold Fitz has posed:
Generally Fitz's estimates are pretty close. Some people like to overstimate to give themselves a bit of a cushion, but the young genius is generally of the mind that accuracy is best. There is a very viable chance that those rounds will be field ready just about when he says that they will. And now he has the potential lure of food to spur him on. It's probably at least as good as the satisfaction of doing something good and helping to save New York.

Almost as good.

"Yes ma'am," Fitz promises at once. "If any of you have a preferred weapon let me know and I'll make sure that we prioritize testing on those models before broadening it out so that it can potentially be rolled out in greater numbers," he says, still scribbling away at that scrap of paper, the outline of that piece of deadly ammunition increasingly taking shape.

"I definitely don't have any plans. Now if these 'angels' are just properly obliging," he says absently. He's probably not trying to be fun, but they do lead pretty unique lives when dinner plans are wholely contigent on New York being cleared of avenging celestial invaders.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Well... I know it's not the same as downtown, but Daniel and I are... We're looking at houses, up here. Westchester. Figured it'd be much nicer to have home close to the office when the baby comes, instead of living in the Triskelion and commuting all the way out to Long Island when we have the time. Means I've got to do some exploring up here for any sort of proper pub. I can't *promise* it will be good as this, but... If you feel like some experiments, I've been looking at this place called Maggie May's?" Peg asks with a smile, her head tilting a little hopefully to the side.

"You finish this up, get a good few prototypes ready to be used, and we'll celebrate with experimental curry in Yorkers. How bad could it be? Wait...don't answer that. I've had American curry. This could be a disaster..."

Leopold Fitz has posed:
None of that sounds good, though admittedly Fitz can't really relate. Commuting? What's that? Live outside the Triskelion? On more then one occassion he has argued to have a cot put in the lab to cut his travel time in the morning from about three minutes to zero, so his frame of reference is just a little skewed on this particular issue. "Sounds reasonable to me. It looks nice enough out there," he offers helpfully. He does have a window, so is blessed with a view. He can't see very much of Westchester, but what he can seems a decent enough sort of place. When it's not covered in that abysmal white blanket of frozen rain at least.

"Mmmmm, you might have a point. Then again, the place is called Westchester. One would have to think that there would be at least one proper English pub in a place named that," he points out reasonably. Perhaps he is overly optomistic.

Grabbing a napkin, he wipes his face clean and finishes off the last of that ale. It appears he really is going to be a good boy as the rest of the six-pack goes untouched. "I'll get started on it immediately," he promises, seeming a little energized at the prospect of a new prospect. As is almost always the case. "I'll keep you updated and let you know when we're starting the live fire tests," he adds, claiming a nearby tablet, already starting to get lost in work once more.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Ooh. Live fire tests. Now you're just sweet talking me, Fitz." Peggy stands, scooping shut the bit of her own curry that is left. Probably good breakfast leftovers, or a late night snack. She keeps that warmer smile in place, genuinely looking relieved and happy that the dinner went so well. "I...always enjoy our dinners. Don't be a stranger, alright? We'll get through this experiment and... talk again soon. Thank you for letting me distract you. Good luck with it. I'm looking forward to reports."

With that, she gives him a teasing little salute and then turns on the ball of her foot. If he doesn't stop her, she heads towards the door and out, pausing just a moment to look him over when he's dove back into his work. Just one more check to see how he really seems to be doing, then she's on her own merry way.