#(wri)ting.

[pegent13]

@libertadr: i think about you, and everything bad just disappears.

he says it, and for a second— she believes it. absolutely doesn't believe he's lying. peggy is impartial to a good lie if it gets the job done. a web of words can be ones greatest asset if only they know how to string them together in just the right formation. but what job would he be serving now? there is nobody else in sight; an endless quietude surrounding them in her makeshift apartment that she barely spends any waking hours in. as if they're in an abyss she can hear the reverberation of his voice at echoes from one wall to another. brilliant time to speak now, pegs. the vision of a love-sick fool.

"you and i both know that is not entirely true." see: absolutely doesn't believe he's lying. she always finds an out in even the sweetest of conveniences. after all, words have never been a skill set she lacks. "the bad will always be out there, but without it, how would we know if anything is good at all? tell me, have you considered that, cap?"

[pegent13]

one drop.. two drop.. three drop.. whoever owns this wretched building has surely got to be late on fixing that windowpane. not only can she bloody well hear the rain as it cries upon the new york city streets she can see it, glistening on its way to the checkered floor. peggy bears half-the-mind to put a bucket for catch there herself. clearly nobody else is going to. the poor waitress is far too busy with other patrons to even notice— precisely why she picked this place to begin with (less likely will she be noticed or listened to or barely even looked over)— if the woman hasn't managed to tune it out in her tenure anyway and despite the fact the man who stands in the corner wears his moustache a little too spic and span at the corners she'd be willing to place a fairly large gamble that he only wishes he had some stakes in this place, not that he actually has any at all.

@loneligod: you ask good questions.

"bit too brash i've been told.. though that's never stopped me. actually, i would argue it's done quite the opposite." she speaks to the doctor, but her eyes do not dare to sway from the puddle forming just a few feet away. nothing is ever fool-proof; always one little crack away from all coming apart at the seams.. and doesn't she know that lesson well. "say— this tardis of yours, has it ever sprung a leak?"