“ please, just rest for a minute please ”
concerned starters • accepting — @giiftcd
peggy knows her body — how much she can TAKE, how the ache in her bones waxes and wanes depending on the day. she knows each scar, each bruise, each scratch, rather intimately. her trained muscles and scarily fragile skin knows how much it can take, and this –––– this was something it didn’t know how to handle. peggy stumbles, catches the edge of broken cobblestone, an attempt of holding on.
they’d thought the building had been abandoned — it was in shambles, and there had been no activity for MONTHS. but it was rigged — the second peggy went in too deep, something EXPLODED. not violently, a –––– ❛ gas, there was ––– there was a ––– ❜ peggy works on finding her voice. it’s SLURRED, and highly unfocused. still, she tries. ❛ breathing is…difficult. strange taste on the back of my tongue ––– fresh. like, like grass. pulse ––– mod-moderately high. adrenaline. it’s ––– i’m dizzy. ❜ she’s UNSURE what it is, but the world spins, tilts off its axis, and peggy feels herself slide down the stone. sitting helps, but only barely.
her explanations are oddly calm for someone in her situation. she keeps trying, but peggy can’t focus on him. it’s frustrating. ❛ tell ––– no one is allowed in. we don’t know what it is, tell them ––– ❜ she can’t get enough oxygen to keep herself comfortable, but she IS breathing. peggy’ll take it, at this point.
