[ This is all a bit garish, isn't it? Peggy supposes she can't blame the Natha, wanting to dress up the chaos below into something a little more palatable for the new refugees. It's a lot to take in β waking up to find your home gone (a loss that still blindsides her on harder days no matter how long it's been), being told to relocate to an unfamiliar planet, what more when that planet is embroiled in political unrest with its own citizens under attack and no culprit to be identified? War could very much be on the horizon but one wouldn't be able to tell by the veritable expo happening on Thesa.
Peggy is weaving through the displays and bodies, observing but keeping interaction minimal. She isn't precisely a welcome walking advertisement of life on the surface: she's still recovering from the rescue op she'd led a week ago in getting back hostages, the burns on her right hand swathed in bandages, the skin peeking out of her tailored blouse a painful-looking red like sunburn. But her hair is immaculately styled in her signature curls and waves, her lipstick is a sharp crimson on a downturned mouth β because she's just spotted a portrait of herself and she's mildly irritated. ]
Good Lord, [ she exhales sharply. Then her eyes flick to the one a few portraits down and it's John Watson. There's a man considering it too, so she comments, ] Didn't exactly ask us for permission, did they? I doubt he'll be any more pleased than I am.
i.
Peggy is weaving through the displays and bodies, observing but keeping interaction minimal. She isn't precisely a welcome walking advertisement of life on the surface: she's still recovering from the rescue op she'd led a week ago in getting back hostages, the burns on her right hand swathed in bandages, the skin peeking out of her tailored blouse a painful-looking red like sunburn. But her hair is immaculately styled in her signature curls and waves, her lipstick is a sharp crimson on a downturned mouth β because she's just spotted a portrait of herself and she's mildly irritated. ]
Good Lord, [ she exhales sharply. Then her eyes flick to the one a few portraits down and it's John Watson. There's a man considering it too, so she comments, ] Didn't exactly ask us for permission, did they? I doubt he'll be any more pleased than I am.