f (foundling) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-04-09 21:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *log, peggy carter, steve rogers |
Date Nite!, log: Peggy C/Steve R
[Clean-shaven, clean-cut, hair just drying and parted; suited up (not in anything spangly!), straight out of the glossy magazine pages of the 40s, Steve nervously waits outside of Peggy's apartment with a car—yes, he'd hired it himself. On the telephone!—It's not warm out, but he feels hot, especially around the collar. He's compulsively smoothing down the hair that meets the nape of his neck, the clenched bouquet of viscaria shedding petals down his back every time he bumps his head with it. He doesn't notice. His eyes are fixed on the door, not wanting to miss anything, after having missed so much before.
The day's been long, but he's not ready for it to be over just yet.
He's just slipped his phone back into his pocket, having let Peggy he know he was there, and still the nerves build, build, build, and it feels like his stomach contains the entirety of a churning sea. This is it. The Big One. The date—the one the both of them have likely idealized over the years, and it's happening now, and, gee, Steve hopes it goes well. He has nothing but the utmost respect for Peggy Carter, ...well, that, and a lot of feelings. He wants her to have a good time, and he imagines how close they'll stand when they dance.—Yes, he's excited about the night that's spread out before them, and that excitement is only rivaled by the unyielding butterflies that terrorize his stomach.
Captain America is nowhere to be found. It's just Steve here tonight.
The man presses a hand to the black silk tongue of his tie and mutters to himself, practicing his welcome line:] Good evening, Peg—no. Hi, Peggy—Agent, you look—you clean up w—ah, hell.