The Universe's Mixer

"Great Scott!" Peggy breathed, watching the large, avian-like thing flying about as if it were perfectly normal. What the creature was, the agent wasn't quite sure. She had never seen anything like it where she was from and she had witnessed a good many things. Her time was still considered ancient, vintage even. If she heard "retro" or "vintage" one more time, though, someone was going to get a fist to the jaw. She couldn't stand what was now labelled as "throwback". What in the bloody hell was that?

That was a good question in itself.

Shopping no longer seemed an important task.

Peggy had left her apartment with the hope that she would be out, free from the burden of her nice but strange room mate (who did bring a goat to live with them) and to clear her mind of the stress sharing brought. She wouldn't kick Siggy out, she couldn't do that to the woman. But it was a tad bit frustrating having to deal with a lifestyle much more primitive than her own. The agent did her best to be understanding and patient, but there was always a line and Siggy was slowly approaching it.

The agent stepped up next to a skinny, awkward looking man whom seemed about her own age and she placed a hand on his forearm. "Do you see that?" Peggy inquired, her British accent ringing out stronger than ever in the question itself.

She had to make sure she wasn't going absolutely bonkers. Being a nut wasn't an attractive feature though she had an idea that Steve would support her despite being locked in the looney bin for seeing strange birds. "Fascinating," Peggy breathed next. Her eyes finally pulled from the bird-thing to look over at the man she had asked the question of. The fact that he might be as clueless as she was did cross her mind, but she still had to be sure.

Waking up in The City was the best thing to happen to Clara Oswald in weeks. It gave her something else to think about, a mystery to solve, an alien to figure out. Oh sure, The City played a good game but it was most certainly alien. The Doctor wasn't going to be around to help anytime soon, seeing as he found Gallifrey, so it was all up to her now.

No Doctor, no TARDIS, no screwdriver, no psychic paper. She never felt happier to be left on her own. She ran. First things, first: get the best layout of the place that she could, try to get a sense of the size of it, notice anything that was off. She was good at running, she'd been a companion for years. Maybe not marathon good, but run for your life good - she was covered. She noticed the streets repeated themselves sometimes. She noticed that she was hardly noticed. The people here weren't just busy with their own lives, there was most certainly something off about them. She made a mental note to investigate that next.

Clara kept running until she couldn't. Until she was standing on a street corner and braced her hands against her knees and waited until she caught her breath, grinning like a loon.

"I think this place could use a Doctor..." she panted to no one in particular.

It had taken far too long for this, but finally, finally, tonight was the night. Steve had agonized over what to bring, which wine, which tea, but he had finally settled on a pink sparkling moscato and a bit of Earl Grey bergamot for dessert. He'd also gone through several outfits before settling into a dark grey suit with a crisp white shirt, sans tie.

Facing the Red Skull hadn't been so nerve-wracking as a dinner date.

He'd kept asking Bucky's opinion. On the wine, on his clothes, on whether or not he was expected to bring flowers for Peggy. On one hand, he was already bringing wine and tea. On the other, wasn't that what you did for a date? Bring flowers? What kind of flowers? Roses seemed too formal, carnations too casual, lillies too somber. Fine, fine. Wine and tea. Wine and tea were perfectly acceptable.

Man, he hoped he wasn't screwing up already. He'd already missed their first date by seventy years. This one had to go right.

As he knocked at Peggy's door, he realized he had forgotten to ask if Ariel and Bucky liked dancing. This was a dinner date - why was he worried about dancing?

Yeah. Facing the Red Skull had been much easier.

Time had passed and Siggy remained in this strange place.

The strange Anglewoman, Peggy, allowed her to remain in her dwelling. It was akin to the monks' cells that she had heard Athelstan speak of, or a bee's hive: closed in, with no space for a proper hearth. There were no rushes on the floor: only wood and a rough fixed cloth-like material that must forever be dirty. Everything seemed both bright and open and too closed at the same time.

To pass the time and repay Peggy for her kindness, Siggy did what she knew: she could run the woman's house for her. She could cook, clean, and order her business. Unfortunately, there was not much to do. Peggy had no children to look after. She had no livestock to watch. Without a proper hearth, Siggy's cooking could not be put to proper use (though she had managed to make butter and start a cheese, which currently sat in the cold white box.) Her last attempt at making bread had failed in that miserable excuse for an oven. There was no loom with which to weave cloth, nor wool to spin.

At a loss, Siggy sat on the overly soft seat and pressed the buttons to make the things on the television change until she found something interesting. Something captivating. Something that she could relate to.

She was still enraptured when Peggy got home.

The water of the Kattegat was cold and dark, pulling Siggy down. The chill set into the marrow of her bones, so cold that she could no longer feel it. She nearly felt warm. She saw a light play through the dark water, dancing in front of her open eyes, and felt the bottom of the sea beneath her feet. Is it so soon? she thought. I thought that it would take longer to sink, that drowning would take longer than this.

But she stood as her feet touched the mud, breaking through the surface, shivering in water no deeper than her hips. There was no ice. She coughed once, twice, gasping for air in shock. Her long hair tangled about her face, and her blue linen dress clung to her. She stood in a place greener by far than she'd expected to see. This was not Kattegat, nor did it look like Hel. Was this Fólkvangr? Had Frejya deemed her death worthy of notice?

Siggy stumbled out of the pond, for a pond it was, and sat trembling on the banks. There were no others here, neither to ask nor to see her in such a state, so she allowed herself the time to sit and collect herself. Thyri was not here. Her beloved children were not here. Had they gone ahead?

She felt her heart beat in her chest, fast and harsh, and still she felt herself trembling though the air was warm. She still felt the chill of Kattegat in her bones. After long minutes of staring at the pond, she stood up, wrung out her hair and dress as best she could, and began to walk.

( Don't be late )