Note: Decided to use my own app ( feedthebunnyDOTherokuappDOTcom) for a prompt, and pulled out: "good old fashioned pawn shop waffle iron bidding war." Rating is for later chapter(s). Also somebody please take my laptop away from me. I can't stop writing and I need to code.
Peggy shuffled around, trying to look interested as the auctioneer rattled off a description of the current item up for bid. Though she had been reluctant to include a civilian, particularly one with such close ties to the case of the missing Stark goods, Mr. Jarvis was doing a remarkable job undercover.
"Here we have one sealed, never before opened or used, original Atari 2600 game console," he proclaimed, slowing down on a few key words in an effort to entice buyers. "No cartridges are included with this lot, but who doesn't want to relive the 80's with classic, retro video games like Donkey Kong, Pac-Man, and Space Invaders?"
Peggy snorted to herself. No, she was just fine not reliving the 1980s, considering what little she experienced of them mostly had to do with being a squalling baby and all the mess that that entailed. She had to hand it to Jarvis though, he was doing a good job of drawing her in even when she wasn't the least bit interested beyond appearance's sake. She was here to ensure that the stolen historical artifacts that Mr. Stark had donated to a charity auction actually made it there. Her contact had been sure that at least one was going to surface at this pawn shop auction. The sole reason for Jarvis's presence here was his thorough knowledge of all of Mr. Stark's possessions, and his ability to clue her when one appeared. The possibility of one of the thieves being here as well was an additional lure.
"Going once," called Jarvis, Peggy tuning back in to the action. "Going twice. Sold to the young gentleman in the trilby."
"It's a fedora," the guy protested, though he happily took the invoice Jarvis handed him.
"Young man," Jarvis replied, using his accent to its full advantage to project an air of firm politeness, "My mother was a milliner and I have seen many a hat come through this shop. If little else, I know my hats." He smiled to soften his words and gestured towards the register. "My colleague at the register will be happy to exchange this item your winning bid." Behind the counter said colleague moved forward to carry the box away.
Peggy fought hard not to giggle. That 'young man' couldn't be much more than ten years younger than Jarvis. And Jarvis's mother a milliner? She was well aware that such things still existed, but she had a sneaking suspicion that tale was born out of a desire to politely needle someone who couldn't call him out on it.
"What an old geezer," the guy muttered as he pushed past Peggy.
"Geezer?" a woman's voice echoed, prompting Peggy to turn around and see a woman behind her, the curls of her hair bouncing down just past her shoulders. "What is this, the 1940s?" she asked in disbelief.
"Sometimes it feels that way," Peggy acknowledged, thinking about all the macho posturing she was missing out on back at the office while she was on this assignment. Most of the guys she worked with were alright really, but sometimes her boss just—
"Besides," the woman continued, putting a halt to Peggy's train of thought. "That man can't be any older than forty."
"I suspect you're right," Peggy agreed, though she knew it to be true. "I'm a terrible judge of age, but you might be on to something there."
"I'm an actress," the woman explained, holding out a hand in greeting. "Or a waitress. Depends on the day. Sometimes the hour." She let out a soft snort of derision and added, "Sometimes depends on the customer. Gotta act like I don't care when they don't tip. Anyhow, acting's good practice for reading people."
"Peggy Carter," Peggy said, shaking the proffered hand. "I work for AT&T. On the mobile phone end of things that is." She hadn't thought to need an official cover for this operation, but she was (usually) well versed at thinking on her feet. They had driven by an AT&T store on the way here, and they were the right kind of common enough and rare enough to not garner much investigation.
"English," the women stated, more confidence than question.
Peggy feigned an embarrassed blush. "I see you've caught me," she said. "I suppose calling it a 'mobile phone' gave me away."
"Well the accent certainly helped," the woman pointed out. She looked down at the ground in shame and shook her head. "But where are my manners?" she asked herself. "I offered you my hand and all but you still don't know my name. "Angie Martinelli. Boy would Nonna be disappointed in me." She bent slightly as she put her hands on her hips and spoke in a growling tone, "Little Angie, don't you go round giving the impression that your momma didn't raise you right. Remember your manners, child." She stood back up with a frown. "Can't really remember much of her beyond that," she said. "Or why she called me 'Little Angie'. Five foot five is not that tiny. Average." She cocked her head to one side, considering something. "Average Angie?" she tried, shrugging helplessly at the way it sounded.
Peggy couldn't help but smile at Angie's antics, feeling a strange urge to defend Angie from being called "average." Really though, she hardly knew the woman. Beyond common human decency there was no reason for the rush to defend the other woman. "So," Peggy began, fumbling for the right words to say. For goodness sake, she was a seasoned federal agent, not a child. "What brings you here then?" That should be a safe topic, and she was rather curious.
"Funny enough I saw a flier on the message board at the restaurant I work at," Angie told her. "It's called the L&L, about a mile and a half that way." She pointed in the direction of the door to the pawn shop and out towards the highway. "Well, it's more of a diner than a restaurant," she admitted. "At any rate, I've been saving up quite a bit and a girl's got to spend a little money on herself from time to time."
"I can't say that I've been to that diner," Peggy replied. "Though I do love a good black coffee in the mornings." The next sentence was out of her mouth before her rational mind could stop it. "I'll have to stop by sometime soon then. I promise that I'll tip, though I am interested in seeing those acting skills in action." There she went making promises to a bystander during an undercover op that had nothing to do with the mission's success. Why was she making rookie mistakes all of a sudden?
"Well I can't say that the coffee's that outstanding," Angie said in a weary stage whisper, "But the service is. Assuming you don't get seated in Bruce's section. And assuming that I'm on shift."
"I'll just have to make sure that I get seated in your section then," Peggy insisted.
"Great, English!" Angie exclaimed, flashing a smile so wide that it made her curls bounce. "It's a date." This time it was Angie's turn to blush. "Well...you know, not a date date."
Glad though she was to see that she wasn't the only one who got flustered in this scenario, Peggy was gladder still when she heard Jarvis's voice call out the phrase she had been waiting for.
"Now this is what you might call a historical artifact," he called, his voice hush with added mystery. "It may look like a rather ordinary waffle iron, albeit an old one, but its history is deeper still. Ladies, gentlemen, and people of all genders, our next item up for bid is a Landers, Frary & Clark waffle iron with hexagonal domed lid. First produced in the late 1920s this non-automatic model with a pierced pedestal and ivory colored Catalin plastic fittings is topped by an ornate design pressed into the hexagonal domed lid. It makes a 7 inch diameter waffle. This one is in very good condition and comes with a detachable cord set. Given some care and respect, this waffle iron is ready and able to turn out beautifully baked waffles for generations to come."
Peggy took advantage of Jarvis's long speech about the item to look around the room at who else was interested in case one of them turned out to be involved in the theft. Her focus on everyone else was so sharp that she barely registered the look on Angie's face, puzzled at the abrupt change. There was a man standing off to the other side who looked interested, though he was peering into an envelope assessing something, perhaps the amount of cash he was willing to spend. A suspicious looking woman stood up near Jarvis's counter. Peggy hadn't noticed her bidding on any of the previous items, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Peggy was more thrown by the rigid, robotic look on her face, as if someone had programmed a face of curiosity without the intricacies of the full range of human emotion and expression.
"But that's not even the most interesting thing about it," Jarvis continued. Many people had grown bored and restless so Peggy could only imagine that he was doing this to give her more time to examine everyone. "This waffle iron's provenance goes back to the Rockefeller Family itself. Yes my friends, those Rockefellers. Great monopolizers of oil and funders of scientific research. This came into their possession shortly before their patriarch died."
Peggy was surprised he knew that much about American history, even if he did seem to be laying it on a bit thick. Perhaps knowledge of rich families was passed from billionaire to billionaire and he had heard about them from Mr. Stark. Jarvis was independently knowledgeable of a great many things though, she realized, so she ought not discount his sources.
"Let's start the bidding at say...fifty dollars," Jarvis offered, a hint of nerves showing in his voice for the first time this mission.
To Peggy's surprise, Angie's hand shot up. She wouldn't have thought that an antique waffle iron was the sort of frivolous purchase a waitress/actress could afford, but perhaps she had a sort of nostalgia for yesteryear inspired by working at a diner.
Peggy's hand reached down to brush against the envelope in her jacket pocket. She had a total of five hundred dollars cash on her, which should be more than enough for this particular item assuming Jarvis's historical speech hadn't driven up the price. It all felt a bit silly, carrying so much cash around for a simple waffle iron, but at least it wasn't her money. She wouldn't pay more than Target's lowest price for one, assuming she had room in her apartment's tiny kitchen or time to cook herself a substantial breakfast. The last time she'd even operated a waffle iron had been at a hotel while on a family vacation when she was eight. She'd been terribly enthralled by the device, making waffle after waffle until her father caught on.
Peggy reached one hand up, catching the bid at seventy dollars. No matter who else was bidding, she wasn't going to lose.
The man she'd noticed earlier raised his hand to offer eighty.
Angie darted in again for ninety.
"One hundred and twenty," Peggy called crisply.
"Really, English?" Angie asked, arching one eyebrow. "Are you hungry?"
Peggy shrugged, unable to come up with a convincing motivation for her interest that didn't involve the mission.
"Oh it's so on," Angie mouthed, turning her attention back to Jarvis and the bidding. "One forty!" she called in a surprisingly passable attempt at a posh British turn-of-the-century accent.
"Somebody watches Downton Abbey," Peggy muttered out of the side of her mouth. Now the strategy came in. Should she raise her bid dramatically in an attempt to price her out, or let it drag on a little longer for the sake of being realistic? "One fifty," she settled on, all thoughts of proper hand raising abandoned.
"So what if I do?" Angie muttered back. "You're just jealous." After a moment's hesitation she smiled sweetly up at Jarvis and called, "One eighty!"
"Jealous?" Peggy shot back, her ire raised at the competition despite having known Angie for scarcely more than a half an hour. There was a time for politeness and care for others, but this was not that time. "That doesn't even make sense."
"Don't worry," Angie told her. "I'll invite you over for breakfast sometime and you can see it in action."
Peggy opened her mouth to add a comment about how Angie had better be making dinner the night before too, but quickly shut it. Where the hell did that thought come from? "Two twenty!" Peggy shouted, her voice nearly cracking in the excitement as she forced her mind back on track.
"I have two twenty," Jarvis echoed. "Two twenty. Two thirty anyone? Two thirty?"
Peggy glanced over at Angie, an expression of challenge on her face. Her move.
Angie waved her off with a gesture of defeat. "Too rich for me, English," she said. "Too rich."
"Sold to the little lady from back home!" Jarvis pronounced with a flourish.
Peggy shot Jarvis an 'are you serious?' glance in response to his dramatic flair as she walked up to grab the invoice. "Nice job," she made sure to whisper out of one corner of her mouth. He really had done well, though she would have to wait until the item was safely back at headquarters to tell him properly. She felt the eyes of the suspicious woman from earlier tracking her movements as she slid over to the register to pay. The woman had bid twice in the early going, but her heart hadn't seemed in it. Still it was worth pulling security footage from the pawn shop just in case. She mulled over ways that she could strike up a conversation with her while holding the surprisingly heavy box with the waffle iron in it, but before she'd settled on something feasible the very woman pushed past her to disappear out the door. At least this operation was a success with the recovery of one of the items.
Peggy made her way over to Angie and nudged her with one shoulder for lack of available hands. "I'm truly sorry," she said, feeling the need to apologize even though it wasn't her fault.
"It's alright, English," Angie told her, nudging her shoulder right back. "Guess you're off with that, but come by the L&L sometime yeah? I'm always there Wednesday and Friday mornings for sure. Other times too but they're a bit of a crap shoot week to week."
"I wouldn't want to end up with Bruce now would I?" Peggy joked.
"No," Angie replied, her serious tone at odds with the grin spread wide on her face. "No you certainly wouldn't."
Peggy walked out of the pawn shop with a spring in her step that had nothing to do with the success of the operation. Hopefully this case would wrap up soon so she could explain her real job to Angie, perhaps over coffee and a waffle. No case details of course, but thank goodness she wasn't CIA.