Respect | S. Rogers [1]

27 | 1949

1949

Los Angeles, CA

"Peggy this is ridiculous!" Rose said on the phone.

"I tried, I really did. But he had good behaviour to back him up and the SSR wanted his assistance in new experiments."

"Releasing Zola from prison is the worst mistake they made, Peggy. I don't care how well behaved he is, it's not worth it." She grabbed her head in pain. "Look, I have to go. Thanks for letting me know anyway."

"No need, you deserved to know. Take care, Rose."

"You too." And she hung up.

Rosemary walked to the room she used to draw. She glanced at the various sheets with drawings pinned to the walls accompanied by theories written on boards whilst pondering the numerous ways Dr Zola being released could go wrong.

At least my father's still unavailable, she thought begrudgingly, surprised at the thought. She hadn't thought about the man in a long time.

She forced herself out of those thoughts and grabbed a pencil opening one of her sketchbooks.

She was awfully aware of how slow time was passing trying to make her inner eye make an appearance. However, the next time she looked at the time, about an hour had passed, and six new drawings laid on her table.

Two of them were highly detailed and clearly defined, one of them she recognized to have drawn it about two months before. She wrote ideas down on the free spaces and then looked at the other drawings.

Minutes later only one of them was nearly impossible to analyse. It seemed blurry, meaning that it wouldn't happen in a while but she had nothing to go on to imagine what it could mean. It had a dark background, and the only noticeable thing was what looked like an arm, a muscular arm with a coloured star below the shoulder. It seemed to have patterns on it, so she didn't think it was skin but, how could someone possibly have an arm that wasn't made of skin? Maybe it was a prosthesis? But those still resembled a normal limb. There were other ones that had metal bars on them to allowed flexibility but those didn't look like a muscled arm.

Several minutes had passed with her studying her sketches, making connections between previous ones she had made, and different theories on what they meant. By the time she looked at her watch, it was almost time for her dinner with Howard.

Rapidly she wrote down the last notes so she wouldn't forget anything and went to her room to get ready.

NEXT DAY
Howard Stark's Mansion, LA

"Stark's Prime Conquest? His Favourite Mistress? Stark's Stark Sweetheart? Seriously?" Rosemary irritatedly listed off several of the news headlines that originated from last night's dinner.