Ugh. Already, her proverbial back was up. In a heartbeat, Peggy went from one pragmatic task to sitting stiffly with her legs dangling over the truck bed's edge. Her legs crossed at the ankles: old-world grace in combat boots.

"Perhaps you ought not to have been looking in the first place--" she countered. Sharp British syllables rat-a-tatting like a Gatling gun. Under usual circumstances, Agent Carter might not behave quite so lippy with a stranger in a strange land...but something about the wry tone had left her sense of propriety feeling skinned. Ruffled. And it only got worse when she leaned leftwards and stared hard at the man who'd knocked on the truck.

The resemblance wasn't so obvious that she made any immediate or tangible connection -- but the sight of this man did bring with it a sort of double-take. Her eyes narrowed. She wondered if she'd ever met him once upon a time. Perhaps if the goatee masquerading as a beard had been absent she might have made short work of recognizing the genetics beneath.