Wanda Maximoff (highlyconnected) wrote in avengers_logs, @ 2018-03-02 22:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | -narrative, wanda maximoff |
Who: Wanda Maximoff [Narrative]
What: Wanda's arrival.
When: March 2nd
Rating/Warnings: Green
Ever since the climactic fight in Sokovia when everything went so terribly wrong, Wanda had been trying to put together the pieces of her life, tried to pull herself back to some semblance of a whole person as best she could when half of her had been torn away and snatched from her grip. It had taken longer than the Avengers had anticipated for her to be in a position where she was no longer half-mad with grief and could be trusted to be on her own for a while, keeping her busy with training and ‘teamwork’, and ‘activities’- an excuse to make sure she wasn’t left with her thoughts for too long.
She’d been getting better when the Sokovia Accords had happened, causing the world had lurched underneath her feet again and she’d killed a number of people when trying to save others. When she chose to follow Captain America - Clint - into a life where she might have been a criminal but she should have been free and ended up locked in the Raft, with a shock-collar around her neck and a straight jacket locking her in place. She had been isolated, locked away and prodded by the guards until Steve saved her... until Clint removed the collar and carried her away.
They’d run after that, gone into hiding, left the United States and fled into obscurity. They found a small house, just far enough from people that they wouldn’t run into others too often but not so isolated that they stood out when they went into town. He had lost everything and she knew that; she saw how much it hurt him when he stood watching the sunset with his arms wrapped around himself and smoke curling over his shoulder from the tenth cigarette of the day. She heard it in his mind and in his voice and it killed her to know she couldn’t ease his pain.
She’d left him sleeping, after all, she could get to the market and back again without difficulty. They needed some more food and she knew that today was the day that the fruit was freshest. Honestly, she wanted to give him a bit of space as well- he had spent so much time taking care of her and making sure that she was okay that he hadn’t taken any time for himself.
When she hit the market, she paused for a moment. The similarity of the ones in Sokovia hitting her with a force she hadn’t been expecting, grief pulling at her once more for the loss of her other half, but that numbness was soothed by the sound of voices, both those she could hear and those she could read, the void filled with the surge of life around her, as temporary as it was.
She bought some plums and grapes, held them loosely in a fabric bag as she wandered through the marketplace just absorbing the energy, the life that surrounded her. She had spotted a cap with a funny slogan on it and as she approached to pick it up for Clint, she felt something tugging at her midriff like a hook around her waist. The world around her disappeared and the bag fell to the floor, discarded and abandoned as Wanda disappeared.
She landed with considerable force on the outskirts of a park. She knew right away that she was in New York City, there were signs everywhere for names she had seen on television and a feeling in the air that was distinctly American. She couldn’t describe it. Nausea crawled up her throat, bubbling in the back of her mouth and she leaned forward, rested her hand on the back of a bench and tried to breathe in deeply, riding the sensation in the hopes that it would pass. Her fingertips sparked magenta and she felt her world spinning, a sensation distinctly that something was out of place - something that was not her, although she most certainly was.
Something was very wrong.
She pressed herself out of the public view, into an alleyway and leaned against the wall, just breathing deep and slow and trying to keep herself calm. The last thing she needed right now was to get worked up, or to get upset, because her powers were still unstable following Pietro’s death she had never quite regained the same level of control. She would not make a disgrace of herself here, she would find out where she was and would understand what had happened to her. There was a small parcel at her feet with her name on it though how it found its way to her right where she had no idea. Inside there was a phone, along with some other items but the phone was the one that was of most interest to her.
Scrolling through the contacts, she found a name she recognised: Clint.
A knot loosened in her chest. She would go and find Clint. Clint would know what to do.