Wanda Maximoff (quick_fix) wrote in districtmarvel, @ 2015-09-23 23:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | scott lang, wanda maximoff |
Who: Wanda and Scott
What: Panicked Victors meeting in the street
When: Immediately following news of the demonstration in District 8 and cautionary texts from Natasha and Loki
The phone was hot in her clenched fist, the latest text from Natasha rattling about her mind. What did it all mean? What possibly could have motivated people in District 8 to use one of her and Pietro's signals? And what had made them resist at all? It all made no sense.
The irony wasn't entirely lost on Wanda, despite the current frantic state of her thoughts. Here she was, attempting to avenge Pietro against his murderers, only to be potentially undermined by a group that actually shared her hatred of the Capitol. But she grimly knew that there was no chance of achieving her goals if Stane had reason to lump her in with dissidents. The very last thing she needed was to be tied in the public's mind with insurrections. Wanda breathed sharply at that thought, trying to calm herself. She forced herself to remember Natasha's advice, Loki's offer of help. But still her heart beat unusually fast in her chest as she hurried in the direction of her Stylist's apartment. Fashion would have been the last thing on her mind back home, but Wanda was learning enough about the Capitol to realize that if she was to be seen publicly now, had to look the part of a contended, grateful Victor.
For the first time, she found herself wishing she had more of the Capitol about her. While the metallic dress she was currently sporting was nothing she would have ever picked out for herself, it was a far cry from the wild hues and avant-garde designs favored by the elite. Worse yet, her fingers her smudged with ink and--though Wanda was currently unaware of it--a streak also marred her cheek. She looked a mess, more the shabby Tribute from District 3 than the stately figure she was now trying to cut.
Wanda stopped abruptly, glaring up at a skyscraper as if its presence was a personal affront. Where was she? Had she taken a wrong turn in her rush to be seen out in public? The street was unfamiliar, all glittering storefronts and talkative passersby.
"Damn it," she muttered, annoyed with herself for making such an idiotic error. Hadn't she just texted Loki about the uselessness of panic? And yet here she was, lost and frazzled, just at the moment she needed to be at her most self-possessed.