Wanda frowned up at him, already feeling silly, and his flippant reply made her think she'd somehow disappointed him. That he was only humoring her.
"You asked," she pointed out sullenly, just a little defensive. "I just suppose I'd rather rely on myself, or people I can see and feel-" she punctuated her words with a light smack against his chest, "Than spend my time worrying about something I can't even really prove. I don't need a god to thank every time something goes right or blame when everything's wrong- that's just life- and I can manage selfishness and self-loathing just fine on my own. It's difficult enough to make myself matter to even one person, let alone imagine that my problems and happiness matter to some supreme being with a responsibility towards billions of people."
She paused then and squeezed her eyes shut. Religion was not a topic Wanda could approach with any levity and it would be best, she thought, to drop it. "Anyway, you have to be American to be Miss America and I'm fairly certain they're all still Bible-thumpers," she answered in reply to his glib remark and reopened her eyes with an almost sad smile.
Her gaze flickered to meet his for just a moment before it wandered to her hand, which she pressed flat over his implant to stare at her fingers, outlined by the glow. Something seemed off about them but she couldn't quite place it.