Half-listening and not completely comprehending (it was loud and she was tipsy), Wanda nodded at what she figured were appropriate moments and thought to herself how she had no idea what Wicked was going on about. But it wouldn't do to say so aloud, that might be rude. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she informed her, when Wicked finished talking, and wondered whether she'd said that in her head or aloud. Either way she pressed on to cover the faux pas and grasp at some little piece of Wicked's monologue to make conversation about. "You'd be a good mother if you can acknowledge that you don't think you'd be a good one. Then you'd know what not to do. Any mother is probably better than no mother. I had no mother, neither did Pietro. Don't get pregnant before your wedding though, that won't do. Or do, whatever you want. Let me braid your hair." Wanda let go of Wicked and rocked back on her heels, swaying a little. Steady there, steady. One hand on Wicked's shoulder for a moment and she was fine, just fine.
"I can French braid my own hair," she said with a note of pride and plunged her hands into Wicked's dark mane of hair to comb it with her fingers and separate it. "It took a long time to learn. I'll teach you. That's what sisters do, right? You're my sister now and you're so young. I can teach you all kinds of things and I'll never lock you in a portable toilet." The braid was coming along nicely.