Wanda Maximoff doesn't need to be told who she is (![]() ![]() @ 2021-08-16 01:39:00 |
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While most people had watched fireworks on the Fourth of July, Wanda had been baking. It was soothing, the process of pulling things together to make it something else entirely. To create something. It also reminded her of her mother, watching her make magic with the ingredients that could be found. So with more strawberries than she could possibly eat on her own, Wanda had found a recipe and was happy to say it had worked out well.
Which meant that now she was delivering said strawberry lemon blondies to different friends and that meant meeting up with Laurence in a park that was between both of their places.
Finding a bench, Wanda sipped some coffee as she waited. She was vaguely aware that it seemed louder than usual, but she was so used to blocking things out that she was able to mostly feel as if it were nothing more than muted conversations and nothing to pay too much attention to.
Laurence was a little tired this afternoon. He’d spent most of the Fourth out in the sun, enjoying the BBQ that Sisko had mentioned to him. He hadn’t changed his mind that he thought that the whole celebration was garishly overdone, the patriotic fervor bordering on worrisome, but he’d spent much of the afternoon in the company of people he enjoyed, and he’d allowed himself to have some fun. It hadn’t taken much alcohol in the scorching desert sun to make him lightheaded.
If the magnificence of the fireworks - a display that had him wishing for Temeraire more than he had at any other time thus far - had made him nearly forget his drunkenness, waking this morning had brought it all rushing back. He couldn’t call it a hangover, but there was a dryness to his mouth and a tired sluggishness to his mind that reminded him that in 40° weather, it was wiser to drink water than wisers.
He’d taken especial care with his dress and his appearance to mask the ill-effects of the afternoon before, and was on his third thick, black coffee in a large, silver thermos by the time he made it to the park where he’d arranged to meet Wanda.
He scanned the park for her, and smiled when he saw her, picking up his pace a little. He was, he noted with some dismay when he checked his watch, nearly three minutes late. He’d slept past sunrise and had needed to rush through an abbreviated version of his morning duties - those that could not be neglected - before he’d been properly dressed, and thoughts of how that hardly excused his tardiness ran through his head as he approached her. “Wanda, it’s a pleasure to see you,” he said warmly. “I hope you’ve not been waiting long.”
If it weren’t for the fact that Wanda knew Laurence had been out at fireworks the night before, she might very well have been concerned that he wasn’t promptly on time. However, she figured she could grant some leeway in the situation given it all. That and she didn’t mind waiting a few extra minutes. With it being a federal holiday, or well, the observance of the holiday, the offices were closed. So while there was always work to be done, she didn’t have anywhere she needed to be at any strict time.
So instead she just gave Laurence a smile and shook her head.
“Not at all. I take it you had a good time last night?”
What was some light teasing amongst friends after all? Even if she avoided fireworks (there was a reason she had played music while baking and ear plugs to drown out the noise after the fact), she knew that it was typically considered fun for others.
“Very much so,” Laurence said. “It really was spectacular. The fireworks display was stunning, and there was quite a talented singer who opened them. I think you’d have enjoyed her singing. And I must say, the Yanks certainly know how to throw,” he paused, searching for an adjective. ‘Garish’ came to mind, though it was perhaps a little harsh, especially since he had rather enjoyed himself. “Lively,” he settled on, “get together. It’s difficult not to be caught up in it.”
As Laurence spoke about the event, Wanda nodded. She didn’t really see how she would enjoy it. At least the fireworks. Still it did sound like it had been enjoyable and she supposed that was the point in the end. “They are very good at that from my understanding.” It was always a complicated issue for her. And not one that needed to be delved into. Hardly. That was the past.
“I served alongside Americans and have seen them at their Independence Day celebrations abroad, so perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised.” And yet, he had been. Laurence watched very little television or movies - he didn’t even own a television - so he hadn’t even the benefit of watching the Hollywoodized versions of the celebrations. He suspected that Las Vegas had made it more of a spectacle than it might have been in other urban centres; Las Vegas did seem to enjoy their spectacles.
He certainly hadn’t expected to get so caught up in everything himself. Not enough that he’d sleep in. He’d meant to pick Wanda up a coffee on his way, but all he’d had time for was to brew himself a pot of the black sludge that had served him well in his sleep deprived days in the Navy. He was relieved to note that Wanda had brought her own.
“There is something about seeing it in person in their own country I take it?” She had seen the sitcoms, she knew how it was portrayed but even Wanda had been shocked when she had first come to the country to see how it was truly celebrate. Add in Vegas? Well. It was a recipe for being over the top.
And there was nothing wrong with black sludge. Wanda was all too familiar with it some days depending on a case she was working on. She tried to avoid it whenever possible but there were definitely times when it was necessary.
“It was almost comically true to form,” Laurence said with a bit of a twitch of his mouth.
He wondered to himself how Wanda felt seeing celebrations of such wanton waste and patriotic pride when her own country had, undoubtedly, been through so much, and he wondered how much of that played in her own recalcitrance to the holiday. Did she feel anger, or resentment? Or simply sorrow? Did she have any strong feelings regarding the holiday at all, or was he simply assuming as much? He knew nearly nothing of what Wanda had been through, but he knew enough to know that he could never ask.
“And how was your evening?” he asked instead. “I hope it was pleasant?”
Oh Wanda’s feelings on the Fouth of July were definitely complicated, the celebrations and waste. It was ridiculous really. Though given the way Laurence was, she had to admit to being a bit shocked to hear his questions in regards to her past and her reaction to the celebrations. Because while he might not have said them, she simply heard them as if he had and so she looked at him curiously.
Especially as he asked how her evening was.
“It was productive. Between baking and getting some cleaning done, it kept me from thinking too much about the sounds of war. It’s all very….American. Who cares about the fall out of our actions, well meaning or not.”
Not something she would normally admit to, but Laurence had asked (as far as she knew) and she did consider him a friend.
Laurence was surprised at how candid Wanda was in her answer, though he thought he’d managed to keep most of that surprise from his expression. Thus far, she’d always been rather guarded, and it was, he thought, a little bit of a relief that she’d opened up even so far.
“I’m glad it could be helped even so far. If you’d like to escape the city next time, I could likely arrange for you to come to the farm.” Valla had an open invitation to make use of his farm for all such celebrations if she so wished, and so he’d clear it with her first, but he did not think she’d resent more company. “Or I have some records you might borrow.”
The confusion was weird because well, hadn’t he asked? Though perhaps he hadn’t expected her to actually answer the question. Still, it was a bit odd to open up like that though she knew deep down it was probably a good thing. She couldn’t keep everything to herself. Somehow she felt like doing so led to bad things. Like she knew it would.
Still the offer was sweet and with how often Americans like to blow up fireworks with all of their patriotic holidays?
“Thank you. I may take you up on that.”
She wasn’t sure. She knew theoretically she should just get over it but well...that wasn’t how life worked. It never was.
Laurence had known more than a few soldiers and sailors who’d come home and had no longer been able to handle loud, explosive sounding noises. Laurence’s own heart would sometimes leap to his throat if a car unexpectedly backfired near him or another loud noise startled him, though so long as he was expecting it it caused him no trouble. It didn’t surprise him that a civilian who’d, presumably, grown up in or near a warzone would feel the same.
“You can still sometimes see the fireworks out there, depending on the conditions, and the noise is negligible, if you ever cared to watch,” he added. Laurence had known more than a few soldiers and sailors who’d come home and had no longer been able to handle loud, explosive sounding noises. Laurence’s own heart would sometimes leap to his throat if a car unexpectedly backfired near him or another loud noise startled him, though so long as he was expecting it it caused him no trouble. It didn’t surprise him that a civilian who’d, presumably, grown up in or near a warzone would feel the same.
“You can still sometimes see the fireworks out there, depending on the conditions, and the noise is negligible, if you ever cared to watch,” he added.
There were a lot of things that could take Wanda back to Bosnia and Kosovo, but she did her best to push through. But Americans and their obsession with fireworks really did test that ability. Expecting it should be enough to help and yet it wasn’t. That and her mixed feelings on America. Go to Kosovo and say you’re American and you could very well be given the shirt off someone’s back because of gratitude for the help. It was why it was so complicated for her. On the one hand, it had put a stop to what was happening in Kosovo as what had happened in Bosnia. But on the other? Because of ‘misjudgement’ or whatever, it had been NATO explosives by Stark Industries that had caused the death of her parents and others, not the Serbians.
“Well at least there’s that, though I suppose it would depend on my mood on if I would want to see them or not.”
Shaking her head some as if to clear her mind of memories from the past as if they ever truly went away - especially with the new memories she had - Wanda turned to the situation at hand. Specifically the strawberry lemon blondies. Opening the bag she had with her, Wanda pulled out the package she had placed Laurence’s batch of brownies in.
Laurence nodded, as though he understood. He’d always enjoyed the beauty of fireworks. They’d been the original purpose of gunpowder, a hundred years or more before it had ever been conceived to use the explosives for weapons. There was a kind of hopeful beauty in it, in the idea that man could still use something as deadly as gunpowder for beauty and art and as something that could bring such joy to people. Though he could see how it could be upsetting that something so beautiful had been turned into a weapon of war, he thought more of the joy in Temeraire’s eyes and the excitement in his voice when he’d seen fireworks for the first time, after he’d been so affected by the hanging of a traitor. He thought all this but didn’t give words to it; he had no right to argue such a point with anyone.
His face brightened when Wanda pulled out the package. “Thank you for this,” Laurence said, taking the package with both hands. “I don’t suppose you’d want to share a couple with me now?”
Wanda could see why people liked fireworks, though she doubted many grasped the weapon of war aspect that came with it because of the gunpowder involved. They just saw the pretty lights in the sky. But even then it could be a lot. And again she didn’t realize Laurence wasn’t speaking the thoughts about gun powder and Temeraire. So she figured she should give comment.
“There is irony I suppose in the fact it uses gunpowder and is a weapon of war and now we have people spend all day in a park to see them get blown up for a light show. But people rarely think about that.” Just like they didn’t think about the nation’s capital using the 1812 Overture for their firework display.
Instead she smiled and nodded at the thanks, “Of course. And I could possibly be persuaded.”
Laurence’s brow furrowed in obvious confusion. He’d thought they were through with the conversation about fireworks. It almost seemed as though Wanda was responding to his thoughts on the matter instead of anything he’d actually said, but that, of course, was impossible. It must have simply been that her thoughts ran more in line with his own on the matter than he’d thought.
He opened the container of blondies, and offered one to Wanda before he took one for himself. “That, I think, is one of the reasons I enjoy them,” he said after a moment. “It’s proof that human beings are capable of making even things that have the potential to be horrid into something that’s beautiful -- into something that brings joy. It’s a manifestation of the duality of man.” He took a bite of his blondie, and washed it down with his too-strong coffee, not quite managing to resist a grimace at the taste. He should have added cream before he left. He smiled at her. “Though look at me, waxing philosophical on the matter. I don’t mean to try to convince you of anything.”
Wanda wasn’t entirely sure why Laurence seemed to be confused but she pushed it aside. As far as she knew, she’d been answering his questions. So why that was so odd, well...no matter. Instead she just took the offered blondie as Laurence spoke about the duality of fireworks. And really the duality of people if they wanted to get completely philosophical.
“I can see that. I just don’t believe I’m at that point.”
Smiling some at the apology, she shook her head.
“It’s fine. Really. I can understand the appeal even if I don’t necessarily see it myself.”
Leaning back against the bench, Wanda looked up at the sky.
“Still, it is a nice day for waxing philosophical.”
Laurence nodded. He could understand that to some extent, at least. He half-smiled, thinking of sunny afternoons spent talking about philosophy and morality and politics with Temeraire, and took a bite of the blondie.
“Mm, Wanda, these are delicious,” he said. “Thank you.”
Yes, he suspected it would be a lovely afternoon, even with the slight pain between his eyes.