Wanda Maximoff (maximoffgirl) wrote in the100, @ 2015-05-26 22:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | nathan wuornos, wanda maximoff / scarlet witch (mcu) |
WHO: Wanda Maximoff + Nathan Wuornos
WHEN: Evening of May 26
WHERE: Mess
WHAT: Wanda's adjusting, Nathan's friendly
STATUS: Incomplete!
She didn't mind the job. Out of everything, that was probably what she minded the least. There was something almost soothing about being around the distractible natures of the children, where the emotion ebbed and flowed easily -- overwhelming for just a moment, a breath, before it was forgotten. Then, it was onto everything else. Everything was felt so deeply, every thought insistent in its need to be expressed. She had wondered, just for a moment, if she and Pietro had been like that, but the answer was no. That sort of energy, probably, but she had been quietly for a long time, easily expressed through her brother. They had communicated in their ways, language all to themselves, no need to share each other with the world around them.
The network was harder. The electronics veiled the emotion, made everything a distant throb. And yet everyone seemed so ready to talk, spilling out truths without knowing what they were giving away. People knew her here. People she didn't know. And that was disquieting in its own way. It put her at even more of a disadvantage. But she listened instead, volunteering little about herself. (Her own name over and over again, as if that was any sort of truth, and that she was looking for her brother, a thing implicit to anyone who knew her.) But the Avengers had been friendlier with her than a single battle would have afforded; and there had been others besides them, ones whose names she didn't even know. They teased at the edge of her awareness, and she hoarded the knowledge with an awareness that it might be her only weapon her.
Everyone was clustered close her. She didn't mind being shielded away earth and air and sky, contained by metal and concrete. It was like it had been when they had been with HYDRA, which, in so many ways, was how her world begun and ended. But the sheer amount of people was something else. It felt like it had been during the riots, at close quarters. But she was different than she had been then. (And that was the odd part, wasn't it? She could feel her powers in her veins, a dormant throbbing; it was the first time she had been outside of the headquarters without something to fight. This was what it was to live on the outside with a self that was so freshly defined.)
But in the end, none of it felt right without Pietro. That was a vulnerability, perhaps her only one -- or at least the only one that mattered. She was halved without him, tenderly aware of the wound without knowing how to heal it.
She settled down in the mess hall, a gaping space. She didn't care much about the food that was in front of her, which made it easy to eat.