"Thank you," Wanda said in response to Buffy's easy agreement. "Tell me, what is a bogo shoe?" she asked with a slight, not quite casual smile, and maintained small talk until they got to her ship.
The ship was big enough to house a dozen people if they crowded, five or six comfortably, even for long periods of time. Since it had held Wanda's compatriots until recently, it still had a lived-in feeling -- generally tidy, but evidence of occupation here and there, and of different competing tastes in the soft tapestries hiding some of the utilitarian walls and the sharp-edged sculptures fastened in other nooks.
Wanda led Buffy to the main room and offered her something to eat or drink, but with a slightly distracted air. She seemed intent on arranging everything perfectly, but she tidied away a stray deck of cards to a table in a corner, and then a moment later tidied it onto a different shelf without seeming to notice.
Finally she sat down, fiddling with her rings as she considered what to say to Buffy. Her mind filled quickly with images and feelings, all of them struggling to be the first thing she said. She had held everything in for so long that it was difficult to think. Every memory like a jewel, called to her, to bring it into the light.
Even the shadowy memories glittered with temptation, the dark constellation of her shame and guilt, calling her to confess and gain absolution -- or censure, there was something tempting even about censure, if it meant no longer hiding.
But most of all, it was Pietro who sped through her mind. Her brother, her support, the one who'd known everything about her. Gone, not forgotten.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked Buffy abruptly, trying to find some commonality to latch on to, some way to ease into whatever she was going to say. Whatever it was that she needed someone else in this world to know, and know because she told them.