Once upon a time, there was a black market hidden underneath a strip club.
That was still the case, actually–wording it that way just made it seem a little more mysterious, a little more whimsical? But this was a black market Wanda had known well, particularly when it came to locating ingredients that would mesh well with her late husband’s changed physiology. It catered to all things exotic and strange and alien, that last part being the most important part. Carol needed something strong, and Wanda was determined to find her something strong and special.
“La fée verte,” the vendor had told her, the phrase translating to the green fairy. Absinthe back home used to be a controversial subject, but Vallo had its own version that could be consumed by all races–and get them impressively smashed. The glass bottle it came with could be construed as art with how intricate and delicately cut it was, and the alcohol sloshing inside it was like liquid emerald glowing. It was perfect.
“Don’t get cocky with this,” Wanda warned, setting the bottle down the center of the patio table. Tonight was a one-on-one bachelorette outing in the comfort of the witch’s property; the weather was cool so the firepit was lit, and a scatter of paper lanterns helped give them some lighting through the night. There was an impressive spread of fondue items–sweets and fruits for the melted chocolate, bread and little meats for the cheese–for them to indulge in. “It is supposed to affect people of all kinds alike, and while it’s customary to hold a bachelorette’s hair back while she vomits, I don’t want to do that.”
With a flick of her wrist, she conjured two tumbler glasses.
This was exactly the kind of bachelorette Carol wanted.
Emme would want something more – something with spa days, champagne, and cake for her girls. It would be a party in its own right, if not the cliché American bash that was always on TV and in the movies. Carol wanted her to have that – all she’d had to do was poke Lily and Marlene, and it was a done deal.
But Carol? That wasn’t her scene. She didn’t have a lot in the way of lady friends; there was Wanda, Lena, Ella, and Pepper, and that was pretty much it. She’d go out with Sam and Tony at some point, probably, but that would be much more high-energy, probably involving weapons of some sort. With Wanda – well, they could blast each other and have a grand old time, they had before, but they didn’t need to. Carol was content to be around Wanda without keeping up any pretense, so a one-on-one night with her was perfect.
“I don’t vomit,” Carol scoffed, which was admittedly cocky in its own right, but she was too consumed in dipping apples in the steaming pot of spicy cheese like it was going out of style. She polished off her bite and finally took a good look at the glowing green liquor awaiting her. Her lips pursed and her eyebrows raised. “Huh. We’ll have to see if this changes that.”
“Vallo’s version of absinthe,” Wanda explained, sending a smirk her way. “I have never tried the one back home but I hear it is very strong, and there were claims that it would make you hallucinate - something about a green fairy.” A hand was dismissively waved at that. That had also been debunked. It was just a very strong spirit with an ingredient that could induce some magical acid trip, but didn’t.
Sucking the last bit of stubborn chocolate from her thumb, she opened up the bottle and took a whiff of it, curious. It definitely had a potent scent. “I think you’re just supposed to sip it,” she hummed, and not wanting to hesitate any further she poured it into each of their glasses. “No chugging. Or taking it like a shot until we know how it’s going to hit you.”
“No chugging or shots,” Carol agreed with a chuckle as she scooped up her glass. She didn’t really think it would hurt, but she was willing to humor Wanda and do as she asked. The way that bottle glowed was sort of concerning; she’d gotten seriously hammered with alien and magical alcohol here, and she’d learned there was a need to be cautious again.
So, she sipped from her glass just once. The heavy taste of black licorice was accompanied with a little shock when it hit her tongue, and she blinked a few times in surprise. “Didn’t expect that,” she admitted, but it didn’t stop her from taking another, slightly slower sip. “I’ll let you know as soon as I start seeing green fairies.”
“We are in the forest - I’m surprised I haven’t seen green fairies yet myself,” grinned the witch, cozying up into her seat more so she could ready herself for a sip. Last time she drank was when she hit up Lux for a random night out, and she had paced herself to avoid being hungover. Most of it was spent talking to the pretty bartender that literally radiated sex.
But they didn’t have to be too cautious here (they could pass out in the living room like some college sleepover if needed), and Wanda did plan on reaching a certain degree of pleasantly funny drunk.
The sip she took was tentative, and she wet her lips with her tongue to just kind of… process. That was a taste. It was harsh but sweet in a sort of waxy way? Wanda didn’t know what to make of it. Clearly, it warranted an immediate second sip. “This tastes dangerous,” she decided. “Not the ‘this is so good that I can chug it’ dangerous, but dangerous.”
That meant she chose well.
Setting her glass down, Wanda speared half a strawberry to dip into the melted chocolate. “So - how are your wedding jitters doing? Do you even have any?”
Carol nodded, completely in agreement. She wasn’t picky about her liquor – anything alien did the trick when she was really in the mood to get a buzz – but none of it had ever tasted so distinctly like it might spell trouble. She was onboard, though, totally willing to take the risk of getting smashed. That was half the fun of a bachelorette party, wasn’t it?
She followed suit with Wanda, setting down her glass to pick up where she left off with the cheese and dipping choices, this time spearing a piece of pretzel bread.
“Nah, not really.” She shrugged in answer to Wanda’s question. “Ever since I got my head out of my ass and we got back on track, I’ve been feeling better. I love her, I know I want this. That’s all there is to it for me.”
The wedding particulars weren’t really a concern for her. Of course she helped, and she got Wanda involved in the planning – she’d heard rumblings about some sort of indoor forest Emme was planning to magic up with her at Avengers Mansion – but she sidestepped as many of those responsibilities as she could. She cared (and gave opinions when they were asked) but not so much so that she was going to step on what her fiancée wanted.
“Back in my day,” she continued, her tone joking and her eyes sparkling with amusement, “getting married wasn’t even a possibility. Maybe there’s some degree of just…being in awe it can happen. But I was never all that into imagining my wedding like some kids do.”
Wanda hummed, pulling her fondue stick out and letting all the excess chocolate drip into the pot before she made a sticky mess of herself. “That impeccable skincare routine makes me forget your age sometimes,” she teased. “Though I feel like you are married already, really - you live together, handle hardships together. Add a vow or two about sickness and health. The party with your loved ones is a good bonus, though.”
Unlike Carol, she had been one of those girls imagining what her own wedding (which she got, and had no regrets about) would be like - and a family, and a house, and by now she was sure that wasn’t a secret with what happened at Westview. “Wear water-proof makeup in case you start crying,” Wanda tacked on with a smile.
Carol hummed around her bite and nodded. In some ways, it really did feel like she and Emme were already married. They’d been together nearly two years, gotten through Carol’s gnarly period of ridiculousness together, and come out stronger for it, more communicative and in sync than perhaps they ever had been. They had a house together, a kid in the future, and they already acted as pseudo moms with Kamala.
The wedding was really just putting a final, official seal on the deal.
“Back at you,” she teased with a knowing smile. She could easily picture Wanda being the one to tear up on the big day, but if there was even an occasion that would make Carol cry, too, this would be the one. “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t cry.”
“It is absolutely mandatory that I get emotional,” Wanda declared, looking almost offended that Carol could insinuate otherwise. “I’ll be channeling my inner Stephen Strange - he used to claim he had no emotions yet was extremely sappy, and he would be tearing up if he were around.”
There didn’t need to be any sadness when it came to mentioning her late husband. Wanda wasn’t fragile, she didn’t need people to tip toe around her when it came to what she’s lost. Stephen had given her a lot of good memories. He and Carol had been best friends and even though he was alive and back home, he deserved to be remembered here - and talked about.
Once she ate that strawberry, she switched gears and went for her absinthe. The third sip was still harsh, but it complimented the sweetness that lingered on her tongue. “I can draw a goatee on myself for your wedding, if you want - you can get the best of both of us.”
Carol laughed, snorting with amusement at the idea of Wanda with a Sharpie-drawn goatee on her face, standing up at the altar beside her. It wasn’t quite the Stephen Strange reminder she wanted at the wedding, but she did like the idea of there being something honoring him there. They really had been the best of friends. She hated that he hadn’t been here when she proposed, that he wouldn’t be here for the wedding.
But she hadn’t brought it up before, not to Wanda. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Wanda could handle it – she was tough, and although she’d been sad, she’d handled the situation gracefully. It was hard to talk about, though; Carol didn’t want to get into a cycle of missing him because, well, what good was it going to do?
“Just having you there is all I need,” she assured her, picking up her glass to take another sip, a bit more confident this time. “I’m keeping that goatee thing in my back pocket, though. Might draw one on you tonight if this shit does its job.”
“I’d threaten to draw a penis on your face but this was my idea, so.” Wanda gave one of those oh well shrugs and went to snatch up another fruit - this time she planned to give the whole ‘apple in cheese’ thing a try, but when she looked back up at Carol to continue the conversation, her mouth opened and -
There was silence.
“How did you,” she blinked several times, pausing for a second, “how did you draw one on your face so fast?”
Not a penis, but a goatee. It was a little fuzzy, and it gently rippled across Carol’s face like it was liquid undulating from a soft breeze.
Carol frowned at the look on Wanda’s face. “I didn’t draw anything,” she said. “I don’t even have something to draw with.” She reached up with her free hand to poke across her face, as if she’d be able to feel something drawn there that she couldn’t see. “What is it?”
Wanda looked at her like she was clearly missing the point.
“You have a goatee,” she explained, as if this was the most obvious thing and how could she not know that? Just in case, she blinked hard several times, thinking that could clear whatever mistake her vision was making her see but that did nothing–it was there, and it looked oddly magnificent. “You either did it, or–Vallo is doing something odd again.”
That must be it. Wanda needed another sip of absinthe to process so she took it.
Carol squinted at Wanda like she’d lost her mind but shrugged it off and sipped from her glass again. She didn’t even think to try to confirm Wanda’s suspicions; she was perfectly willing to accept that it was a Vallo thing, and it would resolve itself. Most Vallo things did.
But when she set her glass down and reached out for a little cubed Rice Krispy treat to dip in the chocolate (since it was far past chocolate time), she spotted something small and white perched on the arm of Wanda’s chair. It looked like… Was that a mouse? She looked closer, and yep, definitely was – it even had a tiny tophat hanging off one ear.
She leaned closer to try to poke at it where it sat near Wanda’s elbow and it gave an indignant squeak but didn’t move. “Who’s your friend?”
Those words took far too long to process.
That facial hair. It looked real, but it didn’t, and she abandoned the absinthe on the table just so she could stare. Squint. Tilt her head, like this was some puzzle that needed deciphering. That would be impossible if it were a Vallo thing–pretty much all weirdness could be chalked up to that–but why a goatee, exactly? Stephen’s wasn’t this nice. She wanted to touch it.
“It’s probably Peter or something,” she said off-handedly, fixated on the lower half of Carol’s face. “He is–somewhere, I think, maybe with Kamala. Does Kamala have a thing for him? I am getting suspicious.”
Wanda then decided to just grope at Carol’s face a bit.
Peter? No, that couldn’t be. This was definitely not Peter Parker. She’d seen that kid before, and he wasn’t a mouse. And if he was a mouse, when had that happened? And what was with the tophat? And why wouldn’t Wanda tell her Peter had turned into a mouse? Was this a thing that happened regularly? Poor Peter, turning into a mouse. This place was full of such weird magic.
The mention of her mini-me’s name caught her attention, though, and her focus shifted. Kamala. Carol seriously adored her. She hoped she’d actually get to meet her at home someday. She was a really good kid, kind of stubborn and headstrong, but Carol respected that.
“Emme thinks so. I mean, Kamala went to Hell for him.” She still wasn’t totally pleased with how all that had gone, but let it go and all that. “And Emme says–”
Carol raised her head so she could look at Wanda while she explained her fiancée’s suspicions – it was a conversation they’d had a few times now – only to have her face immediately assaulted by Wanda’s hands. An eyebrow raised and a smirk returned to her face, replacing confusion with something much more playful.
“I’m flattered, Wanda, and all for your hands on my face, don’t get me wrong.” She grinned, accent becoming decidedly more Boston than California. “But you’re, like, a year and a half too late if you’re tryin’ to get some action.”
“You do not have the tentacles to handle me,” Wanda responded with a frown, dragging her fingers down that facial hair for it to come off her face like ink–and then smear all over her hands. It felt like air. “I took your goatee off, I’m sorry. I don’t understand why you had one.”
Now her hands were tainted in black, reminiscent of how the Darkhold’s magic had once corrupted her, and she saw it bleed out of her fingers and into the air and take shape into–
“Butterflies,” she exhaled with a blink, and then looked at Carol with wide eyes (and her pupils were suspiciously huge). “Did you see that? They’re everywhere. It’s beautiful.”
Tentacles? Oh no. Nope, Carol wasn’t going to let her mind go there. She’d maneuvered those tentacles Wanda was referencing before, and she didn’t want to think about the purposes they’d been used for. She didn’t need that mental picture emblazoned in her brain forever.
Luckily, Wanda was providing her plenty of distractions. She caught a glimpse of those oversized, darkened pupils, and that’s when it clicked just what was happening here.
“Think the absinthe’s working,” she breathed with a chuckle, turning to see if she could spot the butterflies. She was surprised to find she could. And they really were beautiful, though some bordered on monstrously large in size. She wasn’t entirely sure if they were real or not, but she was pleasantly warm and buzzing under her skin, and that was enough for her.
“The absinthe isn’t working,” Wanda protested. Getting drunk was one thing–she’d never have them hallucinate anything unless they had explicitly discussed it. It wasn’t like she hadn’t dabbled in some recreational drug use back in Sokovia, but her magic was dangerous and what if she accidentally did something?
Or - what if this was her magic all along?
Curious, she grabbed the bottle and twisted it around to look at the label. There was some history verbiage on it, the alcohol content (which was a lot), and in very, very, very tiny print–there was a warning label.
Wanda had to push it against her face to read it. “Warning, product may induce…” She trailed off, reading the rest quietly, and then re-reading, and half-wondering if what she was even reading was real. “Carol. Carol. I think I may have messed up.”
Carol raised her eyebrows, bewilderment clear on her face. “How’d you mess up? I thought this was the whole point. You said people thought it could cause hallucinations, right?”
That had to be what all of this was, after all. It felt really real, and she would be content to just let it keep feeling really real, but it was obviously induced by the drink. The logical side of her brain hadn’t completely shut off; she could think critically enough to realize these butterflies were some weird collective hallucination. Even Peter the Mouse probably knew that.
“No! The one from our world was said to do that, and then that wasn’t true, so I don’t understand why -” It’s as if the glow from the bottle brightened and pulsed, in sync with the beating of their hearts, and Wanda was forced to set it back down with such caution that you’d think she was handling a live bomb. “There’s a warning label with very little print. I feel scammed.”
Did she sound upset about it? No, not really - and she was mesmerized by how the black butterflies and the green light of the bottle mixed, and it made the butterflies green, and things were taking such an aurora-borealis vibe that it was just…
“This is so pretty,” she said, shoving a marshmallow into her mouth.
Carol shrugged. Whatever had happened, she didn’t care. She didn’t feel like she was teetering on the edge of doing something dangerous. She was content, happy enough to shove her chair over beside Wanda’s, so now they were side-by-side instead of across from each other and could watch the butterflies together.
“Hey.” She reached out and gave Wanda’s arm a squeeze, slipping her hand into the crook of her elbow. “Thanks for this. Feel free to ply me with hallucinogenic liquor any time you want.”
Wanda tried to fight a smile and failed. “I would like to point out that this was a complete accident–but if you’re good with this, so am I.” Surely anything she saw under the influence was just the absinthe and not her, which was the important part. She did not need to accidentally mess with reality while hallucinating. “You still also need to -”
The mouse scurried down her shoulder, perched itself on Carol’s lap, twitching its cute, pink little nose at them. Wanda gave her friend an incredulous look.