It’s about one moment; the moment before it all becomes clear

[chaosmagus]

Characters: Wanda and Erik
Date & Time: November 2nd, afternoon
Setting: By the lake.
Summary: You learn something new every day. And Wanda’s about to learn a doozy.
Rating: PG-13? Probably not going to go up. I doubt they’ll get THAT violent.
Status: CLOSED

Comments

[rageserenity]

Erik was indulging in a long afternoon jog around the mansion grounds perimeter and lake, his preferred methodology for clearing his head and in a way a justifiable type of 'patrolling', always his favoured activity, when he found her there, sitting, painting.

Wanda.

He'd scarcely seen her at all for weeks it felt, and whilst he did wonder if that was her probability-bending ability at work in order to avoid him, or just mere chance... it was somehow surprising to simply happen upon her all of a sudden.

It would be intolerably rude to simply carry on past as though she were invisible, particularly as his mind had been on her much lately.

"Miss Frank... good afternoon."

[chaosmagus]

Wanda heard the footsteps before she saw him, so she wasn’t surprised at someone else coming upon her in the midst of painting... but what did surprise her was who the person ended up being. None other than Lehnsherr himself. So much for her rather impressive luck. But, it would be rude not to at least acknowledge his presence, and she could be downright friendly if she wanted to be. Civil and polite would do in this particular instance, however.

So it was only with a little reluctance that she set her paintbrush and palette carefully aside. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lehnsherr,” she said, with a small smile. “What brings you out to the lake?”

[rageserenity]

"Every day I run the perimeter of the school grounds... I thought today I might detour around the lake as well.

You are painting, I see. May I take a look?"

His mother had used to paint, he recalled... she'd been exceptionally talented at it.

Speaking of mothers... this seemed an opportune time to speak to Wanda about such matters, and yet it remained all too difficult.

[chaosmagus]

Wanda nodded. She had made the very same run herself more than a few times. Since she was without a decent sparring partner, without any of her weapons save the one dagger, and tiring of beating on a punching bag, she had taken to focusing all her frustration and energy on running. The bonus was that she had become immensely familiar with the grounds

[rageserenity]

Erik looked very carefully, quite clearly not simply having asked for the same of polite interest. He really was interested. Painting could be such a personal thing, and he wanted to know just what manner of subject matter Wanda was of a mind to put down on canvas.

Two men. A happy moment. Imagined, or reality? Friends of hers, he reckoned. Mutants? Or humans...

Erik gazed at the painting with the aesthetic eye of an art lover, and it was a long moment until he even batted an eyelash.

"Highly proficient use of form and colour. Elegant brush strokes. You have Eidetic Memory? Or simply an exceptional eye for detail?"

[chaosmagus]

It was with a bit of surprise that Wanda watched Lehnsherr study her painting. It was obvious that he enjoyed art. Was quite knowledgeable about it. And the fact that he was paying such close attention to hers was somewhat... daunting. She only ever painted for herself; what others thought had never really factored in. Honestly, she couldn’t care less.

Which was why the compliment was both surprising and oddly flattering. She raised an eyebrow at him when he spoke, the beginnings of a genuine smile flickering across her face. He’d gotten the fact that she had an eidetic memory from her painting. Interesting. And unexpected. He was just full of surprises, wasn’t he. “Eidetic memory.” She smirked a little. “Which helps the eye for detail.”

[rageserenity]

"Impressive.
Friends of yours, hmm? And that one -" he gestured at the young man laughing so uproariously "- that one is someone very important to you. Both are human, I take it. You must miss them very much to sit out in the cold and paint them.

Erik was hardly an unobservant man. Indeed observation was a very finely tuned skill for him, one required for survival all these years, one most required on the hunt.

The focus of the painting was on the man laughing - he was portrayed on the left of the canvas, a clear indicator of prominence in memory and thought, and where one's eye naturally gravitated. And if they were mutants, the chances were high they would be here with her. Unless they were dead. Which he couldn't imagine they were, given the tonality of the colour or her mood.

[chaosmagus]

Somehow Wanda wasn’t surprised in the least that he had picked up on so much from something as simple as a painting. Not after he’d already determined that she had an eidetic memory from it. A part of her was uncertain that she had wanted him to know that much about her; though it was too late to change that now, so she would simply have to go along with it

[rageserenity]

"And yet you are here, and they are elsewhere... you've lost contact with them?"

She could just go to them, afterall, or invite them here to her. So missing people was no decent option when one still had the opportunity to prevent it.
All the people Erik missed were dead, so it was a little harder to rectify. Best really to keep those important to you close.

Seeing that smudge of grey across her forehead, Erik reached into his pocket and took out a clean tissue, offering it across to her. He would have tilted her face up and cleaned it himself, but they were not so close as to allow such physical contact.

"You seem to have painted yourself, Miss Frank..." He gestured to the greyish smear.

[chaosmagus]

“Not exactly,” Wanda told him quietly. “I’ve been in touch with Steve since Pietro and I affected our escape. I won’t take the chance that I’m still being pursued. I can’t put them at risk.” Not again. “And...” she trailed off. “Clint’s... I’m still searching for him. He was there... when I was taken

[rageserenity]

"As mutants we will always be 'on the radar' whilst homo sapiens rule. Evolution will not be abided by them, and unfortunately, the many always seem to wish to destroy the few."

It would be simply splendid if peace really were an option, as Charles was always harping on... but Erik couldn't see it. How could peace ever come when they were hunted down, experimented on, tortured, and killed?

It was all happening again...

"The Sentinels won't have harmed him, if he's human."

It was cold comfort really.

[chaosmagus]

Wanda raised her head, catching his eyes with a steady gaze. While what he said was true, it was also false. Just as not all mutants were “good” or “evil”, neither were humans. Yes, some of them were afraid of the unknown... but some were not. She had met her fair share of the latter, even as she had been driven from her home by the former. She might be immensely cautious, and wary, and untrusting... but she hadn’t lost all her faith in humankind. Not yet. It was hard to when you were friends with someone as good-hearted as Steve Rogers. He had a way of reminding her that there were still decent people in the world

[rageserenity]

"I didn't say all humans, Miss Frank, nor did I mean it. I know there is good amongst the ranks of humanity, just as there is evil. The same can be said for mutantkind."

Shaw could hardly be counted by anyone with a brain as 'good' afterall.
And Erik had known many very good humans, his parents amongst them. Pietro's parents, who he didn't know but knew much of through talk with his son, were undeniably decent warmhearted people.
And over the years he had met humans whom he had only ever known kindness and generosity from.
Just as he had met humans who had hated and feared and despised him simply for what he was - both before his mutant powers manifested and after.

"Each of us has the capacity for kindness as well as cruelty, and not every member of either race can be one or the other.
There were Germans who were not Nazis, just as there are Humans who do not hate and fear us."

But they seemed fewer than the ones who did, and certainly not amongst those in power.

"I was married to a human once, my parents were both human. I know

[chaosmagus]

“It seemed to be implied. My apologies,” Wanda told him, a gentle smile on her face. She was glad to hear that she had misread his words. It had bothered her a bit. She had been prepared to debate things; defend humanity. Less humanity in its entirety, perhaps, and more her friends. That was why she had so readily leapt into the beginnings of doing so. Steve, Howard, and Clint she would defend to the ends of the earth and farther, if need be. She suspected that the man standing in front of her would do something similar. Especially for those he considered ‘his

[rageserenity]

"My parents knew. They did their best to protect me, but nothing protects anyone from Sebastian Shaw.
And my wife... she knew, I suppose. She must have heard the stories in the camps. But then when faced with a demonstration of just how powerful I could be, the night our first daughter was slaughtered, she labelled me a monster and ran in fear and disgust of me.

She was, afterall, only human."

And a naive foolish representation of the human species. Erik was sure for a long time she'd hated him for what he was, but now he thought perhaps she simply didn't have the capacity to understand.
He'd loved Magda, as young people do sometimes, without reality or adult thought. But she'd not been without her flaws, as he hadn't.

He wondered if she'd known she was pregnant.

[chaosmagus]

Wanda nodded, eyes returning to the lake as she considered what he had told her. He had had another daughter. He would have been protective of Lorna anyway, she knew, but after losing a child in the violent way that he had (he didn’t say it in so many words... but the word ‘slaughtered’ was more than enough) his protectiveness as a whole was undoubtedly increased.

No wonder they had clashed so intensely upon her arrival.

“Do you know what happened to her?” she asked quietly. “After she fled?” Her thoughts had turned, as they did occasionally, to her father. And the small pile of unsent letters sitting on the desk in her room. She had written so many times, to let him know that she was all right, that she was sorry for what had happened. But uncertainty had stayed her hand from sending them.