fic: magpies
Title: magpies
Fandom: Marvel Comics
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Max, Magda, hinted pre-Max/Magda
Summary: The coins always tickled his fancy. So did she.
Max always has dirty fingers - he picks things up, coins and bits of metal, and the grime smears into his skin like a stain. Despite this, when he meets Magda, the first thing he thinks is that her fingers look like she rolled them in mud. Her dress, too, is covered in smears of dirt, and there’s a streak on her face. She’s grinning at him happily, a basket of dirty linens clutched in arms that can’t quite reach all the way around it.
“Hello!”, she chirps, beaming at him. She’s rocking on her heels and her braids are bouncing, and her skirt flaps around her shins in the heavy wind sweeping the grass in the schoolyard. “Are you one of the students? Only, I’ve just come her, and my mother got us these jobs, and so I’m going to be her lots of the time, and it’d be really nice to know someone else. D’you go to school here?”
Max nods. He’s never met a girl who talks so much. She’s about his age, about eight, and smiling at him. But his father always said he had sharp eyes, and he can see how her mouth is in a tense line, and she keeps shooting anxious glances at the herd of Aryan boys running drills by the school. She must have singled him out because he was dark-haired and dark-eyed, like her.
Max nods slowly, tugs on the hem of his shirt. “Are you a Jew?” he asks. The girl bites her lip and shakes her head, making it the smallest gesture she can. Like she doesn’t want anyone else to see it.
“No. We’re Romani.” Max’s eyes widen.
“You’re Gypsy?” The girl shrugs.
“That’s what other people call us.”
“What do you call yourselves?”
“Romani. It means ‘The People’. ‘Cause that’s all we really are, isn’t it? That’s all anyone really is. Just people.”
Max shakes his head and looks at the boys training behind him. Most of his teachers would say differently. Most of his teachers were German, and Aryan, and would say that people like Max - small, dark-haired, sharp-eyed, Jewish Max - were something lesser. He wondered what they would say about this girl - like him, small and dark-haired, bright-eyed and Romani. Bright-eyed and People.
“What do people call you?” he asks. The girl shuffles her feet, readjusts her grip on her basket, and smiles shyly.
“Magda. I’m Magda.”
“Max.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Max.” She pauses and bites her lip. “What does your family do? Mine works here, although my mother and I just arrived.”
“My father makes jewelry, metal and stones and stuff.” Magda’s eyes light up.
“Oh, it sounds beautiful. I’ve always wanted something nice like that - a bracelet, or, or, a necklace.” She’s speaking fast, excitedly, now. “My mother always says - ”
Whatever she was going to say, it’s cut off by Herr Kolb, shouting for Max to join the other boys in their exercises. Magda jolts and ducks her head, a distressed whimper finding its way through her teeth. “I have to go. I - ” Magda smiles at Max, blindingly, spins on her heel and trots off. Max pauses by the fence for a moment, staring after her.
Something metallic catches his eye, and he crouches down, rubbing the dirt off of a small piece of metal. Herr Kolb shouts for him again.
Max slides the scrap of metal into his pocket and vows to make Magda something beautiful.
Fandom: Marvel Comics
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Max, Magda, hinted pre-Max/Magda
Summary: The coins always tickled his fancy. So did she.
Max always has dirty fingers - he picks things up, coins and bits of metal, and the grime smears into his skin like a stain. Despite this, when he meets Magda, the first thing he thinks is that her fingers look like she rolled them in mud. Her dress, too, is covered in smears of dirt, and there’s a streak on her face. She’s grinning at him happily, a basket of dirty linens clutched in arms that can’t quite reach all the way around it.
“Hello!”, she chirps, beaming at him. She’s rocking on her heels and her braids are bouncing, and her skirt flaps around her shins in the heavy wind sweeping the grass in the schoolyard. “Are you one of the students? Only, I’ve just come her, and my mother got us these jobs, and so I’m going to be her lots of the time, and it’d be really nice to know someone else. D’you go to school here?”
Max nods. He’s never met a girl who talks so much. She’s about his age, about eight, and smiling at him. But his father always said he had sharp eyes, and he can see how her mouth is in a tense line, and she keeps shooting anxious glances at the herd of Aryan boys running drills by the school. She must have singled him out because he was dark-haired and dark-eyed, like her.
Max nods slowly, tugs on the hem of his shirt. “Are you a Jew?” he asks. The girl bites her lip and shakes her head, making it the smallest gesture she can. Like she doesn’t want anyone else to see it.
“No. We’re Romani.” Max’s eyes widen.
“You’re Gypsy?” The girl shrugs.
“That’s what other people call us.”
“What do you call yourselves?”
“Romani. It means ‘The People’. ‘Cause that’s all we really are, isn’t it? That’s all anyone really is. Just people.”
Max shakes his head and looks at the boys training behind him. Most of his teachers would say differently. Most of his teachers were German, and Aryan, and would say that people like Max - small, dark-haired, sharp-eyed, Jewish Max - were something lesser. He wondered what they would say about this girl - like him, small and dark-haired, bright-eyed and Romani. Bright-eyed and People.
“What do people call you?” he asks. The girl shuffles her feet, readjusts her grip on her basket, and smiles shyly.
“Magda. I’m Magda.”
“Max.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Max.” She pauses and bites her lip. “What does your family do? Mine works here, although my mother and I just arrived.”
“My father makes jewelry, metal and stones and stuff.” Magda’s eyes light up.
“Oh, it sounds beautiful. I’ve always wanted something nice like that - a bracelet, or, or, a necklace.” She’s speaking fast, excitedly, now. “My mother always says - ”
Whatever she was going to say, it’s cut off by Herr Kolb, shouting for Max to join the other boys in their exercises. Magda jolts and ducks her head, a distressed whimper finding its way through her teeth. “I have to go. I - ” Magda smiles at Max, blindingly, spins on her heel and trots off. Max pauses by the fence for a moment, staring after her.
Something metallic catches his eye, and he crouches down, rubbing the dirt off of a small piece of metal. Herr Kolb shouts for him again.
Max slides the scrap of metal into his pocket and vows to make Magda something beautiful.