She was in the other room, Remy, who knows what you're thinking.
Wanda pauses at the question, wondering what's happened now. "I haven't really paid much attention to it since, so yes, it's still there. What's going on?"
motherfuck--bangyoudeadJanuary 3 2009, 00:07:03 UTC
Spacing out has become a more and more frequent thing, for Remy. He doesn't like being trapped in the City, but he's trying to suck it up, even if his first kneejerk inclination is to whine about it. As it is, he's spaced out now - while cleaning the kitchen counter. Ric might be talking to him. He's thinking about auburn hair and green eyes and loud smoke and perfume voices. A year ago he would be complaining and making a mess of things without a care - not my business, not my problem, Xavier's not here, don't care - but now he's got something to prove. Isn't that right, Gambit?He picks at the edge of the dish rag, fraying it slightly. He's sick of this. Sick of Magneto and sick of flatscan scientists trying to understand what's not theirs and that they have no right to. Like Stark's registration act. His ego and his human entitlement - it's the same government that wanted to put them in camps and hunted them in Sentinels and tried to register them before. How man people died for that? How many mutants? Even non-mutants, the ones who
( ... )
Wanda answers the door barefoot and quiet, leaning in the frame. Her hair is tied back in a braid, and she's a little red-eyed.
She knew it would be bad--everything she heard about the SRA screamed bad idea, and Tony's aggressiveness on the subject suggested that tempers had been running high for a long time. There would be casualties, and she'd steeled her heart against them, but she never expected to see that Steve was one of them. He'd led the resistance, and he'd paid for it with his life. Wanda remembers how she'd toyed with Steve at the height of her madness, but she'd done it because she loved him: the people she loves the most are always the ones she treats the worst when she's most full of self-hatred. Punishing them for caring.
He'd caught her when she fell. Steve, of all people, gone. God.
"Hi," she says to Remy, here and now, with the barest fragment of a smile, "come in."
motherfuck--bangyoudeadJanuary 3 2009, 00:27:00 UTC
"Hi," he says, breathless, and it's plain on his face that he knows what she's read and knows that it's horrible and that he feels guilty about it. But he sucks it up and steps inside, reaching out one hand tentatively to touch her shoulder.
Wanda shakes her head a little, closing the door behind him. "You gave me what I asked for."
She moves to sit on the sofa, hands clasped in her lap. Every movement is quiet, understated, but oddly precise, like she's keeping something tamped down tightly.
"You just--never expect it, do you? No matter who it is."
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Wanda answers somewhat breathlessly, within three rings.
"Hello?"
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"Yo, Wanda. Uh. Sorry 'bout it bein' so late, but I--er. You still got that room Jean Paul was in set up?"
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Wanda pauses at the question, wondering what's happened now. "I haven't really paid much attention to it since, so yes, it's still there. What's going on?"
Reply
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Wanda answers the door barefoot and quiet, leaning in the frame. Her hair is tied back in a braid, and she's a little red-eyed.
She knew it would be bad--everything she heard about the SRA screamed bad idea, and Tony's aggressiveness on the subject suggested that tempers had been running high for a long time. There would be casualties, and she'd steeled her heart against them, but she never expected to see that Steve was one of them. He'd led the resistance, and he'd paid for it with his life. Wanda remembers how she'd toyed with Steve at the height of her madness, but she'd done it because she loved him: the people she loves the most are always the ones she treats the worst when she's most full of self-hatred. Punishing them for caring.
He'd caught her when she fell. Steve, of all people, gone. God.
"Hi," she says to Remy, here and now, with the barest fragment of a smile, "come in."
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"I-- I should have taken that-- I'm sorry."
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Wanda shakes her head a little, closing the door behind him. "You gave me what I asked for."
She moves to sit on the sofa, hands clasped in her lap. Every movement is quiet, understated, but oddly precise, like she's keeping something tamped down tightly.
"You just--never expect it, do you? No matter who it is."
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