[it's been baked into him, but that just makes him the perfect cookie-cutter soldier he was expected to be. wanda knows that's not the whole truth of who steve isβwho struggled to find his own place in the world, a stranger to time.
(sometimes she wonders about how everything in the universe conspired to make it so that this specific group of people would cross paths. she would have never met steve, had he not been awoken so many decades into a future he never got to grow into. of all the time periods in the universe they come from, and they got to meet.)
she reaches for the shield, pressing a hand to the slight curve of it. vibranium always had a specific quality to it, reacting to touch, vibrating, as it were, almost as if countering whatever force was pressed against it. the sound of it was like a quiet song, steady and reliable. marred, now, by the blood of a woman who meant something to steve, cut in half, lying dead on the floor of a universe not their own.
wanda doesn't draw her hand away immediately, but instead drags it down the shield. its shape, as steve perceives it, disappears; what's left, instead, is a carcass of it: an outline of the shield drawn out in her red magic, holding still the same weight and feel as when it was intact.]
In the real world, unless you manage to find something like vibranium and someone to make you a shield, maybe you'll do best in being able to localize whatever magic you learn to create your own. [she turns her eyes up to him.] Is that something you want to do? Or do you want to learn something else?
no subject
(sometimes she wonders about how everything in the universe conspired to make it so that this specific group of people would cross paths. she would have never met steve, had he not been awoken so many decades into a future he never got to grow into. of all the time periods in the universe they come from, and they got to meet.)
she reaches for the shield, pressing a hand to the slight curve of it. vibranium always had a specific quality to it, reacting to touch, vibrating, as it were, almost as if countering whatever force was pressed against it. the sound of it was like a quiet song, steady and reliable. marred, now, by the blood of a woman who meant something to steve, cut in half, lying dead on the floor of a universe not their own.
wanda doesn't draw her hand away immediately, but instead drags it down the shield. its shape, as steve perceives it, disappears; what's left, instead, is a carcass of it: an outline of the shield drawn out in her red magic, holding still the same weight and feel as when it was intact.]
In the real world, unless you manage to find something like vibranium and someone to make you a shield, maybe you'll do best in being able to localize whatever magic you learn to create your own. [she turns her eyes up to him.] Is that something you want to do? Or do you want to learn something else?