( A ) [having being found out by sam that she was carrying contraband—er, a raccoon on her back, there is no real fun (for rocket) to continue trying to try and 'sneak in' (there was never a need to, rocket). for the initial part of the dinner, as people continue to arrive—and wanda waits for a few familiar more so than others—she hangs around rocket quite a bit.

it's as she's having a conversation with someone else that rockets comes up to her, tugs at her hand, and starts coughing and hacking—and after a few unceremonious seconds of wondering how to give cpr to a raccoon, in wanda's hand now lies a slimy set of keys.]

Uh.

[rocket scuttles off to investigate something shiny by the shelves. wanda looks up from his disappearing form to her conversation partner

this is her life now.]

( B ) [she had made the keys disappear from her hand with just imagining them not existing, slime and all. she didn't even need keys; rocket just wanted to do his 'backpack duty'. keys had been the first thing that came to mind—she just hadn't expected him to swallow them.

and yet, she's in the bathroom upstairs, washing at her hands, because there's something about the action of cleaning that makes her think her hand is actually, really, clean. she is also upstairs because she doesn't want to insult rocket.

—still, she strays from heading back downstairs as she remembers that sam gave her a room here. wanda hasn't ever given it much thought, so she isn't sure what to expect inside it. nothing for it but to open it, and the door unlocks as she turns the knob, and wanda finds herself in a room that seems to belong to a young girl: pastel colors, stickers on the walls, a dollhouse, toys, a 'w' for wanda up on the wall, and a whole set of princess accessories over the brass-frame bed.

maybe, as a child at some point, she may have fantasized about having a room of her own. with the music playing, a little drowned out, from all the way downstairs through the open door, wanda will be lying down on her side on the bed—shoes toed off; between the music, the smell of the food just about ready to be served, and the quiet roll of nature outside? wanda will slowly start getting drowsy enough to struggle to keep her eyes open.

if anyone comes looking? five more minutes, please.]

( C ) [wanda makes a choice to not be on dish cleaning duty—and she will argue that they could just snap their fingers and be done with it, sorry sam. instead, she'll be leaning against the counter, tapping at sam's phone, going through his playlist of songs. she likes sam's music taste—there was definitely a lot of it in the quinjet—but the playlist has found itself stuck on a loop of male singers, and a familiar name calls to her.

ann peebles will be playing for the next half hour, and any complaints will be met with a little, playful dance off to i'm going to tear your playhouse down. any attempts to reach for the phone, whether purposeful or just trying to tease her, will have wanda meeting said movement to block the attempt. she grins, a little embarrassed.]

What? I like her songs.

[defensive.]

( D ) [and, eventually, the day starts winding down, and wanda is appreciative that the eternal afternoon has dwindled into a proper, cooler shade of evening hues. she sits outside on the porch, feet tucked underneath her, and nursing a mostly-finished beer. she likes seeing the bayou—one of her most favorite things about sam's horizon—and it always feels right to end her visits to sam's horizon by looking out to it.

up the bottle goes for another swig of beer, but she finds herself having finished it.

damn.]