[it's so much griefโso new, so raw. this is like when she had first lost her parents, when she had lost pietro and these feelings manifested anew; a part of her lost forever, never to find the pieces to be put together again. it's like when she couldn't feel vision anymore, and all she could remember was the way he said stay, because it workedโgodโit worked.
wanda needs to find her footing, level her magic back into soundness, but she finds herself under the bed that served as a roof for her brother and her, for days, while they waited for the bomb carved in their home to go off. much like peter, her thoughts are now frazzled; she connected too closely to his thoughts to the point they've weaved with her own.
it's a shared nightmare, now, and she stares at him, with the eyes of a child, unable to speak anything but sokovian.]
We can't.
[she echoes herself at the age of 10, in an unknown language, and it's when peter turns away that wanda takes a deep breath, conjures her magic, and forces a new variable to take place, all in the same moment that she chokes back a sob. there's static in the air, the children are gone, but in arrives a specter into the picture: a man with bleached hair, sportswear, and an accent in his words.]
Hey, man, what are you doing here?
[pietroโthe ghost of himโdirects himself to peter (and it hurts wanda so, to use her brother as a shield, a visage, the last bits of memories to put together an image of who he used to be), looking unfazed by the situation at hand. it's like he's in a different location altogether.]
no subject
wanda needs to find her footing, level her magic back into soundness, but she finds herself under the bed that served as a roof for her brother and her, for days, while they waited for the bomb carved in their home to go off. much like peter, her thoughts are now frazzled; she connected too closely to his thoughts to the point they've weaved with her own.
it's a shared nightmare, now, and she stares at him, with the eyes of a child, unable to speak anything but sokovian.]
We can't.
[she echoes herself at the age of 10, in an unknown language, and it's when peter turns away that wanda takes a deep breath, conjures her magic, and forces a new variable to take place, all in the same moment that she chokes back a sob. there's static in the air, the children are gone, but in arrives a specter into the picture: a man with bleached hair, sportswear, and an accent in his words.]
Hey, man, what are you doing here?
[pietroโthe ghost of himโdirects himself to peter (and it hurts wanda so, to use her brother as a shield, a visage, the last bits of memories to put together an image of who he used to be), looking unfazed by the situation at hand. it's like he's in a different location altogether.]
Can you get out, or do you need help?