Who: wanda and others When: november-december Where: solvunn, nocwich, horizon What: catch-all for both months! closed and open prompts within. Warnings: none at the moment, will mark as needed.
[much of the magic in her horizon was disturbed by the omen and the singularity acting up. wanda is aware that in those circumstances, there is nothing she can actively do to make it better—the horizon will be disturbed however it will be disturbed, failsafes or not.
frost covers part of her horizon, the weather within this contained space following what she is familiar with of her home, sokovia, regarding the seasons. autumn forcibly stains the canopy and floor in different warm tones of red and brown, a chill in the air unequivocally calling for a cold incoming winter. a gate that remains usually closed is now open, the ravens that soar over her domain to guide visitors leading them this way, where a myriad of shrines with lit candles line the path of stone circles. here wanda sits, in the middle off, levitating a few inches off the ground—meditating, muttering spells, drawing sigils in her mind. pulses of red crown over her fingers, hands placed lightly on her knees. anyone who is a master of their craft in magic will be able to tell that she's patching up the weak linings of her magic within the domain, not actively casting any new spells.
wanda is also painfully aware of there being someone else here, but she would rather finish this enchantment first. a raven caws, soars on over to a nearby stone, and looks up at the visitor, as if asking what they'll do? it tilts its head, expecting an answer.
[ Though the raven flies above, it's Rousma that leads him through the forest, a bounding blur of yellow fur, barking excitedly at the bird. It's no wonder she came wandering this way, he quickly realizes. Wanda's domain is far larger than his own, much more room to stretch her legs and little paths to explore. Her fur keeps her insulated from the growing cold.
He hadn't thought that she would still be there as the omens began to fade, and Horizon began to return to a relative normal. He'd been reluctant to return to his domain in those days after, expecting to find it empty.
Instead, there she was, sleeping under the tree. And what he'd felt to see her was a relief unavoidably entwined with guilt. Who thinks of their own sister and conjures a dog? Or why not see her as she was flesh and blood instead of the skeletal body that nuns left her with? If she's a manifestation of his mind and will, shouldn't he be able to make her whole?
His questions don't seem to bother this Rousma. Especially not right now, while she happily races toward the house.
He'd messaged Wanda to let her know they are coming. In his hand is a small basket of strawberries from his domain, crystalline and candy sweet. A gift. ]
[wanda expects the visit, as kyle has been kind enough to let her know of it, so she makes sure to be in the horizon to receive them. rousma's announcement that they've arrived is redundant, too, considering the raven guiding them (or, well, keeping up at this point) lets wanda know that they've been making their way through the forest.
she steps around from the side of the house, having wanted to spend some time doing some actual gardening. she pockets the shears into her jacket, removing the gardening gloves from her hands. it's strange to see rousma as a dog, knowing that she's a little girl, kyle's little sister. wanda is sure there's a lot to be delved into there.]
So you are. [still, wanda smiles at the sight of them, letting rousma make her way through the porch and down the stairs towards her. this path leads to the back of the house and rousma knows that, and knows that that's where she can find the ghosts of two boys a little older than herself, willing to play.] And you brought your brother. Did he trip on any roots on the way?
[it's said playfully. wanda sure has made a blind man trip and get lost in her forest before any of her ravens sought him out to help.]
[ There's something surprisingly domestic about this part of her domain. He follows Rousma as she bounds toward Wanda, and she giggles at the question before answering very assuredly. ]
We keeps him safey! [ Her pink tongue lolls out of her mouth as she turns to Kahlil. ]
You gives Wanda the rosyberries. No forgetting! [ A very serious reminder. The dog body then settles down on the floor and shudders, its head resting on its paws as its eyes close. From beneath the familiar little skeleton crawls out, darting toward the back of the house to find her playmates. ]
They're strawberries. Sort of. [ Kahlil corrects once Rousma's disappeared. He approaches Wanda, offering over the small basket. ] She didn't know what they were. The soil is bad in our world, we have less variety than Earth.
[ Maybe that's why all of his fruit grows strangely jewel-like. It's a treasure to him. ]
[it's a little odd, all this—particularly, the way rousma seems to shed the dog's skin and has her little skeletal self run off from under it to follow the path to the back, where she will find the echoes of her twin boys whispering to each other as they dig under the roots of a tree. she may very well try to push herself between them to see what they are doing and, in typical children fashion, there will be talk of secrecy and adventure and some other odd story from their imagination.
wanda looks back, then, at the only individual here other than herself that is real, taking the small basket without comment. a glance at them, the strawberries do look like treasures.
and does it matter, anyway, to share gifts through here, to drink tea or bite into fruit?
she raises the basket a bit, appreciating the effort nonetheless.]
Good thing pretty much anything is possible in the Horizon. [a thoughtful hum, as she sets the gloves down on the side, and then starts making her way down the path that rousma took.] They look quite different from the strawberries I know. Shinier, for one.
[ He cocks his head to one side before following her along the path. ]
That part does seem to put people off from eating them. [ There's a hint of wryness in his tone, a small grin - then a shrug. ]
It's like we're all sharing a dream. [ Horizon, their domains. What does it matter that he brings gifts while the shade of his sister teases him, or that she's been planting in a garden while the ghosts of her children play in the near distance? For him the comfort and pain in these acts feels more tangible than it should, even knowing none of it is real.
Especially knowing none of it is real.
A pause, then: ]
Is this what your home looks like?
[ In her world. Or is it like his domain, something familiar in some ways, but entirely new. ]
[wanda has definitely used 'shared dream' to describe the horizon to those who are otherwise not familiarized with encroaching upon different realms other than the physical one.
but it being a dream means that they can have these small comforts that they are devoid of in the real world. where else could wanda sit quietly with her twin boys as she remembers them back in westview? —as they remember her, back then. she finds it curious that her magic has not found the courage to bring forth other ghosts of loved ones forth; not her parents, not her brother, not vision.
maybe she just doesn't remember them that clearly anymore—neither face nor voice.]
I don't actually have a home back where I'm from. [said lightly as she leads the way, walking down a few stone steps.] My country was at war for a long, long time — and the war ended when its capital city was destroyed.
[never got to settle, even if vision had wanted that future for them.]
People fear me wherever I go, and I cannot run from that. [that might be a small jab at kyle's general caution towards her from the start. as they walk further, they will start hearing the sounds of childish giggles and conversation, until they reach an area with tombstones, sunlight filtering through the canopy of the trees, the three children huddled around together by the tree's root, still.] This is just me trying to find a balance.
[for her grief, her guilt, shame, and this ongoing anger that lives inside her. the forest, a labyrinth, the house hidden above it all so it doesn't drown amongst the trees, the garden, the graveyard, and then further where she holds fast to her magic—not to mention all the unknown bits and pieces she's purposefully refusing to see.]
This is where she spends her time. Tommy — Billy.
[the two boys turn their heads, big smiles on their faces. billy waves, tommy brushes long hair out of his eyes.]
[ There's a flash of empathy when she mentions her home country. His own homeland had been in turmoil for as long as he could remember, and two years ago he had returned to it to find everything had shifted. Ten years passing in an instant, the church that raised him destroyed - for better or worse. Life moved on for people, and though he'd thought he'd found something like home working for Alidas, that hadn't been the case. His last act in Basawar had been to protect his god at the cost of his own life.
He's had little will or desire to return. There's nothing waiting for him there - and in finding himself alive in this world, he sees the will of his god at work. This is where he is meant to be.
At the little jab he offers no apology, just the slightest dip of his chin. She is powerful, and likely feeling some echo of his thoughts - she could rip them straight from his mind if she wanted to, but she doesn't. There's more restraint to her than the one whom she reminds him of.
When they reach the children he can't help smiling at the sight of them together, a warmth blooming in his chest. For a split second Rousma's form flickers when she giggles at the boys, from small skeleton held together by wires and carved rooms to a dark haired, dark eyed girl with dirt-stains on her knees. An unintentional change, there and gone, and the warmth that remains becomes bittersweet again. ]
Thank you, for showing me this. [ For being kind to a child that isn't real, and offering her this. He turns to her, something sheepish or embarrassed in his expression for a second (and maybe this is an apology), but that too flickers and disappears. Balance. He thinks he can feel that here, in what she's created. These places tell so much about a person, maybe sometimes more than they are willing to share - or know about themselves.
So, he chooses to tell her something now, while it is still an option he has. He waits until the children dip out of sight toward another promising tangle of roots, their laughter echoing between the trees.
She may not have meant to hurt him before, but he's aware that might change with his admission. ]
The world we grew up in wasn't kind. Our parents were executed as traitors when we were young. Rousma and I were handed different fates. I promised her that one day I would free her from hers. [ His features tighten. ]
The priests told us our mother was a witch. They said it was in our blood and we had to be cleansed. In our world, witches used to be burned. I was trained to execute criminals, traitors, and women accused of witchcraft... they were too dangerous to let live.
[ Women like you. He doesn't say he was a child himself at the time, or why he had finally given in and done lit the first pyre. He doesn't make any excuses for what he's done. Becoming Kahlil was how both he and Rousma would survive. ]
I've been on my own long enough now to better understand that what I was taught wasn't always right. I'll always have to live with that I've done. I'm not telling you this now to try to say we're the same, we hardly know each other, but - you've been kind to her, real or not.
[there is a moment of silence between them—comfortable, as opposed to times before—and wanda walks along the path until she finds a bench. she sits, facing the cemetery, and kyle begins to speak.
he speaks of a world that was unkind to him and his sister, his parents. of priests and witches, and it strikes her how in more than one universe witches are burnt at the stake, seen as dangerous, wicked, vile. he reveals here his purpose, his 'fate', and, for wanda, it speaks so clearly of why he has been defensive when around her.
but he is wise and brave enough to understand that the things he was taught are not necessarily always right. there is strength in admitting being wrong, in facing the past and seeing the mistakes wrought in it, despite how shameful it may be.
wanda watches as the kids play around the tombstones, digging into the soil, laughing and whispering conspiracies of their imaginations at each other.]
You're not wrong to think I'm dangerous.
[he is more than allowed to think that. if he wants to be defensive around her, keep his guard up should they ever meet in person, wanda will not fault him for it. all wanda does is shrug, ultimately.]
None of them are real here. I had thought that if I buried my sons, I could finally put them to rest. [she saw a childhood lost in this small girl who is not a girl, but a skeleton others would find frightening. she saw in her her sons; she saw herself and her brother.] It's not healthy to cling on to them like this.
[she says that as much for him as for herself. to constantly haunt herself with their being here, losing herself for hours here in this small graveyard while the children play and talk to her— it should be worrisome.
and yet, wanda cannot stop herself.]
But it's difficult to let them go, knowing they can be here, isn't it?
[ Where she sits he stands nearby, not out of discomfort or wariness - he's only caught in watching the three of them for a moment, and listening as she speaks.
You're not wrong to think I'm dangerous.
She wasn't quite herself in the woods that day. Neither was Jack when he tried to cut Kahlil's throat some weeks ago - he forgave him without a second thought, even as Jack continues to insist that being around him is dangerous and actively avoids their shared quarters now.
He understands both of them are dangerous, whether by intention or by accident. But he leans toward believing - like with Jack, that her intent isn't to harm anyone who doesn't mean her the same. And that she doesn't immediately eject him from this sacred space after admitting his past acts - he nods slowly, taking the seat next to her so that she doesn't need to turn so uncomfortably if she is to look at him.
It's not healthy, no. He lowers his gaze slightly, tilting his head in an almost conceding way. There's no real need to answer that, is there? He'd told Jack nearly the same thing: now that she's here, I'm not going to make her go away. ]
[this speaks leagues, then, of the fact that wanda is as powerful as kyle may have surmised her to be, and yet not even her magic could have saved her children.
and even if they had been brought to this world with magic, were made from her magic? the pregnancy, their birth, the growing pains—it was all too real. she knows she is a mother, because she still aches for them, just as if they had been brought into the world in the most conventional of ways. it is easier to remember them this way than with their panic-stricken, tearful faces, begging her to not hurt them.
wanda raises her head to look up as billy jogs back over to them, crunching over leaves and dodging roots on the way. his arms are outstretched, hands carrying over a small treasure. she puts her hand out to him, a small smile on her face.]
Look, mom.
[she receives into her hand a rock with a hole in it, one that looks a bit like a heart if one turns it at an angle.]
I'll keep it safe for you, okay? —go.
[the boy smiles big and then returns to the other two, giggles exploding between the three. wanda wraps her hand around the rock.]
The changes in the Horizon last month brought them forth. I haven't had the heart to let them go, especially since they've found a friend in Rousma.
[speaking of,]
Why do you keep her in the shape of a dog, and as a skeleton?
[ A broken spell. It's vague enough that he can only guess at what she means by that. Blood and bones, nearly all spells - whether done by priests or witches in his world, requires sacrifice. Curses can backfire. Storms can turn on the mystics that call them. He remembers the sorrow and anger in her voice that night when she called out for her children, accusing him of hiding them from her.
There are limits to what even the most powerful can accomplish. The priests can conjure the spirits of the recent deceased to speak with them, briefly. Living bones can be crafted, but only when the woman is still alive. There's no bringing back the dead back to living flesh once they've passed. Only a god may grant that gift.
Billy approaches and he watches quietly as the boy gives his mother the gift, the way she tenderly holds it. Does her mind and will supply the pitter-pattering sound of his feet against stone and dirt as he returns to his playmates? It's these little details, down to small faults that make them feel more alive than they should -
He gives her a small look of surprise when she mentions when her sons first appeared. That was when Rousma appeared too. But to the question...
There's a pause and a frown. He stares-without-really-looking at his feet as he gathers his thoughts into an explanation that makes sense, then admits: ]
I don't know. [ His frown deepens. ] I... what I remember about my past hasn't always made sense. Sometimes I remember stealing her from where she was kept, her bones, and she takes the body of a dog. But then I wake up in a world and time where none of that happened. [ Another pause, and a grimace. ] And, truthfully... it's been so long since she was first taken, I don't know if I can recall her face anymore.
[ He's long forgotten his parents features. He remembers Rousma's dark hair and dark eyes - he kept that image for as long as he could when they were separated, whispering secrets to each other like these children, only over an impossibly long distance.
If he tried for longer than a second, he's afraid her face would only be a blur. ]
[that's what happens, isn't it? when one loses a loved one. it's not just the initial shockwave of emotion from their passing, but those things no one talks about—how in a matter of weeks, months, you'll forget what they looked like, what they sounded like; the way small, trivial things will remind you of them, and how that will make you realize you can't hear their voice in their heads or remember how exactly their smile would be splayed on their faces.
grieving never ends, after years and years and years. the moment you think you're doing better, you remember that you don't remember, and it's experiencing that pain all over again.
wanda shifts a bit, looking down at the basket of strawberries and picking one out. she runs over it with her fingers.]
I have got the graves for my parents, my brother, and the twins' father here, too. Sometimes I wonder why my magic never brought them forth the same way it did for the boys.
[except she knows—and kyle probably also knows.]
I cannot remember their faces or their voices. We lost everything when our home was bombed. All pictures, photo albums; and when my brother was killed, I only ever remembered the look in his eyes as he lay there.
[so cold, lifeless. the same happened with vision. the darkhold only poured more reminders of how she had lost him, her brother, her parents.]
We cannot recreate what we cannot remember, and it never is quite right even if we tried.
[—quietly, she brings the strawberry to her lips, bites into it. it's sweet, pleasantly so. wanda turns to him once she's done chewing.]
[ He glances at the graveyard again. Too many gravestones for only the two children, he'd noticed. Pietro is a name she told Rousma. Her brother. He recognizes the word bomb in Nayeshi. Has seen from a safe distance on a television screen the power of their weapons.
He sought to become the Kahlil because of the protection it would afford himself, and his sister. A chance to escape. He wonders if it wasn't similar for her with her own powers, growing in strength with the promise that one day you can protect that which you hold dearest, only to have it all ripped away from you. All that remains is ash and blood.
Here, at least, there is laughter.
He doesn't notice she's tasted the strawberry, she makes that last remark and he turns to look at her again. He smiles in spite of himself, lets out a short, surprised chuckle. ]
I'm glad. [ There's warmth in his tone, and for a moment he looks younger than his thirty-odd years because of it. After a moment he looks away again, back at the children as they draw pictures in the upturned dirt with long sticks. ]
Do you have someone that can remind you to... come up for air?
[ To remind her what's real, when it becomes easy to want to forget. He cares that she has someone like that, not just because of the dangers she might pose to others. ]
[what wanda has noticed is that, between the two of them, there is this balanced understanding that they have both suffered losses and enough tragedy in their lives, and that this leads to something that can go unspoken. like a blanket that's heavy enough to mute out the things that go unsaid.
but the beauty of it all is that there are still these small, trivial things that can be appreciated. the sweet taste of the strawberries, the warmth of the sunlight filtering through, the encouragement to one's soul when there is an actual conversation partner sitting beside oneself.
so kyle asks a question that gravitates around what they've been conversing about, but on a lighter tone. almost like hoping they can gear out of the darkness despite being in it. the answer to his question is immediately in her mind, as is the quirk of her lips into a small smile.]
There are those from my world here who remember me as I was before I became what I am. [the scarlet witch, that is; that which kyle thinks he sensed in her, when they had first met.] But— there is someone, yes.
[she thinks of him, matt, fondly, for as undefined as what they are is, he isn't afraid of her and he's shown her kindness where she thinks it was impossible to find again—kindness like the one she had found with vision.
[ Even though small her smile warms her features. Some of the Summoned are blessed or cursed with others from their own world. He wonders if this person who makes her smile is someone from home, or someone she was drawn to here. Either way, he nods in an approving kind of way. It's good. ]
I made a friend in Thorne. [ Jack. His own smile goes wry. ] Nothing I say seems to faze him.
[ Some months ago he couldn't imagine having a friend like that.
He closes his eyes, lifting his face toward sun so that he can feel the warmth of it on his skin. In Thorne the days are getting shorter in these months, the light fading faster. ]
I worry, though. About him, and some of the others. [ Tilting his head to look at her with a slight frown. This is a thought that is unescapable, a heavy anchor back to reality. Libertas was months ago now, but the aftermath still hangs heavily. ] Not all of them are prepared for what a war will bring.
[perhaps that is a blessing amidst the mystery the sometimes frustrating stay they suffer while here; to find others who are like-minded, or who are willing to set aside preconceptions and prejudice. wanda knows things would have been a lot more different for her if she hadn't found matt.
(or if he hadn't found her?)
to know that someone won't be afraid or fazed by the things they say and do— it's incredibly nuanced and welcome.
though kyle brings up a point that she has worried about before. war hangs over them all like a pendulum, swinging ever lower onto them. when will it strike, they don't know, but beyond the when, it's definitely the concern for others that have not had experience in this kind of situation before that is the biggest point of worry.]
We can only hope it doesn't come to pass. That those who are familiar with war will be able to protect and guide those who aren't.
[blessedly—]
The majority of the Summoned are familiar with something like war, at least.
[ He nods. That's true. Jack has experienced... not war like this, but something frightening and bizarre. He has powers that will protect him to some degree, unconsciously. But then there's Wilhelm, who he's only just begun teaching self-defense, and whose magic is blocked by what Kahlil has to assume is fear and guilt.
Those like Wilhelm will need to be protected. With Solvunn's current neutrality, it's unfortunate that there's no easy way to smuggle the boy across the borders.
But then, Solvunn has its own dangers - ]
You mentioned the shrines and blood offerings. [ And disappearances. He frowns to himself. ] Have you witnessed those rituals?
[knowing wilhelm, wanda doubts he would want to be in solvunn at all. they've been lucky to have summoned who don't mind the place and how little it provides in terms of entertainment or an otherwise busy city life, but wanda is fully aware that it is not everyone else's cup of tea.
neutrality, anyway, is but a concept. while wanda knows that the council means it when they mentioned their intended neutrality, only time will really tell how the variables around it all will change.
the children are currently standing, looking upward and wondering if they could climb a tree for whatever envisioning of fun they're wrapping their heads around.]
I've participated in them myself.
[drawing the shawl closer to herself, wanda knows that not everyone takes 'oh yeah we cut a guy's arm off' as the most casual thing, so— she doesn't mention it, yet.]
There is real magic in those shrines. I'm afraid the people of Solvunn still keep to their secrets. Recent events have made them... more cautious towards us.
[ Rousma is the first to scrabble up the tree, the pointy ends of her fingers good for digging into the bark for purchase. She perches on the lower branches, calling out to the other two.
Kahlil watches them for a second, seemingly unfazed by her admission. ]
It's been the same reaction to us in Thorne. [ Strangers treat them with a little more caution than they might have before the omens swept through the land. ]
They have no use for gods or old rituals there, though. High magic is a relic. [ A pause, then: ] I don't doubt there's power within those shrines and offerings. Similar practices were more common in my world. Blood could be used for many different purposes, some sacred and some blasphemous. Bone, too. Not always from the willing.
[ He glances at Rousma again, something sad in his expression. ]
The priests and sisters kept their practices well-guarded. I don't doubt that there's more to these rituals in Solvunn than they're telling you. You're outsiders, and non-believers.
[wanda is aware that not everyone might take too kindly to the fact that she and others have participated in these kinds of rituals. it's been upsetting to the few people she's talked to about the details of it.
however—
one cannot expect something without sacrifice. that seems to be the way of things in solvunn, and perhaps wanda has found herself leaning into it quite a bit more than she initially expected, especially considering that all her life has been one sacrifice after another with nothing to show for it; the thought that something could be attained from it? it feels redeeming, in some twisted way.]
The gods have 'chosen' us, though. We are but part of their will, and no one has openly defied this notion. They don't expect us to believe, just that we do our part within the commune.
[—is she defending the place? she definitely stands somewhere in the middle.]
[ He goes quiet for a moment after her response, frowning to himself. Then: ]
I'd be interested in anything you might hear. But - and I say this from experience, be careful with the fanatical.
[ The ones like him. They might believe the gods have chosen them, but for what purpose? they have kept to themselves beyond the vaguest of explanations. It may seem silly for him to tell her of all people to use caution, she is far more powerful than most of the Summoned here. It's the unknown that worries him, though.
He leans forward a little, hands clasped between his knees. ]
What do you believe?
[ He's asked others this before. Why they believe they were chosen, whether they believe in being chosen at all. ]
[wanda appreciates his advice about being careful with the fanatical. she is pretty certain that she and those in solvunn who have been there longest can handle themselves just fine, should the tides turn. however, there really is no telling how things could pan out.
there is certainty in that concern, then.
as he turns the question towards her, wanda is somewhat at a loss. she's repeated the beliefs of others before, taking them as her own—their being more informed, and all that. she's been adamant about trying to figure out what she does believe, because of her magic being a conduit for probability manipulation, so it is hardly something she likes to simply just express.]
We are here because we are powerful, aren't we? In our own worlds. Or because we have come face to face with something that tests our mettle. It's easy to think I was chosen for my magic, much like others have.
[her magic, chaos, that which can achieve spontaneous creation and is infinite and unlimited.]
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—HORIZON [ OTA · november ]
frost covers part of her horizon, the weather within this contained space following what she is familiar with of her home, sokovia, regarding the seasons. autumn forcibly stains the canopy and floor in different warm tones of red and brown, a chill in the air unequivocally calling for a cold incoming winter. a gate that remains usually closed is now open, the ravens that soar over her domain to guide visitors leading them this way, where a myriad of shrines with lit candles line the path of stone circles. here wanda sits, in the middle off, levitating a few inches off the ground—meditating, muttering spells, drawing sigils in her mind. pulses of red crown over her fingers, hands placed lightly on her knees. anyone who is a master of their craft in magic will be able to tell that she's patching up the weak linings of her magic within the domain, not actively casting any new spells.
wanda is also painfully aware of there being someone else here, but she would rather finish this enchantment first. a raven caws, soars on over to a nearby stone, and looks up at the visitor, as if asking what they'll do? it tilts its head, expecting an answer.
(are you seriously going to talk to a bird?)]
meeting at her house
He hadn't thought that she would still be there as the omens began to fade, and Horizon began to return to a relative normal. He'd been reluctant to return to his domain in those days after, expecting to find it empty.
Instead, there she was, sleeping under the tree. And what he'd felt to see her was a relief unavoidably entwined with guilt. Who thinks of their own sister and conjures a dog? Or why not see her as she was flesh and blood instead of the skeletal body that nuns left her with? If she's a manifestation of his mind and will, shouldn't he be able to make her whole?
His questions don't seem to bother this Rousma. Especially not right now, while she happily races toward the house.
He'd messaged Wanda to let her know they are coming. In his hand is a small basket of strawberries from his domain, crystalline and candy sweet. A gift. ]
We are heres! [ Rousma announces. ]
no subject
she steps around from the side of the house, having wanted to spend some time doing some actual gardening. she pockets the shears into her jacket, removing the gardening gloves from her hands. it's strange to see rousma as a dog, knowing that she's a little girl, kyle's little sister. wanda is sure there's a lot to be delved into there.]
So you are. [still, wanda smiles at the sight of them, letting rousma make her way through the porch and down the stairs towards her. this path leads to the back of the house and rousma knows that, and knows that that's where she can find the ghosts of two boys a little older than herself, willing to play.] And you brought your brother. Did he trip on any roots on the way?
[it's said playfully. wanda sure has made a blind man trip and get lost in her forest before any of her ravens sought him out to help.]
no subject
We keeps him safey! [ Her pink tongue lolls out of her mouth as she turns to Kahlil. ]
You gives Wanda the rosyberries. No forgetting! [ A very serious reminder. The dog body then settles down on the floor and shudders, its head resting on its paws as its eyes close. From beneath the familiar little skeleton crawls out, darting toward the back of the house to find her playmates. ]
They're strawberries. Sort of. [ Kahlil corrects once Rousma's disappeared. He approaches Wanda, offering over the small basket. ] She didn't know what they were. The soil is bad in our world, we have less variety than Earth.
[ Maybe that's why all of his fruit grows strangely jewel-like. It's a treasure to him. ]
no subject
wanda looks back, then, at the only individual here other than herself that is real, taking the small basket without comment. a glance at them, the strawberries do look like treasures.
and does it matter, anyway, to share gifts through here, to drink tea or bite into fruit?
she raises the basket a bit, appreciating the effort nonetheless.]
Good thing pretty much anything is possible in the Horizon. [a thoughtful hum, as she sets the gloves down on the side, and then starts making her way down the path that rousma took.] They look quite different from the strawberries I know. Shinier, for one.
no subject
That part does seem to put people off from eating them. [ There's a hint of wryness in his tone, a small grin - then a shrug. ]
It's like we're all sharing a dream. [ Horizon, their domains. What does it matter that he brings gifts while the shade of his sister teases him, or that she's been planting in a garden while the ghosts of her children play in the near distance? For him the comfort and pain in these acts feels more tangible than it should, even knowing none of it is real.
Especially knowing none of it is real.
A pause, then: ]
Is this what your home looks like?
[ In her world. Or is it like his domain, something familiar in some ways, but entirely new. ]
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but it being a dream means that they can have these small comforts that they are devoid of in the real world. where else could wanda sit quietly with her twin boys as she remembers them back in westview? —as they remember her, back then. she finds it curious that her magic has not found the courage to bring forth other ghosts of loved ones forth; not her parents, not her brother, not vision.
maybe she just doesn't remember them that clearly anymore—neither face nor voice.]
I don't actually have a home back where I'm from. [said lightly as she leads the way, walking down a few stone steps.] My country was at war for a long, long time — and the war ended when its capital city was destroyed.
[never got to settle, even if vision had wanted that future for them.]
People fear me wherever I go, and I cannot run from that. [that might be a small jab at kyle's general caution towards her from the start. as they walk further, they will start hearing the sounds of childish giggles and conversation, until they reach an area with tombstones, sunlight filtering through the canopy of the trees, the three children huddled around together by the tree's root, still.] This is just me trying to find a balance.
[for her grief, her guilt, shame, and this ongoing anger that lives inside her. the forest, a labyrinth, the house hidden above it all so it doesn't drown amongst the trees, the garden, the graveyard, and then further where she holds fast to her magic—not to mention all the unknown bits and pieces she's purposefully refusing to see.]
This is where she spends her time. Tommy — Billy.
[the two boys turn their heads, big smiles on their faces. billy waves, tommy brushes long hair out of his eyes.]
Hi, mom!
Hi!
[and they're back to their 'treasure' digging.]
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He's had little will or desire to return. There's nothing waiting for him there - and in finding himself alive in this world, he sees the will of his god at work. This is where he is meant to be.
At the little jab he offers no apology, just the slightest dip of his chin. She is powerful, and likely feeling some echo of his thoughts - she could rip them straight from his mind if she wanted to, but she doesn't. There's more restraint to her than the one whom she reminds him of.
When they reach the children he can't help smiling at the sight of them together, a warmth blooming in his chest. For a split second Rousma's form flickers when she giggles at the boys, from small skeleton held together by wires and carved rooms to a dark haired, dark eyed girl with dirt-stains on her knees. An unintentional change, there and gone, and the warmth that remains becomes bittersweet again. ]
Thank you, for showing me this. [ For being kind to a child that isn't real, and offering her this. He turns to her, something sheepish or embarrassed in his expression for a second (and maybe this is an apology), but that too flickers and disappears. Balance. He thinks he can feel that here, in what she's created. These places tell so much about a person, maybe sometimes more than they are willing to share - or know about themselves.
So, he chooses to tell her something now, while it is still an option he has. He waits until the children dip out of sight toward another promising tangle of roots, their laughter echoing between the trees.
She may not have meant to hurt him before, but he's aware that might change with his admission. ]
The world we grew up in wasn't kind. Our parents were executed as traitors when we were young. Rousma and I were handed different fates. I promised her that one day I would free her from hers. [ His features tighten. ]
The priests told us our mother was a witch. They said it was in our blood and we had to be cleansed. In our world, witches used to be burned. I was trained to execute criminals, traitors, and women accused of witchcraft... they were too dangerous to let live.
[ Women like you. He doesn't say he was a child himself at the time, or why he had finally given in and done lit the first pyre. He doesn't make any excuses for what he's done. Becoming Kahlil was how both he and Rousma would survive. ]
I've been on my own long enough now to better understand that what I was taught wasn't always right. I'll always have to live with that I've done. I'm not telling you this now to try to say we're the same, we hardly know each other, but - you've been kind to her, real or not.
[ So, he owes her honesty in return. ]
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he speaks of a world that was unkind to him and his sister, his parents. of priests and witches, and it strikes her how in more than one universe witches are burnt at the stake, seen as dangerous, wicked, vile. he reveals here his purpose, his 'fate', and, for wanda, it speaks so clearly of why he has been defensive when around her.
but he is wise and brave enough to understand that the things he was taught are not necessarily always right. there is strength in admitting being wrong, in facing the past and seeing the mistakes wrought in it, despite how shameful it may be.
wanda watches as the kids play around the tombstones, digging into the soil, laughing and whispering conspiracies of their imaginations at each other.]
You're not wrong to think I'm dangerous.
[he is more than allowed to think that. if he wants to be defensive around her, keep his guard up should they ever meet in person, wanda will not fault him for it. all wanda does is shrug, ultimately.]
None of them are real here. I had thought that if I buried my sons, I could finally put them to rest. [she saw a childhood lost in this small girl who is not a girl, but a skeleton others would find frightening. she saw in her her sons; she saw herself and her brother.] It's not healthy to cling on to them like this.
[she says that as much for him as for herself. to constantly haunt herself with their being here, losing herself for hours here in this small graveyard while the children play and talk to her— it should be worrisome.
and yet, wanda cannot stop herself.]
But it's difficult to let them go, knowing they can be here, isn't it?
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You're not wrong to think I'm dangerous.
She wasn't quite herself in the woods that day. Neither was Jack when he tried to cut Kahlil's throat some weeks ago - he forgave him without a second thought, even as Jack continues to insist that being around him is dangerous and actively avoids their shared quarters now.
He understands both of them are dangerous, whether by intention or by accident. But he leans toward believing - like with Jack, that her intent isn't to harm anyone who doesn't mean her the same. And that she doesn't immediately eject him from this sacred space after admitting his past acts - he nods slowly, taking the seat next to her so that she doesn't need to turn so uncomfortably if she is to look at him.
It's not healthy, no. He lowers his gaze slightly, tilting his head in an almost conceding way. There's no real need to answer that, is there? He'd told Jack nearly the same thing: now that she's here, I'm not going to make her go away. ]
How did they die?
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[this speaks leagues, then, of the fact that wanda is as powerful as kyle may have surmised her to be, and yet not even her magic could have saved her children.
and even if they had been brought to this world with magic, were made from her magic? the pregnancy, their birth, the growing pains—it was all too real. she knows she is a mother, because she still aches for them, just as if they had been brought into the world in the most conventional of ways. it is easier to remember them this way than with their panic-stricken, tearful faces, begging her to not hurt them.
wanda raises her head to look up as billy jogs back over to them, crunching over leaves and dodging roots on the way. his arms are outstretched, hands carrying over a small treasure. she puts her hand out to him, a small smile on her face.]
Look, mom.
[she receives into her hand a rock with a hole in it, one that looks a bit like a heart if one turns it at an angle.]
I'll keep it safe for you, okay? —go.
[the boy smiles big and then returns to the other two, giggles exploding between the three. wanda wraps her hand around the rock.]
The changes in the Horizon last month brought them forth. I haven't had the heart to let them go, especially since they've found a friend in Rousma.
[speaking of,]
Why do you keep her in the shape of a dog, and as a skeleton?
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There are limits to what even the most powerful can accomplish. The priests can conjure the spirits of the recent deceased to speak with them, briefly. Living bones can be crafted, but only when the woman is still alive. There's no bringing back the dead back to living flesh once they've passed. Only a god may grant that gift.
Billy approaches and he watches quietly as the boy gives his mother the gift, the way she tenderly holds it. Does her mind and will supply the pitter-pattering sound of his feet against stone and dirt as he returns to his playmates? It's these little details, down to small faults that make them feel more alive than they should -
He gives her a small look of surprise when she mentions when her sons first appeared. That was when Rousma appeared too. But to the question...
There's a pause and a frown. He stares-without-really-looking at his feet as he gathers his thoughts into an explanation that makes sense, then admits: ]
I don't know. [ His frown deepens. ] I... what I remember about my past hasn't always made sense. Sometimes I remember stealing her from where she was kept, her bones, and she takes the body of a dog. But then I wake up in a world and time where none of that happened. [ Another pause, and a grimace. ] And, truthfully... it's been so long since she was first taken, I don't know if I can recall her face anymore.
[ He's long forgotten his parents features. He remembers Rousma's dark hair and dark eyes - he kept that image for as long as he could when they were separated, whispering secrets to each other like these children, only over an impossibly long distance.
If he tried for longer than a second, he's afraid her face would only be a blur. ]
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grieving never ends, after years and years and years. the moment you think you're doing better, you remember that you don't remember, and it's experiencing that pain all over again.
wanda shifts a bit, looking down at the basket of strawberries and picking one out. she runs over it with her fingers.]
I have got the graves for my parents, my brother, and the twins' father here, too. Sometimes I wonder why my magic never brought them forth the same way it did for the boys.
[except she knows—and kyle probably also knows.]
I cannot remember their faces or their voices. We lost everything when our home was bombed. All pictures, photo albums; and when my brother was killed, I only ever remembered the look in his eyes as he lay there.
[so cold, lifeless. the same happened with vision. the darkhold only poured more reminders of how she had lost him, her brother, her parents.]
We cannot recreate what we cannot remember, and it never is quite right even if we tried.
[—quietly, she brings the strawberry to her lips, bites into it. it's sweet, pleasantly so. wanda turns to him once she's done chewing.]
...it's really good.
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He sought to become the Kahlil because of the protection it would afford himself, and his sister. A chance to escape. He wonders if it wasn't similar for her with her own powers, growing in strength with the promise that one day you can protect that which you hold dearest, only to have it all ripped away from you. All that remains is ash and blood.
Here, at least, there is laughter.
He doesn't notice she's tasted the strawberry, she makes that last remark and he turns to look at her again. He smiles in spite of himself, lets out a short, surprised chuckle. ]
I'm glad. [ There's warmth in his tone, and for a moment he looks younger than his thirty-odd years because of it. After a moment he looks away again, back at the children as they draw pictures in the upturned dirt with long sticks. ]
Do you have someone that can remind you to... come up for air?
[ To remind her what's real, when it becomes easy to want to forget. He cares that she has someone like that, not just because of the dangers she might pose to others. ]
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but the beauty of it all is that there are still these small, trivial things that can be appreciated. the sweet taste of the strawberries, the warmth of the sunlight filtering through, the encouragement to one's soul when there is an actual conversation partner sitting beside oneself.
so kyle asks a question that gravitates around what they've been conversing about, but on a lighter tone. almost like hoping they can gear out of the darkness despite being in it. the answer to his question is immediately in her mind, as is the quirk of her lips into a small smile.]
There are those from my world here who remember me as I was before I became what I am. [the scarlet witch, that is; that which kyle thinks he sensed in her, when they had first met.] But— there is someone, yes.
[she thinks of him, matt, fondly, for as undefined as what they are is, he isn't afraid of her and he's shown her kindness where she thinks it was impossible to find again—kindness like the one she had found with vision.
wanda turns the question back on kyle.]
Do you?
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I made a friend in Thorne. [ Jack. His own smile goes wry. ] Nothing I say seems to faze him.
[ Some months ago he couldn't imagine having a friend like that.
He closes his eyes, lifting his face toward sun so that he can feel the warmth of it on his skin. In Thorne the days are getting shorter in these months, the light fading faster. ]
I worry, though. About him, and some of the others. [ Tilting his head to look at her with a slight frown. This is a thought that is unescapable, a heavy anchor back to reality. Libertas was months ago now, but the aftermath still hangs heavily. ] Not all of them are prepared for what a war will bring.
[ Not the way she understands what it's like. ]
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(or if he hadn't found her?)
to know that someone won't be afraid or fazed by the things they say and do— it's incredibly nuanced and welcome.
though kyle brings up a point that she has worried about before. war hangs over them all like a pendulum, swinging ever lower onto them. when will it strike, they don't know, but beyond the when, it's definitely the concern for others that have not had experience in this kind of situation before that is the biggest point of worry.]
We can only hope it doesn't come to pass. That those who are familiar with war will be able to protect and guide those who aren't.
[blessedly—]
The majority of the Summoned are familiar with something like war, at least.
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Those like Wilhelm will need to be protected. With Solvunn's current neutrality, it's unfortunate that there's no easy way to smuggle the boy across the borders.
But then, Solvunn has its own dangers - ]
You mentioned the shrines and blood offerings. [ And disappearances. He frowns to himself. ] Have you witnessed those rituals?
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neutrality, anyway, is but a concept. while wanda knows that the council means it when they mentioned their intended neutrality, only time will really tell how the variables around it all will change.
the children are currently standing, looking upward and wondering if they could climb a tree for whatever envisioning of fun they're wrapping their heads around.]
I've participated in them myself.
[drawing the shawl closer to herself, wanda knows that not everyone takes 'oh yeah we cut a guy's arm off' as the most casual thing, so— she doesn't mention it, yet.]
There is real magic in those shrines. I'm afraid the people of Solvunn still keep to their secrets. Recent events have made them... more cautious towards us.
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Kahlil watches them for a second, seemingly unfazed by her admission. ]
It's been the same reaction to us in Thorne. [ Strangers treat them with a little more caution than they might have before the omens swept through the land. ]
They have no use for gods or old rituals there, though. High magic is a relic. [ A pause, then: ] I don't doubt there's power within those shrines and offerings. Similar practices were more common in my world. Blood could be used for many different purposes, some sacred and some blasphemous. Bone, too. Not always from the willing.
[ He glances at Rousma again, something sad in his expression. ]
The priests and sisters kept their practices well-guarded. I don't doubt that there's more to these rituals in Solvunn than they're telling you. You're outsiders, and non-believers.
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however—
one cannot expect something without sacrifice. that seems to be the way of things in solvunn, and perhaps wanda has found herself leaning into it quite a bit more than she initially expected, especially considering that all her life has been one sacrifice after another with nothing to show for it; the thought that something could be attained from it? it feels redeeming, in some twisted way.]
The gods have 'chosen' us, though. We are but part of their will, and no one has openly defied this notion. They don't expect us to believe, just that we do our part within the commune.
[—is she defending the place? she definitely stands somewhere in the middle.]
I could ask around. See what I find.
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I'd be interested in anything you might hear. But - and I say this from experience, be careful with the fanatical.
[ The ones like him. They might believe the gods have chosen them, but for what purpose? they have kept to themselves beyond the vaguest of explanations. It may seem silly for him to tell her of all people to use caution, she is far more powerful than most of the Summoned here. It's the unknown that worries him, though.
He leans forward a little, hands clasped between his knees. ]
What do you believe?
[ He's asked others this before. Why they believe they were chosen, whether they believe in being chosen at all. ]
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there is certainty in that concern, then.
as he turns the question towards her, wanda is somewhat at a loss. she's repeated the beliefs of others before, taking them as her own—their being more informed, and all that. she's been adamant about trying to figure out what she does believe, because of her magic being a conduit for probability manipulation, so it is hardly something she likes to simply just express.]
We are here because we are powerful, aren't we? In our own worlds. Or because we have come face to face with something that tests our mettle. It's easy to think I was chosen for my magic, much like others have.
[her magic, chaos, that which can achieve spontaneous creation and is infinite and unlimited.]
—perhaps we are here to find purpose again.