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[unquiets]

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"You've reached David. Leave a message after the tone."

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[unquiets]

( ugh. )

That's not what I meant.

[carmesi]

Got you.

( her feelings are not hurt. he's fine; sometimes you gotta be able to joke about the worst time of your life. )

We didn't eat paper, for the record. We always had food even if it was very little. If you share your frosted flakes, I will try them.

[unquiets]

That's mean.

( punctuated by a pause, a break in his thoughts. he knows it's not something he can relate to — the scarcity, the fear, the ever-present threat.

and so, for now, he doesn't linger on it. )

We've got to find them first, me or you.
But if you like muesli, you're not gonna like them.

[carmesi]

It's not.

( he'll live. )

I might not, but I can also figure that out when I try. I didn't find a frosted flakes one, but I found some cereal with a lot of sure. You can try it out whenever.

[unquiets]

You don't like "too sweet".

( the wine. the accompanying thought is almost entirely unbidden, tangential. )

You mean, the morning?
Unless you're saying you think I eat breakfast for dinner.

( he can, will, and has. )

sugar* wheeze

[carmesi]

Thanks for remembering.

( she doesn't see the problem? she can not like her wine 'too sweet', but she can enjoy other things being slightly sweeter.

hopefully, david can feel the roll of her eyes. )

I'm not saying that, but I now also think you do.

( did david not notice that they literally only had breakfast the day before, then gummies, water, and (too sweet) wine as sustenance for the rest of the day? it's not like wanda has a better relationship with food at this time. )

You could wake me up at three in the morning telling me that you wanted to eat a bowl of sugary cereal and that would be alright. I don't know when you're getting back.

I also took your car for the groceries.

( btw and fyi )

[unquiets]

( david did notice, but not in any real way that struck him as especially unusual. sometimes you just have a busy day and all you really eat is breakfast, right? right. )

I'm not waking you at three in the morning, that's not okay. Not even a little bit. Especially not for cereal.
Anyway, I'll be back before then.

( what did he say about not being a child? )

Okay? I wasn't using it.

( that is Fine, wanda. )

[carmesi]

( david draws some hard lines about hypothetical things, it's a little funny. wanda also knows that he's not a fan of driving, but normal people do ask for permission or at least tell each other about using someone else's property. suppose that the okay? answers that. they're very much not the conversation type when figuring out what works or doesn't, brute-forcing it first and then talking about it.

wanda's response is a pretty quiet but dismissive yeah, okay almost veering into whatever territory by sentiment alone. you could almost picture her rolling her eyes.

some time later, she sends him an image of her own. a book amidst a nicely-kept shelf of books, turning it over in her hand so he can see the back, too. there's an excited thrum in how she shares this, a bit of a chime𖥔 ࣪ ˖ as it were, before it fades to black.

she goes back to something he said— )

—you can't create Frosted Flakes? You changed the apartment.

[unquiets]

( he picks up on the eyeroll, and he ignores the eyeroll. it was an implied 'she can use the car whenever she wants' — or rather, whenever david's not using it — because he's not that precious about things. personal belongings aren't something he's ever had much attachment towards, part necessity, part... that's just how things have ended up. it's not like anyone bothered with ideas of mine in (his) englightenment house. it's not like it matters. it's about — helping each other. not being selfish.

later, when she sends through that excited image of a book, it's met with what amounts to a laugh, fond, bright. surprised. and then a quick— )

Studying?

( before— )

I can't make food.

( can he? in truth, he's never tried. he's turned one thing into another — inanimate object into inanimate object — and then there's the vapour, but food? no. not in any real way. the tea at the house, he could do that, but it wasn't really real. it was the perception of real, and though that's arguably the same thing, in terms of nutrition—.

hmm.
food for thought, as it were. )

I can't heal. I can't create life. I can't time travel. If you're happy with eating an illusion, a projection, then sure. I can make Frosted Flakes. Your brain will think its eating, and your body might too, right up until it realizes it hasn't actually got anything from whatever bowl you've just eaten.

Changing the apartment was just... rearranging things. Perception and interpretation. What something is matters less than what your brain thinks it is.

[carmesi]

I'll know more than you in no time.

( she won't, not really. it's this easy tug of back-and-forth playfulness disguised as competitiveness that she enjoys. end of the day, it's not about besting david; in time, wanda will also come to figure out that he isn't precious about what is his and what isn't. because he doesn't care about it, he doesn't care to explain his sentiment, so wanda's left to figure it out. she prefers the sharing, too. it's what worked best in the orphanage and the years after that.

but, well, suppose david can't create everything. )

I think I get it. But I guess that means we won't be eating Frosted Flakes any time soon.
Have you tried doing any of those things though? Healing, creating life, time travel? Maybe don't try to create life. Sounds like a lot of responsibility.

[unquiets]

Oh, yeah, soon I'll be drinking too much wine in a field and having you tell me all about the meaning of the sky above us.
Can we diarize it?

( but as for the rest of it— )

How do you think I know I can't do those things? I get hurt, I bleed or whatever. Time travel's an outright no, I wouldn't even know where to begin. Seems like it's something you can either do or you can't, which—.

( is super fucking annoying, actually. you would think he could, and yet. )

And creating life? I don't want kids.

( well—
—he's never really thought about it, actually. maybe kids would be nice, but that'd require a life that isn't the one he's lived. )

[carmesi]

Obviously. There's a reason I got us notebooks.

( she is playing along— anyway.

hm.

wanda knows that this isn't about prodding or anything, but through this connection, it's a little hard to miss the tones and shifts. the super fucking annoying is there, which wanda shakes off with a shrug of her shoulders. it gets under her skin, sometimes, how easily it is to feel david's emotions. she doesn't shrug off, though, that beat of a sentiment. maybe kids would be nice, but it's not for the life that he leads. reminds her of something they talked about the night before.

she doesn't pick on that (she has thought about it herself, but— the sentiment remains: requires a life that isn't the one she's living). )

I meant more like a butterfly or a small bird. You don't need your powers to create kids. There so happens to be a way it happens in nature, you know.

( eh, the humor doesn't land. it's awkward, but wanda's not — it's a weird topic suddenly. )

I didn't know I could heal before I did it. I don't know that I can do it again. Maybe, under pressure...

( her thought drifts off, now distracted by something else taking place irl, most likely. )

[unquiets]

I know what sex is, Wanda. Not just theoretically.

( it's as awkward as her remark, a little off-beat, not quite in time. humorous in intention but not quite landing, and it should be more awkward, perhaps, but he moves on before it can sit, coalesce into something uncomfortable. )

Isn't most healing done under pressure? If I need a bandaid, that's... Fine. It's not life or death. If I need healing, that's something else entirely.

( he doesn't touch on the rest of it, except the— )

If you did it once, you can do it again. It's about triggers. Cause and effect.

( if he notices her distraction, there's no indication of it. )

[carmesi]

( it doesn't land; wanda skips past it; she takes note of his question slash explanation, past how he tends to want to let her know that there are no limits. the connection's quiet again for a moment longer.

telepathy is convenient, yes, but it can be distracting and the real world doesn't just pause for it.

so, she comes back to this later, an hour or so, no longer a string to hold where their conversation abruptly ended. )

There were other voices on the other side of the door.

( wanda never got to ask, comment on it. her ears had felt like she was under water, so she wasn't sure, even if she felt she knew. )

Can we go in there next time?

[unquiets]

( she doesn't answer and she doesn't respond, not to anything he's said. instead, she pivots the conversation towards the conversation (later, after anything that makes sense) towards something that he doesn't want to talk about.

she hadn't mentioned it at the time, and so he'd thought, expected, imagined that it hadn't registered. )

Why?

[carmesi]

Curious.

( both her feeling, and the feeling she gets from david; he doesn't want to talk about this. she measures out the flour she needs for the waffle batter for later—

wanda doesn't push, nor demand that they go through that door. was the door to the house always there, or did he set it up to block her from seeing something he can't quite tuck away? )

We can't?

[unquiets]

( quickly, agreeable, perhaps too quick, given everything— )

We can.

( and she'll find a house, not particularly special, with very little of interest. too many doors, too much silence, all of it deliberate. )

I went through yours, so you can go through mine.

[carmesi]

( too quick— but then, a lot of the affirmations and decisions between them have always been quick. is this not the usual tempo? something feels off, but wanda has no reason to distrust him. )

Okay. Whenever, it's not a big deal.

( pause, and, )

You agreed pretty quickly.

( 'why', david had asked, defensive. and yet. )

[unquiets]

You asking makes it seem like a big deal.
It's a door that's not a door.
We can go through, doesn't mean you're going to get the answers you're after.

( punctuated by a pause, not quite equal to hers. )

I could disagree, but it wouldn't change where we're at so. Yeah. I agree.

[carmesi]

I'm not looking for answers. I'm just curious.
I don't want to do things that you don't want to do. I've never connected with someone like this before. With my mind, I mean.

( she isn't sure how she is trying to come across, so— )

Nevermind. Whatever. If you agree, then okay.

[unquiets]

( her reply elicits a pause, a see-saw of internal debate like he's trying to work out what it means and isn't quite managing to settle on an answer. )

What do you mean, you're not looking for answers?

( while david would never say he's looking for answers, the fact that he can't quite comprehend what she means says that answers is precisely what it comes down to for him. understanding. making sense. )

If I don't want to do something, you'll know.

( abrupt, not precisely brusque, just— this is what it boils down to.

softer, gentler— )

I've never met anyone like you.

[carmesi]

I don't know what I mean.

( honesty, at least, is what david will get out of her. wanda isn't sure what she means, and this has all been rather spontaneous; she's crammed so much in her head yesterday, last night. she tried revisiting that garden they had been in once they got back to the apartment (she hasn't told him, because she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction, but wanda sure dropped in through a telephone box). it's new, exciting, and weird, but in a way that it makes sense— and sense is something she's been trying to find for so, so long.

at the very least, david makes her feel, with what it boils down to, that this is another point of understanding they've reached, without the bells and fanfare of accomplishment. it's impossible, too, to ignore the softer, gentler way his words reach her.

he has shared a similar sentiment with her before, spoken or shared telepathically? empathically? wanda can't remember. )

What do you mean by that? You've met Charles.
There are other telepaths here. Other mutants.

[unquiets]

It's not the same.

( it's a feeling as much as it's a thought. charles is a telepath. he's telekinetic, too, by all accounts, and from the brief experience of charles's mind that david's had, david knows he's powerful. perhaps not in all the ways that david's powerful — telepathy had been about all charles had focused on, and he'd admitted that telekinesis was new, either the result of here or a latent ability newly discovered, but— his telepathy had been strong, controlled in a way that david's isn't quite.

(he might be powerful, too, but his is— it's more about reality.)

and other mutants? whatever. they don't get it. so what if scott can shoot lasers from his eyes, that's not the same. he knows that. syd didn't get it. ptonomy, maybe. oliver had been the closest. )

You know it's not, otherwise you'd be hanging out with your Avengers, not some guy you just met.

[carmesi]

You're the one who wanted a friend.

( she says that, but she doesn't mean it. another attempt at humor that doesn't quite land, off-beat. a defensive measure, perhaps, to shield herself from the fact that david knows well enough that wanda, too, felt the same: wanting a friend, even if she already had plenty.

but you're different, and yet so — weirdly familiar. comforting? similar? she had admitted as much the night before: she didn't like being alone, and then there was david, of all the people it could have been, tugging at this rope of a connection—

and wanda let it. still for reasons mostly unknown. just a feeling? feelings? )

No. You're right.
Why do you think that is? It's—

( she cuts herself off. starts again, )

We'll figure it out. Right?

( wanda doesn't work well with uncertainty. )

[unquiets]

( it's a small difference between them. david doesn't like uncertainty, but he's used to it in his own way. doubt, questions, creeping like tendrils along each and every thought. he'd prefer certainty, has found a way to force it on his life, but that doesn't erase thirty years of the opposite, of looking to other people for answers and, when none were found, burying the questions where they couldn't be seen out of fear.

you're the one who wanted a friend stings. it's not meant to. he doesn't know that, but he thinks it. everything that follows isn't enough to offset the way that those seven words cast a shadow, uncomfortable and dark, even if david knows they're not true. it's not just him. they wouldn't have— the apartment, the stars, everything else, if it was just him.

he's silent for longer than is necessary. petty, childish.

then— )

Do you want the answer?