( not erik, but logan. ) Oh, I've met him before. ( but so long ago, maybe even briefly caught a glimpse of him at the last meeting. she doesn't really have anything to say about the guy that would otherwise add anything meaningful, so— ) Erik's the mutant I've talked with the most. ( a pause. ) Other than you, now, I guess. He's also... ( okay, this ends kind of lamely, ) European.
( ? shut up.
summerland, though, again, bring in the idea that charles's school doesn't exist in david's world. it doesn't exist in wanda's, either, even if a lot of elements about their world (from what erik has told her) are so strangely parallel to the history of her own. the same scars and tragedies in europe that she's familiar with, same language for these traditions that they got to celebrate briefly during the winter—
it's not a question; she does get it. a spike of irritation, hurt; smashing cymbals loud and unfettered. wanda's quiet, resists the urge to tell him it's okay, feeling what he does, that summerland isn't here, those people. it paints some more of the picture that is david and his experiences.
instead, ) I do. ( get it. he wouldn't even need to read her mind to know that she means it.
still, that eruption of agitation sits under her skin, crawling uncomfortably. she can't just sit, which is why she stands on the couch, takes a few steps on and around it (it's a much better couch to what it was before david 'changed' it), pushing some distance between them as if that much is going to help lessen what she feels him feeling. arms crossed, one hand up on her chin, thoughtful, she pauses, feet sinking on the cushions, then turns to face him. )
...what do you think of Charles? I think he means well.
(he's also european is such a non-sequitur of an explanation that it cuts through some of david's thoughts, the busy-ness of his feelings, the lingering bitterness over all them — syd, cary, melanie, how easily they'd fallen under farouk's spell. he blinks, then, a little startled, unsure of what to do with european, other than give wanda a slow, questioning cant of his head.
he doesn't know why she moves so abruptly from the couch, not until he takes a minute to think about it and realise: him. his mouth twists and, though wanda turns towards him, david looks away. he's going to have to work on that. emotions. he can't have, doesn't want her picking up on—. it's not that it's embarrassing, david barely knows what embarrassment is, it's that he's worked hard, tried deliberately to pull together a version of himself that, at least on the outside, is everything that they think he's not: calm. together.
(you can't reconcile— —well, they're wrong. the david they see, their perceive, isn't who he is.) )
—Lots of people mean well. ( blunter than he means it to be, followed almost immediately by an inhale of breath and a quick glance up, short-lived, reluctant, searching. he tempers the remark, himself, with— ) He seems like a good guy. Nice. Knows what he wants and has had the good fortune to be able to do it.
( when david looks away, wanda can't help wonder— they've never been shy about eye contact, intense as he is about it with his very blue eyes, so this must stem from something else entirely. there's a twist in her gut, not her own, like he's trying to reconcile something within himself.
(she knew it would bother him.)
he looks up, seems somewhat frustrated, annoyed, under the surface. all this about having the fortune of doesn't help, and surely there is something to be said about people in more privileged positions getting to comfortably dictate what to do and how to do it, without considering the plight of others who were never lucky enough to have respite in their otherwise overwhelming lives.
what david gives her is both an answer and a non-answer, and she doesn't reckon he'll elaborate. charles just is, and his (their) opinion of him will continue to develop the more they get to interact with the man, just like with anyone else.
with a quiet sigh, wanda walks back the length of the couch and stands by the end of it, closest to him. standing as she is on the couch, she's a good head taller than david. )
It does bother you. That I can read your emotions.
( mister i don't break promises and i don't like secrets, and yet. wanda raises her hands, palms up, towards him. )
( he doesn't have much of a choice in looking at her when she moves from one of the couch to the other, although his gaze does drop to watch the way the cushions press in and flatten with each footstep. it's a better couch than it had been, but that still doesn't mean it's a good one, and though she's taller than she'd be otherwise, taller than him, she'd be taller still of the cushions didn't sink quite so much.
it does bother you, she says, and he studies her as she raises her hands, then looks from one to the other. carefully— ) I didn't say it didn't bother me. (his recollection of the conversation is that he'd told her he wasn't going to tell her not to, wasn't going to force her to be someone she's not, but he didn't — quite delibarely — mention how he felt about it.
(he skips past the part of the conversation where they'd discussed him telling her if she upsets him with it.) )
You moved away from me because I was what, annoyed? How am I supposed to take that?
( for now, he doesn't reach out to take her hands, if that's what she's intimating; instead, he waits to see where she's going with it, her I want to try something. instead, too, he continues their conversation, the one she'd started. )
—He showed me it. His school. His students. ( in a stunning display of tone-deaf this is what other mutants get to experience. wanda's assertion that charles means well is correct, david can't and won't and doesn't disagree, but meaning well doesn't always mean doing well. it'd taken their, his and charles's conversation, from something tolerable to something david had wanted to be done with almost immediately.
his mouth flattens, then curves into a small, tight smile. ) Logan was surprised I hadn't heard of it, like it's some kind of universal constant for mutants.
( wanda studies his face for a moment longer, how he swerves past her wanting to try something, all while presenting his conclusion as to why she had moved away from him. yes, fair, but— it's not entirely true. as he bulldozes onward, about charles and the school and the students, in a way that makes her think that he is venting a little, wanda clasps her hands together. still, she doesn't entirely pull away from the possibility of returning to this specific point.
the small, tight smile doesn't go unnoticed. how bitter it feels, the surprise, the constant of something that he should be part of but which alienates him at the same time.
wanda isn't a mutant, but wanda's lived experiences match to an extent. her life in sokovia was not unique, but a lot of it was. she was not the only orphan during the war, and she wasn't the only one scared of the night sky for several years growing up, afraid of invisible bombs. but: it certainly didn't make her feel any less rotten to see orphaned children with older family members to look after them while she and pietro fended for themselves. it didn't make her any less jealous that others would walk calmly in the streets at night while she'd cower inside, early to bed. the american government, years later, didn't make her feel any better either, acting like she owed them for the favor of bringing her in, of giving her a chance at something better, when it had been them who struck sokovia first, leading her to losing absolutely everything. )
Well, his school doesn't exist in my world either. ( no matter that there aren't(?) any mutants in her world. she says this much petulantly. ) It isn't a universal constant. When everyone I meet here tells me Sokovia doesn't exist for them, it makes me think that maybe we were always meant to be removed from the map after all.
( she shrugs, sharply, dryly. then, takes one page from his book— you and i. )
You and I aren't as lucky as the X-Men or those students or the people and mutants who get to be normal and get to have what we never did. I know that. You know that. So— It is very easy for them to say how wonderful and great it is, when they don't know what it has been like for us.
( once more, wanda raises her hands, offers them to him. this time, insistent. then, a huff, because now she gets to get this off her chest, )
I'm sick of having to be polite because it might hurt the feelings of those who think they are doing so much by helping in their way. If I want to be angry and say that the help isn't enough, I am allowed. ( in a roundabout way, wanda is trying to say that she understands what he's saying; how much it sucks to supposedly belong but still always be in the periphery, never truly allowed in. ) So, let me try something, or you can tell me that you don't want me to. I won't insist.
( he hears her you and I and it's not that he doesn't get what she's saying, it's not that he doesn't get why she says it. he'd say it, a deliberate choice to present them as the same despite their other differences, but it's precisely because of that it doesn't entirely land; it's because she adds don't get hung up on it that it still manages to chafe. a quiet, sulky, unvoiced don't tell me how to feel.
—even if, were the roles reversed, he'd tell her exactly the same.
he considers it, her response, still and silent. sokovia, not existing, feeling like that means it was never meant to. (that's awful.) there's not a lot he can say to that, and while he has no desire to downplay it, he wonders if that's the point. a david, don't in slightly different words.
perhaps if he were more honest, more open, he'd tell her about the trial, about how it'd been presented as helping him, when the reality was about turning him into something and someone else, palatable and easy. about how clockworks had been the same, how he'd resented amy for the shape of it, help he hadn't wanted, help that'd made him feel like he was being flattened, constantly, an every-four-hours dose of sanding down the unwanted edges of david haller.
he'd tell her that anger's something he's well-acquainted with.
he does none of those things.
she holds out her hands again, and david looks at them again. a pause, then, as he looks up at her. he takes her hands in his, and states— )
There's more of a choice involved if I know what I'm turning down or agreeing to.
( david, unsurprisingly, just watches, offers brief glances of a response, but nothing actually said. not that she needs him to; wanda knows what she feels and where she stands, gets some idea of his own feelings, too. and though david seems more keen on reflecting things back at her (don't tell me how to feel) or assume (since he can't, really, read her mind) what she means, she is unwilling to allow herself to feel daunted by it all. (she didn't react like that, when he told her don't be silly, about making their 'nice, happy dinner' a 'sad' occasion.)
but he does, though, take her hands. wanda does nothing but hold onto them, lightly, gently. her shoulders ease. )
I'd hope you trusted me a little by now.
( it's meant to tease him, but she will— keep it mind, for next time. next time she wants to try something, let him know about it. never mind that he tossed them into the astral plane a few times without asking her if she was alright with it, or changed the apartment to force the idea of him getting to have a place here, too, to not be alone.
scarlet glows from her hands, and she's bringing their hands together, pressed together like in prayer. the glow envelopes them, a warm, cozy cocoon. there's nothing to it: no spell, no illusion, no effect that wanda is injecting onto it. it's neither warm nor cold, but there's a soft, almost velvety feeling that's barely there, just about pushing. she draws their hands apart, taking a step back to adjust her balance (the cushions do sink too much), and continues to weave with light movements of her fingers a spherical-shaped connection between david's hands. the garage rock music still plays on the stereo, the cassette a few songs deep, and these plumes of red start to grab onto the sound—the vibrations of the percussion, the deep rhythm of the bass, the sleek guitar riffs, the peaks of the singer's voice. it all harmoniously. )
I will borrow this example: the way people feel are like songs. Some are messy, some are loud, some are quieter, but the melody always fits well.
( then a spike, out of rhythm, like a clashing cymbal. it reverberates, through the web-like strings of red, throwing it all askew. she doesn't explain because she doesn't want to talk down to him—david's smart enough. the rhythm caught within the red is no longer matching that of the song on the cassette: it's his own 'music', his breathing, the way he fidgets now and then, his blinking, his heartbeats, and, of course, the spikes in his emotions. clash—crash—a steady drumming. it is nonstop because people are nonstop.
the sphere-like connection settles somewhere between david's hands, hovering, and some of it starts gaining something of a blue tinge. recently, she has learned that her powers will do as she wills it to, so if she wants him to be able to manipulate it for a moment or two— quietly, )
Just hold it up yourself for a moment.
( it's not exactly the demonstration she had in mind, but this is the first time she's made such casual use of her powers, for something so fantastical and, by all means, useless as per what defines 'powers'. )
Can you make it very small? ( she lifts up her right hand, an 'ok' sign formed, exemplifying the size of 'very small'. )
( he wouldn't have taken her hands if he didn't, he means. wouldn't be here at all. there is a 'but', though, there's always a but. a wariness. he hadn't meant it like that, but he is, in many ways — the first time in a while — at a disadvantage. he doesn't mean to reflect things at wanda, doesn't choose how his emotions catch and spike and take shape, but those things happen. those are her powers, not his. how she'd interpret him would likely be different if they weren't. he doesn't need to tell her that. it's not about secrets, about keeping things from her, it's about being him.
he watches her work, the threads that are thin and fine spinning together and coalescing to form something whole. it's different from what he can do, different even to the blue — the vapour, the liquid, whatever form he has it take. the way she describes people, compares them to music, makes sense; he doesn't experience them in that way, only gets their thoughts, their mind, but it's not incomparable.
then the red starts to change shape, and david glances from it to her and back again. she's right: he doesn't need her to explain, he knows what this is. who this is. his brows knit momentarily and then smooth. what's the point? what is she getting at?
can you make it very small? (it or him?)
the words echo in his mind and he looks at her, eyes wide and unblinking, and as she holds up her hand to show him what she means by small, he smiles. his gaze remains on hers as he answers, a soft— )
No. ( polite and light but decisive. in truth, it's not about can, it's about will — her question sparks a memory which sparks a question from him-to-him: do you remember what she said? amy, not wanda, of course. I'm just saying, maybe you keep things small, flat, is the right idea. he'd hated it then, the insinuation, the implication. wanda has no way of knowing that, no way of guessing that her question, even in the abstract, even in this loose this is you but not you, is an echo of what he's heard countless times before.
whether she means him or she means the red-blue ball that represents him doesn't matter, it's all the same, and so he doesn't even try to do as she's asked. what happens instead is more blue, a bright, cool, icy shade that travels from one side to the other. the spikes, the cymbal crashes slow and then cease entirely, the ball itself becoming more liquid, formless, calmer.
( wanda says, a breath of a laugh in her words after he, very politely but decisively, tells her no. her hand forming the 'ok' moves to her face, her mouth, as she stifles her laugh. while, no, wanda could never know, unless david told her himself, that her question would echo a sentiment he had been told time and time again when his life was all sorts of out-of-sorts, she can still very much put his declining to the thought of 'david shall not be contained'.
he can be easy to read without needing to be read through. she had meant the red-blue ball, though, in a solemn gesture of sharing her powers with him. instead, he goes beyond that and shapes what she had (painstakingly!) created into an icy blue formless ball, remaining the same size. suppose the metaphor remains? )
I've never met someone who could do that to my powers. ( granted, not that she has allowed anyone before. she remembers what he had called himself the night before. ) I should start calling you the magic man.
( she won't. not on any super serious pretense.
instead, wanda raises her hand anew and picks at the liquid, formless shape he's created, and from the pinch of her thumb and forefinger, a thread of red unspools. it is, still, inherently, her own, and she can find still traces of it if she just thinks that she can, as she imagines she should. wanda continues to twirl her hand, a delicate dance of her fingers, until she has red dancing and covering her hand. this she will use to shape and form whatever remains of the non-liquid liquid between david's hands, until the red absorbs it entirely and it disappears at wanda's leisure.
she remains looking at her hand, wondering to herself if that should have felt different at all, but ultimately lowers it; hands in her pockets, arms straightened, she shrugs. )
When I feel the emotions of others, it gets under my skin. The louder it is, the longer it stays there. Some are really uncomfortable. Some feel like a warm hug. Back at the motel, I always had to make the conscious effort of switching it off. ( for it's not something one can just turn on-or-off; it gets tiring, like remembering to breathe or blink because your body won't just do it on automatic. ) I guess— I could shut it off around you, and you'd never know, and it'd be fine. Maybe some of your stronger emotions feel the way they do to me because it gets at something that I know too well.
( his bitterness at others, his angry spikes, agitation. they're not the same, their lived experiences, but they're close enough. wanda had long ago surrendered her anger, dismissed it for forced contentment, all while idealizing her sorrow and grief, leading to settling with inaction. to be fueled by anger again— well, she's got some bite back, and it's not just because of how being around david has changed her, for her time in the diadem has been rife with opportunity to do so, but he is, perhaps, the only one she doesn't feel ashamed of feeling right in her uglier, rightful emotions. ) But, even if that's the case, I want to get used to how you feel, even in the uncomfortable moments, because I do feel good around you the majority of the time.
( a quiet lift of her face, looking up, at the ceiling that's a lot closer to her now. she stretches up one hand, but doesn't manage to reach it— the illusion of height...
after this attempt, she steps off the couch, tugging now at her sleeves (she fidgets, too), turning to david. )
You changed my powers, but I was able to find my red back inside all that blue. ( a beat, her next words hesitant, as if trying to find the right phrasing for this. ) If we— Look, I trust you. You are special, and I just think that if we learn how to make our powers work better together, then— (we could be pretty scary) we could be amazing. Better than special. I'd understand you and you'd understand me, and would we really need a school to feel wanted? ( a light pinch of her brow, glancing away. ) I never got to finish school, so.
( all she is really trying to get to, is (with a quiet huff, turning to face him again): ) I'm sorry. You're the last person I want to upset.
( he doesn't need a school, not now. it would've been nice when he was a kid, when he hadn't known where he ended and anyone else began; when he and everyone else had thought that the voices he heard were a problem, but these days — no. it's why he'd declined charles's offer to practice their abilities together. he's not interested in that, he doesn't need that. he knows what he can do, how to control it. the only spanner in the works is diadem itself, the city and the fringes. )
—My attendance was... ( a wave of a hand; he doesn't bother finishing the remark. ) And then I got expelled. ( he doesn't clarify that it was college — at a certain point, the when matters less than the behaviours. for as much as david's reluctant to linger on that specific period of time, he's willing to concede expulsion had been inevitable. one thing had led into another, and it's difficult — outside of farouk — quite to point a finger at which came first.
still.
he presses his lips together and takes a step to the side; then, he takes a seat on the sofa, glancing up at her as her words register. amy had described him as so upset, all the time, and he — he knows it'd been true, for as much as upset as a term matters. it's one of those difficult, all-encompassing ones: challenging, volatile, erratic, angry, used when any of the above might elicit a less than pleasant response. )
I don't need a school. I don't want a teacher. ( he leans towards her, hand extended. his fingers press into the cushion, and he says, ) It's not you. You understand that. There's... It's the same as thoughts. Some matter, some don't. You said you were going to stop reading into them.
( and then he sits back, drawing his feet back onto the couch. his unfinished teacup of wine still sat on the coffee table earns a glance, and then his attention's back to wanda. one corner of his mouth quirks, curving up momentarily. ) I am the magic man, ( he retorts, without a shred of self-consciousness. he knows wanda doesn't mean it seriously, and he doesn't frankly, in all honesty, expect anyone else to call him that, but that doesn't diminish what he can do.
the scarlet witch is an absurd name, too, but— names mean something. they're magic, the both of them. )
( she follows, turning on her feet as he steps to the side and takes a seat. wanda, for now, doesn't. instead, considers david as he says that he doesn't need a school nor want a teacher (she thinks he's kind of old for that). who wouldn't feel jaded after getting expelled, anyway? in any case, while she had said that she was going to stop reading into them, it's not so much that as it was her intent to explain to him why his emotions (regardless of whether she reads into them or not) feel very abrupt to her.
maybe it's best to not linger on it and keep trying to make a point—
at his glance at the teacup, wanda picks it up, then offers it to him in the same movement as she sits next to him, in the same breath as his i am the magic man. it's still such a dumb name, but if he likes it—
(they're magic, the both of them. david had said that the previous night.)
arms crossed, legs stretched out, wanda just very casually leans against his side, a quiet mm of thought at his question. she may have moved away from him before, to the point that it made him feel some way about it, but right now she doesn't mind pressing into him like this, casual and light. )
I want a do-over. But with all the warnings of what went wrong, so that I don't... ( she goes silent. so that i don't end up alone. selfish as the thought may be, her parents deserved to live (how is she less than 10 years away from being as old as they ever were?), and she should be going through life with pietro, loud and annoying, by her side. she tightens her crossed arms onto herself, tries to make it less sad by saying, ) If I was a kid again, I would want to go to an American high school. Have lockers and cheer squad and after school clubs.
( she passes him the teacup and he eyes it for a moment before finishing the room-temperature remains of wine that'd never tasted good when it was fresh. then, the cup gets placed on the arm of the sofa, a precarious position that gets eyed for one moment, then two, then, once satisfied the cup's not going to fall— )
Me too.
( he leans into her, comfortable with her weight and her presence and her warmth. he's not naive enough to think that most people don't want some kind of do-over in their lives, whether it's just a matter of taking advantage of opportunities they hadn't the first time around, whether it's making up for some kind of embarrassment, whether it's just a vague concept of improvement; but he doesn't think that there are that many people that'd want to redo their entire life from the ground up, change step a, and step b, and step c, prevent themselves from becoming who they are entirely, change the entire progression of their lives. maybe that, more than the powers, more than the abilities, is why he and wanda have connected so immediately, so quickly.
then, as if it's a hypothetical, he laughs and looks to her out of the corner of his eyes. )
( it doesn't go unnoticed, his me too, and it's really very telling that the both of them are just two sad souls that found each other, under far too similar circumstances—even with all the dissimilarities between them. it kind of ends up not mattering. right now, here—
wanda snorts, pushing a hand to her face. )
I know. ( she did watch a lot of tv growing up. ) That's how I learned English.
( she watched a lot of it, too, as the one comfort she was allowed in HYDRA when she had been isolated, after the mind stone. a small, square tv in the corner, up high. then back in america, whenever she wasn't training with the avengers or whenever she wasn't lined up for a mission, she would watch hours and hours of sitcoms in her room, finding no real joy in any of them. just something to keep her just barely with her head above water.
how casual it is though, how easy it is, to pick her feet up and uncross her arms, to point somewhere by the coffee table. )
I want the TV there.
( could he make the tv, with his reality warping? maybe. but, she wants to find it. it has to be earned. she tilts her head up, to look up at him, ) We'll watch together, yes?
( it's perhaps about replicating something tender: how watching tv was a family thing, every night, warm and lovely. how vision would find joy in 'understanding' the jokes, obnoxiously logical as he was. just like going out to look at stars together, watching tv together can just be another one of their things. )
( languages aren't something david's gifted with, not inherently — he knows the odd word here and there, but it's only thanks to his telepathy that he's able to understand farouk when he slips into farsi, into german, into french. ) —That's impressive, ( accompanied by a sidelong glance that confirms the sentiment's genuine, before he follows her gesture in the direction of the coffee table.
he's happy without, but he hadn't missed the way she'd spoken about sitcoms earlier, the handful she'd mentioned by name, that she had a favourite. there's no mistaking, either, the way she talks about it now, like it's just something people have. that it's part of the living-together experience. we'll watch together. well— fine. )
Yes. ( easy agreement punctuated by a beat. ) Where will the table go?
( she doesn't know if it's impressive when you soak up the language as a kid, and when you have parents who tried very hard at keeping to structures in an unstructured place. it became normal to just speak english together for about an hour or two every night, to the point where it was fun. how else would they understand all those mid-atlantic accents of black-and-white sitcoms?
at the question of the table, wanda pauses.
hm.
she motions vaguely to the side. )
It depends on the TV furniture. It cannot go on the floor, the perfect angle is— ( and then, raising her left hand, she does a general sweep at eye level (is it? the perfect angle? maybe). wanda doesn't finish that sentiment, but does lower her arm. ) Is there anything you want? For the apartment.
( he thinks of the apartment he'd had before, of the house with lenny and the rest of them; his gaze runs over the apartment, rests on the coffee table, the curtains, down at the sofa they're currently sat on. he thinks of the way that wanda had painstakingly made him make minute, imperceptible changes the morning before, and his mouth crooks into a quick expression of amused doubt. in theory, it's theirs, but david's willing to acknowledge it's more hers than it is his — the apartment might seem different, be different, but as soon as (if) he changed his mind, that'd change and wanda would be left with the same one-bedroom as before.
(if she changed her mind, too, and decided that being roommates wasn't for her—. she does pay the rent, after all.) )
My last place, we had a bureau. Bookshelves. ( his gaze flickers over the walls. ) Lamps. Paintings.
( she repeats, quietly, drawing from her language knowledge— oh, like a desk but not one? it's not a word she uses often, mostly because she can't quite pronounce it properly. just like the word genre. all these things sounds not bad. bookshelves means he'd find himself books to read, surely, and the light from lamps is much kinder than that of overhead ones which can usually be very harsh. what kinds of paintings would david get?
wanda doesn't even need to turn her head to see the expression he makes. she pushes up her hand, between them, presses the back of it to his cheek. stop canting your head at her— )
You can always say no to my suggestions.
( free will, and all that!
she drops her hand, now turning her head to him. )
( he doesn't correct her mispronunciation of bureau — it's close enough — but instead moves his hand to reach for hers and tug it away from his cheek, only she pulls away before he manages it. a brief, slightly awkward pause, and then he's shifting his weight, turning sideways to sit with his back against the arm of the couch. it's a little awkward, uneasy and uncomfortable thanks to the arm being low and david being tall, but he manages it well enough for now.
a soft mm of mild agreement, and— )
I will. ( tell her no. ) Are we betting on that? You never asking again?
( when david moves to change his sitting position, wanda loses her balance momentarily, but presses her hand down onto the cushion to brace herself. she looks at him, frowning as if affronted, because it was cozy and comfortable.
until he decided to sit all awkwardly against the couch's arm. )
I'm not betting joolies with you.
(you're broke.)
—but I could bet star stickers as a reward. ( they still have that silly prize stuff on the line. ) It doesn't count as asking if you offer, though.
( her affronted expression earns a raise of his eyebrows in a silent question, not asked because she tells him they're not betting joolies and— ) I didn't say joolies.
(he's aware he's broke, too, and while he's not — as he's said — oblivious to the importance of cash, he's still in no hurry to figure that part of his current life out. his powers make that far less complicated than he'd intimated with his response to wanda's suggestion that they steal together.
he slides his feet forward so that they're wedged in the gap between one couch cushion and the other, hands resting on his knees. star stickers. it's a thought. his eyes lift to the ceiling as if in consideration, then he shakes his head. ) No, those are separate. This will be something else. I'll let you know next time you ask.
( after david goes ahead and slides his feet in the gab between one couch cushion and the other, wanda turns so that she's sitting wholly facing him, legs crossed. she drums over the lightly lifted cushion, pressing down after a moment.
a knit of her brows, looking away. )
You're going to ask for something weird.
( she plays it so cool, shoulders hunching. meanwhile, the teacup on the arm of the couch that david had placed, wobbles a little precariously behind him. returning to their previous conversation earlier that day— )
I'm not going to ask for something weird, ( he answers, a smile in place as he speaks. his tone is soft, even, assured — what kind of weird thing would he ask for? — even as she adds, tells him that she won't do massages. that's fine, he won't do massages either. (that is weird, wanda—.)
the cup behind him wobbles and he doesn't notice, not until it starts to slide down the arm behind him and he leans forward abruptly, hand dropping from his knee to reach behind his back to catch it. it lands, cold and a little damp, in his hand, and he pulls it round to hold between his knees. ) And I'm not going to ask you for a massage.
( despite their earlier conversation.
abruptly— ) Do you think I'm weird? ( with absolutely no indication as to what he expects the answer to be. )
( once again, her joke doesn't quite land. wanda frowns, mostly at herself, even as he smiles; is it because she's too serious? not knowing when to let go of the tension in her words so that it's absolutely clear that she's messing around? should there be a tell-tale sign of a smile—
she cuts herself short from thinking that as he busies himself with saving the teacup from a broken fate.
her frown deepens as he asks her if she thinks he's weird. )
I was making a joke. ( admitting, reluctantly, that she's not very funny... ) You are weird, like I am weird. ( a shrug. ) —but you're not weird like... Marcelo from the motel is. I don't actually think you are going to be creepy or anything like that.
( she finishes the sentiment quietly. did he think that she thought he would?
drawing in some air, she aims for extra credit, ) You're nice, and you can be sweet. You're a lot easier to read sometimes, even without — you know. I can give you feedback about how you are as a roommate after a month, if you like.
(you're not weird like marcelo. he leans forward, expression fixed on her as he states, ) That's what we call a backhanded compliment. ( he might not have bothered, fully, to consider what to expect from marcelo before the door had opened that first time, but what he'd picked up from the man, the way that wanda had dealt with him — a pet — had said more than enough.
david might be many things, syd and cary and the vermillion might think of him as a certain kind of person, but he's not marcelo. he doesn't want to end the world, not on a global scale, not on an individual scale.
philly had called him nice, once upon a time; syd had called him sweet. the compliment doesn't land as it might if he didn't have the contrast of the but, but he knows (hopes, imagines) that she, wanda, doesn't mean it like that. )
—Are you saying you want to exchange report cards?
Why are you asking me questions if you're not happy with my answers?
( her expression pinches, and wanda sits up on her knees, onto the cushion that he has wedged his feet under. in this way, she grabs onto one of his knees for support, and, in that obnoxious way that siblings might play-fight in, she grapples for the tea cup that he's holding.
(the teacup hasn't done anything wrong, is innocent in all this, and yet—) )
Not report cards. ( she said it was a joke! ) We have the star stickers, but I'm starting to think you're not going to be fair about giving me any. ( she's not very balanced, as she tries to tug off his fingers from the teacup. ) You said you'd be fair.
( there's hardly any mean streak to this whole thing, her actions and words, but david ought to remember that wanda's kind of... competitive. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2026-04-27 06:09 pm (UTC)( ? shut up.
summerland, though, again, bring in the idea that charles's school doesn't exist in david's world. it doesn't exist in wanda's, either, even if a lot of elements about their world (from what erik has told her) are so strangely parallel to the history of her own. the same scars and tragedies in europe that she's familiar with, same language for these traditions that they got to celebrate briefly during the winter—
it's not a question; she does get it. a spike of irritation, hurt; smashing cymbals loud and unfettered. wanda's quiet, resists the urge to tell him it's okay, feeling what he does, that summerland isn't here, those people. it paints some more of the picture that is david and his experiences.
instead, ) I do. ( get it. he wouldn't even need to read her mind to know that she means it.
still, that eruption of agitation sits under her skin, crawling uncomfortably. she can't just sit, which is why she stands on the couch, takes a few steps on and around it (it's a much better couch to what it was before david 'changed' it), pushing some distance between them as if that much is going to help lessen what she feels him feeling. arms crossed, one hand up on her chin, thoughtful, she pauses, feet sinking on the cushions, then turns to face him. )
...what do you think of Charles? I think he means well.
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Date: 2026-04-27 07:12 pm (UTC)he doesn't know why she moves so abruptly from the couch, not until he takes a minute to think about it and realise: him. his mouth twists and, though wanda turns towards him, david looks away. he's going to have to work on that. emotions. he can't have, doesn't want her picking up on—. it's not that it's embarrassing, david barely knows what embarrassment is, it's that he's worked hard, tried deliberately to pull together a version of himself that, at least on the outside, is everything that they think he's not: calm. together.
(you can't reconcile—
—well, they're wrong. the david they see, their perceive, isn't who he is.) )
—Lots of people mean well. ( blunter than he means it to be, followed almost immediately by an inhale of breath and a quick glance up, short-lived, reluctant, searching. he tempers the remark, himself, with— ) He seems like a good guy. Nice. Knows what he wants and has had the good fortune to be able to do it.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-27 07:58 pm (UTC)(she knew it would bother him.)
he looks up, seems somewhat frustrated, annoyed, under the surface. all this about having the fortune of doesn't help, and surely there is something to be said about people in more privileged positions getting to comfortably dictate what to do and how to do it, without considering the plight of others who were never lucky enough to have respite in their otherwise overwhelming lives.
what david gives her is both an answer and a non-answer, and she doesn't reckon he'll elaborate. charles just is, and his (their) opinion of him will continue to develop the more they get to interact with the man, just like with anyone else.
with a quiet sigh, wanda walks back the length of the couch and stands by the end of it, closest to him. standing as she is on the couch, she's a good head taller than david. )
It does bother you. That I can read your emotions.
( mister i don't break promises and i don't like secrets, and yet. wanda raises her hands, palms up, towards him. )
I want to try something.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-27 08:20 pm (UTC)it does bother you, she says, and he studies her as she raises her hands, then looks from one to the other. carefully— ) I didn't say it didn't bother me. ( his recollection of the conversation is that he'd told her he wasn't going to tell her not to, wasn't going to force her to be someone she's not, but he didn't — quite delibarely — mention how he felt about it.
(he skips past the part of the conversation where they'd discussed him telling her if she upsets him with it.) )
You moved away from me because I was what, annoyed? How am I supposed to take that?
( for now, he doesn't reach out to take her hands, if that's what she's intimating; instead, he waits to see where she's going with it, her I want to try something. instead, too, he continues their conversation, the one she'd started. )
—He showed me it. His school. His students. ( in a stunning display of tone-deaf this is what other mutants get to experience. wanda's assertion that charles means well is correct, david can't and won't and doesn't disagree, but meaning well doesn't always mean doing well. it'd taken their, his and charles's conversation, from something tolerable to something david had wanted to be done with almost immediately.
his mouth flattens, then curves into a small, tight smile. ) Logan was surprised I hadn't heard of it, like it's some kind of universal constant for mutants.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-27 08:49 pm (UTC)the small, tight smile doesn't go unnoticed. how bitter it feels, the surprise, the constant of something that he should be part of but which alienates him at the same time.
wanda isn't a mutant, but wanda's lived experiences match to an extent. her life in sokovia was not unique, but a lot of it was. she was not the only orphan during the war, and she wasn't the only one scared of the night sky for several years growing up, afraid of invisible bombs. but: it certainly didn't make her feel any less rotten to see orphaned children with older family members to look after them while she and pietro fended for themselves. it didn't make her any less jealous that others would walk calmly in the streets at night while she'd cower inside, early to bed. the american government, years later, didn't make her feel any better either, acting like she owed them for the favor of bringing her in, of giving her a chance at something better, when it had been them who struck sokovia first, leading her to losing absolutely everything. )
Well, his school doesn't exist in my world either. ( no matter that there aren't(?) any mutants in her world. she says this much petulantly. ) It isn't a universal constant. When everyone I meet here tells me Sokovia doesn't exist for them, it makes me think that maybe we were always meant to be removed from the map after all.
( she shrugs, sharply, dryly. then, takes one page from his book— you and i. )
You and I aren't as lucky as the X-Men or those students or the people and mutants who get to be normal and get to have what we never did. I know that. You know that. So— It is very easy for them to say how wonderful and great it is, when they don't know what it has been like for us.
( once more, wanda raises her hands, offers them to him. this time, insistent. then, a huff, because now she gets to get this off her chest, )
I'm sick of having to be polite because it might hurt the feelings of those who think they are doing so much by helping in their way. If I want to be angry and say that the help isn't enough, I am allowed. ( in a roundabout way, wanda is trying to say that she understands what he's saying; how much it sucks to supposedly belong but still always be in the periphery, never truly allowed in. ) So, let me try something, or you can tell me that you don't want me to. I won't insist.
Either way, I won't be upset.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-27 09:45 pm (UTC)—even if, were the roles reversed, he'd tell her exactly the same.
he considers it, her response, still and silent. sokovia, not existing, feeling like that means it was never meant to. (that's awful.) there's not a lot he can say to that, and while he has no desire to downplay it, he wonders if that's the point. a david, don't in slightly different words.
perhaps if he were more honest, more open, he'd tell her about the trial, about how it'd been presented as helping him, when the reality was about turning him into something and someone else, palatable and easy. about how clockworks had been the same, how he'd resented amy for the shape of it, help he hadn't wanted, help that'd made him feel like he was being flattened, constantly, an every-four-hours dose of sanding down the unwanted edges of david haller.
he'd tell her that anger's something he's well-acquainted with.
he does none of those things.
she holds out her hands again, and david looks at them again. a pause, then, as he looks up at her. he takes her hands in his, and states— )
There's more of a choice involved if I know what I'm turning down or agreeing to.
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Date: 2026-04-28 03:05 am (UTC)but he does, though, take her hands. wanda does nothing but hold onto them, lightly, gently. her shoulders ease. )
I'd hope you trusted me a little by now.
( it's meant to tease him, but she will— keep it mind, for next time. next time she wants to try something, let him know about it. never mind that he tossed them into the astral plane a few times without asking her if she was alright with it, or changed the apartment to force the idea of him getting to have a place here, too, to not be alone.
scarlet glows from her hands, and she's bringing their hands together, pressed together like in prayer. the glow envelopes them, a warm, cozy cocoon. there's nothing to it: no spell, no illusion, no effect that wanda is injecting onto it. it's neither warm nor cold, but there's a soft, almost velvety feeling that's barely there, just about pushing. she draws their hands apart, taking a step back to adjust her balance (the cushions do sink too much), and continues to weave with light movements of her fingers a spherical-shaped connection between david's hands. the garage rock music still plays on the stereo, the cassette a few songs deep, and these plumes of red start to grab onto the sound—the vibrations of the percussion, the deep rhythm of the bass, the sleek guitar riffs, the peaks of the singer's voice. it all harmoniously. )
I will borrow this example: the way people feel are like songs. Some are messy, some are loud, some are quieter, but the melody always fits well.
( then a spike, out of rhythm, like a clashing cymbal. it reverberates, through the web-like strings of red, throwing it all askew. she doesn't explain because she doesn't want to talk down to him—david's smart enough. the rhythm caught within the red is no longer matching that of the song on the cassette: it's his own 'music', his breathing, the way he fidgets now and then, his blinking, his heartbeats, and, of course, the spikes in his emotions. clash—crash—a steady drumming. it is nonstop because people are nonstop.
the sphere-like connection settles somewhere between david's hands, hovering, and some of it starts gaining something of a blue tinge. recently, she has learned that her powers will do as she wills it to, so if she wants him to be able to manipulate it for a moment or two— quietly, )
Just hold it up yourself for a moment.
( it's not exactly the demonstration she had in mind, but this is the first time she's made such casual use of her powers, for something so fantastical and, by all means, useless as per what defines 'powers'. )
Can you make it very small? ( she lifts up her right hand, an 'ok' sign formed, exemplifying the size of 'very small'. )
no subject
Date: 2026-04-28 09:31 am (UTC)( he wouldn't have taken her hands if he didn't, he means. wouldn't be here at all. there is a 'but', though, there's always a but. a wariness. he hadn't meant it like that, but he is, in many ways — the first time in a while — at a disadvantage. he doesn't mean to reflect things at wanda, doesn't choose how his emotions catch and spike and take shape, but those things happen. those are her powers, not his. how she'd interpret him would likely be different if they weren't. he doesn't need to tell her that. it's not about secrets, about keeping things from her, it's about being him.
he watches her work, the threads that are thin and fine spinning together and coalescing to form something whole. it's different from what he can do, different even to the blue — the vapour, the liquid, whatever form he has it take. the way she describes people, compares them to music, makes sense; he doesn't experience them in that way, only gets their thoughts, their mind, but it's not incomparable.
then the red starts to change shape, and david glances from it to her and back again. she's right: he doesn't need her to explain, he knows what this is. who this is. his brows knit momentarily and then smooth. what's the point? what is she getting at?
can you make it very small?
(it or him?)
the words echo in his mind and he looks at her, eyes wide and unblinking, and as she holds up her hand to show him what she means by small, he smiles. his gaze remains on hers as he answers, a soft— )
No. ( polite and light but decisive. in truth, it's not about can, it's about will — her question sparks a memory which sparks a question from him-to-him: do you remember what she said? amy, not wanda, of course. I'm just saying, maybe you keep things small, flat, is the right idea. he'd hated it then, the insinuation, the implication. wanda has no way of knowing that, no way of guessing that her question, even in the abstract, even in this loose this is you but not you, is an echo of what he's heard countless times before.
whether she means him or she means the red-blue ball that represents him doesn't matter, it's all the same, and so he doesn't even try to do as she's asked. what happens instead is more blue, a bright, cool, icy shade that travels from one side to the other. the spikes, the cymbal crashes slow and then cease entirely, the ball itself becoming more liquid, formless, calmer.
the size, though, remains the same. )
no subject
Date: 2026-04-28 01:17 pm (UTC)( wanda says, a breath of a laugh in her words after he, very politely but decisively, tells her no. her hand forming the 'ok' moves to her face, her mouth, as she stifles her laugh. while, no, wanda could never know, unless david told her himself, that her question would echo a sentiment he had been told time and time again when his life was all sorts of out-of-sorts, she can still very much put his declining to the thought of 'david shall not be contained'.
he can be easy to read without needing to be read through. she had meant the red-blue ball, though, in a solemn gesture of sharing her powers with him. instead, he goes beyond that and shapes what she had (painstakingly!) created into an icy blue formless ball, remaining the same size. suppose the metaphor remains? )
I've never met someone who could do that to my powers. ( granted, not that she has allowed anyone before. she remembers what he had called himself the night before. ) I should start calling you the magic man.
( she won't. not on any super serious pretense.
instead, wanda raises her hand anew and picks at the liquid, formless shape he's created, and from the pinch of her thumb and forefinger, a thread of red unspools. it is, still, inherently, her own, and she can find still traces of it if she just thinks that she can, as she imagines she should. wanda continues to twirl her hand, a delicate dance of her fingers, until she has red dancing and covering her hand. this she will use to shape and form whatever remains of the non-liquid liquid between david's hands, until the red absorbs it entirely and it disappears at wanda's leisure.
she remains looking at her hand, wondering to herself if that should have felt different at all, but ultimately lowers it; hands in her pockets, arms straightened, she shrugs. )
When I feel the emotions of others, it gets under my skin. The louder it is, the longer it stays there. Some are really uncomfortable. Some feel like a warm hug. Back at the motel, I always had to make the conscious effort of switching it off. ( for it's not something one can just turn on-or-off; it gets tiring, like remembering to breathe or blink because your body won't just do it on automatic. ) I guess— I could shut it off around you, and you'd never know, and it'd be fine. Maybe some of your stronger emotions feel the way they do to me because it gets at something that I know too well.
( his bitterness at others, his angry spikes, agitation. they're not the same, their lived experiences, but they're close enough. wanda had long ago surrendered her anger, dismissed it for forced contentment, all while idealizing her sorrow and grief, leading to settling with inaction. to be fueled by anger again— well, she's got some bite back, and it's not just because of how being around david has changed her, for her time in the diadem has been rife with opportunity to do so, but he is, perhaps, the only one she doesn't feel ashamed of feeling right in her uglier, rightful emotions. ) But, even if that's the case, I want to get used to how you feel, even in the uncomfortable moments, because I do feel good around you the majority of the time.
( a quiet lift of her face, looking up, at the ceiling that's a lot closer to her now. she stretches up one hand, but doesn't manage to reach it— the illusion of height...
after this attempt, she steps off the couch, tugging now at her sleeves (she fidgets, too), turning to david. )
You changed my powers, but I was able to find my red back inside all that blue. ( a beat, her next words hesitant, as if trying to find the right phrasing for this. ) If we— Look, I trust you. You are special, and I just think that if we learn how to make our powers work better together, then— ( we could be pretty scary ) we could be amazing. Better than special. I'd understand you and you'd understand me, and would we really need a school to feel wanted? ( a light pinch of her brow, glancing away. ) I never got to finish school, so.
( all she is really trying to get to, is (with a quiet huff, turning to face him again): ) I'm sorry. You're the last person I want to upset.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-28 08:21 pm (UTC)—My attendance was... ( a wave of a hand; he doesn't bother finishing the remark. ) And then I got expelled. ( he doesn't clarify that it was college — at a certain point, the when matters less than the behaviours. for as much as david's reluctant to linger on that specific period of time, he's willing to concede expulsion had been inevitable. one thing had led into another, and it's difficult — outside of farouk — quite to point a finger at which came first.
still.
he presses his lips together and takes a step to the side; then, he takes a seat on the sofa, glancing up at her as her words register. amy had described him as so upset, all the time, and he — he knows it'd been true, for as much as upset as a term matters. it's one of those difficult, all-encompassing ones: challenging, volatile, erratic, angry, used when any of the above might elicit a less than pleasant response. )
I don't need a school. I don't want a teacher. ( he leans towards her, hand extended. his fingers press into the cushion, and he says, ) It's not you. You understand that. There's... It's the same as thoughts. Some matter, some don't. You said you were going to stop reading into them.
( and then he sits back, drawing his feet back onto the couch. his unfinished teacup of wine still sat on the coffee table earns a glance, and then his attention's back to wanda. one corner of his mouth quirks, curving up momentarily. ) I am the magic man, ( he retorts, without a shred of self-consciousness. he knows wanda doesn't mean it seriously, and he doesn't frankly, in all honesty, expect anyone else to call him that, but that doesn't diminish what he can do.
the scarlet witch is an absurd name, too, but— names mean something. they're magic, the both of them. )
If you could do anything, what would you do?
no subject
Date: 2026-04-28 08:43 pm (UTC)maybe it's best to not linger on it and keep trying to make a point—
at his glance at the teacup, wanda picks it up, then offers it to him in the same movement as she sits next to him, in the same breath as his i am the magic man. it's still such a dumb name, but if he likes it—
(they're magic, the both of them. david had said that the previous night.)
arms crossed, legs stretched out, wanda just very casually leans against his side, a quiet mm of thought at his question. she may have moved away from him before, to the point that it made him feel some way about it, but right now she doesn't mind pressing into him like this, casual and light. )
I want a do-over. But with all the warnings of what went wrong, so that I don't... ( she goes silent. so that i don't end up alone. selfish as the thought may be, her parents deserved to live (how is she less than 10 years away from being as old as they ever were?), and she should be going through life with pietro, loud and annoying, by her side. she tightens her crossed arms onto herself, tries to make it less sad by saying, ) If I was a kid again, I would want to go to an American high school. Have lockers and cheer squad and after school clubs.
( she's not very serious about the latter )
no subject
Date: 2026-04-28 09:19 pm (UTC)Me too.
( he leans into her, comfortable with her weight and her presence and her warmth. he's not naive enough to think that most people don't want some kind of do-over in their lives, whether it's just a matter of taking advantage of opportunities they hadn't the first time around, whether it's making up for some kind of embarrassment, whether it's just a vague concept of improvement; but he doesn't think that there are that many people that'd want to redo their entire life from the ground up, change step a, and step b, and step c, prevent themselves from becoming who they are entirely, change the entire progression of their lives. maybe that, more than the powers, more than the abilities, is why he and wanda have connected so immediately, so quickly.
then, as if it's a hypothetical, he laughs and looks to her out of the corner of his eyes. )
You've watched too much TV.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-28 09:36 pm (UTC)wanda snorts, pushing a hand to her face. )
I know. ( she did watch a lot of tv growing up. ) That's how I learned English.
( she watched a lot of it, too, as the one comfort she was allowed in HYDRA when she had been isolated, after the mind stone. a small, square tv in the corner, up high. then back in america, whenever she wasn't training with the avengers or whenever she wasn't lined up for a mission, she would watch hours and hours of sitcoms in her room, finding no real joy in any of them. just something to keep her just barely with her head above water.
how casual it is though, how easy it is, to pick her feet up and uncross her arms, to point somewhere by the coffee table. )
I want the TV there.
( could he make the tv, with his reality warping? maybe. but, she wants to find it. it has to be earned. she tilts her head up, to look up at him, ) We'll watch together, yes?
( it's perhaps about replicating something tender: how watching tv was a family thing, every night, warm and lovely. how vision would find joy in 'understanding' the jokes, obnoxiously logical as he was. just like going out to look at stars together, watching tv together can just be another one of their things. )
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 11:06 am (UTC)he's happy without, but he hadn't missed the way she'd spoken about sitcoms earlier, the handful she'd mentioned by name, that she had a favourite. there's no mistaking, either, the way she talks about it now, like it's just something people have. that it's part of the living-together experience. we'll watch together. well— fine. )
Yes. ( easy agreement punctuated by a beat. ) Where will the table go?
( not that it matters now, but it will. )
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 12:24 pm (UTC)at the question of the table, wanda pauses.
hm.
she motions vaguely to the side. )
It depends on the TV furniture. It cannot go on the floor, the perfect angle is— ( and then, raising her left hand, she does a general sweep at eye level (is it? the perfect angle? maybe). wanda doesn't finish that sentiment, but does lower her arm. ) Is there anything you want? For the apartment.
( to be clear: ) It's not just mine anymore.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 12:49 pm (UTC)(if she changed her mind, too, and decided that being roommates wasn't for her—.
she does pay the rent, after all.) )
My last place, we had a bureau. Bookshelves. ( his gaze flickers over the walls. ) Lamps. Paintings.
( he cants his head, slyly— )
Do you think you'd be able to resist changing it?
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 01:30 pm (UTC)( she repeats, quietly, drawing from her language knowledge— oh, like a desk but not one? it's not a word she uses often, mostly because she can't quite pronounce it properly. just like the word genre. all these things sounds not bad. bookshelves means he'd find himself books to read, surely, and the light from lamps is much kinder than that of overhead ones which can usually be very harsh. what kinds of paintings would david get?
wanda doesn't even need to turn her head to see the expression he makes. she pushes up her hand, between them, presses the back of it to his cheek. stop canting your head at her— )
You can always say no to my suggestions.
( free will, and all that!
she drops her hand, now turning her head to him. )
I'm never going to ask again.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 01:48 pm (UTC)a soft mm of mild agreement, and— )
I will. ( tell her no. ) Are we betting on that? You never asking again?
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 02:03 pm (UTC)until he decided to sit all awkwardly against the couch's arm. )
I'm not betting joolies with you.
( you're broke. )
—but I could bet star stickers as a reward. ( they still have that silly prize stuff on the line. ) It doesn't count as asking if you offer, though.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 04:26 pm (UTC)( he's aware he's broke, too, and while he's not — as he's said — oblivious to the importance of cash, he's still in no hurry to figure that part of his current life out. his powers make that far less complicated than he'd intimated with his response to wanda's suggestion that they steal together.
he slides his feet forward so that they're wedged in the gap between one couch cushion and the other, hands resting on his knees. star stickers. it's a thought. his eyes lift to the ceiling as if in consideration, then he shakes his head. ) No, those are separate. This will be something else. I'll let you know next time you ask.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 05:03 pm (UTC)a knit of her brows, looking away. )
You're going to ask for something weird.
( she plays it so cool, shoulders hunching. meanwhile, the teacup on the arm of the couch that david had placed, wobbles a little precariously behind him. returning to their previous conversation earlier that day— )
I won't do massages.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 06:28 pm (UTC)the cup behind him wobbles and he doesn't notice, not until it starts to slide down the arm behind him and he leans forward abruptly, hand dropping from his knee to reach behind his back to catch it. it lands, cold and a little damp, in his hand, and he pulls it round to hold between his knees. ) And I'm not going to ask you for a massage.
( despite their earlier conversation.
abruptly— ) Do you think I'm weird? ( with absolutely no indication as to what he expects the answer to be. )
no subject
Date: 2026-04-29 06:50 pm (UTC)she cuts herself short from thinking that as he busies himself with saving the teacup from a broken fate.
her frown deepens as he asks her if she thinks he's weird. )
I was making a joke. ( admitting, reluctantly, that she's not very funny... ) You are weird, like I am weird. ( a shrug. ) —but you're not weird like... Marcelo from the motel is. I don't actually think you are going to be creepy or anything like that.
( she finishes the sentiment quietly. did he think that she thought he would?
drawing in some air, she aims for extra credit, ) You're nice, and you can be sweet. You're a lot easier to read sometimes, even without — you know. I can give you feedback about how you are as a roommate after a month, if you like.
( a pause, eyes shifting back up to him. )
That's another joke, by the way.
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Date: 2026-04-29 08:11 pm (UTC)david might be many things, syd and cary and the vermillion might think of him as a certain kind of person, but he's not marcelo. he doesn't want to end the world, not on a global scale, not on an individual scale.
philly had called him nice, once upon a time; syd had called him sweet. the compliment doesn't land as it might if he didn't have the contrast of the but, but he knows (hopes, imagines) that she, wanda, doesn't mean it like that. )
—Are you saying you want to exchange report cards?
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Date: 2026-04-29 08:21 pm (UTC)( her expression pinches, and wanda sits up on her knees, onto the cushion that he has wedged his feet under. in this way, she grabs onto one of his knees for support, and, in that obnoxious way that siblings might play-fight in, she grapples for the tea cup that he's holding.
(the teacup hasn't done anything wrong, is innocent in all this, and yet—) )
Not report cards. ( she said it was a joke! ) We have the star stickers, but I'm starting to think you're not going to be fair about giving me any. ( she's not very balanced, as she tries to tug off his fingers from the teacup. ) You said you'd be fair.
( there's hardly any mean streak to this whole thing, her actions and words, but david ought to remember that wanda's kind of... competitive. )
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