( 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. )
( his fingers press into the porcelain of the teacup, holding it firm despite her attempts to grasp it from him. it's not delicate enough that it's going to break, and neither of them are rough enough that they're going to drop it, so while it might slip between his grip and hers, the furthest it extends is sliding down his knees. while the both of them have, somehow, fallen into something easy in the short time they've known each other — an understanding that hinges on more than either of them have really admitted to, an ease that they've circled around but for the admissions that they're different — there's an unspoken element of expecting that neither will take it outside of undetermined boundaries.
you said you'd be fair, she says, oddly petulant, unsurprisingly competitive, and david lets go, abrupt and sudden, letting her have the lion's share of ownership over the mug.
even so and in contrast— ) Fair doesn't mean letting you win.
( david lets go, abrupt and sudden. fair doesn't mean letting you win. the laws of physics say something about the force of a pull and push situation, surely, but wanda's lived experiences unfortunately hinge heavily on getting to go through situations to learn from them. such as the experience of the force of peeling away once david lets go. between the awkwardly wedged cushion and her positioning, wanda loses her balance and tips over the side of the couch.
she's quick to put her foot down, and just about grasps onto the fabric of the couch with her free hand. her socked foot, however, slides on a section of the floor that isn't covered in carpet (this would not be an issue if she wore shoes inside). the teacup escapes her hand, however—
quickly enough, it stops mid-air, surrounded in red. wanda, for her part, gave up and landed herself on the floor, onto her back, after turning to use her arm as a cushion for the short-distanced fall. one hand is raised, keeping the teacup safe, while the other one lets go of the couch cushion. the teacup, for its part, starts to slowly lower down toward her outstretched hand, until it all but lands on the tip of one of her fingers, and she can grab it properly.
(she's fine.)
then, abruptly, a laugh from her, from the floor. )
( he doesn't expect her to fall. at most, he expects her to be thrown off balance, but only to jerk backwards before stilling; that she falls to the side, that her sock slides against the floor is startling, and he half-reaches out to grab her (pointless, really, it's barely a fall—), before there are those slowly, increasingly familiar wisps of red. the teacup gets cushioned, its fall halted, while wanda hits the floor with a muted thud and a laugh.
david sits up, leaning fractionally over the side of the sofa to look down at wanda with a grin. he doesn't try to take the teacup from her, but he does hold a hand, empty, palm open, towards her for her to take so that he can help pull her back into some form of a sitting position, rather than the vague crumple she is presently.
his mouth twitches, and he glances towards the cup. )
( wanda grabs at his offered hand with her free one, pulling herself up to sit. once she's up, she will let go of his hand, turning her back to him as she carefully, gently, places the cup down on the coffee table. at a glance, they've pretty much decimated their dinner, and what's left over are but scraps that could either be tossed out or eaten after all this time has passed.
she pushes herself to stand, bent over a bit over the table just so that she can start piling plates and silverware together, tidy up a little. wanda steals a glance back at him. )
I can clean up. I don't mind. ( definitely not a test or anything to see if he'll help her or not. wanda genuinely doesn't, as she picks up the plates laden with silverware and food scraps and utensils, and moves them over to the kitchen sink. the cassette on the stereo clicks and stops. she comes back to pick up the wine bottle and the milk carton. at least— one and a half cups left in the bottle, though... with a motion to david. ) Back in the fridge?
( it might not be a test but that doesn't mean that david is willing to let wanda tidy up alone. while she manages to pick up the bulk of by virtue of being closer to the table, and though the apartment's larger than it was, it's still not large — david's standing and next to her quickly enough to be able to grab the few scant items she doesn't pick up, stepping into the kitchen and running the water for the sink just as she steps back out to pick up the remainder of the wine and milk.
at her question, he hums an affirmative, opening the fridge and holding out a hand to take one and then the other. as he closes the fridge, his attention shifts to the oven and the digital display of the clock that may or may not be right. (it's at least not flashing 00:00.) )
—Do you work tomorrow?
( if she does, he assumes she'll want an early(ish) night. )
( it's definitely weird (perhaps even fascinating), that in such a short amount of time, despite their missteps, they're constantly in rhythm with each other. it's easy enough, cleaning up, and it's so specifically mundane. part of her wonders if david couldn't just snap his fingers and get everything tidied up. the extent of his abilities are a mystery to her.
david stores the the milk and wine bottle get back in the fridge, all while wanda rolls up her sleeves and picks up at a damp towel to wipe down the coffee table. )
Yeah, I open tomorrow. ( does he know what that means, mister has-never-worked-before— ) But not until ten. ( wanda comes back to the sink, rinsing out the towel, likely doing this over david's arms as he seems to take particular ownership of the sink area. she stands to the side, one hand on the counter. ) Will you come pick up your card game?
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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.
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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?
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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 )
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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.
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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. )
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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. )
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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.
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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?
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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.
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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. )
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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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Date: 2026-04-29 08:43 pm (UTC)you said you'd be fair, she says, oddly petulant, unsurprisingly competitive, and david lets go, abrupt and sudden, letting her have the lion's share of ownership over the mug.
even so and in contrast— ) Fair doesn't mean letting you win.
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Date: 2026-04-29 09:07 pm (UTC)she's quick to put her foot down, and just about grasps onto the fabric of the couch with her free hand. her socked foot, however, slides on a section of the floor that isn't covered in carpet (this would not be an issue if she wore shoes inside). the teacup escapes her hand, however—
quickly enough, it stops mid-air, surrounded in red. wanda, for her part, gave up and landed herself on the floor, onto her back, after turning to use her arm as a cushion for the short-distanced fall. one hand is raised, keeping the teacup safe, while the other one lets go of the couch cushion. the teacup, for its part, starts to slowly lower down toward her outstretched hand, until it all but lands on the tip of one of her fingers, and she can grab it properly.
(she's fine.)
then, abruptly, a laugh from her, from the floor. )
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Date: 2026-04-30 02:29 pm (UTC)david sits up, leaning fractionally over the side of the sofa to look down at wanda with a grin. he doesn't try to take the teacup from her, but he does hold a hand, empty, palm open, towards her for her to take so that he can help pull her back into some form of a sitting position, rather than the vague crumple she is presently.
his mouth twitches, and he glances towards the cup. )
Nice save.
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Date: 2026-04-30 05:12 pm (UTC)( wanda grabs at his offered hand with her free one, pulling herself up to sit. once she's up, she will let go of his hand, turning her back to him as she carefully, gently, places the cup down on the coffee table. at a glance, they've pretty much decimated their dinner, and what's left over are but scraps that could either be tossed out or eaten after all this time has passed.
she pushes herself to stand, bent over a bit over the table just so that she can start piling plates and silverware together, tidy up a little. wanda steals a glance back at him. )
I can clean up. I don't mind. ( definitely not a test or anything to see if he'll help her or not. wanda genuinely doesn't, as she picks up the plates laden with silverware and food scraps and utensils, and moves them over to the kitchen sink. the cassette on the stereo clicks and stops. she comes back to pick up the wine bottle and the milk carton. at least— one and a half cups left in the bottle, though... with a motion to david. ) Back in the fridge?
( he might not want to finish it just yet. )
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Date: 2026-04-30 06:34 pm (UTC)at her question, he hums an affirmative, opening the fridge and holding out a hand to take one and then the other. as he closes the fridge, his attention shifts to the oven and the digital display of the clock that may or may not be right. (it's at least not flashing 00:00.) )
—Do you work tomorrow?
( if she does, he assumes she'll want an early(ish) night. )
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Date: 2026-04-30 06:55 pm (UTC)david stores the the milk and wine bottle get back in the fridge, all while wanda rolls up her sleeves and picks up at a damp towel to wipe down the coffee table. )
Yeah, I open tomorrow. ( does he know what that means, mister has-never-worked-before— ) But not until ten. ( wanda comes back to the sink, rinsing out the towel, likely doing this over david's arms as he seems to take particular ownership of the sink area. she stands to the side, one hand on the counter. ) Will you come pick up your card game?