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Fade Rift Mods ([personal profile] faderifting) wrote in [community profile] allthisshitisweird2023-05-02 05:40 pm
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Test Drive!

TEST DRIVE MEME

While in some alternate, tidier timeline, the War against the Elder One ended years ago, you're not in that timeline. It's 9:49, and the war continues. An enemy force partially occupies Orlais and has decimated several Marcher Cities, while the Chantry, aided by the Inquisition, has marshaled Orlais and the faithful of Southern Thedas into a new Exalted March against the army of demon-bound Wardens, Red Templars, Venatori loyalists, and darkspawn Corypheus has amassed. Rifts are still scattered across the continent, periodically spitting out strangers from strange worlds with green-glowing anchors embedded in their hands. There's no Herald of Andraste to save Thedas. Someone else is going to have to do it.

You're part of (or allied with, recently hired by, imprisoned by, etc.) an organization, dubbed Riftwatch, that split off from the Inquisition several years ago. Riftwatch consists of these otherworldly new arrivals, rebels and Wardens, and other people who want to prevent the apocalypse without necessarily marching under the Chantry's banner to do it. Their headquarters is an island fortress called the Gallows—formerly a Circle of Magi, more formerly a prison for slaves, but its new occupants have done a good job removing the more grotesque reminders of that past and making the place livable. Their goal is to do what the Chantry can't or won't do, to go more directly after Corypheus and the dark magic he employs, and to keep the Veil from coming apart entirely.

Maybe you're here because you want to help. Maybe you need the money (though there isn't much of it). Maybe you acquired an anchor and sticking around is the only way to prevent your hand from killing you. Maybe you've been sent by the Chantry or some other entity to keep an eye on everyone—they're rumored to be a lot of weirdos and troublemakers. Or maybe you're a new rifter and just going where the nice people with swords tell you that you need to go.

NOTE: This is a static test drive! We post them once per year or so and continue to use them for a long time, so you're never late. Current players are encouraged to track new top-level comments.


I. THE FREE MARCHES: Hasmal, Tantervale, and most recently Starkhaven have all fallen to the Tevinter incursion, leaving Kirkwall the largest city-state in the Free Marches to remain unoccupied. For Riftwatch, that means the war is closer to home than ever, and traveling anywhere north of the mountains runs the risk of running into enemy scouting parties. Perhaps you've been sent out to find these scouts before they find the unwary, or perhaps you're just trying to pass through unnoticed to Antiva or Rivain when you run into trouble. Or maybe you're more in the thick of it: joining the Free Marches armies in harassing the occupying army as best they can from outside the city, or slipping your way into one of them to gather intelligence or meet with an ally.

II. THE WAKING SEA: When Riftwatch isn't traveling by griffon or magic mirror, it frequently travels by sea, courtesy of a small assortment of allied pirate ships. So welcome aboard. The sea is choppy and frequently violent—violent storms, violent enemy ships, or both at once—and the crew may not have much patience for incompetence, so either make yourself useful above or try not to get sick below.

III. KIRKWALL: Even when enormous evil darkspawn are trying to take over the known world and you and your colleagues might be the only ones who can truly stop him, you can't work all the time. And when you aren't working, Kirkwall is there for you with its dingy Lowtown taverns, its flashy Hightown establishments, its market stalls and street musicians and cellars hosting gamblers. (Or maybe you can work all the time, and you're in the city to do some official shopping, try to spy on a suspicious character, or show a potential financial backer a good time.)

IV. SEND A MESSAGE: Each member of Riftwatch is assigned a blue crystal, small enough to wear around the neck, that can transmit voice messages, as well as an enchanted book tied to that crystal that can be used to exchange written messages. They're secure enough to discuss the war, if you'd like to get down to business, but loosely controlled enough to ask a question or play a game with only a few rolled eyes from people who hate fun.

V. WILDCARD: From the Gallows' library to the pirate islands off the coast, from Hightown's high-priced market stalls to the bloody frontlines of the war, Thedas is yours to explore.

explosion: scarlet witch. (pic#14896709)

i agree, he should resign

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-07 03:27 am (UTC)(link)
She knows he's there before he speaks. Pietro used to stare at her in the hopes she'd break the silence, but she was always so stubborn, knowing he'd break first. She took pleasure in it then; she takes pleasure in it now, although Stephen Strange is nothing like her brother.

For one, her brother is dead.

Ignoring the hammering of her heart, Wanda lifts her head and smiles at him. It's an easy script to follow: lift her head, smile prettily, ensure the camera gets her best angle. Perhaps Reddit would consider this the moment that Wanda Maximoff starts her redemption arc… or someone may claim she's acting out of character.

"Hi." In one word, she hides behind her American accent. She could play dumb—does she know him? Does she recognise him? But her hair is bright red and not as dark as it was when she was in Scotland. Wanda knows he knows the colours of her hair; Stephen's nothing if not meticulous in his research.

"I'm not surprised you're here." With a glance around, she lifts her hand (fingers plain, no black in sight, although she hides it with soft tendrils of thin red vines snaking around her fingers in an attempt to mask any magic he may sense) to gesture at the library, and speaks in an attempt to maintain control. "You are a nerd."

She doesn't close the book in her lap, keeping it as her shield if she so much as needs a slip of armour to hide behind. She's naked in this strange world; he's here, he fits in the space like it has gotten used to his presence, and he's here.

Is she glad he didn't end up freezing to death outside Wundagore?
Edited (missed some crucial shit in my tag) 2024-09-07 03:27 (UTC)
dirthsal: (087.)

[personal profile] dirthsal 2024-09-07 03:59 am (UTC)(link)

[ oh, right. rifters. talin shifts a little, reassessing this conversation, and how he wants to go about it. ]

Nevarran belief holds that when someone dies, their soul crosses into the Beyond. When they do, they push a spirit out. In order to keep that spirit from turning to a demon, Nevarran mages... [ here talin falters a little, not sure of the proper phrasing. ] The spirits are put in the bodies of the dead, to keep them peaceful. It is a mostly harmonious relationship, from what I understand.

Aside from when they took over the whole of Nevarra City, but I think that was our adversaries' fault, not the spirits.

paramus: (Default)

sticks leggy way out!!!

[personal profile] paramus 2024-09-07 04:20 am (UTC)(link)

Is this what having a sister is like, [ asked with a quirk brow as he lowers himself to sit next to her, ] because suddenly I'm glad I was an only child.

[ he wasn't, really. not in practice, at least; bucky's family was just as much steve's, which meant he'd had four siblings, in effect. it seems like a comment that might make wanda laugh, though, and that's what he's really aiming for. ]

I've been going through the history books, trying to make sure I don't make a fool of myself here. You?

elegiaque: (147)

iiib.

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-09-07 09:37 am (UTC)(link)
Without fail, the rifters that Gwenaëlle warms to the fastest are those that are getting with the program.

It isn't that she lacks sympathy — any more — for their plight. For the sense of what's been lost, even as she's the first to point out it probably sort of hasn't, in a manner of speaking, speed-running strangers through an existential crisis through sheer bluntness when the subject arises. Whatever the particulars, the result is a stranger in a strange place, thrown headlong into conflict, adrift from everything familiar and required to adapt. She doesn't not understand that that's fucked,

but as she had said it to Hermione: tomorrow doesn't give a shit what any of us have lost getting here. They're all here, regardless. The thing that matters most to her is what they do with that, and all of which is to say: her blurry first impression of Wanda Maximoff, aside from a peculiar deja vu that she doesn't immediately place (it will come to her later, and she will dismiss it instantly), is someone who is not afraid to roll her sleeves up and muck in. Someone throwing herself into it, instead, and if the effort is made then Gwenaëlle is always willing to meet it, albeit sometimes messily, sharply, albeit with all the bedside manner of a stumbling nuggalope.

That initial approval is underlined by Wanda's sureness now, and as she breaks into a run alongside her — keeping Wanda on her blind side, the bladed tails of her deep green coat streaming behind, slight and fast — it's a moment she'll remember, later. That she didn't hesitate.

None of which stops her from saying, “Fuck me,” Orlais by way of the High Quarter, looking like someone's pirate fantasy and sounding like a potty-mouthed princess, “but it's never just a little, normal one with these people—”

Nevarrans. They're so damned dramatic.

(The gauntlet she's wearing on her left hand, she turns palm up as they run, adjusting the crystal focuses over the anchor-shard one-handed, efficient, familiar. It gleams with sickly-bright power.)
favoriteanalyst: (and tuck your demons into bed)

[personal profile] favoriteanalyst 2024-09-07 11:10 am (UTC)(link)
"Very free to use. Tables, too." Some might think him stuffy, the way he's acted before, with his meticulous little reminders about how to treat what's offered in the library. But so long as she isn't damaging the books in any way--and what apparently curious, avid reader would intentionally do so?--then a little floor time won't hurt them. Really, if anything, it might hurt her.

Ah, to be that young and spry again.

"Might be more cozy if you're gonna spend a good bit of time here trying to familiarize yourself with everything here, anyway. Even got candles you can burn into the night for reading, though I'll thank you not to burn them out completely by being a night owl." Maker knows he had to chase Stephen out more than a few times, reminders to eat and sleep and the normal things normal bodies do and not spirit selves doing the reading for him. "Some of the nooks have windows, too, for good daylight reading."

What he's really building up to is: are you okay down there? You good? Is that comfy? Are you afraid? But he always tends to go the longer way about these things. Some people need blunt, and some wouldn't know blunt if they got hit with a hammer.
explosion: (pic#15385500)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-07 11:45 am (UTC)(link)
Is Wanda leading? God help us all if she is. She has never been one to know where to go, often following Natasha's husky voice in her ear or Steve's unwavering commands to go right, left, back around, up in the air, and now somersault all the way down to the ground. She's most comfortable when given instructions to follow.

But there are no instructions, so Wanda heeds her gut instead. It's never led her astray, even if it's encouraged her to stumble into messes.

Is this a mess? It might be a mess. But Wanda knows she can't ignore the fact that a rift needs to be closed and she has the means to help.

Understanding immediately that this woman's gifted her trust by keeping her on her blind side, Wanda ensures that she smacks thick, dangerous stones from the ground in front of them if it leads to tripping. The statues loom overhead; the green fires flicker, but none of them spills out into a raging booby trap like they would for Indiana. She ensures that she remains loud so she knows where she is.

She pants. "Is that all I need to know?" Natasha would never have run into this without knowing everything first. Steve would. What would Wanda do? Read the minds of those around her. But how can she lay low if she does that?

Running isn't flying; her feet hit the pavement with loud thuds, and she's certain she'll pull a muscle in a matter of minutes.
explosion: age of ultron. (pic#14698874)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-07 11:47 am (UTC)(link)
[ That's… Wanda's uncertain how she feels about that. A spirit being pushed out and slotted into a body that isn't theirs… Hw would she feel it that were Pietro?

She furrows her brows, quiet for a moment, contemplative as she considers what that must mean. How would she feel if she were the spirit? How would she feel if she were the spirit's living family member?

Why not ask? ]


What do you think about that? Do you think it's sad to die and be pushed out from where you have every right to rest?
explosion: wandavision + 1960s. (pic#14701318)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-07 11:52 am (UTC)(link)
[ Her laugh is light, and she smiles. If it weren't Steve, her smile would be smaller. Pietro would be able to inform him of what it's like to have a sister in great detail, undoubtedly focusing on how annoying little sisters are. She wishes he were here to tell Steve. Wanda doesn't trust herself to recount it properly. ]

I'm going through them to make myself a fool.

[ She hands him one of the books—a book about magic, which shouldn't be surprising, given that this place seems to be filled with it - ]

I haven't found any books on not to look like a fool. I have a feeling no one knows the secrets to that but you. You will tell me, yes?
explosion: civil war. (pic#14698917)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-07 11:56 am (UTC)(link)
What a worrywart.

He reminds her of so many people. Steve, Natasha, Sam. He reminds her of her older neighbours in Sokovia, always wishing to check up on her and Pietro when the lights went out, or they came home later than usual when running errands. It prompts a little ache, although not an uncomfortable one. It's nice to bother someone so effortlessly and innocently and to be cared about, even by a stranger. How long has it been? An illusory orchard with sheep bleating in the background comes to mind.

But she has no interest in immediately unfolding her legs and sitting at a table. Where would the fun in that be?

"Have you tried sitting on the floor?" Wanda looks around with a smile. "In this aisle? It's quite an experience. The shelf is sturdy and comfortable; perfect for resting gently against."
favoriteanalyst: (with words we choose not to hear)

[personal profile] favoriteanalyst 2024-09-07 01:24 pm (UTC)(link)
He looks around between the shelves as though he'd never seen them before. "In this aisle? Right here? Hmmm, sounds like I gotta test this hypothesis myself."

Which is to say, make way, old man coming through. His body really isn't that out of shape for the training he still keeps up after all these years, solid instead of svelte, but he's keenly aware that his knees and his back are not what they used to be. He makes only a mild sound of complaint lowering himself cross-legged to the floor.

It is always nice to be in the aisles, really. Surrounded by entertainment and information at the fingertips. The rest of the library more muted. The smell of parchment and paper and old ink.

"There may be some merit to the idea."
dirthsal: (Default)

[personal profile] dirthsal 2024-09-07 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)

[ it's not a question that talin's ever considered before—dalish beliefs around death are very different from nevarran, and he's had no cause to wonder about what if he were nevarran, though. his eyebrows go up, he blinks, pulls a considering face. ]

I'm not my body, [ is where he ends up. ] If my spirit ends up in the Beyond, and by getting there it shoves a spirit out—it deserves a home here too, doesn't it? Better it goes somewhere it will be safe, for its sake and those around it. It's not possession, or stealing.

Does the idea bother you? [ it probably does, if she asked. ] There are different beliefs. Not everyone binds spirits to their dead. My people bury ours, and plant a tree over their graves, so we may nourish it as we rot. Fereldans burn their dead.

portalling: ᴛʜᴏʀ: ʀᴀɢɴᴀʀᴏᴋ. (pic#15613380)

[personal profile] portalling 2024-09-07 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)
The man does look at home here. Mage robes aren’t so far off from the sorcerer robes she’s used to seeing on him, and there’s a comfortable, broken-in look to his Thedosian outfit; it’s been adjusted and tailored to fit by steadier hands than his. As Wanda gestures, his blue-green gaze predictably drops to her hands and lodges on her fingertips, and he stares a little too openly, searching for that tell-tale charcoal-black smudge. It’s not there, but that might not be a guarantee. Rifting is an inexact science.

There’s always the chance, too, that their experiences don’t dovetail. Perhaps she’s another Wanda from another timeline, a universe where they never crossed paths to begin with. (Would she better or worse off if that were the case? He truly can’t tell.) His expression is guarded, body language tight and closed-off, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop: searching for that recognition in her face, looking for what that recognition means when it does land. If she came from earlier on their road, maybe it’s not—

There’s no use speculating. He might as well just ask.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Stephen asks. It is, perhaps, blunt and indelicate; but he doesn’t like to waste time when there’s an unknown variable to unravel. The last time they took the indulgent time to amble and meander companionably along, she’d trapped him in an illusion.

So this time he’ll be direct.
paramus: (Default)

[personal profile] paramus 2024-09-07 11:21 pm (UTC)(link)

I don't know if there are any books with that specific title, [ he allows, looking at the book he just accepted from her—magic, of course, because what else would wanda be reading about— ] but I find it's easier not to look like a fool if you know the history of a place. At least it's somewhere to start. I can give you a history lesson, if you want.

[ he would never let wanda look like a fool if he could help it—steve feels responsible for her, in a lot of ways, besides just being generally fond of her. of course, his being responsible for her is less fun than she might want, but look, it's steve, are we surprised? should have been team iron man if she wanted an irresponsible mentor figure. ]

What've you learned? About the magic here, or anything else.

explosion: (pic#14699838)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-07 11:33 pm (UTC)(link)
This is why he'll never win an Emmy for his script-writing. His dialogue choices do nothing to add flavour to the scene. Straight to the heart of it, like a surgeon with a scalpel. He would've been written off Grey's Anatomy within two episodes.

Of course, she knows why he's asking.

"My orchard," she says. It's honest; it's not her fault he doesn't ask specifics. When she had finally dreamed a dream that didn't include her boys roughhousing in the front yard, she dreams of her orchard in Sokovia with the sheep bleating in the distance and the warm breeze.

It is the last thing she remembers. Before that, she remembers nothing but darkness and dust, and a red glow before— Well, before she perhaps escaped from Wundagore. Sometimes, Wanda's unsure of whether that happened at all. The building's collapse had been so hurried…

Without needing to read his mind, she knows what he last remembers. He holds himself stiffly. He's not the warmest man, but he's proud and enjoys bleeding that arrogance. Now that there's no need to chase after him, she can see the differences in his posture compared to how he approached her in her orchard. All that stress, all that worry… Does he truly think she'd hurt him in a library? She has respect for books.

Tilting her head to the side, she keeps her expression open, her smile pleasant. It doesn't matter that she came to her senses at the last minute—let him be the unpleasant one. Wanda hates it when they treat her like she's the villain.

"What about you, Stephen?"
portalling: ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ʜᴏᴍᴇ. (pic#17349661)

[personal profile] portalling 2024-09-08 12:37 am (UTC)(link)
He hadn’t been careful enough with his phrasing, not monitoring his choice of words with fey specificity. So the corner of his mouth twitches, rueful, pressing: “Had I come to see you in the orchard yet?”

He doesn’t exactly expect them to start slinging spells at each other in the middle of a public space, but he’s hopelessly paranoid even under normal circumstances, and so he’s on his guard. Wanda’s winsome mile is convincing. (He’s always been convinced by her. He’d bought it, whole-sale. Perhaps that’s part of what stings.)

If they’re from divergent worlds, like two trains running along on separate but parallel tracks, he realises his behaviour must be baffling. But Stephen can’t shake the feeling that she’s a cat playing with its food and he’s the mouse. She’s more powerful than him back home and he knows it; there was a reason all he could do was run.

“I was asleep in my room at the Sanctum Sanctorum. I’d recently come back from Kamar-Taj, which they’re still repairing after you attacked it.”

He doesn’t exactly intend to sound so prickly — he wishes he weren’t — he wishes it wasn’t like this, and he’ll likely regret his guardedness later — but he’s been caught wrongfooted today, surprised, offguard, not expecting this ghost with all his attendant baggage about it and her.

(He had, after all, failed her.)
explosion: scarlet witch. (pic#16686475)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-08 12:55 am (UTC)(link)
[ She looks at the opposite book shelf and tilts her head back, watching him from her peripherals. ]

It's nothing like what I know.

[ What little Wanda does know, though! Without the Darkhold, she'd only have what Agatha had told her: her magic was spontaneous, perhaps not even considered real. Telling Steve that prompts something uncomfortable to twist in her gut. She'd have to tell him everything—from failing Vision to Westview to chasing Strange like he was a sheep and she the wolf. She likes it when he thinks of her as simply Wanda.

She contemplates how she wishes to explain it, her eyes trailing over the shelves in front of them. ]


It's like having the chocolate you like. It's creamy and delicious, melts in your mouth, and makes you want more. The magic here is like a different brand of chocolate. It's still creamy, but it tastes different. You're unsure if you want more, but you're willing to try.
explosion: scarlet witch. (pic#16686481)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-08 01:00 am (UTC)(link)
We put their names on a plaque no one cares to visit.

[ There's a bitterness there in her soft voice. Sokovia will never be remembered. It had been a tragedy the media had extorted until another tragedy had befallen the world at large. Pietro is buried in the ground no one will ever think to visit. Sokovia is no longer on any map, and she doubts it will be considered for any history books outside of brief references to Ultron and Iron Man.

She briefly thinks of Vision and White Vision and how another soul walking in his body greatly disturbed her. Talin has correctly deduced where she sits regarding this.

With a contemplative look around - ]


I don't know if I like it. I think I prefer the trees. Where there is so much loss… I think it'd be nice if something grows in its place.
explosion: (pic#14746515)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-08 01:03 am (UTC)(link)
Wanda smiles and softly chuckles. Watching him for a moment, she looks around the shelves; her perspective has changed now that she has a friend to sit with. It is different when she's not alone; the world feels smaller but not suffocatingly. This aisle is no longer hers to man. She can rest if she wishes to.

"I think this is why it's not in your recommendations," she says. "If everyone sat in the aisles, it'd lose its merit—and no one would be able to walk through them." That's why it has to be for very special people. Wanda Logic™ works sometimes. It doesn't always have to be destructive.

"What kind of books do you like?"
explosion: (pic#15949143)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-08 01:15 am (UTC)(link)
It'd be easy to glean the very last moment he remembers before arriving here. All it'd take is one press into his mind—

But Wanda doesn't wish to do that. It's not out of any desire to loosen the puppet strings of those around her. She suspects he anticipates it, so she doesn't wish to play into his hand. She likes it when she improvises and goes off-script. It means those who are too tied to what they've rehearsed stumble. Someone like him who would know how to protect his mind will show himself through the twitches of his expression, the curl of his fingers, and the shape of his voice. Magic can only show so much.

If she feels guilt for the damage she caused to such an ancient building, she doesn't show it. Her gut twists uncomfortably, but she hides it. All those lives didn't need to be lost if…

It doesn't matter. Wundagore swallowed her whole. Kamar-Taj will rebuild; Wanda Maximoff will not.

She could play dumb and look away from him or…

She looks him straight in the eye, her expression lacking any smugness. "Maybe they will rethink their wards if I could attack it so easily."

She sighs loudly, looking around the floor, before resting her head against the shelves. "I didn't choose to come here, Stephen," she says, her voice darkening with her Slavic accent briefly. Glancing around, she tilts her head toward her shoulder as she amends, "I chose to come to the library, but I didn't choose to come to Thedas. I would've chosen differently." She'd have found an Earth where Vision or Pietro was, far from her children, deep within the Multiverse where no one, not even the ex-Sorcerer Supreme, could find her.

But she's here instead with him. He may have approved her final decision, seeing her for who she was—a human being with grief pouring from every single pore of her body and anger to boot with her darkened hands—but Wanda knows someone like Strange would never forget what led them along that broken path and to that inevitable dead end. She wouldn't want him to.
elegiaque: (108)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-09-08 01:24 am (UTC)(link)
The rift itself is like an explosion, light to mirror (and link with) the muddy gleam in their hands, enormous and twisting, stretching tendrils of the Fade out to launch demon after demon—

by the grace of whatever's left to give a fuck about them, they aren't alone. Mourn Watch (which she thinks of in her head as Mournwatch, like Riftwatch, a thing they would probably hate) tangles with the demons, and she's fought alongside necromancers often enough before not to balk at their magic. She recognises the faces of other Riftwatch agents in the space they're approaching but focuses on Wanda: new enough to Thedas that something like the buddy system isn't a bad idea.

A despair demon shrieks. Gwenaëlle speaks urgently under the sound,

and there's so much sound, the reverberation of the rift spitting out monstrosities, familiar now but not somehow less fucked for that,

“They'll come in waves,” she says, a quick refresh of what someone has likely told Wanda but that she knows from brutal experience is hard to remember in great detail the first time you're swept in it, “it won't close permanently the first few tries. If the Nevarrans' take out the demons between times we'll have breathing room while it regroups each time, but we can't count on that, and when it's open we're targets.”

The demons allowed through are not, understandably, thrilled about the prospect of having the thing closed.

Gwenaëlle slows as they approach, gaming out strategic placement, where they can reach the rift and be the most difficult to knock off their target,

“We can use the architecture for cover, there—”
explosion: (pic#15717468)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-08 03:08 am (UTC)(link)
Where Wanda prefers wide open spaces, she heeds Gwenaëlle and follows to take cover. (When has she ever needed cover when there were empty, unused cars to throw at men in suits? When there was Wakandan earth to dig up with the brute force of her mind and throw at spinning wheels?)

Who knew hiding behind a statue would be efficient? She's seen them topple and crush the pavement below, killing Sokovian flowerbeds and becoming home to weeds. She doesn't like grasping the base of a stone statue as she peers around the bend to take note of Gwenaëlle's correct information, but she trusts the skeletons to keep her safe. The dead always do.

The demons rush out like the dead once did in Wundagore, but none of them slithers her way, sensing her and her dark magic corrupting the universe around them. For now, she's safe between a stone wall and a stone statue. It won't last.

Think, think, think, Wanda. Think.

Her palms glow red. "What is it that you can do?"

It's better to complement someone rather than go in independently.
elegiaque: (156)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-09-08 05:45 am (UTC)(link)
“Not much when I'm linked to the rift,” is the grimly honest answer and, probably, the particular reason for their taking cover. They won't be able to wholly rely on it, but it isn't as if the demons targeting them are able to intrinsically zero in on that connection, or at least, she hasn't seen them do it that way— if they're out of sight, and the enemy occupied (Mourn Watch and their raised dead, those of Riftwatch not burdened with the closure itself), every moment they aren't noticed is precious time to force the thing.

Even still. Beyond that:

“My anchor-shard is stronger than most, has abilities beyond only the closing of the rift,” she says, crouching low, glancing at Wanda's reddened hands but not starting. Rifters practise strange magic; that one true eye of hers has seen a great deal of it, nearly ten years of her adult life spent entangled with them. “The focus,” the gauntlet she's wearing, and if it reminds her of some kind of steampunk Stark tech then it should because he built the thing, “allows me some measure more of control over them. Blasts of force or a protective barrier around us. Beyond that,”

her shrug is elegant for a woman wearing an armored corset,

“I've got a lot of knives and the bow.”

The bow glitters strangely on her back, trailing ice magic, and appears to have no string within it.

“If I can get somewhere high up, it's better, but if I'm high and locked to the rift—”

it's just further to fall if a despair demon catches her off-guard.
explosion: wandavision + 1960s. (pic#14720006)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-08 10:12 am (UTC)(link)
If Wanda were alone, she'd blast the demons from where she stands. Her hands continue to glow red as she only spares her a glance, quickly taking in what Gwenaëlle has drawn her attention to.

Knives. Bow. Anchor-shard.

Does it matter she doesn't know what an anchor-shard is? If it's linked to the rift, it poses a connection and a danger. Perhaps it's best to utilise that.

Glancing back toward the demons, Wanda licks her lips and taps her fingers against the stone. What's the best way to complement what she wishes to do? Wanda promises full force; that strange bow may promise a sneakier attack. Isn't it best to combine the two?

"Do you like the fly? I can lift you up."
portalling: ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ᴏf ᴍᴀᴅɴᴇss. (+ wᴀɴᴅᴀ) (pic#15781157)

[personal profile] portalling 2024-09-09 04:00 am (UTC)(link)
Rather than tense up further, something in him actually relaxes as she acknowledges it. Because let’s call a spade a spade. Let’s call this what it is.

He might have recused himself and ask someone else to do this intake interview with her, but he needed to come here. Needed to see her with his own eyes, test the waters, see what they were going to be working with. Is it better or worse that Tony isn’t here anymore, either?

He’d like to think that this, at least, is the smallest silver lining of Tony’s absence. Stephen’s a disaster, but at least it just means one match on the gasoline rather than two.

“None of us chose to come here,” he says. Rifters. Those with these anchors buried in their hands. Dreams made flesh. Which might not always have been a given; what with America Chavez ripping her way through universes, theoretically there’s the chance that he had come here differently, walking in through the stage door rather than the front.

He breathes out. He’s still clutching a stack of papers, his own lifeline and shield where she’s still holding the book; the two of them are such echoes of each other sometimes, reflections seen through a mirror darkly.

“I thought you were dead on Mount Wundagore,” he says. “And truly, Wanda, I’m glad that that’s not the case.”

There’s complications, a Gordian knot to still be unraveled here, that churning sickening guilt and grief in his chest whenever he looks at her, but he can at least say that part honestly. He had wanted her to stop, but he hadn’t ever wanted her to die. He had tried to reach out — Wanda, you are justifiably angry. You had to make terrible sacrifices — but it was too little, too late at the time. And he’s been kicking himself for it ever since.
explosion: (pic#16690181)

[personal profile] explosion 2024-09-09 05:23 am (UTC)(link)
She looks away and snorts. Shaking her head, she peers down at her book and peels it open at the corner, but lets it fall closed. She lacks the desire to open the pages and pretend she wishes to read it.

"I believe you."

And she hates that she does.

She'd prefer to hate him. She'd prefer it if he hated her. What would happen if she poured all her anger inside him again? What would happen if she summoned his to the surface and shook him until he burst? It was easier when he used his self-righteousness to make himself a target. She was a bull who only saw red, and he happily waved his cape for her to charge at.

Wanda keeps her feelings about her apparent survival to herself. He's not her friend—not that she'd tell her friends any of her feelings. She liked being easy to deal with. She was always enough of a problem.

With a deep sigh, she makes herself look up at him, her expression intentionally neutral and pleasant. There's no anger there. "How long have you known I was here?"

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