driftfleet | "My mind's like a deadly disease..."

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"My mind's like a deadly disease..."

Who: Wanda Maximoff
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Starstruck
When: Now

Broadcast - Text

[Wanda's presence, both in the Fleet's comms and aboard its vessels, has dwindled, slowly but surely, over the course of the past month. There was period of time, around the beginning of the month, when she couldn't be found or reached at all--save for by Misty, Vision and Pietro. More perceptive fleet members might recall that her disappearance occurred around the time that rumors of a dragon and its rider terrorizing Solrius were circulating about. However, she did pop back up a little while later, seemingly as though nothing was wrong. However, those that know her well may have picked up the subtle tells that there was something she was not saying. Something that she was trying to bury. And so, she became more and more scarce around the Fleet. At least, until now...]

What do you think happens after death?

[The message is short and simple. Anyone familiar with the festivities of the month of October, perhaps this is simply her way of trying to get into the spirit of things?]

Starstruck - Action

[Friends and shipmates of Wanda's, if they want to go looking for her, will find her either holed up in her bunkroom aboard the Starstruck, or in a corner of the ship's kitchen or shuttle bay at times she thinks no one would typically wander in. By the look on her face, it is clear something is troubling her.]

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I don't know if I'm a good person or not.

[She answers flatly, her gaze drifting down to her lap. Her expression becoming more pained and confused. It takes her a moment to find the words before continuing.]

What do you think it means if it's just... blackness? If it's nothing?

If it is, at least it'll be peaceful.

[Max has... wanted to die, before. Sometimes consciously, many times subconsciously. Even though his body makes him put one foot in front of the other, something inside him yearns for that kind of rest. Death is everyone's endgame, and Max can't help but look forward to it, in some way.

He's really, really messed up.

But he isn't one to think the same for others. Living is crucial. Carrying on.]

Don't know. Maybe... your soul dreams somewhere.

[A pause.]

You seem alright to me.

[She looks up at that, a little surprised that Max seems to know. Involuntarily, her left arm reaches up and clutches her jacket, over the spot where... well, Max can likely guess.]

[Her hand slackens its grip, and slowly slides back down to her lap. Her gaze drifts down and away from him. She almost looks like a kid who got caught doing something they know is wrong.]

You know?

[... Max sighs quietly, before taking a seat.]

I know a few things.

You — um. Wanna talk? At someone.

I... M'not a good talker, but I'm pretty good at listening.

[She looks up at him as he sits down across from her. There's a bit of genuine surprise that he's offering. Not that he ever struck as necessarily mean or anything like that, but as she was aware that, as he himself just confessed, he wasn't much of the talking type.]

[Her eyes drift slowly down to the surface of the table between them. She appears to be considering his offer. And then, without looking up, her hand once again returns to her jacket, but, this time, she starts to pull the zipper down slightly before tugging the collar slightly down and to the left. It's enough for Max to be able to see the beginning of a large, white jagged looking scar that appears to travel further down her chest. It's start just an inch or so below where her left collarbone touches her neck. Guessing by the size of the scar and the position of it, the wound that created it should have been lethal. Yet, here was Wanda sitting before him. Though, her expression now looks as lifeless as one would expect of the dead.]

[Her volume is only a little above a whisper when she speaks.]

I... I ran into some trouble. Back in the last system.

This was the result.

[He looks surprised for a moment — startled, even, a flash of something in his eyes. It makes him forget for a moment, that he's supposed to be distant and quiet and pretend that his crew doesn't matter as much to him as it really does. His chair scrapes a bit across the floor as he scoots closer, looking at the scar with intensity and hand almost reaching up to prod at it before he remembers the slightest bit of manners.]

What happened.

[He's a bit frustrated, a bit concerned. He is usually out on his own, usually leaves everyone here to their own business, but there's a troubling, nagging outrage at himself, small and simmering, that he wasn't there to do something.]

I'm not sure if you'll believe me. Retelling it... I find it almost hard to believe myself.

[There's a bare fragment of a smile on her face. A slight twinge of humor that is quickly snuffed out as she thinks back to what happened. It's still difficult for her to talk about it. Not only because of what it felt like to relive her death, but also because of how that made it hard for her to fully remember everything.]

There were these rumors... reports of a dragon, a monster that was terrorizing some of the local towns on one of the planets. Allen Walker made a post about it on the network.

Pietro and I... my brother, he joined me in investigating these rumors. We had only wanted to try and help those that we could. Instead, we ran into the beast. The dragon. It was accompanied by a rider. This figure...

[Wanda shudders a little at the memory. The black eyes, the mouthless face... like something out of a nightmare.]

We tried to escape. Fought for our lives. I gave up mine to save my brother's.

[It is strange to hear. But then, people have arrived here from the dead, haven't they? He is patient and listens attentively, leaving the echoes of ghosts far from his peripheral as he does so. Rubbing the scruff on his chin, he squints, concerned still. She must be relieved to know her brother was saved, but at the cost of this... well... it must feel bizarre.]

You feel... okay?

[Okay is vague, because what is 'okay' to her?

He'll find out.]

["Did she feel okay?" The question almost makes her chuckle. How could she possibly feel even remotely okay with anything that had happened? But she doesn't say that. No, instead she just shakes her head. Her eyes are downcast, like they're burning a hole in the dining table.]

I don't know if I can ever feel "okay" again.

That's normal. Not okay, s'normal.

[He speaks it with assurance, or as much as someone like Max provides.

Because it is okay, to not be okay. Granted, he's not okay in the worst ways some days, and he just accepts how bad off it is, and that's not something she should adhere to. But it's true. Being not okay, it's okay.]

Just got to keep going until it's further behind you.

[He taps a finger to his skull, earnest and serious as ever.]

... Time helps.

[Except when you dream. Time's ass is kicked then.]

[A man of as few words as Max is, they always seemed to be enough to get his message and feelings across. At least, to Wanda it felt that way. But, she does have the advantage of her powers giving her an elevated level of emotional empathy.]

So then, time... will just solve everything?

[She clearly sounds doubtful. Yet, she wants Max's words to be true.]

No.

[He says it quickly after, easily.]

This isn't something to solve; it's something to live with. You... learn to live with it.

[He rubs his arm, and he almost seems sheepish, like he's not sure he should be giving his own personal opinion on this. After all, he thinks, he is a psychotic.]

Time gives you the, um. The tools to use, to live with it.

[Wanda listens somberly, yet attentively to Max's words. She studies his face as he speaks. She knows the next question she asks may be far too personal a question for someone like Max to answer. So, she would not be surprised if he declined to respond.]

What have you had to learn to live with?

Loss.

[But his expression seems... guarded. Shuttered off.

Dark, lonely, distant. He sees a desert, when he looks up and away. An orange-hued desert drenched in radiation, whistling with isolation. He sees crosses, wooden, forged by himself. He sees what time has helped distance from him. Or at least... usually keeps distant from him, until the ghosts pester.

He doesn't look at her, just stares like he's seeing right through the ship.

Then he finally looks at her, expression hardened.]

... Didn't learn to live with everything fast enough.

Don't make the same mistake.

[Wanda knows that look. She's seen it -- or at least a version of it -- in the mirror many times. Back home, she's the only surviving member of her family. How could she not recognize that far-off look of Max's a moment ago? When his gaze back to her, she meets it and gives him a small nod of understanding.]

[Still though, his words catch her off guard. "Don't make the same mistake." They illicit both feelings of deep sympathy and a sort of comforting resolve.]

Maybe it's not too late... for the both of us to find a way.

[He looks away, silent.]

You're young and... mm, strong. You can find it.

[The unspoken speaks: he's pretty sure he's used up his chances.]

[She cocks her head at that, looking him over. A slightly bemused grin on her face.]

And you are not?

[He raises one solitary eyebrow. A bitchy expression, if you will.]

Hardly.

[In his forties, he's really used up for the place he's from.

He considers himself quite an old bastard, really.]

Already have a bum knee, after all.

[Wow a grumpy joke.]

[She snorts at that, a playful grin plays across her lips for a moment. Her eyes still look a little sad though.]

Thank you, Max.

For talking with me. Especially about something like this.

[A silent glance, and then a nod.

Sure thing, it says. Anytime. He may be crap at talking, but he'll put the effort in.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"My mind's like a deadly disease..."

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[action] (heads desk realizing should have been "elicit" not "illicit")

[action] there there! 3:^)

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