14047/What To Get Anyone
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| What To Get Anyone | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 06 February 2023 |
| Location: | Wanda's Room - Avengers Mansion |
| Synopsis: | Bien. |
| Cast of Characters: | James Barnes, Wanda Maximoff
|
- James Barnes has posed:
TEXT from BUCKY to WANDA: Hey. Are you doing anything riiiiiiiiiiiight now-ish?
- Wanda Maximoff has posed:
[TEXT from WANDA to BUCKY] Listening to an album and trying to master this ritual, nothing terribly serious. Don't bother with the bus stop, it's not going to make it, by the way.
- Wanda Maximoff has posed:
[TEXT from WANDA to BUCKY] How odd. I wanted to create a window and instead get prognostication. That's not particularly what I intended.
- James Barnes has posed:
TEXT from BUCKY to WANDA: That's awesome. Really, it is. Do you think that maybe you could pause that? I think I might need a bit of assistance.
- Wanda Maximoff has posed:
[TEXT from WANDA to BUCKY] Yes, it's not so far gone I cannot tie that off. bbi5. what do you need?
- James Barnes has posed:
TEXT from BUCKY to WANDA: I need to not have pissed off a Ukranian special ops who somehow got access to contraband repulsor technology and has me pinned down in a sewer. I wish the smell was the worst part but it's the way the repulsor blasts make the grime _sticky_.
- Wanda Maximoff has posed:
[TEXT from WANDA to BUCKY] SpecOps attacked you with a blaster in a sewer?
- Wanda Maximoff has posed:
[TEXT from WANDA to BUCKY] That is what you are saying?
- James Barnes has posed:
TEXT from BUCKY to WANDA: That is what I'm saying, yep!
- Wanda Maximoff has posed:
[TEXT from WANDA to BUCKY] Do you need incoming or exfil? Either will happen in 5 seconds. Spell is prepped.
- James Barnes has posed:
TEXT from BUCKY to WANDA: Incoming. Still gotta get my target out.
- Wanda Maximoff has posed:
[TEXT from WANDA to BUCKY] Directly behind you to the left. Love you!
- Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Inside the Avengers compound, whatever one can call it, Wanda stands inside a wide circle etched in floating candles. The tapers contain Balkan soil, Russian water, Brooklyn tallow, each of them burning with an increasingly red flame that normally wouldn't ever dance on the tip of a wick unless chemical compounds alter them. This, however, is her own work.
She draws in the breath of augmented metal, spice, and light skin musk that vaguely patterns the air, and when her eyes open, the reflected world in those wide pupils isn't the room in front of her.
She pulls her hands apart, threads spreading out and revealing a stained wall, grimy and glossed in too many decades without adequate maintenance for an increasing population. A beacon in the night, and a Ukrainian might have a very bad start when she decides to push her way through the opened breach in space to fall in behind a much scarier target than herself.
"Five," she warns.
