14158/Going On Stripey

Going On Stripey
Date of Scene:	16 February 2023
Location:	Avengers Mansion - Second Floor
Synopsis:	C'est ici.
Cast of Characters:	Wanda Maximoff, June Connor

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Wanda Maximoff has posed:
It's almost lunch time, though jet lag will do a number on nearly anyone. Wanda suffers from the same dislocation of time leaving a more advanced hemisphere as just about anyone, and her solitary mandate shall be tea. Coffee could be better, but tea roots her to her place.

She rarely, if ever, stays in the mansion. Being associated with a feared former assassin that made all of the Cold War extra lethal requires different security precautions. Like not tripping over a cord on the stairs, or holing up in the same place night after night. Still, she scrubs her eyes with the palm of her hand and moves mostly on autopilot through the great room.

Even here, there's a teapot, since she's a solid fan of tea. Only by habit and circumstance is she safely veering for it. "Mrr."

June Connor has posed:
    June is usually hungover. She almost always sleeps til noon. She also has never been in the Avengers' mansion. However, she's also not herself today, quite literally. In the room Tigra was staying in, she dazedly stretches. "Damn, I gotta watch those moscow mules," she grunts. Wait, she's not hungover. Why is she not hungover?

    She opens her eyes. This place is strange. How drunk was she last night? She looks around, no strange guy is next to her. She looks out at the manicured lawn outside the window. "What the fuck?" She bursts from the strange bed, not bothering to find clothes, and makes a break for the door. It's ... not locked? She's not a prisoner somewhere. She pulls it open, and bursts into the hallway of the strange facility. "Fuck! What the fuck!?"

    Run June, run. She starts to make a sprint, heading in the direction of the great room, not yet aware that the body she is in is not at all her own. It's Tigra's body that comes sprinting in a panic into the great room. She stops, looks around, hyperventiliating. She spots Wanda, and narrows her now feline eyes. "Who the hell are you?" she demands, not recognizing the famous Avenger when she's not in her costumed get up. Her fists ball up, ready for a fight.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Any private place with a view of Central Park is either a very expensive piece of property or a box about to be evicted by the NYPD. Hazards abound wherever Jarvis runs things, and Tony's probably got the security to respond to curse words in that tone of voice. Naturally, anyone shouting before noon will either earn the horror of Mr. Rogers, gentle soul, or the awake members.

Wanda's already turning, her hands rimmed in a faint frisson of red light. Her back stiffens to the sound of Tigra's voice shouting that, though Greer herself might not be the operating pilot at the moment. She's in her yoga pants and a hooded black shirt bearing something ironic written on it in German, a red star stamped on the shoulder. Thus, not hard to roll over in a pretty easy collision if being a cat -- complete with tail -- doesn't automatically grant privileges to dodge slower moving targets. She raises her arms slightly, her eyes wide with concern.

"Greer?" she asks softly, voice rising in a question. "Are you okay? It's Wanda. Do you know what day it is?"

June Connor has posed:
    Teeth bare, and at first June doesn't process that Greer is a person, is that some title or something? The flex of her muscles makes the claws extend, poking her own fist. She looks down, seeing that she's covered in...fur? Is this some weird costume? She puts hands on her body in confusion, pulling on it for a moment. No that's definitely connected. Of course she's only kind of decent because she's covered in fur, but seemed to have no problem running having not dressed herself. She looks back up at Wanda, relaxing her teeth slightly, but doesn't understand. "What day?" she asks. What day is it? Is it Thursday? "Thursday?" she says as more of a question than a statement.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
The bared teeth should be reason to back away slowly. Or quickly as the case may be. In a sheer fight of strength and physical grace, Tigra wins just about every time against the witch.

But Wanda never fights fair, and her shields sit in place around her as the curling scarlet bands of energy rise to defend her if need be. The wave of pale crystalline radiance springs up in a wave. "It is Thursday. Can you count five things around you which are blue?" This is a simple tactic to try to calm the woman, to focus her into the present.

June Connor has posed:
    "Blue? Why the hell would it matter what's blue?" June answers, not lowering her guard. "What is this kindergarten?" Despite herself, she glances around the room, not announcing things, but clearly spotting things that are indeed blue. The crimson energy causes her to back up a little, she herself intimidated by the display. "What's going on? Why am I here? Where IS here?"

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"Because you aren't acting normally. You might be having a panic attack. So focus on the here and now. Name five blue things. When you finish that, curl your toes four times and count aloud." Her instruction is especially soft-spoken, relaxed in a way that her posture lies about. Her posture is anchored in a defensive stance, her hands positioned to slowly move to the sides, palms held open. Her shield remains intact, barely present, but a contribution to tilt the odds in her favour. But nearly invisible, dimmed as its illumination dilutes nearly to transparent with her intention behind it.

"This is New York. Avengers Mansion. You came running out. What do you last remember?"

June Connor has posed:
    "No shit I'm having a panic attack," the feline teeth snap in response to Wanda's observation. "Is this what Avengers do in their spare time? Talk to people like stray kittens?" The irony of her statement is not even realized.

    She tries to remember what Elektra has taught her about remaining calm. Facts. She's not being attacked. This lady is not taking advantage of her confusion, she does not have a short term agenda to press. She needs time.

    "The mug in the sink. The trough LED behind the TV. The security light behind me on the panel, the twisty tie on the floor. The Lambo outside." The last one is technically something she saw when she woke up. And the twisty tie that has been on the floor in the kitchen is rather obscure, clearly an unusual attention to detail. She takes a breath. "I remember waking up, and then I'm here. Was at that afterparty last night." You were drunk, June, that could give you breathing room. "I guess I had too much to drink. Shit I feel weird." She wipes her arms, as if she could wipe off the fur. Nope, it's still there.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Wanda puts her hand on her hip, tilting her head. "Would you prefer I speak in more technical terms? Would it make you feel more comfortable with it?"

The choice is June's, though she receives time to ground herself or try to fly out the window. Though the latter option probably doesn't work very well. Defenses meant to deal with a threat like the Hulk are dangerously effective.

She nods to each option ticked off. "Good, good. So you are alert and oriented. You went out to a party and blacked out between then and now. Did you consume anything while you were out? I could look whether you're under the influence of any toxins. I would ask - what do /you/ know your name as? "

June Connor has posed:
    June is stuck with that question. Avengers mansion. This isn't her. SHe is too tall now that she considers it. This isn't her body. What did this lady say was her name? She noticed the twisty tie but not what she was called. "Uh..." she seems clearly at a loss. Is amnesia real or is that a made up disease? Well, let's try it. "I don't remember," she says, clearly not wanting to show her hand. "What's your name?" she responds. She glances at her fingers, those claws are still extended. How does she put them back? She flexes her fingers a few times, making them slide back in slowly. A muscle that she's not used to possessing.