15431/Mary In The Sky With Diamonds

Mary In The Sky With Diamonds
Date of Scene:	22 July 2023
Location:	Strawberry Fields
Synopsis:	Mary had some trouble with the fey knight's poison dagger, but Wanda was able to save her.
Cast of Characters:	Mary Bromfield, Wanda Maximoff

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Mary Bromfield has posed:
It's a Friday night in the Strawberry Fields and it would typically be a quiet place for people to get together. Sometimes romantic, sometimes not, but most New Yorkers respect the peaceful serenity of this place.

However, the Unseelie Court isn't particularly known for their respect of mortal customs.

In particular, a black knight is hounding a couple through the park, the tall faerie princeling laughing as he shouts, "Run, rabbits! I need practice for the Wyld Hunt and this seems like a perfect place to find mortal sheep!" He has a pair of black-furred hounds with burning red eyes, unnaturally large and looking far too wolflike to be mortal hunting dogs.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Strawberry Fields forever! Wanda often walks the paths of Central Park to center herself. Proximity to the Avengers Mansion where she holds an official address but rarely dwells certainly helps for losing herself in the greenery. Besides, so many enemies attack the verdant heart of the city. Wise to patrol, if by patrolling one counts ambling along plucking strawberries from a small container.

Romantic. Serene. Outright wicked. All works for her.

She pops one of the morsels between her lips. Ruby jewels for a woman who, in a moment, can shift out of her elegant sundress and end up in an increasingly elegant uniform attired in leggings and a corseted tunic. Cause for that emanates from the slavering beasts that leap forth, large paws tearing into the grass, sending clods flying. Any other hound of lesser stature or bravery would certainly run if they could. Wisdom prevails on civilians to hasten onward, not orient on the noise. Head tilted, her gaze strafes over the spindly trees tossed about in their vexed breeze. A breeze that wasn't there before, but is now, the leaves brushed aside for a better view of the silhouette causing such trouble.

The scrawling marks of trouble adorn her brow. The witchling follows that cumbersome path through the grass, her clothes already shifting, a sign of trouble to come.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
The black fae-knight corners one particular person against a tree, raising his blade. "All too easy. Pity you mortals aren't better sport." He grins and swings the sword down, only to have a hand catch his wrist.

And Thunderbolt is there, holding the knight's wrist far too easily as she says, "Alright, this ends now." And she tosses the knight against the tree with superhuman strength, not holding back *too* much since this is someone clearly not human. "First Pan starts pestering my family, then you decide to go on a murder spree here?" She doesn't notice the approach of the witch, just yet, her attention focused on letting people get to safety.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Blood-curdling screams of fear erupt from the couple, expecting to be run through on an archaic medieval weapon. The pair prepare to shove one another apart, showing their affection doesn't stand in the way of personal survival at the other's expense. Shoving and hustling turns into an outright bolt when someone, anyone, proves their salvation from being summarily chopped down.

Both scatter in different directions. At least that counts for something. Staggering through brush and cutting toward the nearest source of lit safety brings the better sprinter into the witch's vicinity. Her palms extend to catch the hysterical person, a woman sweating and gasping, trying to break free irrationally against the protective catch Wanda makes. "Go to the road," she warns. "Someone will come. Wave to the first car." Vehicle traffic always comes along, eventually, and eventualities become certainties when plucking on certain threads.

Of course, anyone at all aware of magic or the manipulations exerted by sheer will might feel those ripples emanating nearby. A noisy crunch where armour meets a tree trunk also helps for navigational purposes, thus she turns in that direction upon releasing her panicked victim.

Quick, light steps at first, building to a patter. She doesn't run, but the nature of the collision at least implies someone taking a spill. Black-knight, check. Lady in red -- ooh, good choice -- check.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Thunderbolt squares off against the black knight, "Alright pal, this can either go easy, or it can go real easy." With that, she moves towards the knight, who smirks, "Mortal CUR! You dare lay a hand on a scion of the House of the Dragon?"

Thunderbolt replies, "Sorry, never got into Game of Thrones." And with that, the knight shouts indignantly at the comparison and charges with his blade. Thunderbolt quickly sidesteps that strike...

Only to feel the dig of a dagger into her side, slashing through her tunic and... drawing blood? "The blade of the Unseelie cuts through even your Wizard's protection." The knight sneers, as Thunderbolt suddenly looks a bit staggered, reeling a bit as the vile magicks start warring with her innate protections. "Pan's bounty on you will be worth many songs, even if I'd rather see you in my chains for eternity. Pity."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
At least Thunderbolt has good taste. Nothing worthwhile about Game of Thrones after the fourth-ish season, and certainly not in the collapse of storytelling. The Scarlet Witch might hold a few opinions about the writing of women in those series, and perhaps her personal curse on Mr. Martin prevents him from committing further word crimes.

Sadly, the man gets back up and continues to issue his warnings. What passes for smack talk causes her to force down a sigh. They never have good lines. "Away, you three-inch fool!" Might as well throw back some of the Bard's finest lines, since the Strawberry Fields provide an excellent stage, if not equivalent to the Globe. Bravery might hold the unknown heroine in proximity, but no one enjoys blades, least of all buried between the ribs or carving open their sides. The look on the younger woman's face tells Wanda all she needs to know. As if the slavering hounds didn't already, flushing out more prey.

Her fingertips scribe a backwards arc, calculated in shaping a handful of energy that registers no magic whatsoever. Unholy cherry blooms, and in that moment, brightens as she addresses the fae knight: "Tell the distinguished Pan Sinoeis to trouble people elsewhere. Keep to his own woods."

A sparkling crackle reflects off the man's arm, down to the blade, forging a rather peculiar shape. Very much in the mind of, say... Chains.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Thunderbolt still looks dazed, "Chains. Yeah, you and half my audience I'm sure, but you forget one thing... it ain't about how hard you hit. It's about how hard you get hit, and keep moving forward." She drops to one knee, trying to focus, then suddenly leaps forward towards the knight whose sword-arm is chained down, "THAT is how winning is done!" The knight drops in a heap, and the dazed heroine looks over at Wanda, "Hey, I know you... you're great..."

And then she collapses onto the ground, even as the knight fades back into the Realm of Faerie having lost his consciousness. The distant brays of hounds seem to be growing further and further away, as if they were fading from this reality as well.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"I hate to be cliche, but..." The knight unfortunately makes his retreat, blending out of reality, even against the twisted fate knotting him in place. Tricky as he is, Wanda has other concerns than punishing him or tying him down. Sometimes, aid comes before justice or vengeance. Those pursuits are set to the wayside as Thunderbolt's blood seeps out and she crumples, their target turning into memories and holly ash.

Or something equally as telling, given the current disposition of things. The witch hisses, leaving a mark on his body etched in magic. Harmless, but something that with luck she might chase down later. An AirTag, in any other name.

"Stay with me. I'm afraid the great lightning bolt tells me Shazam, though not a great deal else. Forgive my ignorance on the proper name," she admits. Life is busy for witches and a plethora of heroes gives some limits. Still, she drops to her knees, trying to get a sense for the damage inflicted by that dagger. Cursed thing. "Scarlet Witch. May I have your permission to touch you? I'm afraid it may hurt, unless you can purge the shadow from yourself."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Thunderbolt looks up, "There's... not supposed to be three of you, are there? I'm... Mar... er, Thunderbolt." She chuckles slightly, then winces, looking feverish, "Definitely feeling..." She tries to concentrate, and then nods towards Wanda, "I... yeah, I think I need help on this one." The magical power in her is immense, but also unfocused. But she definitely has potential too.

If she doesn't succumb to the poison, anyway.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"Three? I'm not--" Wanda pauses for a moment, hissing something under her breath of which 'Victor' is the most distinguishable term among the slanted Transian. For the uneducated ear, she murmurs in something that sounds vaguely Italian and not Italian enough to be familiar. Oh, the joys of a forgotten Romance language stranded in the Balkans.

But needs must. "Thunderbolt," she repeats, anchoring herself. The white arts of healing require more concentration to perform properly, for simply telling the body to heal itself isn't nearly as easy as portrayed in D&D or other RPGs. Forget spamming buttons or pushing a drink down anyone's throat. The light isn't even blue.

The source of that power is understood for what it is -- a locus to be tapped, and something best not poked like a wasp's nest. "I'm going to walk you through what I plan to do." Consent-based and a smart move to keep Thunderbolt focused on her instead of pain or anything else. Her palm comes to rest near the site of the slash, higher. Incredibly light, but a stabilizing presence. "First, we need to slow the bleeding. I'll staunch the flow without scabbing. Too soon for that. Do you know what he stabbed you with or why? Something related to Pan? Have you bothered a satyr lately?"

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Thunderbolt mutters, "No... though... was a thunderbolt rune... on the blade. Brother apparently pissed off Pan or something." She concentrates on Wanda, meeting her eyes as she says, "Think magic... poison, geared for us." Her eyes flutter a bit, but she still keeps her attention on Wanda. "You have... pretty eyes. Don't tell... girlfriend I said that." She grins a little, despite the pain. Or maybe because of it, trying to do what Wanda said, and keep her attention on the witch.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"Brothers. Ah, that explains it." Perhaps unnecessary to say that, but Wanda wants the young woman to focus on anything other than pain. "They have a way of getting into trouble we have to help them out of." Her thumb slides a millimeter or two along and presses down, anchoring the thread of mana pressed into the knots of faerie magic to tease out a reaction. If any exists at all; it may do nothing in response to her, and thus proceeding ought to be better than nothing. Moving in tandem, she casts the lure and a spell to accelerate the body's own coagulation effect, something better to prevent blood loss than a bandaid, an infusion, and several stitches. The toll taken on her will be considered elsewhere, another time, and fair to keep someone from bleeding out.

"Your secret is safe with me. No reason to upset your girlfriend, who will want you back whole and happy. Let's make certain that you stay as pretty as you are." Her lips press together to stifle the smile quick to form, and she gracefully threads magical energy into Thunderbolt's own just in case. Mustn't upset jealous wizards. "Are you regularly prodded by daggers or is this a special occasion?"

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Thunderbolt nods, "Yeah, my brothers are nice, but such a pain sometimes. Sounds like you can relate." She sounds a bit stronger as the magic does its work, her own magical potential making it easier. While the dagger's magical poison seems to be designed to work against Thunderbolt's own powers... it doesn't seem to be ready to handle both that and the witchcraft.

"Special occasion, I think. Guess it was a trap for me after all." She grins, "Yeah, I think she's gonna make sure I stay home for a bit. She's great." A soft sigh, "Don't want to leave her alone."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"As a twin, yes." Worse fates exist, but being a twin to Pietro Maximoff requires a very specific brand of patience. The ocean of magical power around them tends to want to flow strongly -- almost violently -- if properly tapped, but kept in check by enough seals. One's own immune system, for example, and the witch teasing small filaments away to encourage healing. It's bound to be slow. "Hopefully this bothersome man will take the message and leave the pair of you be. You worry he might return and harm her?"

She shakes her head slightly and starts into another spell, albeit one that requires manipulating power more directly, a game of cat and mouse with the poison. Neutralizing it takes more than staring and saying 'no.' "Put iron -- raw iron, or iron worked at very low temperatures -- around your doors and windows. He's sure to dislike it and his blade won't operate as well. Wrought iron won't work, however."

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Thunderbolt nods, "Yeah, mine are fosters... well, me too, really." She hrms, "Well, I'm not the only one that's got magic on my side, though, Wanda." She seems more focused as the poison seems to be burning out of her system. Looking steadier now, she sits up and smiles at Wanda, "Was definitely lucky to have you happen along. Though now, I think I can make it back home, thanks to you."