8806/The Oblivion of Tuesday Night

The Oblivion of Tuesday Night
Date of Scene:	24 November 2021
Location:	Avengers Mansion - Study
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Wanda Maximoff, James Barnes

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Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Tuesday night means things, like floating above the sofa and trying to find something worthwhile to watch, a diversion from the restlessness that inevitably means a holiday is on the horizon.

"Does anyone watch the parade?" A question thrown to Bucky is matched as she flicks through about three hundred terrestrial channels, finding nothing at random. Who wants to watch the freaking BBC News in the middle of their early morning? No thank you.

James Barnes has posed:
Bucky was currently on the couch, reading a book by Edgar Allen Poe, as Wanda asks him her question. "I don't think many people watch parades unless it's a big thing. Like Carnival in Brazil." He shrugs a little bit. "But I'm not really sure if people would watch it for the sake of watching it." He turns his eyes from his book to look at Wanda, a soft smile touching his face.

"Have you found anything to watch? I know there's not many romantic movies on right now." He flips a page in his book, reaching with his offhand to pick up a mug of coffee and sip from it, dressed in comfier clothes, namely sweatpants and a dark shirt.

"No news today, at least. The news is always the same thing."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
A book of Poe, a swirl of digital imagery swooping through the screen. If the study should normally only have books, that projection is there for a reason. Hidden entertainment will do. "The one with all the samba dancing?" She waves her hand, and Wanda's green eyes trace over the voluminous empty space between the seat and the wall. "Enough, Jarvis. I have no desire to see anything."

Silence greets them, the dying of the light twinkling out as the images vanish from sight. Her hands come to rest in her lap, and she shakes her head to loosen up her hair. "Nothing. I do not like romantic movies, they do not show reality. Always the same set of characters, she is a big-city person in a small town, there is a setback, a misunderstanding that ten minutes of talking would fix. Communication is not that rare, you know?"

James Barnes has posed:
It looks like he's reading Red Death, and Bucky continues to lay his eyes upon it even as the floating Wanda Maximoff, his girlfriend, asks about Carnival. The one with the Samba dancing. "Yeah. The one with the floats. I...think I remember doing a mission around that time." He frowns a moment as he puts a bookmark to mark his space, before hie syes turn to Wanda with a warm smile as silence greets them and dying light twinkling between her fingers that die out.

"Nothing?" Bucky questions, his hand extending to gently caress her long auburn locks. "It isn't meant to reflect reality. I think it's meant to tell a story. But it's true, they're annoying movies. I don't know why people don't talk to each other anymore."

A pause.

"Do we have good communication? It's important to me that we do."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
The Masque of the Red Death is a bit of a mystery, a horror, and a compelling social commentary all in one. With a glance aside to the pages he flips through, then up to the soldier himself, Wanda gestures. "I do not want to distract you from your work. It's important to take advantage of free time." Her floating above the cushion cross-legged only clears a few inches at most, though a conscious effort drops her once more to land lightly beside him. Lucky not to misjudge the end of the couch and sprawl on the floor, but only by the narrowest margins.

"Nothing on the screen. Sometimes, I prefer the older movies instead of all these remakes. The stories were fresher, newer." She tilts her head, meeting his look. "You cannot tell me you think these shows following people doing stupid things are good. Or the many versions of the same police or lawyer people, always solving everything. They do not have stories, that is often the problem. So then tell /me/ a story? Anything."

Hers is a storytelling people. He's American, that counts as much. A bit of a breezy chuckle escapes from her, and she nods. "Our communication is good. Is there anything we haven't spoken of that we should?"

James Barnes has posed:
A storytelling people wishes to tell stories, something that the world has somewhat lost in the American way of things, who wish to stir up drama and invoke powerful emotions in a negative way on a long road to a 'happy ending'. Bucky never quite understood it - he preferred the old black and white movies that had a bit of extra class to them. He shakes his head though as she gestures to his book, he shrugs to accompany it. "The company I have now is far better than this book will ever be."

A hidden romantic.

"I agree. Though, I'm not entirely certain what is real anymore when I look at a screen. Even sometimes I think you're a dream that I've yet to wake from...and I hope I never do. But shows like these? Makes you wonder. Maybe it's all editing, or maybe the camera men are just throwing themselves in harms way."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
The world moves on, the world remains the same. Changes lead to a concrete connection of past and present. Is the story of the 1450s any different from the tale of 2020? Shakespeare endures for a reason, Aeschylus beloved despite the distance of two millennia.

Wanda shakes her head, ducking it. "You believe that? A good and steady friend, that book doesn't require food or sleep." It ignites with a soft laugh. "You should not be so unkind. It tries. Better at rhyming and rhythm than me."

"The screen makes things look real, and they do not reflect reality totally. Dreams are more intangible." She shakes her head, playfully.

James Barnes has posed:
The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Maybe it was always like this. Maybe they were always headed towards this point. Maybe Bucky and Wanda were meant to be a couple right now. Maybe they were meant for more. Who could say for certain? Though some stories deserve to be re-written.

Others perhaps to be lost and forgotten to time.

Though as Wanda ducks it, he looks at her. "I do believe that. It can tell me stories, sure, but can it comfort me when I shed tears? Can it warm me if I'm cold? Will it love me even if I treat it poorly?" He shrugs.

"A book is a poor substitute for relationship."