7003/After The Mission

After The Mission
Date of Scene:	23 March 2019
Location:	Den - Avengers Mansion
Synopsis:	T'Challa visits Wanda to see how she's doing after difficulties on the mission rescuing Janet from Sentinels
Cast of Characters:	Scarlet Witch, Black Panther
Tinyplot:	Sentinels

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Scarlet Witch has posed:
Wanda Maximoff may be many things. Callous. Frosty. Unpredictable. Loyal. Troubled. Coward rarely counts among those adjectives applied to her, even when facing down very large and horrible robots shouting her particular genetic sin for everyone to hear. Accusations that blister the ears still lie with her, haunting voices bleating "Mutant, mutant, mutant" over and over. Not because she replays the footage captured by imagination or something Tony cooked up. She watches a video on a tablet off some social media site, another incident, another world. Cracking voices and shaky footage fade out into noise. She swipes her hand to the side and kills the feed on the app.

The den isn't much in the way of comfortable for her. However nice the furniture counts as, she forsakes all rather to sit on the floor with her legs crossed. Her coat spills off her back, gathered around her in a bloody pool. No pint of Haagen-Dazs here, not even a lone taco. Fingers open and shut as she examines her chewed cuticle with impassive, flat eyes. Not a pretty sight. Pride lacks any stake in the game. Turning off the tablet, she stares off at the wall. Might as well be blind.

Mutant, mutant, mutant.

The machines don't know the other half of the equation.

Black Panther has posed:
The tray with the two mugs and two plates on it balanced on his hand, T'Challa walked slowly through the hallways of the Mansion. His armor is back in his room, though he wears the necklace of the more portable version. A wonderful invention by Shuri. Except for the fact it shreds his clothing when it deploys. A request to fix that little issue just resulted in laughter. Until he hung up. And then she called back, still laughing.

Wearing a soft, dark sweater and a pair of slacks, T'Challa was heading for the residential wing when his nose detected a scent. Not in her room then. He turned, guided by the blessings of Bast bestowed by the heart-shaped herb, T'Challan arrived finally at the den.

Observing Wanda sitting on the floor, eschewing the comfortable chairs, T'Challa knocked softly on the doorway and cleared his throat lightly as he stepped inside. Moving over to her side, he sits down quietly on the floor beside her. The tray bearing two lattes in mugs with whipped cream on top, and a few small chocolate dipped biscotti, is set within reach. "Wanda," he says simply, looking over to her to see how she is doing.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
"Casual" wear as Wanda goes is hardly casual. She keeps to a fairly dull array of day-to-day clothing accentuated in a monochrome spectrum clotted with merlot, burgundy, bordeaux, and very rarely syrah. Her spectrum informed by that limited pip on the colour wheel never extends to pink. She is the child of turbulence and violent upbringings, revolution in the sanguine pathways of the blood. It shows in the attire, always suited to running. Pockets, a literal slim profile to make escape and blending in all the easier. God forbid she actually try to pass as fashionable. She's not right now, corset or not, contemplating mysteries of the cosmos behind the veil of a wall.

Someone could be forgiven for thinking she mopes, sulks or completely lost her mind. Wrenching herself back to the present at the sound of footsteps and T'Challa's arrival takes a moment longer. Starlight dances over her pupils in an uncanny resemblance to lanterns seen in a puddle. The red motes have no biological business being there. By the same token, alien gods shouldn't exist and neither does Bast.

"I did not know you drank that," she says, a nod to the alpine mounds on dark peaks. "Not so healthy. All sugar, but you eat better than most of us." Unless he sneaks bags of crisps in his room or swallows whole jars of Marmite in a week. One never knows. Tony probably does, but won't tell. Her gaze doesn't leave him, bearing a weight and gravity all of its own. "Janet and the other Janet are good?"

Black Panther has posed:
T'Challa regards Wanda quietly, but his expression is the same she would have encountered the day before, or the day before that. Nothing that suggests of the troubles encountered upon the battlefield. Only the soft smile and support of her teammate.

The Wakandan's melodious voice with just a slight bit of rasp responds, "I believe they are both settling in, yes. It is... quite a quandry." The understatement in those words is reflected in the cant of T'challa's brows and the lines that crease his forehead. "I am perplexed the reason anyone would do this," he adds with a small shake of his head.

T'Challa looks back to the tray and gives a warm, deep-throated chuckle at Wanda's comments on the content of the mugs. "Coming to live with the Avengers? It has been a learning experience for me. In many ways. It has the feeling of coming home. Yet? There are so many new things for me here," he tells Wanda. "Enjoying finer things in life while we can? That is one lesson I have found worth learning."

T'Challa picks up one of the mugs, raising it in a little salute towards the Eastern European woman. And then he takes a small sip, the whipped creaming leaving a bit of white moustache across his upper lip, which only brings a soft, warm chuckle from T'Challa. His dark brown eyes shine over at Wanda as he does, as if challenging her to not feel the infectiousness of it.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
"Telling them apart is not so hard," Wanda says after an appropriately long pause. "Few people have identical auras or life energy. I know Janet. It will stand out. The other if a perfect copy will not have the same exactly. One way. Maybe they share even deep memories. Other methods then." Her head shakes slightly to cast those long umbral locks around her shoulders. Strands hang on her shoulders as the fire seems to burn out, down to low embers again where it might be safest to assume the outplay of energy settles into shadow.

T'Challa defines an opposition: standing, food, steady. She rests on the floor, fingertips on her knees and in classic lotus position after movement. "The Avengers are like a family. Many people, not at all the same. They stand like the mansion. A tower in the sea of people. It is different." Her mouth settles into a neutral line.

Now if it'll stay that way with a foam-and-cream moustache is another matter. She watches him with a quirked eyebrow lifted a degree. Not even so much. His swallow is enough to keep her riveted though she conveys wordlessly the state of affairs by licking her lip slowly, tad pointedly. Inadvertent message conveyed with the subtlety of a paint ball on a white shirt, she reaches for one of the mugs. Hesitation lasts only a moment. She tries to figure out how to tilt it without actually looking at it. That's telling.

Black Panther has posed:
Black Panther's smile grows slightly. It isn't an evenly built expression. The left side of T'Challa's mouth quirks upward first. Moving higher before finally the right side joins in, but never catching up. The resulting crooked smile has a warmth to it that exceeds even T'Challa's usual expression.

He licks the whipped cream from his lip, and then settles down to sit cross-legged beside Wanda. His words are often delivered slowly. With precision. More so this time as if to make sure Wanda takes measure of the words. "I have great faith in you," T'Challa says. He could be addressing the likelihood she will identify their Janet. But his delivery and the eyes that gaze across at her, make the words all-encompassing.

One of the thin biscuits is picked up, the wafer snapping softly as T'Challa bites into it at the tip. "How do you like it?" he asks of the latte, motioning towards the cup with a small inclination of a finger. "I almost added chocolate sprinkles. But then I thought, no. We will save that. So we have something further to look forward to. After the next mission." Though he is ever the straight man, his eyes carrying just a bit of twinkle this time.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
Her head tips a degree further to the side to take in the conversational point of silence. It's not fully a challenge. No gauntlet thrown between them, foolish as it would be. Wanda knows the risks, a master of calculating probabilities. It runs in the blood deeper than understanding technology comes to Tony, in a way. Her eyebrows remain lifted in a dreamy sculpted arch above those peculiarly hued eyes. "This is why you are king." Simple fact. Not further explained, either. He can dictate his own ideas in the security of thought.

Her sip of the drink is sparing, though not on account of heat. Just a habit, rote swallow, indulgence a fleeting thought. A sin against the blessing of milk, chocolate and coffee together, but such as it is. Her expression is still shuttered somewhat. "It is hot." A beat passes, two, ten. "Strong. That is a good thing."

Ever the straight man, dealing with the incarnation of elder evil and chaos' vessel. She rolls her heel, curling her toes.

Black Panther has posed:
Another of those gently tilted smiles of his is given at Wanda's reaction to the beverage. "This was a difficult mission," he says with a slow nod of his head. "Not that they are ever easy. Are they? But we were already on edge. With it being Janet at stake," he says. More of the slow nodding, agreeing with himself as if that will give his words the weight of numbers who feel the same?

Another snap of the the firm biscuit being broken off as T'Challa takes another bite, chewing it thoughtfully. "We work well together," he comments. "Especially, for not having as much training time together. Yet."

The Wakandan sets down the biscotti, picking up his mug to hold it in both hands. "I realized on the flight back. I know more about you from your files, than I do from talking with you." T'Challa gives a slow nod. "I think that is a situation I should amend," he tells Wanda, looking to see if she agrees with the statement.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
The shadowy tresses cloud her face when not held back by the crimson headdress, and she lacks reason to use an elastic to keep it partially up. Those heavy-lidded eyes regard T'Challa still over the rim of the cup, watching him the way a predator considers a particularly choice larger predator. Wanda runs her thumb along the side in half-moon arcs. "Janet was a high value target. They took her for a reason. Something to note." Less of the speech for her; she is terse by nature, not given to speaking at length for most. Language barriers apply somewhat.

But those grave, narrowed eyes bathed in the witchlight of the room veer away from the lamp for a moment, back to the Wakandan monarch. "I worry they have seen my work and now duplicate it." A shrug of her shoulders leaves that resting in plain sight. Settling into the rhythm of sipping the drink very sparingly, the level never much diminishes. "Dangerous, very dangerous. I used magic. It is not easily copied. But those things, maybe they can. If it grows too bad, we are all at risk."

Then she resolves to look down for a moment, tipping her head forward, otherwise terribly still. His nod prompts her to consider. "What would you want to know? People are more than files. A wise way to make your own mind about it."

Black Panther has posed:
Black Panther holds his mug in both hands, taking advantage of its warmth. A strange thing, that it can be perfectly warm in the well-heated mansion, but just the knowledge that it is cold outside makes one seek out such comforts as the warm mug of a toasty beverage.

T'Challa nods slowly at her words, as if taking a moment to pick his own with care. "I know of your family line. But that told me little of your family life. What it was like for you, growing up? Your brother, were you close? Enjoyed each other's company? Or the other sort of siblings," he says, giving a faint smile at the last part as if he's perhaps experienced both at various points in his life.

T'Challa slides over a little bit to where he can lean back against one of the comfortable leather chairs, using it as a back rest. Crossed legs straighten and relax in front of him. His footwear stands out. Something unique. Vibraninum technology? Quite likely.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
Wanda wordlessly creases that bittersweet smile, turned into something of a smirk. So much isn't written down. So much skims the obvious: twin, born to the Balkan states, daughter the younger. Parentage in question except when not.

"My father is a veteran or a terrorist. My brother and I were born in war, raised on the run. In violence. Never somewhere safe. We fled blood and fire. It found us always. We ran through broken cities and villages with no parents, no happy family." The facts she skims over, shoulders raised slightly. "A few times we were nearly killed. Run out of town. Bad blood, bad luck, unclean to camp or filthy to ethnic whites. I was taken in for a time. My teacher is not kind. About twenty and thousand years old, yes? Pietro and I survived." A flat verb, that one. "It was not happy. Warm. Friendly. We are close. Death teaches hard lessons. Now we have come to New York, learned. We are not living in shadows the same way. It never stays."

Black Panther has posed:
The tale becomes more than words. Images that play out in the mind's eye of the Wakandan monarch. A man who has known war, but not the kind of lasting strife that Wanda Maximoff speaks of. Not the magnitude of displaced people, the ongoing horrors of battle that does not seem to end. Wakandan wars have been bloody. But swift. But T'Challa's father was not one to have sheltered his son from knowing the true nature of war, lest he ever forget.

T'Challa nods slowly as he listens to Wanda's story unfold. "How was it that you came to join the Avengers? To rise from those circumstances? Not many would not have developed the heart that you have. The desire to help others." he asks quietly.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
"I followed my father. He was then a very angry man, a leader that put us above other people. It was like living in Transia, Serbia, Russia, the whole east. Make a new world by putting others down." Her voice has a flat edge. "Wrong. I have been that person hunted. I have lived in the street afraid of guns and death. Me, with this." Her hand lifts, the explosive rays bursting out from a ring around her fingertips. The plasmoid radiance crawls down her wrist, pooling in her palm. "It is something called a gift. A curse. Death, life. I am a witch, and in places they still burn witches." Winking out, her power resettles wherever its potentially normally lies. She does not flinch from meeting T'Challa's eyes. "This future is not to make. Cold, hard, and cruel. My father, he is hurt. He knows that men are the enemy of men, not gods and machines. We are our best and our worst."

The mug is set aside half-full. She rolls back her shoulders and watches him reaction fully. "The Avengers do right. They protect. It is the only path away from hate."

Black Panther has posed:
T'Challa's reaction? Nodding slowly in agreement. No, not agreement. Understanding. He draws one leg up towards him, knee upraised as a platform for his arm to rest. "Mutants face a persecution..." T'Challa says, pausing to find words to put it in focus. "The worst that this world has yet produced. Which, is saying something. Man has been barbaric. To each other." The Wakandan's eyes drop away from Wanda for the first time in awhile, lost in those thoughts he has often had about the world's history, and its current state.

He finally looks back up and over to her. "I can understand your father. There comes a time to fight. As a last resort. I respect you greatly. For seeking the solutions you do. Is it difficult for your family? Does your father respect your decision, to be a part of -this- family," T'Challa asks, motioning towards the mansion. Towards the Avengers. Towards this home.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
"Mutants. Jews. Black skin, brown skin, olive skin. Asian, African, anyone not Aryan. Not Han. Not Babylonian. Not Egyptian. It goes a long time back." This spoken with the muted certainty of someone literally raised by a pre-Atlantean witch. It goes a long way to explaining the sanguine way she deals with some of it. He looks away and she drops her gaze to the ground, hands knitted around one another. Such is what T'Challa's eyes will find when they lift. "My father and I are not easy. One father, yes, he may agree. The -other-? He wants to destroy you, your world, everything there. He will have no other king but him. Every last one of you will kneel to him or he will break you and make you watch the end of all you want dear."

Black Panther has posed:
Wanda's comments about her other father seem to fall hard upon T'Challa. There is the sense of touching on troubling thoughts that he has had before. If not specific to who she speaks of, at least in the general sense. For such contingencies must a King plan. And particularly when the King of the most advanced nation on Earth.

Is it, still? Or is that New Asgard?

Another matter for concern for the Wakandan.

T'Challa pushes those thoughts from his head though. For now? He just wishes to sit and talk with his teammate. The last mission seemed rough on her. T'Challa picks up his drink, taking another drink, leaving another silly whip cream moustache for her to notice.

This is what teammates do for one another. This is what family does.