TEST DRIVE MEME

[fairyfoes]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The grand feast is held in the Eaglais clearing. The food is good, the music is sweet, and the evening is lit by gentle fairy lights. All Shardbearers of all courts are summoned here under a universal truce for the evening. Nature itself has shaped itself into tables, chairs, and long couches so that the new guests can rest. When they’re ready to call it a night, Shardbearers are brought to their court strongholds in a one-way trip by fairies and imps. 02. NETWORK Take advantage of your Locket! The network can be accessed by any Shardbearer with a locket or shardless characters with enchanted devices, and is a quick way to meet new people and discuss the state of the world. 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld! There are lots of places to go, and plenty of trouble to get into in them!

Comments

wanda maximoff ☾ mcu

[intrusive]

ℂ𝔼𝕃𝔼𝔹ℝ𝔸𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ

( Wanda is, quite obviously, not in the mood to participate in the feast. regardless of the revels going on around her, the celebration for new arrivals, she doesn't intend to take part in it; she tries to listen for someone familiar, to catch thoughts that might be a voice she's heard before. the attempt is an unsuccessful one, and her mistrust of this new world doesn't lend to her wanting to stick around, to participate.

she wanders the outskirts of the feast instead, expression serious, hardly giving notice to the people that she passes by, outside of a quick glance to check if they're someone she knows. the only time she does stop is to ask one one of the fairies as to how she can leave, to be pointed to the way out of the clearing and away.

leaving the clearing with directions in mind, she's certainly easy to intercept, even if she does seem to be walking with an intended purpose. )

𝔾ℝ𝔼𝔸𝕋 𝔾ℝ𝔼𝔼ℕ𝕎𝕆𝕆𝔻

( when she ventures into the forest, it's with a specific place in mind, having been given directions to the closest fairy ring, or so they called it. something that would take her away from here and to somewhere else; while they'd insisted it wouldn't take her home, it would be foolish not to at least try.

truth be told, she isn't overly invested in returning to her own world; the only thing that awaits her there is the Avenger initiative, and there isn't precisely a dire need for her. if it were different, if she had to worry about Pietro and getting back to him- it's a useless thing to worry about. her home was still in ruin when she left, and Pietro was still gone, but the very last thing she wanted was to be stranded in a new world with no one she knows.

when she finally reaches the sign that lists a number of destinations she can speak the name of, Wanda narrows her eyes as she reads down the list. )

These sound like fairy tale names, ( she mumbles, looking between the sign and the ring, clearly finding it rather dubious. refusing to waste any further time, she steps into the ring and clearly asks for Avengers Facility. when nothing happens, she changes it to Sokovia, then attempts the United States, followed by Stark Tower. finally, she requests Earth, only to have that fall short as well. ) First you bring me to your world, then you send me to broken ring to get back to mine. ( to be fair, Wanda, the fairy didn't specify where the ring could take you. )

𝕎𝕀𝕃𝔻ℂ𝔸ℝ𝔻

( catch her elsewhere on the map! )

greenwood.

[universed]

[ wanda's not the only one wandering around the greenwood while the feast continues. korra's found her way out here, and she watches for a few moments while wanda tries to figure out ways to use the fairy ring. when she finally (and frustratedly) gives in, korra steps forward. ]

Sorry, but the only way to leave this place is... complicated. [ she shouldn't go about frightening new people, right? right. let's just stick to basics. ] Last time I came here, I volunteered, but it looks like a lot's changed since I left.

[ hesitating before — ]

Maybe I can help you with something anyway.

[intrusive]

You volunteered?

( it's not accusatory, more curious than anything. Wanda knows all about doing voluntary things in order to accomplish what absolutely needs to be done; she went into the program knowing the risks, volunteering because both her and Pietro were determined to reach their goals. knowing that someone would come to this place voluntarily, well- it doesn't strike her as anything negative, but it is surprising.

the offer for help has her canting her head to the side, curious. she's still finding her footing in this world, enough that trying to read others with her powers that aren't familiar to her sounds more muddled than anything. )

Help how?

[universed]

Yeah, [ she breathes out, realizing how odd it sounds now. ] It was a lot different back then.

[ sheesh... the question just makes korra press her lips together because that's... that's a good point. korra's now just as much a stranger to this place as any newcomer, given all the changes that she can notice just from this area alone. ]

Good point. I'm not sure how much is the same other than these fairy rings.

[intrusive]

Fairy rings that can't take me where I need to go.

( she's tempted to return to the party instead, to continue looking for someone she might know from her own world; it would be more productive than standing in a circle asking for places it's unable to take her to. but there was still the offering of help, and Wanda finds herself curious. )

You have been here before. How was it different?

[universed]

Yeah, they only work in this world.

[ she totally understands wanting to go back to her home world, wanda. really, she does. ]

Fewer places to visit, for one. There were two sides and they were always at war, it felt like... Nothing could ever be talked through.

[ back then, korra also preferred fists over words, so she was always raring to jump into a fight. ]

celebration

[metalica]

[ He knows her and, yet, at the same time, he doesn't. That's the only thing in Erik's mind.

There are photos in his hand, a set of them, showing grandchildren and children in another life, another world. The young girl in one of them - Wanda and Pietro - looks much like how he imagines this woman could look if she were younger, barely out of her childhood years; it's the same stubborn glance, the same lift of her head, the same stunning hair. Even as she steps forward Erik wonders if he's forcing himself to see something that isn't there, but at the same time he feels as though it's too much close to coincidence - and he had never put much stock in that particular phenomenon.

It's easy, then, to walk through the crowd, to keep his head high until he's standing at her side. When he speaks, his voice is low and smooth, more German than American, as if to test the waters and see how it pans out. He's never been known for his subtlety or his friendliness, after all, a matter he's sure Charles could lecture him on extensively. ]

Wanda.

[intrusive]

( her frustration with the situation is almost palpable, obvious how she would rather be anywhere but here; she has better things to be doing than watching a rowdy party of hundreds take place. she makes no effort to be involved, no attempt to integrate, standing on the outskirts with no one.

the strangest part, she thinks, is not the call of her name, but the silence she's met with when she tries to listen to his mind, the utter quiet of it. she can't tell if it's her enhancement tapping out, if he has a way to block her, or perhaps his mind just is so silent. however, pairing that, along with her name, clearly unsettles her, gaze sizing him up, looking for a familiarity and finding none. )

You know my name. How? ( her own Sokovian accent is heavy, tone dubious. )

[metalica]

[ He can empathise, in his own way; he had been just as frustrated and irritated when he'd been dragged here, storming into the audience hall before the Queen and demanding to be sent home, dismissing her war and ignoring her power. Erik had learned his lesson, in some ways, but in others he had grown more stubborn and bitter as a result of this world - and, at the same time, he had found some kind of new happiness as well. There's few words for that.

Still, he knows her. His mind is carefully locked down, thanks to a particular friend, even in the absense of his helmet, and he tilts his head up as he watches, careful, wondering how much she knows and if she thinks anything of him. He doesn't imagine she would make the connection - because, as he's well learned, worlds are different in thousands of ways. Erik had to learn that a harder way than most. ]

My grandson informed me. [ Lifting his hands, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, drawing out a handful of photos. ] You have a brother, don't you? Pietro.

[intrusive]

( without pause, without even thinking, Wanda snatches one of herself and Pietro from his hand, practically cradling it in her own. the children in it are ones she knows, of course she does, because herself and her brother are unmistakable to her, but she doesn't remember this photo being taken; even if it had been, it would have been destroyed when their apartment building was decimated by Stark.

at the mention of Pietro's name, Wanda's head jerks back up to look at him. her throat feels tight, swallowing thickly before she can answer. )

Had. ( she tells him, voice catching as her eyes burn, looking down at the photo again, fingertips reaching to trace across Pietro's face. ) Had a brother.

[metalica]

[ The photos are protected, of course, not just by the gentle folds of metal along their edges but small charms from the village folk and some other things Morgana herself might have done, so Erik doesn't worry about tearing or grubby fingers. He lets her look, instead, lets her drink her fill in the same way he had done the first time he'd touched them - the only pictures he has of the children that are supposed to be his, the grandchildren that came after.

When she speaks, Erik raises a brow, trying to ignore the sudden pang of worry and hurt. When he speaks his voice is lower and if it's a little hoarser he hopes that she doesn't comment on it. ]

He is alive in my world. [ Which is enough for him, objectively. He had made sure of it. ] He goes by Peter Maximoff and he helped me.

great greenwood!

[starspangled]

[He should probably be back at the party. Ariadne is likely there, catching up with old friends, making new ones. She's good at that sort of thing. Steve, while capable of making a few really good friends, still isn't quite the social butterfly.

So he came to the greenwood instead, where it's quiet without feeling lonely. He's actually started a little sketching, eyes darting from the over-sized pad on his lap to the great oak tree in front of him. It has thick branches, probably has deep roots, and he wonders which one of them is the oldest.

It's easy enough to catch the sound of a young woman's voice, and while Steve tries not to eavesdrop, he catches a couple of words familiar enough to make him hastily place his drawing pad aside.]

Excuse me. [He stands beside the tree, looking surprised, almost hopeful.] Did I hear you say something about Stark Tower?

[intrusive]

( Wanda's on the verge of blasting the stupid fairy ring with a bout of psionic energy out of sheer frustration alone, unable to get it to take her where she actually needs to go, but then an incredibly familiar voice happens to ring out, and the frustration drains from her almost immediately. it isn't the voice she'd like to hear most, the one that she misses, but it's one she knows and she'll take it.

lifting a hand, she still allows energy to funnel into it, lighting the area for both herself and- )

Captain? What are you doing here?

[starspangled]

[That puts a little wrinkle between his eyebrows.]

Sorry, do we know each other?

[She could just be from his time and world and knows of Captain America, but there's something more than that sort of recognition in her eyes. There's also the glow of her hand to consider. Steve doesn't know what it all means, but he still has the feeling that it means something. Steve takes a step closer.]

I've been here for a couple of years.

oh. greenwood.

[turbos]

[There's too many places to travel, too many places to run, but he does. His feet move and he desperately wills himself not to tire. Because there's a belief that she lingers here, in this strange world so far from Sokovia, so far from the anywhere in the Earth they once knew. There's no hint, no sign, no word of any Wanda Maximoff, but he knows it simply by the taste in the air, the way the wind forms bumps over his skin, and how his chest tightens are if alerting him that what's needed to fill the void there is somewhere near.

And so he runs, shoes strained with grass and dirt as though he'd been running for years. Which he might have been, since time moves rather differently in Pietro's world, the pace of the outside world a contrast with his own speed. There's nothing to direct him, no map, but he senses where to go. Because he knows her.

When he does find a map, it's unnecessary. Where he wants to go is right before it, the red standing out against the surrounding color of the earth. Greens and browns fade until it's merely her.

When he startles to a stop some mere feet behind her, he's forced to hold out his arms to steady himself, trying to regain his balance. Dizzy, of course, having raced for too long, but it hardly matters. His eyes are wide as he looks only to her, wondering the time it's been since he saw her. Time's always a tricky thing with Pietro, and while he can remember seeing her in the center of the church as though it was yesterday, the ghost sensation of bullets through his chest force the memory to feel like decades away.

He takes deep breaths as he tries to find his voice again, quiet as though he's trying to decipher if she's no more than a dream. She isn't. Not her. He knows her. His sister. His other half. His — ]

Wandika.

[intrusive]

( it is either torture or death, she decides.

this world has given her that familiar voice, the soothing presence of his mind that races too quickly for her to keep up, that feels so quiet in comparison to the rest of the world in her inability to hold on to any one particular thought in his head. it is either a torture that her own powers can't sense, an intrusion in her own mind that she isn't sure how to push away, or she truly has died now.

(she did that day in Sokovia, she knows she did, her heart ripped from her chest the way she had done to Ultron. an emptiness in her that could never be filled, replaced, fixed.)

her chest feels tight enough that it's impossible to breathe around, heart hammering against her ribcage, hands shaking at the wrongness of this. she has had this dream many times, the sound of him breathing her name again, the easy utterance of Wandika once more, but never where she can see him. he is always gone before she can find him, and the dreams turn to nightmares every time, and the absence of him near her when she wakes from them has yet to stop feeling like a crushing weight in her.

she turns slowly, eyes hesitant as they lift from the ground, up along his legs, his stomach, chest, shoulders- Wanda takes her time, a glacial pace as her gaze finally reaches his. she isn't certain if she's going to cry or be sick, if she wants to flee or rush forward. she stands frozen in place, eyes a brilliant red as she listens to his mind, burrows herself in the familiarity of it.

finally, she chokes out, ) Pietro?

( if this is death she welcomes it gladly. )

[turbos]

[He had feared death for one reason that day — leaving her behind. Twelve minutes had been the bulk of the time they had spent apart. And then suddenly the minutes stretched unwillingly, transforming into hours and days and suddenly the accurate measurement didn't matter. It felt like centuries. Seeing her again, it's almost like fulfilling a promise made and yet admitting a betrayal all at once.

He had left.

But everything is soothing the moment she speaks. He had faced death and been brought back, and it's now, the sound of his name on her lips that he truly feels revitalized. His sister lives, she's here, and in that very moment, it almost feels like enough.

Even so, he struggles with his words, a first when it comes to their conversations. Everything that's happened amounts to it being his fault. His shaky hands and staggering breath could be a side effect from his tiring job, or a symbol of his guilt. Licking dry lips, he breathes deeply as he gazes at her, catching familiar eyes and steps forward.

Words here would do no good. They've always been more than that, siblings that could have conversation with mere eyes, twins that could transfer thoughts with a quick heartbeat.

And so he raises a hand as his dirty shoes shuffle through the dirt, silence remaining in the wood except for his steps and the rustling of leaves. The tips of his fingers brush against a cheek, simply touching gently as if to say hello, I'm here.]

[intrusive]

( the guilt is hers, the responsibility; if she had allowed him to stay with her as he'd wanted to, she could have protected him. she could have stopped from insisting that he leave to help, could have let him stay with her and allowed them to protect each other, to allow them both to live. instead she had forced him to go, had insisted upon it, and the time between then and now were the seconds, minutes, hours that she counted in the back of her mind; a constant increasing number reminding her of his absence.

when he moves closer to her, reaches for her, she remains stationary, hands hovering at her sides; she'd like to touch him, to curl her finger into his shirt, to do something, but she can't help but think as soon as they touch, this moment will be lost, and he will disappear. it leaves her with her breath shaking, hands trembling at her sides, and it's only when his fingers ghost against her cheek that the tears fall hot down her cheeks. she lifts one of her hands then, overlapping his to press his palm to her cheek, to turn her face into it and stay there.

the silence might stretch, but it doesn't stop them from conversing. her fingers curl around his hand, I missed you, tears smearing from her cheek to his palm, I'm sorry, and the touch is ultimately abandoned in order to throw herself bodily into his chest, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders; stay. )