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

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. )