RUBILYKSKOYE INBOX.

[explosion]

TELEPATHY • HOLOGRAM • LETTERS • DELIVERIES • ACTION

✿ Rubi-telepathy (easy mode) feels different to ✦ Wanda-telepathy (hard mode).

Comments

[madaboutit]

Her first note is answered with a tip of his head, conceding the point. It's true, and it's something he's been bound by more than once. That said, there are lots of reasons faerie favor threes. It's just, most times, people don't call him on it.

"Doubt that there's much in this world that could protect me from you, fer good or ill." After all, some of the things she's forced on him were undeniably enjoyable. "Certainly nothin' I got in my tool box." There are vague swathes of color, red being prevalent, unsurprisingly, but he manages to keep the fully formed images buried deeper down. He offers a smile instead.

"Was just hopin' ya might be in fer a bit, so I could bring ya this."

He holds the parcel up in illustration. Inside is a silk robe, neatly folded. It's red (of course) and detailed with gold. Sweeney doesn't know why he keeps trying to make her gifts, especially clothing. She can make whatever she wants with barely a thought, but he still traded both goods and labor to earn the silk to make it from. It was an act of sincerity. If she's so keen on magical practices, perhaps she can at least understand the weight of that, even if she doesn't give a shit about the robe itself.

[explosion]

Wanda's smile fades, but not for the reasons one might think. She looks down at the parcel he holds, drawing her brows together as her smile resurrects into a softer, smaller shape.

"This is for me?" It's a silly question to ask, but one that feels like it needs to be asked to let her save face and avoid looking at it stupidly like she's never been gifted something before. She has been, although it's been a long time. She doesn't take it from him yet.

Cocking her head to the side, she steps away from her door, prompting it to widen. "Come in. Watch your head. My door is made for small redheads with great senses of humour."

She doesn't wait for him like one might, keeping the door open with a sliver of red magic spanning along the wooden door's edge. Wanda leads him into the small furnished living room; it's comfortably decorated with a couch and armchair, wooden tables and picture frames featuring her boys (there's no Vision) she'd created before she lost her ability to create. She sits on her armchair and waits for him to make himself comfortable.

[madaboutit]

At her muted surprise response, Sweeney shrugs his head. "Seemed fittin', given all ya've done fer me." He's a little surprised when she doesn't take it after making that show, but maybe it's more faerie stuff she's using to make a point. Nevertheless, she invites him inside, and that counts as a win.

"S'ppose one outta three means I'd earn the bruising," he pokes, even as he bends to clear the doorframe unscathed.

Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't pictures of their kids--no, her kids--fuck. There's a barb in his heart, but he shores up the feelin' along with his thoughts. Sweeney focuses elsewhere, and takes a seat on the couch nearer the chair. He angles out a touch to account for the length of his legs and leaves the bundle on his lap.

"It's a lovely place," he continues honestly.

"It's nice ta see ya indoors in a space that's yers." Much better than her out wandering the woods on her own.

Sweeney had worried, but at the end of the day, Wanda is going to be who she is without his input, worry or otherwise, and he'd worked to accept her choosing her own way.