There are a number of people Wanda does and doesn't wish to see. Steve's one of them.
He's easier to face than Vision. Much easier to face than Pietro. She can work with Strange in Thedas—after all, he already expects the worst of her, having survived the worst of her. But Steve…
A part of her hates him for being here.
His knocks are specific. They're patient. Sam's were impatient. Sam's presence behind a door was always suffocating. That's what she disliked most about the Raft, being on a different level to the rest of them. Steve was calm; Sam was energy; Scott was jokes. Her little cell was void of everything.
Dread's always accompanied her when someone's knocked at her door. Even in Westview, where everyone was underneath her control, she had a moment of her heart leaping into her throat, wondering who was waiting on the other side.
Of course, the Boy Scout would remember the knocks. Wanda's gone out of her way not to knock on anyone's door, but ring bells, tap windows, or shout.
Her hair's in a loose French braid, as light as fire's orange. Wanda doesn't let herself frown, because frowning means that something's changed, and Wanda wants to be selfish.
She opens the door with a furrowed brow and doesn't fight the urge not to smile. How can she? She finally has a reason.
"I heard an old man was in town." She holds her door open, scrunching her nose in delight like she's several years younger with less rubble on her shoulders. "I expected someone younger."
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He's easier to face than Vision. Much easier to face than Pietro. She can work with Strange in Thedas—after all, he already expects the worst of her, having survived the worst of her. But Steve…
A part of her hates him for being here.
His knocks are specific. They're patient. Sam's were impatient. Sam's presence behind a door was always suffocating. That's what she disliked most about the Raft, being on a different level to the rest of them. Steve was calm; Sam was energy; Scott was jokes. Her little cell was void of everything.
Dread's always accompanied her when someone's knocked at her door. Even in Westview, where everyone was underneath her control, she had a moment of her heart leaping into her throat, wondering who was waiting on the other side.
Of course, the Boy Scout would remember the knocks. Wanda's gone out of her way not to knock on anyone's door, but ring bells, tap windows, or shout.
Her hair's in a loose French braid, as light as fire's orange. Wanda doesn't let herself frown, because frowning means that something's changed, and Wanda wants to be selfish.
She opens the door with a furrowed brow and doesn't fight the urge not to smile. How can she? She finally has a reason.
"I heard an old man was in town." She holds her door open, scrunching her nose in delight like she's several years younger with less rubble on her shoulders. "I expected someone younger."