Please talk with me OOC about: plots involving permanent physical or psychic damage or death, mind control or alteration, sexual assault, severe degradation, captivity, enslavement, or sexual kinks. I also prefer to talk about combat scenes so we can keep on the same page. :)
I will not play out: Gorn, extreme BDSM, anything that belongs in the toilet, rape, intense body horror/mutilation, futa, tentacle porn, bestiality, assumed romance/cr out of nowhere.
Your characters may freely: debate with, flirt with, propose illegal shenanigans, talk with about any damn thing really, attack, read the mind of, attempt to follow or surprise, cold read/read expressions and body language, hug/make physical contact with, and plausibly use their powers on this character.
This character has severe problems with: mental enslavement/violation of her free will, sexual assault, imprisonment, being bound/restrained, anything to do with Magneto
HMD and OOC Noteboard for Wanda
Please toss up crit, plots, OOC messages, questions, and any other thing you want in comments below.
( Post Canon AU History )
Canon Point: About a total of three years post canon.
Appearance: Wanda is a young and slightly wary-looking woman who at age twenty has abandoned both the Goth clothing and limited color scheme for a wardrobe that varies widely according to her purposes--but never includes the color red. She is half-Roma, with thick, slightly wavy hair that is very black, her Polish father's pale skin and blue eyes, and a tendency to paint her lips and nails crimson and kohl her eyes like a femme fatale in a hard-boiled Forties mystery. Though she is still slightly thin for her frame, ongoing combat and athletic practice has given her good muscle definition. She speaks with a light Eastern European accent.
Wanda sometimes dresses up a little, but she never wears anything she can't run or fight in, and still prefers steel-toed boots. Her updated uniform is leather and kevlar, less revealing and more military-looking. The entire thing is dark indigo, from body armor to features-concealing night vision goggles. If she goes out at night, she's wearing it.
AU Aspect: Wanda's additional canon history gave her an opportunity to recover from her childood some, heal her heart, train and find a new reason to fight--even if her target is largely the rich, corrupt casino owners and other wealthy individuals whom she sees as preying on everyone else. A magic-powered, Romani Robin Hood type as likely to use subtle magic and trickery as yank out the big guns against a cosmic threat, Wanda is no longer the vengeful, destructive and slightly anti-human Scarlet Witch. She does not even acknowledge that she is a mutant very often, and stays entirely out of mutant affairs. Her only family members are Agatha and her foster parents, her people are the Roma and the Salem Tradition witches, and she does not discriminate. Like her canon counterpart, she still dreams of vengeance against Magneto and Xavier, and holds her brother in disdain. But instead of doing them harm, she has simply withdrawn, only leaving Mount Wundagore to make money for her family and occasionally beat up bad guys from behind the visor of a new costume. She is more mentally stable, friendly and anarchic, just as camera-shy (she tends to instinctively make them glitch out) and cares about people of all races--but not social convention or the law.
( Personality )
( Canon Powers )
( Post-Canon Power Refinements )
Possessions: Her uniform, two sets of clothing (a jeans set and a slinky black silk slip dress), 18-hole Docs, battered sneakers, photos of her family, a $1000 wad of cash various purse contents, a small (animatable) wooden doll that her father carved, her study grimoire with notes on her current assignments, her communicator.
Welp. That's it for me. Laura says I'm ready to leave, so as soon as I wrap up some loose ends, I'm outta here.
I need to talk to a bunch of people. I've got a lot of stuff in case anyone wants a bunch of books and graphic novels. Also if you're a women's size six and on the tall side, or take a size eight shoe, come by. I've already packed up everything I'm taking. Oh, and I also have a bunch of these. [She turns the camera to a bunch of lacy, abstract sculptures, most around a foot tall, that she's stretched out and shaped via her powers from soda cans and bottles.] I'm heading out to the CES if anyone wants to hang out or wants doggie time with Fozzie. [Fozzie woofs in the background and knocks something clattery over with his tail.] It's BYOB and potluck--I'll handle chairs and tables and a barbecue pit.
[She hesitates and then sighs.] I owe a bunch of people, some of whom aren't even here anymore, thanks for teaching me stuff, listening to me and helping me get through this without falling apart completely. You will see me again, and I'll pay you back somehow. There are also people I owe a punch in the teeth for making my stay longer and more miserable than it had to be, but you guys are lucky today--I don't feel like wasting the time.
[Her smile becomes a touch poisonous as a sprightly piano line starts playing in the background.] And as for those sickos who keep causing trouble and pain for everyone here--for those dregs of the fucking Barge who drug us and strand us and try to murder us all...I've got a special goodbye for you....
( Cut for a Bargified version of a Lily Allen song.... )
[Things settle down into place as the song ends, and she sits again with an arch smile, twiddles her fingers bye-bye, and cuts the feed.]
[spam for CES]
[The CES is a rocky hillside today, and Wanda is using her magic to reshape some of the boulders into a trestle table and benches. After almost two years of intensive practice, she's barely breaking a sweat. Meanwhile Fozzie divides his time between chasing squirrels and bugging people for love.]
[She appears onscreen in the midst of a room that has been completely disassembled, clothes and stacks of books laid out everywhere. The one chore she's assigning herself, outside of taking care of Fozzie and keeping up on practice, is deciding what to take with her when she goes. Planning to leave is the only thing keeping her halfway sane right now, but to those not clued in to that it looks like she randomly tore the place up.]
( Wherein Wanda basically goes on strike while criticizing the current Barge system )
[Inmates only, filtered away from Morgana, Junko, Toto and Ladd]
Yo, hey, whoever's in the pub, let me in, I need a drink. Anybody else need a drink?
[later pub spam]
[Wanda has taken over a largish table in the corner near the jukebox, which she is poking at with small blue flashes of magic to try and reprogram it. Meanwhile she has every bit of Stones, AC/DC and every pot and booze related song she could find queued up. Fozzie pants away happily under the table. She's never brought him in before.]
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: the 1969 Harley Davidson XLHC Ironhead Sportster. Otherwise known as my new baby. Fifty horses, 6,300 RPM, top speed 120 miles per hour--and yes, it seats two.
So. Who wants a ride first?
[private to Laura, Lestat and Anya]
You guys have the preference of course...so...who wants to party? I'm feeling like it.
[spam for all over town]
[The rumble of a motorcycle engine cuts through the usual Main Street bustle as Wanda parades her new acquisition through the streets. Strangely enough for a gangster, she's keeping through the speed limit. She explained this once to a local cop: "I believe in freedom. But my freedom ends where some other person's safety begins, you know?" Yeah, she fails at being wicked. Maybe mildly naughty? Though that grin should have a pair of horns to go with it....]
[As troublemakers go, Wanda is actually on the lighter side of things. She's been warned several times for speeding and street racing, but actually keeps things down to a dull roar when she's in town, especially around schools or houses. She smokes various things (outside), carries at least one concealed weapon at all times (and almost never has to pull her knife out) and is generally known by local law enforcement as a mild pain in the ass who is generally friendly and makes shockingly good coffee. She was suspected in the vigilante-style beating of a guy known around town for slapping his girl around, but lucky her--lack of evidence forced them to let her go.]
[In secret, Wanda is in fact a local mutant and orphan who hides her nature while making sure that people she likes benefit from her luck-manipulation abilities. She has a gigantic daredevil streak, however, and has won several bets with the local greasers and street racers.]
[Wanda runs a small gang of mostly women called the Bargewell Burners. Besides street racing and the odd pot violation, they are mostly known for challenging other gangs that get too abusive of the locals. Usually they are quite successful at it, though no one quite knows why. What is not well known is that they are actually a mix of ordinary and mutant/experiment types who have helped some of the local weirdies get out of town once they escape the labs.]
[Wanda sits on a bus bench in front of a steam grate where a woman and her daughter are crouching for warmth. Both are dark-haired, with liquid brown eyes that remind her too much of Anya. She's been sitting here long enough that she's shivering in spite of the steam, and there are unmelted flakes of snow in her hair. The kid is eating the sandwich Wanda swiped for herself at a local shop; her stomach growls but she ignores it. There are bigger things going on here than her discomfort. She never does public posts anymore, but this time it's necessary.]
( Wanda decides to hero up this Christmas. Who's with her? )
[private to the Admiral]
( Cut for a long, weird and occasionally humorous Christmas list.... )
[Wanda waits at the appointed spot, head stinging from the effort of trying to luck the city into a break in the weather. The mother and child have moved on to get in line at the soup kitchen. She huddles in her coat, glad that her tastes run toward leather and more coverage.]
[Private to Infirmary staff]
I need a boost for my medication. Either a higher dose or...I don't know, something to make it work better. I'll need it at least through February. It's urgent. [She can only hope that some of the remaining staff are unaffected.]
[spam for Gym]
[She wishes she had headphones to drown out all the caroling and laughter. She's sure some holiday-addled idiot is going to call her a Grinch before this is all over, but they just don't understand. Forcing people to "be happy"--or play at being happy--over the holidays only makes things worse for those who get depressed about it all. She can't blame them--most of the Barge is drugged right now thanks to the Admiral's own crusade to force Christmas cheer down everyone's throat--but she doesn't want to deal with them.]
[Dressed in a black catsuit with no jewelry except for a matching ribbon around her neck, ears stuffed with cotton balls, she heads for the gym. It's a short walk. Fozzie's taken care of for a while. The lunch shift is done. All she has to do is get her exercise in, and she can go back to the safety of her room for at least a few hours. She comes into the room, which is nearly deserted, and picks out a spot of wall to do her stretches by. Her expression is very grim.]
[She is dressed per the usual in red and black, in a strappy leather uniform with opera length gauntlets, a midriff top and her usual klunky tank boots. It's a considerable upgrade from her old ripped catsuit. Her hair is growing out, and her eyes are so sunken they barely need the kohl she's shaded in around them. Her expression is hard, and her arms folded as she leans back in her desk chair.]
My name is Wanda Maximoff. I'm two months shy of nineteen years old. I've been falsely imprisoned in this place for a year and a half. Supposedly I am here for "redemption" and a second chance. In reality, this place has robbed me of innocence, hope, and faith in authority figures of any sort. When I get out of here--and I will get out--I need to find a world that's actually worth staying in, working to benefit, and defending. I'm interested in hearing about where as many people as possible come from, what problems your world is facing, and how your society deals with those who are more than human. Thanks in advance for your time. I'll be keeping my comm channel open all day.
[Her smile is strictly businesslike. She doesn't care if she hears from anyone from her homeworld.]
[spam for deck]
[She's managed to control herself fairly well after everything that Morgana and her idiot crony did, but she's still been a ball of rage and disgust ever since. It took everything she had not to utterly destroy Morgana's room after taking Mozenrath down to the Infirmary. But she did not after all, only because she knew that it would cause Mozenrath more headaches in the end. It certainly wasn't out of any sympathy for Morgana.]
[She lets out another bitter laugh as she steps out of the elevator onto the deck, headed for the Warden Area. She wants into the new practice chamber. After that, since she missed on Saturday recovering from patching the damn hull, she is hitting the pub.]
[She reaches the door to the Warden Area and waits for someone to come in or out. Not having a Warden can be a pain in the ass sometimes.]
[accidental public audio]
[Faint whooshing sounds accompany the low groan of metal being reshaped. Wanda is breathing heavily. Ropes creak.]
Goddamn but those idiots made a giant mess. I swear, every time some selfish moron wrecks the Barge trying to get out the people who they make work and suffer should get to take turns kicking their worthless asses. Being stuck here is hard enough without this crap.
[More groaning of metal.]
I'm sick of going through this. I'm learning nothing from this craphole but how shitty people can be. Redemption my ass. This whole place is a goddamn joke.
[She has to catch her breath again, and then the sound of metal warping starts up again.]
[Wanda could only find one way to fix the outer hull without actually getting trapped out in Wonderland, and that involved a lot of rope. She dangles over the side like a mountaineer, trying to control the attacks of nerves that kept hitting. Keeping focused takes three times the normal effort; her chaos magic keeps trying to go haywire on her. She keeps forcing her mind back onto her work, but most of what she can think about is how much she hates this, how much she hates the Barge and the Admiral and most of the people on the Barge, and how desperate she is to get out. The Admiral's last requirement for her graduation is that she learn to have faith in people again. She's tried for months, but every time she starts to feel a bit of hope some dumbshit pulls crap like this.]
[The hull is being patched, bit by bit, but the chaos element has run wild. Therefore some sections of the patch job are normal grey hull metal, some are shiny and chromed, some are transparent and some come in different colors and look like giant patches of duct tape. After a day and a half off and on, she is nearly done, but she's so exhausted that she doesn't notice she's talking to herself, or that she's crying. All she wants is to get away. But unlike the lackwits who pulled this, she knows that she won't be strong enough to escape on her own power for a very, very long time. So she weeps and mutters to herself as she works--but still she works, while the ropes that hold her up creak ominously now and again.]
Anyone wants to drink with me, I'm hitting the damn pub.
[private for Cato]
Well, man, I gotta say...you made a hell of a better brother than my real one.
[private to Rhade]
Checking in. You all right?
[spam for pub]
( Not now. I'm drinking. )
[Those on the fourth floor are treated to the sound of Wanda kicking the door to the vacant cabin in 4-2, once, hard enough to ding it and leave a bootprint.]
Goddamn, cowardly, useless, disappearing shitpile!
[She staggers back to lean against the opposite wall. Her shoulders shake, and a few tears escape down her cheeks. But she notices after a moment and dashes them away impatiently.]
Nobody cares, you stupid girl. Nobody’s going to save you. Crying just shows weakness. Toughen the fuck up.
[Face grim, she pulls out her communicator.]
Nathan Hendricks has abandoned…ship.
[She wants to say “abandoned me” because that’s what he did, vanishing when she needs him most. But she doesn’t feel like being mocked, so she keeps things neutral.]
[private to Dr. Crane]
I need a follow-up meds evaluation, as my Warden is no longer here to handle it.
[private to Seven of Nine]
I need some simple items and a favor, if you wouldn’t mind.
[spam for deck]
[So another Warden has abandoned her. So what? She doesn’t want a Warden. She doesn’t want to answer to anyone anymore. When anyone gets power over her they always end up letting her down. She mutters to herself as she stalks up the steps toward the Deck and the Warden Area.]
I’ll graduate myself. Rhade did it. Fuck these guys. After everything I’ve been through the only one who should get a Deal out of my struggle here is me.
[She goes to bang impatiently on the door to the Warden Area. She wants to take her anger out on inanimate objects and the CES is the only place she can do it safely.]
Come on, you lazy assholes, open the fuck up.
[No luck, so she tries to alter her fortunes with a little magic. But nobody “happens to come by” and helps her out before her anger peaks.]
I said fucking let me in!
[To Hell with it, she’s making her own door. She sweeps her hand forward and an enormous blast of blue light radiates from them as she hits the wall with a surge of power. The deck actually shakes a little. But the wall, inexplicably, holds.]
God damn it!
[Something bounces off of her head. She looks up—and closes her eyes just in time as she is inexplicably showered with Oreos.]
…Oh fuck you, Admiral.
[She sags a moment—then mutters irritably and gathers the Oreos into a floating pile. She grabs a couple and stuffs them into her mouth—then chokes and her eyes brim over again. She leans against the wall and then slides down into a little pile herself, wrapping herself in her coat.]
[friendslocked--use the "one friendly conversation" rule]
[Wanda sounds if anything entirely too calm.]
Well. The Admiral decided to bring my kidnapper back as a Warden as an extra "fuck you".
He just caught up with me in the CES. But don't worry. I took him to school. Nobody's dead, but I seriously doubt he's going to try anything from here on out.
Now if you'll excuse me, it is Saturday night, and I'm going to have a goddamn drink.
[spam for pub]
[Wanda knocks on the pub door firmly, then waits for someone to get a free moment to open the door for her. Her body is already buzzing from adrenaline and endorphins. She feels invincible, and smells faintly of ozone and sweat.]
[Wanda has taken to emblazoning her artfully shredded summer t-shirts with various legends on them in permanent ink. Today's T-shirt states in broad strokes: FUCK MY LIFE. That about covers it. Her expression is cold, closed and tired.]
Yeah, uh...between my deadbeat ex showing back up, and the latest serenade by Ned Flanders With Fangs, I think I'm gonna need that second prescription we were talking about.
[Not to mention the after effects of having to stop a rampaging werewolf, warden a Warden, and cover up a murder. But she's never bringing that up.]
[spam for Library]
[She gets claustrophobic sometimes. It's the result of growing up in a goddamn cell; sometimes she has to leave her room for a while just to prove to herself that she can. So even though she really doesn't want to deal with most people right now, she finally emerges. After doing lunch shift, eating, and feeding and running her dog, she takes a long shower, then changes and proceeds with hair still damp to the library.]
[There, she gathers together several books on real and fictional magic, and starts looking through them for more ideas. If the real limit of her power is her imagination, then it's time to think bigger. She takes notes as she pages through, a look of cold determination on her face.]
[There is the heavy thump of a netgun and the view goes crazy as she rolls to the side; the dark webbing flashes past and then she's up again. The crazy picture takes in the dark hulk of the Barge rising in the background briefly; she's running for it desperately, dodging while tranquilizer darts bite into the dirt around her. Then she gets close enough, and she sucks in a gasp of horror.]
Wrong side...I'm on the wrong side...son of a bitch put me on the wrong side...!
[And then she changes direction, narrowly avoiding being nailed by another net. The hum of an alien motor grows steadily in the background. More running, more dodging. The ground grows more rocky. Suddenly a wall of rock looms and the picture goes crazy again.]
[Darkness. The motor hum whines past. Then there is nothing but her labored breathing echoing slightly in an enclosed place.]
I can't be caught. I can't be caught. Not again.
[Fumbling. A glass blade glitters in a thin beam of light that shows glimpses of the rock walls around her.]
[OOC: Wanda's hiding in a cave maybe a quarter mile away from the Barge. Once she gets some help getting back she will be available to help Team Nerd...if someone can pry her out of her room.]
[Wanda's voice has poisoned icicles dripping off of it.]
I need to get into the CES.
[spam for CES]
[Wanda hikes her way deep into the CES, a fierce scowl on her face that is sometimes accompanied by tears. There's a conversation she has to have with someone, a very important one. But first she needs to calm down and blow off some steam.]
So the only idea anyone can come up with--and I had to come up with it myself--is to re-alter my memories so I'm not living with the pain anymore. Basically to put me back the way I was before the Barge and these people got their hands on me. That's the best I can expect. Which makes this entire goddamn thing a failure. If anything I am worse off now than I was before I left my world. And nobody gives enough of a shit to offer anything better. Or even express some real sympathy. If I broadcasted this, if I told my story, if I let people know just how bad it's been...the best I can expect is apathy and excuses, and I'll probably be attacked by defensive Wardens.
[A blue glow starts to rise up around her as she walks.]
Fuck this place. Fuck these people. I shouldn't have to edit my memories to cover for how they stood by and let me be hurt over and over again. Someone should have done something. Just like at home. They should have stepped in. Someone should have saved me.
Instead I'm so broken that amnesia is looking good.
[She lets out a shriek of anger and outrage, and a nearby boulder literally detonates into a cloud of dust.]
You call yourselves the good guys? Then why are you all so fucking terrible at it?
[She sobs once and pushes herself onward down the path.]
[much later private to Charles]
[Wanda sounds resigned to the point of hopelessness.]
I need to talk to you. It's important.
[Wanda's voice is flat, almost mechanical.] Hi, remember me? [A long pause as she bites back a lot of yelling and frustration, because she hasn't heard from Steph since Risa and she's been going through Hell. ] No. If my feelings mattered to her she wouldn't knowingly leave me alone during a crisis. Just stick to business.
I quit the dinner shift. I refuse to work with Reaver. If you want to talk to me about cooking on another shift that is fine.
I quit the dinner shift. Sorry, but there's some shit I shouldn't have to put up with when I'm trying to work.
[Then it's off to Stildyne's cabin, with nothing in her pockets but her keys. She has left her communicator behind after nearly breaking it. The people there have no fucking idea. What she has been through, what she is going through, what it feels like. How close she is to just snapping completely. Nor does anyone care. So fuck them and all their bullshit assumptions.]
[She knocks on his door softly, half hoping he won't answer after the delay. All she wants right now is a nap.]
I need to do some stress baking. How about I take an extra lunch shift in return for some pie making time in the afternoon?
[private to Mozenrath]
Um...hi. I was wondering...what's your favorite kind of pie?
[spam for pub]
[Wanda behaved for a few days, going to appointments, doing her practices and gym and meditations, training and walking Fozzie, reading and studying. But in the end, the shock of coming out of her Flood self after all the ambivalence and drama that had come before left her flattened emotionally. When she finally runs out of mental reserves, she goes up late at night and stands outside the Warden area, determined to talk her way into the Pub and get extravagantly plastered.]
[OOC: After this.]
[First bad sign; the video keeps cutting in and out, showing the gym. Second bad sign: the gym lights are flickering uncontrollably and starting to drop sparks. Third bad sign: random flashes of blue light while Wanda cries uncontrollably.]
That son of a bitch...
That son of a bitch.
Oh Gods, Steph, I gotta talk to you now. Or I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill them both. That evil bastard and his sycophantic, whiny Warden boyfriend both. What gives him the right? What gives him the right? Why does he get his powers back when I've had to tough it out without them?
I'm gonna tell everyone. I'm gonna tell every fucking one that Lord Erik Lehnsherr gets to have his powers back while the rest of us struggle and suffer, because HE'S CHARLES XAVIER'S FRIEND.
I never understood before how he could possibly stand by and let my father put me away in that horrible place without doing anything. But now I do. It's because he has his balls in Erik's back pocket. It doesn't matter who Erik hurts, that son of a bitch will just make excuses for him!
[But Gods she wanted to smack some sense into him. She had come here with a power reduction so drastic that it had made her almost defenseless, and she had been kidnapped because of that. What made him so fucking special? He needed to just suck it up, stop acting like a tantrummy kid and earn back the right to his powers by showing he could use them responsibly. But he would never have listened if she had brought that up.]
[She finished warming up on the treadmill and forced herself to do her stretches before she attacked the weight machines. Later she'd hit the heavy bag until she stopped thinking.]