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networkinthenight2019-07-22 01:35 am
hext) wrote in networkinthenight2019-07-22 01:35 am
Entry tags:
@witch — voice
My name is Wanda Maximoff. I have met several of you.
I have seen some of you die. Some of you have seen me die, as well.
We are, I think, intimate — if not consensually.
[ she attaches her dimly lit picture, taken near the church. a slow, measured breath, then she continues in her low, but confident voice, angled just so by her Eastern European accent: ]
We are here to survive, and we all know there is strength in numbers.
Trust is not given freely, it is earned, yes — but neither should we make sweeping generalizations about each other's competencies, young or old, when we each come from such unique... and uniquely horrifying... worlds.
[ the softest tapping sound accumulates in the background; her fingers, rarely ever idle, are dancing along the edges of her tablet as she runs through the paces of her message. ]
Winters spoke strongly of resets. I think about it each night. What drives them, if there is any reason or logic behind them. If they are not merely whims of the lighthouse keeper, then let it not be this:
Let it not be us, dividing into factions and turning on each other out of spite and fear, vengeance and guilt, carried past our deaths into this purgatory. Young, or old, or without classification. [ here's lookin' at you, five. ] We will only die again faster this way, festering in mistrust.
[ in this moment, she wishes perhaps more ardently than ever before that steve were here — he knows the power of a call to arms, how to be the tree that does not move, the liberating thrill of speech — despite how glad she is that he is not a victim with her. her captain, her beating heart, her family. ]
Each project will always have its own team.
But we shall try to be one town, yes?
I think we can.
I have seen some of you die. Some of you have seen me die, as well.
We are, I think, intimate — if not consensually.
[ she attaches her dimly lit picture, taken near the church. a slow, measured breath, then she continues in her low, but confident voice, angled just so by her Eastern European accent: ]
We are here to survive, and we all know there is strength in numbers.
Trust is not given freely, it is earned, yes — but neither should we make sweeping generalizations about each other's competencies, young or old, when we each come from such unique... and uniquely horrifying... worlds.
[ the softest tapping sound accumulates in the background; her fingers, rarely ever idle, are dancing along the edges of her tablet as she runs through the paces of her message. ]
Winters spoke strongly of resets. I think about it each night. What drives them, if there is any reason or logic behind them. If they are not merely whims of the lighthouse keeper, then let it not be this:
Let it not be us, dividing into factions and turning on each other out of spite and fear, vengeance and guilt, carried past our deaths into this purgatory. Young, or old, or without classification. [ here's lookin' at you, five. ] We will only die again faster this way, festering in mistrust.
[ in this moment, she wishes perhaps more ardently than ever before that steve were here — he knows the power of a call to arms, how to be the tree that does not move, the liberating thrill of speech — despite how glad she is that he is not a victim with her. her captain, her beating heart, her family. ]
Each project will always have its own team.
But we shall try to be one town, yes?
I think we can.
no subject
( this place was all about go hard or go home, wasn't it? except no one could go home so ha ha on everyone. )
It is not a bad idea, training together. I think you might have some difficulty convincing everyone but perhaps the majority would be amiable. It would be like one big physical education class.
( hopefully with no square dancing involved. what a stupid concept. )
no subject
[ coyly, then. tenderly cajoling. ]
Would you participate?
no subject
( it's not like he was doing much else. he was going to have to fix that at some point soon or he'd get bored. )
You might have to ask me nicely though.
no subject
Ambrose. My darling. The very beat of my poor, dead heart. Will you help me?
no subject
( he's honestly impressed. )
I'm flattered. How could I say no to something like that?
mea culpa for such a delayyyyy ilu i'm trying to get my feet back under me
I could add you are the most handsome warlock I've ever met, as well, and it would be no hyperbole.
[ she leans her chin into her hand as she speaks further into the device, and her tone turns conspiratorial, excited. ]
Did you know that something about this place lets you teach others — people who have none of your magical affinity — spells? Think of that, Ambrose. You could mentor someone in defensive charms. [ a beat, and she inhales— ] You could teach me how to astral project, instead of me only creating an illusion. I could possibly teach you fear manipulation, without need for an incantation...
it's okay, i've been without power for over twelve hours now so shit happens!! i still love u
( was he the only one? )
Is that right? And how did you come to find out this information? That seems quite the revelation. If you'd like to learn how to astral project, I'm sure I can become the professor I was born to be.