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Headlines are all about the aliens and the Soviets, for the most part. Life has to go on. In Hell's Kitchen, it's already fend for yourself. Nothing changes if little green or grey men are real, not when the rattle of gunfire, arson, and robbery are depressingly common in the squalid alleys and streets.
A girl crouches on the second-floor balcony of an apartment building created on the cheap for new immigrants. She could be the descendants of one with her tawny skin. A drop of gold in a cream background, dark hair set her apart. So do the leather pants, for that matter.
She presently stares at graffiti drawn on the building, fresh and laced by liquid dribbles of tacky paint. Below and beside her, scribbled shapes make the eyes want to bleed. Electric green ink or paint hijacks the senses and spears into the brain.
Though it's not hard to see her, neither is she on a main drag. The tenement has a dingy stretch of road beside it, thick with dumpsters and rotting trash in plastic bags. Don't ask what's in the puddles.
It might be the perfect place for bugs to roam around, since there's not a stray dog in sight under a watery sun.
*
Mildred is drifting by overhead. Inspired by a recent encounter with Spider-Girl, she's been considering using these weird powers to help people… but looking at Hell's Kitchen makes her despair. Would anything she could do make a difference in a place such as this?
*
Typical graffiti piles up in layers of paint, some crude and some stylized. Others stand out. Wanda stares at the shapes, squinting at them, trying to commit the angles to memory. She allows her fingers to dust along the railing for a better handhold, and then curls them tightly for a solid grip.
Then that fool girl recklessly tips over the side, stomach down, one leg drawn vertical and the other parallel to the flimsy lip of the balcony. She tilts her head and stares at the continuing creep of bleeding, messy forms scribbled on the building in lurid and dull shades both.
All this to read graffiti? Believe it. But she finally shakes her head and stares down at the street, unapologetic about measuring the drop and terrain of the land. The view isn't much, and the old beater box stripped of its tires and headlights rotting on the side of the narrow road is unnerving, if she had to admit it. Blind windows look down on all, the building turning its back on whatever happens at street level.
Then a trash can lid goes rolling out from an alley, clattering while turning. Then comes half a trashcan, the metal body ripped off. Nothing subtle about that, loud indeed.
*
Mildred spots the girl recklessly hanging off a railing and worriedly plummets in her direction… but it seems there was no real danger? She seems quietly amused at a memory, but still worried. And then she notices the torn trashcan - could that be normal around here?
*
Whatever she sought, Wanda soon finds reason to pull herself back up onto the balcony. It takes her effort, a low sound deep in the cage of her throat clattering like thunder. Lying flat on the railing, she sucks in breath while the noisy bounce of the trash can alerts her to a racket about other break.
Her gaze flits to the only other visible figure on the street, and she shakes her head. Between the choice of ducking out of sight and scaling her way down to the first floor, she might be inclined to the latter.
Not so much an issue for the large roach slouching out through a pile of trash bags. Drawn low to the ground, it doesn't so much shoulder dumpsters as drive them ahead of it. The noisy shriek of wheels and legs never made to travel far on pavement is surely bound to attract attention, but the king mattress sized monstrosity moves with inevitable purpose, feelers flashing around in the air.
The alarmed sound of the sentry suggests Wanda has indeed heard it. She doesn't speak English then, but the cry is probably telling.
*
A giant roach? Even Mildred doubts that's normal around here. She drops onto that old beater box (slowing as she lands, as always - her old bones can't take heavy impacts), then calls out to the insect, "Excuse me? May I ask what you're doing?" After all, a giant insect seems impossible enough that it being intelligent isn't much harder to believe.
*
The insect isn't particularly conversational. It barrels towards the street, where more room allows it to move. Jaunty legs skitter along the ground, hooking into the pavement and launching it forward. It exhibits no desire to chat, instead running right up the road and bashing through dumpsters, signs, a bench for a bus that never comes. The horrible thing is, that giant, living organism is simply following whatever directive demand it break glass, climb up it, over it, around it if it won't yield.
That includes people. The car is in the way, so it more than likely bashes the bumper with a leg or its body. Mildred or no Mildred.
The hypnotizing sight isn't enough to keep Wanda from acting. She swings her leg over the railing, perching for a moment up there. A swift gesture of her hand, mingled with a soft word in Transian, the language of her European home, set off a spark of fuchsia light. Experimental pyrotechnics aside, she flexes her knees, and jumps down to land lightly upon the street. A bit too lightly. "It is not stopping!" she calls out, a bit unnecessarily. But it might be a little more so that she moves in its wake, thumbing a ring from under her fingerless gloves.
*
Mildred almost dawdled too long - almost. She flies straight upward, still standing atop the car as though gravity had reversed itself for the two of them (and nothing else). The insect does knock the bumper off the car, but it was loose and rusting to begin with. Mildred and the car do slow to a halt several yards up, however, and then after what seems a contemplative pause, the car plummets diagonally toward the insect while Mildred herself floats nervously in mid-air.
*
Unfortunately, she seems to be unused to her powers, and normal gravity resumes for the car once it's no longer in contact with her, causing it to crash to the ground a few feet from the insect. "Um… that was a warning shot." If the bug's smart enough to understand, it's likely also smart enough to doubt.
*
What happens when a ton of metal meets more than a ton of insect? Two forces of equal size, Detroit vs Roach. The problem, though, with roaches is their durability. They just won't die despite acid, fire, roach food, and evil smelly gases. The insect scuttles away from the chunk of Chevrolet dumped on its back, turning a direct crunch into a glancing blow. The rough brown scales all over its body flex and resist being so easily torn, and it flies back to bulldoze into the vehicle. The poor car spins around on its hood and things get worse when the roach swarms up on top of it, the weight enough to make dents. Oh well, without wheels, it wasn't going anywhere.
The young woman on the ground bites back a comment when the car rises into the ground. She looks up to the gray-haired doyenne throwing it and probably thinks the better, recalibrating her actions rapidly. Instead, she extends two fingers, the rest folded to her palm, and hooks her other arm behind her back, helping to channel energy on a spindled circuit. It looks rather like nothing except a girl scolding a vehicle, really, but the brown roach flickers a little more red along its limbs. Her murmuring incantation is still audible enough, a collision of syllables meaningful to none unversed in the sorceress' arts, or possibly that tangled language. She effectively depletes its momentum, those legs moving slower, more energy spent trying to stamp around on the car and flattening it while its feelers and various other senses help it locate Mildred.
*
Mildred glances around for another weapon (that old car looks a little hard to reach right now), then reconsiders and tries a more daring tactic: she drops toward the insect herself, attempting to land on its thorax where it can't reach her. Hopefully.
*
The roach peels off the car, leaving the collapsing cage of its windows and broken glass in its wake. No one will be sitting upright in there unless a toddler, if this were at all salvageable. The vehicle may not be, stamped over by a succession of barbed feet. With Mildred up in the air, it can't exactly reach her. Nor is it moving very fast, forced to slow the rate of its movement by the spell wrapped around its body, bleeding off that excess. It all has to go somewhere, and the result is Wanda moves nowhere either. She maintains that grim focus, her eyes narrowed, dropped into something of an authoritative stance. Her feet are braced apart from hip-width, and her arm still folded behind her back.
Were one capable of seeing into the magical spectrum, they might see a spectacular yantra: a ring of circular energy haloing her, bisected by a downward pointing equilateral triangle nested inside countless more, all spinning inside a multi-petalled lotus. It only makes the faintest distortion on the air to those incapable of seeing such. All the same, her focused efforts make it possible to land, but that doesn't stop the roach from spinning around and trying to throw off any weight like a bronco.
*
ROLL: Mildred +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 80
*
Mildred somehow manages to hang on despite her erstwhile steed's bucking and shaking - most likely only because Wanda's spell is hampering its movements so greatly - and after half a second of this, it suddenly finds itself plummeting directly upward - an experience its instincts have likely left it woefully unprepared for. Its elderly rider lets out the breath she was holding, mentally chastising herself for taking such a dangerous action, yet also feeling an exhilaration she'd long ago forgotten.
*
ROLL: Wanda +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 18
*
Pity an airborne insect struggling to throw off its unwanted rider. Its legs flail and its body flexes and twitches. It tries to roll up its back end, stretching out to keep its body on the ground. That works only so long as it can stand on its back legs, depending on how high Mildred is willing to go. It looks a bit ridiculous and surreal, a giant bug led by the nose, so to speak, and possibly treated like a circus seal.
While she holds the spell, the best Wanda can do is focus on the slowing spell. She narrows her eyes and gauges the effect. One open belly, one elevated insect. "Hold it!" She snaps her fingers down, flipping her palm downwards as she draws a semi-circle. All that motion stored up has a given purpose, being transmuted by another murmured incantation. Symbols shaped with care give a safe focus, though the bucking surge wants to tear free of her. A volley of force darts are released at its underbelly, slamming in over a short distance. That armour is resistant, but not impervious for all its resilience and insulating effect. Dust blows off and mostly the bug jerks around in misery.
*
Mildred doesn't understand what Wanda just did, but decides to assume it's a good idea. While she's unable to hold the insect as requested, she's willing to keep the reverse gravity effect going - maybe up until it can't reach the ground, then hover there? Yes, that sounds good.
Hopefully it won't try to use its wings (or, at least, know how to do so when gravity's acting so oddly).
*
ROLL: Wanda +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 10
*
Wiggly roach is suddenly able to move faster than it did before, and the wild bucking becomes much stronger. Standing on the creature is a great deal harder as it tries to get away, legs flailing around and possibly hitting her, definitely shattering the windows of the nearest building giving a viable place to scrabble and tear at. Brick will fall as it rotates, desperately seeking Sus escape.
Its appendages and back wings jerk and crackle with the oddest sounds, but at the very least, the roach wants to throw Mildred off.
Wanda may be less than thrilled by the results, and she flexes her fingers. Knives aren't an obvious option, but there has to be something better suited for her purpose. The display of her aura comes flowering into existence as she pulls together her spell, scarlet rings enfolding her fingers and wrists in complicated patterns. An orb spins into being between her poised, facing palms, growing as large as a coffee cup and rapidly spinning. Its shape isn't stable, trying to become a blob or oval, but she narrows her eyes. Timing counts here, to avoid hitting legs or blowing out the front of a building. But that deepening wine glow expands as she feeds it, concentrating the temperature and force together.
*
The roach's desperate wiggling bears fruit - Mildred's knocked loose. Only for a moment, but that's long enough for gravity to reassert itself, and it immediately starts plummeting toward the ground, twenty feet below. Mildred finds herself hoping that the impact won't cause more damage than the insect would've done if she hadn't intervened.
Inexperienced with combat as she is, the elderly mutant can't think to do anything but float and nervously watch the roach's fall.
*
What is it with bugs? Billy isn't sure, but as he flies through the air with a vague glow about him, he sees bugs and people and they aren't like, you know, little bugs. Little bugs people can just step on, but big bugs? Billy is absolutely positive in that future-place he's from that his biology teacher told him it was *impossible* for bugs to get that big because of something about their respiration system, but clearly freak nature is in no way informed of this fact.
Perhaps the first thing people notice is not him, but the blinding flash of light as lightning strikes into a bug. The odd thing, though, is that lightning usually comes from up and not sideways. Electricity crackles along Billy's arm and body as he gathers in more power for a second strike, even as he flies down and lands near the ground.
Billy is dressed in black and red, with the red being largely a part of the cape (capes are cool) and covering him in a hood that kinda sorta hides his face. Kinda sorta.
*
The roach is more than resistant to bouncing off things, despite its large size, and it will destroy the pavement in a crushed sinkhole. Add another layer of misery to Hell's Kitchen! Maybe it will smash into the only decent diner in a three block radius in its haste to get away. The feelers lash at Mildred's legs, and it displaces yet more brick from the front of the sad four-storey building that it was struggling to scale while in midair. Dust flies into the air.
The drop is more than enough to leave the brunette cursing inwardly. After the spell. She hasn't the luxury or the time, and her experience is not gleaned from nice places. The blob solidifies into a radiant glow that collapses inwards on itself, forming an intense, rapidly rotating point that she hurls outwards, both palms flipped to the bug's direction. At the speed of thought, an issue of collision isn't troubling.
The spell detonating could be, but the shining wave of force pulverizing a leg and punching into the thorax caves in, not outwards. The implosion creates a similar crater in the bug as it does on the ground. Tit for tat, that. When the lightning strikes, her own energy rebounds along seizing bug bits, and pulls in until the whole roach business is convulsing uncontrollably on the ground. Hoped no one liked that sidewalk. It looks like it was shelled.
*
Mildred is beginning to suspect she should figure out another, less destructive approach to fighting oversized nasties. But at least that insect doesn't seem like it'll be any more trouble, and as long as there're no more, she'll at least have time to think.
What are the odds of that being the only one, though?
*
The weird thing about the whole affair is that although Billy flies, the wind doesn't seem to touch him: it's not *wind* at all that moves him, but something… else. So the hood and cape are relatively stationary. If anyone at all is paying attention to anything at all but the monster bugs.
"Whoa, monster bugs. I don't remember ANYTHING about monster bugs in my history book." exhales the young man, though. He, Aether, son of the sky (except totally not, but its his running theory), lifts an arm and once again electricity crackles over his form, seeming to gather forward into his hand. "Everyone okay?" he calls out to … whoever is around. He hasn't really gotten a good look at things. Still he gathers in the electricity until its bright as a spotlight in his hand, just in case. It does make hiding his face harder, but hey, watch gonna do. Monster bugs.
*
The young woman rising from a crouch drops both of her hands to her sides, and the bug shows absolutely no signs of getting up to fight another day. It looks plenty dead, curled up slightly in a crater fairly deep and wide. Earth pokes through the cracks, painting away streams of debris to the middle. A shake of the young woman's head sends her dark hair flying around her nebulously. Contrary to Billy, her garnet-studded headband pulls her bangs off her face and leaves absolutely no doubt to seeing her features. Arrogantly high cheekbones set her expression into a slightly severe view of contemplation, while her fey, honey-brown eyes reflect the lightning.
"Your books are wrong, then," she says in a somewhat edged voice, a result of less effort spent on translating into English. Anyone who has heard Pietro probably hears shades of the same, and their visual similarities are also naturally strong; the Maximoff twins are themselves fraternal but mirrors. "Leave. This is not a safe place." So says the only person on the ground, but not for long; she can float easily as the rest of them.
*
Mildred notices Billy's disguise and is reminded she'd wanted to hide her own identity. Is it too late now? Well, it seems like she can't help any more here anyway (and she can't match this newcomer's lightning even if more bugs do appear), so she decides to take Wanda's advice and tries to leave before anyone gets a good look at her.
*
Billy does a double-take when he sees Wanda: is she familiar? No. But yes? He can't tell, but his features scrunch up a bit and he regards her, but then he allows the lightning coiled in his hand to fade. And fade it does: it doesn't act at all like regular lightning doesn't escape or ground, it simply fades into nothing. "I can take care of myself." he assures the red woman, a quick grin that shows dimples lighting his face. This is seen as he reaches up to push back his hood and let it fall to his back. "If there are more, I should be here to help put a stop to them. I'm Aether."
*
The stirring shadows of her hair answer the nameless force holding her aloft, though the loosening grip of gravity is something of an easing of shackles rather than brute force removal as witnessed by the older woman attacking bugs. Damage lies around them: smashed benches, torn away brick, broken glass, three dumpsters in good condition and one flattened Chevy that looks like it ran through a trash compactor. A very large one, with many dents for feet.
"Really." Whatever Billy thinks, the Maximoff girl is clearly taking it with two helpings of skepticism and an extra dose of peppery sass. She hooks her finger around her coat pocket. The corset, the leather pants, these are not things a Sixties girl wears unless she's a Bardot. His grin isn't warming her much over either, though the dark look in her eyes is almost predatory while she considers the bug. "Not one of our recent problems. Maybe just one." Maybe the sky is green, that tone suggests. "Aether." The Greco-Roman term rolls over her tongue oddly. "Wanda."
And let's watch the fireworks.
*
"Really." asserts the kid, nodding his head firmly, perhaps a bit earnestly, and he grins again. Dimples. It might not have worked the first time, but he'll try, try again. "I do lightning, and worst case scenario…" Everything is weird for a brief moment: its like the whole world is paused though no time itself passes, and Billy is no longer where he is, but atop the building over there. Reality itself is rewritten in but a moment to change where he stands. There's no flesh to it, he's simply… there, then not there. Calling out, "I can do that, too! See, Aether, son of the sky! Hi. Trust me, if there's trouble you want me around, I can help." He's earnest again.
*
Dimples should rule the world, but they were not invented yesterday and the demon hunting witch in his presence happens to know someone else with ridiculous dimples, and a love of the sky. And he may have a touch more cachet. Wanda isn't budging.
Much.
The tension in her posture speaks to the expectation of being knifed, and no doubt some poor man upstairs shouting to his girlfriend about his bashed car might think about shooting them, but he's got a clear view of a giant bug.
Her eyes narrow fractionally when the teasing of the Sight reveals exactly what he is doing, and her concentration tears through the miasma of dust and fallen brick to show finer details. "How, exactly, are you to be called? Stop for a moment." All the showing off? This is becoming mildly alarming. Somewhere wheels are turning. Somewhere, things are tallying up. "Son of the sky. That is a divine title, and you are named for a primal one. Greek. Child of night. No?"
*
"Well, Aether is what I go by when I have the hood and am out.. you know, saving people." Billy inclines his head. There's another pause in the world, that pregnant moment before it bursts and suddenly Billy is not up on a roof calling down, but in front of Wanda. Not right in front, not too close, several feet away in fact. "I don't know about divine, but its possible: my running theory is that my Grandpa is Zeus or something." Which would fit in with flying and flinging lightning, but doesn't quite so match editing himself from place to place with a mere thought.
"Nothing else really explains it, but its not like me and Gramps have met and had a sit down so I can't prove it." He smiles then, and there's dimples once more. It is a tool he will wield effortlessly and without remorse! "But I just picked Aether because it seemed to fit. It means sky, right?" Child of night? That has his brow furrowing in some puzzlement, "I figured you're supposed to keep these things a secret so a code name is important… but." She introduced herself as a real name, and there's something about her, sooo: "I'm Billy."
*
Call it whatever it is: wearing a hood, being a mysterious figure, using a code name. When he pops into being again, she's prepared for something, the shield impressed upon her being still shining in the mystical spectrum. It floods over her clothing like a deceptive sheen of oil on water, hard to trace even when someone knows to look. While Billy expounds and jumps about, she barely credits him with a word, listening clearly and probably translating back whatever he says into good, proper Transian. Or German. Or whatever the heck she speaks. Her accent is not one that easily or readily reveals its secrets to the American ear.
"Aether, the realm of pure air. Said to be around the gods' realm." She draws a circle, clearly not the sort to go into long demonstrative explanations, or simply she can't. "It is a person. The child of night and darkness. Or Chaos. Stories do not agree." Her eyes narrow a fraction, the spark in her gaze settling in. He speaks so easily of divinity for parents, and that probably plucks another chord, the nagging proof in the back of her head. "Night, too, is a person. In the stories, the oldest goddess." Her shoulders lift slightly and she nods to him. "Why are you here, Billy?" Soooo…
*
"Oh, I didn't really know it was a person in mythology— mythology isn't my … thing. Well, it sorta is, I suppose. But I was more into science back in school." He pauses, "Forward in school. I don't know." He makes a vague gesture before him. The shield though? It's examined with a curious tilt to his head, "I'm not going to hurt you, you know. I don't know exactly how I got my gifts, but I know I got them to help people. That's why I'm here, anyways. I was looking for someone in need, saw this giant bug thing attacking people, and went… to act."
There's a pause, and there's frown-dimples for a moment as Billy shakes his head, "Unless you're asking why I'm *here*, and the true answer is: I don't know. I'm not supposed to be. Something went wrong. I don't remember exactly— whatever went wrong messed with my memory. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be NOW, I mean. But I am." And he might not be making a whole lot of sense.
*
The simple bitter reality of English requires a modification. A flick of her fingers and a light blooms in her eyes, garnet as the arils of a pomegranate. Then it settles, spreading out, giving an insight that normally would not — should not — exist. Proficiency of language settles almost instantly, though the look of distaste on her face implies this comes with a cost. Wanda wrinkles her nose, and walks up to the bug, out to see whether the giant roach is, in fact, fueled by some kind of stone or worse subject. "You sound uncertain about many things. Why?"
Unfair asking; at his age, she was doing terrible things in Tibet. The distance stays between them and she is no more civilized and tame than a hunting cat, ready to bare claws at the merest provocation. Okay, not quite mere. The bug is dead, thanks to her violent precision and his, but neither is she attacking anyone. "Something went wrong that means you are not supposed to be in New York. In November. You were supposed to come here later? Or somewhere else right now?"
Dial W for Nonsensical.
*
"I don't belong here. I don't mean New York, I grew up in New York. Just not *this* New York… the *then* New York, later." admits Billy, and its not something he admits to people very often. Not that he has been here a long time, it's only been days— but he hasn't really told anyone else. So why is he telling this stranger? Billy has no idea. "I mean, I'm not *from* here. I was doing something, something important, something *big*, the other day. A week ago? Two weeks? And… *something* interfered with it, interacted with it? And I'm here now. So are my parents, my life, my family. Everything changed to fit me in here, now, when I *was* .. *then*. The future. Ten years? Twenty? I don't know exactly. I don't know how long exactly, my memory was… affected. I can't seem to figure out how to change things so I'm *there* again, with Teddy." His expression becomes pained, "So… I'm out, looking for people to help, in the meantime."
*
Wanda runs her gloved finger over her lip, ignoring the dimple arsenal being used against her — at least at the conscious level. Some things, they transcend time, space, and mental energies at the forefront of the brain to do complex calculations. The body so often laughs at what the upper levels of conscious think they know, when so much of the conversation has already happened, the moment deciphered, the conclusions drawn before any synapse up there ever fires. Shamanistic and modern primitif movements are closer to the truth than they know.
"You came to New York without someone named Teddy from another.. then. A time a decade or two ahead. But your family is here. All of you are here, but not in the time you remember. Or should remember." Her succinct way of summing this up is only happening if she speaks in another tongue but English, save the grace of the spell that allows her to comprehend him and in turn parse down the facts. "You…" She pinches the bridge of her nose. "You need to see someone I know. Someone who will tell me if this is a lie. For if it is a lie then you are probably under an illusion or a curse. Or you are going to regret lying."
*
"Teddy is <my star of stars>." Billy says seriously, only 'my star of stars' isn't said in English, but instead Transian. And its not something he should be admitting in 1963, but this is one of those differences he hasn't gotten used to. Still though, he frowns and looks at the woman a moment, "You don't need to threaten me, for one thing, I don't lie." But there is a moment of hesitation, "But that's.. right. Your summary, I mean, is right." He tilts his head to the side then, "But I don't mind seeing someone, if they might know what happened, or how to fix it. Oh, and my family? They don't have any idea its different. Only I do. They think its… just normal. They even understand the local pop culture references that totally go over my head."
The two of them stand somewhere before a subway station, and nearby? There's a GIANT BUG. That's a bit charred and crushed. But still quite obviously a GIANT BUG which is just wrong. And maybe doesn't smell well.
*
ROLL: Wanda +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 45
*
The giant bug has not exploded. The crushed full sized Chevy hit by a lot of little feet has not turned to ash. The building has not fallen. It needs a full redo on the façade. The crater in the ground is still a crater.
Yes, this is not a good day in Hell's Kitchen but it ranks about a 5.5 out of 10, really. Would visit again, make sure to bring galoshes or antigravity spells.
Verdicts as to what he says are out, but Wanda takes him seriously enough. Her eyes narrow fractionally and the unholy iridescent glow around her spikes once before she stills it, visible only in the eldritch spectrum to the Sight. Her poker face could make Lenin's statues seem positively effusive, and put those Greek caryatid columns to shame for being too expressive and silly. Nothing to see here, nothing at all, even as her thoughts fork and fork again into a hundred probabilities that whirl at once in a computer finer than any device known to Bletchley Park or experimental American engineers.
"Groovy." Yes, English. The only way she knows this is by repeating what she hears people on the bus saying. People in Greenwich saying. Her head tilts, and she points to the subway. "We are not taking this thing." No underground worms with wheels for her, thank you very much. "The walk is not far. We will be there soon. Maybe he can help, maybe he cannot." A shrug follows "Be polite, please. It will go over better."
And if he's not what he claims, he's going to be so much tidier to dissect on an enchanted table.
*
Groovy? That throws Billy a moment, having him looking at her like she's in the wrong century. Only, really, that's backwards. He glances down to the subway tunnel and gives a shrug at her insistence against, "I'm always polite." he protests, but he turns and moves to follow. He lifts the red hooded cape he wears up, to slip the hood back into place. It hangs long so once again its shadow kind of hides his features. Kind of. "Why don't you have a code name? You have powers obviously, and its not like you can show up in the newspaper as Wanda. Someone will bug you when you're not out superheroing."