1964-01-11 - The Buccaneer Way
Summary: Pietro is on board with… being aboard.
Related: 12 Days: Seventh
Theme Song: None
wanda pietro 


Winter makes for the worst weather and the best time to score a seat in some of the sleepy cafes at lunch. Not many artists wake up this early and few performers draw crowds, so they have the place to themselves. The eatery in question isn't much to talk about, one of those greasy spoon diners that serve up American, as imagined by Greeks and Italians. They can net an omelette as easily as a pita stuffed with beef or a plate of noodles. For someone who has eclectic tastes (her) and high nutritional needs (both), it makes a good compromise. Wanda is squeezed into the corner of a booth in the back, given a direct line of sight to the doors, front window, kitchen doors, and washroom. She sips a cup of tea and already has zeroed in on the soups, leveraging the menu to hide behind it. The nearest patrons are nursing hangovers with hair of the dog and eggs, so many fried eggs, not interested in the twins. Besides, who here speaks Transian? "I have been tracking lost magic items, hidden ones," she says languidly, flicking her fingers. "Pieces of interest, and something stood out to me. I think we're going to need you to retrieve it. A sorcerer took his greatest spells and scattered them in pieces, and threw them from a place called the Chapel of the Winds. No one can recover them because they move about too fast. But who is faster than the wind?" She points a finger at him.

*

Pietro smirks.

It is his favourite expression.

Happily eating away, he nods his head a few time while his mouth is full — it would be rude, also messy, to try and talk right now — and washes it down with a mouthful of milkshake.

Someone else's.

Not his.

"Chapel of the Winds," says he, also in Transian. "Sis, you are not sending me into a church, no? Churches and me…" He pauses to just shake his head, and drink more milkshake. "We are not getting along. Unless I am stealing from them — hmm, so this is a stealing thing you want me to do? Okay I'm in. What's the catch?"

*

The pile of bread brought for them is gone, replaced twice already. No doubt the people here worry about these two starving, or nursing their own hangovers. Not entirely wrong, since she needs the fuel to serve her magic.

"You stole that from someone's table?" An arc of dark brows leaves her golden eyes narrowed on the milkshake. Milk she can manage; it's meat she can't. Reaching out with none of the terrible speed Pietro possesses, she swipes it from him and takes a sip through the straw to see whether the flavour is worth it. Unless it's malt, she will tolerate whatever comes. If strawberry… he'll fight her to get it back.

"It's not a church anywhere here. A magical church, more like a temple. It stands up like a tower, surrounded by water on most sides, and then Port Royal behind it." She draws a curve of a bay, and then a peninsula, laying out a geographic idea on the tabletop. "The chapel holds the key for gathering the rest of the spells. I want them, yes, though you have the opportunity to enjoy it. The problem is that Port Royal vanished in a large tidal wave maybe two or three centuries ago. Some of it ended up taken away into another realm. We've the key to get there, and no need to search through the drowned ruins of a city on the sea floor. So you're breaking in to a realm with me, and stealing, and taking Tommy with us. Because he saw me appear with the shark. I could hardly say no." She pauses. "Did I tell you there were very smart sharks used as defense? There are very smart sharks. And all the brigands, mutineers, sailors, swashbucklers, and pirates you can think of there."

*

Pietro sits there.

Eyeing his milkshake.

His strawberry milkshake. And his sister. Who stole the strawberry milkshake. Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he dashes off again — sending newspapers in their stand flapping about — and returns with another 'shake. "So," says he while he impudently sucks on his straw, shamelessly slurping. "You want me to break into a place that is no longer a place because… a long time ago it was transported to another place — where they have pirates and 'smart' sharks, yes? With Tommy, yes?" He lifts both his eyebrows and nods his head at Wanda as though encouraging her to nod her head with his.

"Alright, I'm in. I need the practice anyway — I used to be faster than this. I want to be fast again. Oh… would this be a good time to mention a ghost talked to me and invited me to school, all expenses paid — including living quarters? I said yes."

*

Thirteen minutes gives him no leave on milkshake ownership. She shares, anyways, and her stuff is equally his. Does Pietro really think it's theft when she nudges over a few slices of orange and a bit of her soup, putting the menu down? "I want you to go into the chapel and help me retrieve the magic. I can get us in and out, that's not in question in the least. You and Tommy together might be enough to capture the pieces of the grimoire."

She knows both her child and her twin. Alarmingly so, perhaps, because she sticks her finger on the point of pride and presses ever so lightly. "If you think you can do it, of course. He thinks he's faster than you, and I imagine more finessed. I doubt he has ever dismantled mines in a field the way we have." If there's some quiet pride to be found in the silver-haired mirror of herself, moon to her sun, it's not mistaken.

Her lips give a smile, and the smile fades. "Oh, yes. That would have been good to tell me when I dreamt about it. The man with the castle of learning. Be careful of his temper." Her gaze flickers upwards. "Is now a good time to tell you that his… associate, rival, close acquaintance certainly, wants to speak with us? Lorna's father, Erik. He is also called Magneto. He is also blood related."

Let that fall where it may. "Stephen and I are trying to be certain, but science only goes so far with accuracy. We know its failings. Magic does not lie either."

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