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Billy has a certain nervous air about him as he comes over to the sanctum and goes a lookin' for his magic parents, which he's come to thinking of Wanda and Stephen as, in his effort to reconcile the utterly weird that is his life. There's no end to weird, but if you label and tag it then the weird can be normalized and gotten used to. Still, he figits as he steps through, eyeing the pet-wards a bit as usual (he will never get used to them), and then moves along in. "Wanda?" he calls, in seeking the person he's looking for in particular.
*
The Sanctum hums with its own energy as March roars in like a lion, holding its own against the gusty winds roaring around the Village. Bits of debris threaten to smack against the exterior where the faintest hum of the wards banishes the unwanted detritus away, though not much clings to the classic Victorian stone exterior. Light shines down through the Anomaly Rue window, shafts of sunlight warmed into gold and verdigris shades. It forms a particularly lovely backdrop for a less than beautiful vision, notably Wanda Maximoff hanging upside down from a liquid black stalk that runs down to the floor. Only visible to mystics or sensitives detecting magic, she otherwise appears to be there in midair, slashing with a crescent-shaped hand scythe made from bone. The tarry shadows drip and flash, electrified bursts running through the ichor at every strike of the rather brittle cutting edge. She might be prone to shout, except the thing has her by the wrist, and the spiral of garnet-tinted magic writhing around her keeps building in a pitch bound to rattle in someone's molars.
It's not her primary concern; seven feet up isn't so much the problem as an evacuee from one of the rooms where lesser horrors linger has evidently escaped. The jittery sensation midair would be the natural defenses containing the thing as best it can. It's to this that Billy enters, and another lightning shock going through the boneless mass that bobs and contracts. The distance to the ground shrinks considerably for Wanda, who says through gritted teeth, "Good day. Shut the doo—" Eww, ichor monster slams her own wrist towards her face, and she tumbles vertically again, boots hitting the floor, and knifing the thing again. Well, mostly ramming the sickle into it. More teeth drill sounds: it's a mad monster.
*
Billy came to have a Discussion, and expected any number of things. Not yelling, exactly, but stern talking. Grounding. Ichor monsters? Coming to a halt and staring, Billy regards the… stalk thing? with confusion. Of all the things he was expecting to find coming into the Sanctum, … well that wasn't even on the list. On pure instinct he lifts a hand and calls forth bands of pure force to reach out and try to constrain the thing, though that might not be all that possible. "What the hecking heck is that?" exclaims the good son in his I-don't-cuss-don't-remember-that-time-when-I-was-a-girl way, moving in close to approach as he does so. "Uhhh what do I need to do to help get the thingamajig deadish or not-grabbing-you-ish?"
*
Ichor, animated, that has a reach of at least seven feet is hardly the house guest anyone expects. Or if they do, change residences, that's just wrong. The force bands keep the creature forcibly seeking release, oozing out of the bonds unless they're perfectly continuous, reaching out to slap or strike at the Witch. A thin pseudopod of translucent oiliness shoots for Billy's general direction with no sense of how it knows where he is. How to tell him in English when her thoughts are so heavily predisposed towards acts of murder? A handful of light blazes around her fingers matching that sanguine shade, and she uses the distraction to sear the thick stalk wrapped around her forearm. "Death magic, eats everything. All hunger." It might make sense then why she's striking it with a bone sickle of all things, though not once the burning shock forces it to release her. To the ground she goes, rolling back of her shoulder on the floor and getting caught by another pseudopod around the ankle. You just can't win sometimes. Especially when the top and bottom of Mr. Icky Column can shoot black bits out. "Hurt it. It cannot come near the dead or a grave. Are you looking for me or the Doctor?"
*
Whoa, goop is flying at him! Without really thinking about it, since really most of what Billy does is by pure instinct, his other hand comes up and electricity seems to surge out of his skin. There's a bright flash as a bolt of lightning is introduced to the yuck-monster as it goes for him. For a moment this causes his telekinesis to falter, his attention drawn away, but as he dodges away just in case he holds his hand up to resume. Its not a perfect containment, but instead of trying to just hold, he tries to *squeeze*. Nothing likes being crushed, does it? "Isn't this the sort of thing those weird ward-puppies are here for? You'd think they'd, I don't know, do something wardishly against runaway death magic." He pauses, adding after a moment, "You, him, both, either. I have some… news. That you aren't going to like."
*
Stinking, electrified goop assaults the senses, electricity and pure mana converging in a blast that makes the thing shudder and wobble like a distressed Jell-O. Wanda uses the reprieve to run to collect a black plate half hidden under a table knocked askew, snatching it up and hastening towards the swaying mass splatting black suckers to the ceiling in the toddler equivalent of 'you can't make me go!'
"They keep the big one from leaving. They help." Circling around the angry necromantic devourer, she looks to the plate and then up. The seal is, of course, written in some enormously scribbly cryptic writing, font size 2.5, by likely a drunken scribe sometime during the rise of the Zoroastrians. In other words, it's rather old, or a copy of very old writing. "«Yer daxil gedin. Yer yatmaq. Butun etrafinda torpaq. Das sizin nefes almaq." Because chanting on the run is fun. Guess what, it's not. The ichor beast shrieks and wobbles, desperate to escape, deeply unhappy. Is that a harbinger?
"Me, then him. If he need know he knows."
*
Man. Billy pulls a face, not at all liking the eau de toilette of fried goop. "My life is so weird." he notes in a tone that is not exactly a complaint, but which has a certain quality of long suffering and endurance. Wanda may have this plate thingy and maybe its good to use, but she also said: hurt it, so Billy gathers up a ball of lightning in his hand and then flings out a second strike, even if he might have to explain the smell to Stephen later. "Okay so the ward-puppies are like border patrol agents then, less you know, attacking the bad things." He learns something new every day. He has abolutely no idea what Wanda is chanting from the plate thingy or what it does, but expects its likely useful, so offers up, "Teddy asked me to get an apartment with him." Considering that is not likely news one isn't going to like, that's probably not what he means to say.
*
"Men das' siz'e baglamaq!" No, she's not going to order herself baklava, she is sounding out the syllables the best she can. Billy knocks back the angry ichor column and it forms a sticky gush against the floor, toppling over in a spasm obedient only to boneless creatures. Wanda glares at the plate and then sneaks forward and jabs the wood into the thing's body, mostly by tossing it. The effect proves something like a vacuum cleaner, sucking up the black puddle into a fixed, shrinking bubble of unwelcome mass. It sinks into the dark grain while she clutches her side, catching her breath around the side stitch. Bruises discolour her wrist, as it surely hurts to be hung upside down by her arm being lashed around. "They can be more, but I told them this was mine," she explains, breathing out a wheezy grumble. Seeing that nothing is reaching them, she is happy to wait for the artifact to take effect. A nod is given to Billy, "You are happy for this? Not so many people in the city will think badly of you or he. New York is expensive." Practical, this one, even if the calculations in her brain are whirling faster than anyone wants, facing down their mother. Even if they're both adults.
*
Since the plate-thingy seems to be actually working, Billy doesn't fling anymore lightning at the thing, but he does stalk forward slowly and cautiously, just in case the goo beast manages to get out and start attacking again. "I am… cautiously optimistic for this. And no I'm not worried about what anyone thinks, its a *two* bedroom apartment." He flushes slightly, embarassed, "We're not to the stage of things where we're like … you know … moving in together. We're friends and like, figuring out stuff, but since we can't really go date in public, and do you know dating things… so if we live together we have a place where we can figure stuff out without people you know killing us." He shrugs, "Anyways, yeah. New York is expensive. That's the thing. My parents — my other parents — have me on an allowance for stuff while I'm in college, but its not at all enough to cover rent. So I needed a job… so I got a job. One that pays *really* well and will be flexible around my college schedule, and more importantly I can make a point of keeping an eye on Teddy and making sure he's safe. I didn't at all like that he was working there and while that might sound like an odd reason for *me* to work there, if I can make sure he's safe it's better, right? Keeping people you uhh care for safe is important." He's totally hedging around the whole 'where is there' question.
*
Frustrated bubbling from the contracting puddle marks the devourer being once more contained within a totally innocuous wooden plate. Never use it as a cutting board, or that meat will totally spoil. It's the best kind of housewarming gift for someone you hate! Alas, living with the chosen representative of the Vishanti has a direct effect on Wanda's abilities to manage such wicked pranks. She shall have to rely on Pietro or Tommy carrying off that look of ignorance, having all but ascertained Billy is uniformly incapable of bluffing. "Ah. 'Moving in' is to mean you are living in the same place, as friends. Not as only lovers." English limitations do not help her here, and she recognises this, almost apologetic. "People who are together, that is." A light dip of her shoulders under the burgundy leather coat, and she lapses quiet once more. Reading her features can be difficult; for Pietro, not at all, and Strange surely knows the nuances of her changing moods when they leave so little trace upon her gilded skin. When quiet and still, she can manage so much.
"And is there a very good reason for him to continue working there, instead of taking a place somewhere else?"
*
"Right." God, he's almost having a conversation about sex with his magic-mom. That's almost the worst possible thing ever. Stop blushing, Billy! Indeed, it is not at all in his skillset to bluff, at least not yet. "We might end up more, but we're not there yet." He rubs at his face a moment, lowering his hands since there's no more need to fight against goop monsters, "Well, he wants to work there and I can't make him stop. I'm not entirely sure he believes me about the whole future thing and he doesn't really distrust them like I do, but really, I didn't intend on really working *for* them. I figured they'd call me from time to time when they needed a wormhole and when Teddy got sent into action being all shapeshifer guy that he is, I'd have his back… Only, she had other ideas and wanted me to train up full time, and she's *so* very pregnant and so clearly isn't a bad person herself. I told her about my suspicions about the government…" Uh oh, "…and distrust, even that I knew the government would turn on us in the future, and she said she had measures in place to make sure SHIELD didn't do that, that if a future evil Director got put in charge and tried to do evil things they'd be taken out…" Figit.
*
ROLL: Wanda +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 31
*
Silence. Her gift to the world, by dint of witchcraft, but naught else. For the very few who understand a fraction of her powers probably realises Wanda needs not a word to shift the world… and not even conscious intent. Of course, it helps for her to reference a visual image and project that into the world with a hefty slice of willpower. For a solid minute, she remains silent, picking up the plate and holding it out. The whisking wards curl around to capture it and carry it away, a floating chunk of wood doing no harm to anyone.
"You are an adult," she finally breaks that cool atmosphere fraught by the uncertain. He better be fidgeting, for the slow blink of her amber eyes is unnerving like a snow leopard assessing dinner. It doesn't matter if dinner is an explosive gazelle, either. "You choose your way and none stops you with chains. Your father does have a say, for your magic means a threat. Especially as Shield knows more than they should and shows terrible judgment. Do not tell me Peggy Carter is innocent, she is not. I do not care of the Kree business. She is no fool, not to be in the position she has, and you would be wise to forget she is woman and mother. Think of her as a man, and do not let that weak place be a trap snapping your good sense. What she says, she does not have to promise you. What she does, you have no way out. And Shield does important things. Yes. You have no proof at all the organization will not turn on you. Us. 'Controls' are only so good as the people who follow them, and when a command comes from up high, will she say no and be cut off? Have the guns turned on her as it were? The people inside are already divided, Billy, think about this carefully. If pregnancy is a gauge of trustworthiness, then two is better than one. I'm supposedly more wise."
*
That minute is very, very uncomfortable for Billy. He stands there trying to keeping the figiting to a minimum, which he is not entirely successful as, and might take to shifting from one foot to the other from time to time. "She said that if someone tried to turn SHIELD against people like us she'd refuse and if they tried to install someone else to do it they'd be killed. I don't entirely believe her, I mean I believe her intentions but no system is perfect. And Teddy is right there in the middle of it now. *Because* I can never entirely trust them and *because* things might go wrong, that's all the more reason for me to be there. I can protect him, and watch them. And in the meantime they might need me to save the world from time to time." He stuffs his hands in his pockets, a somewhat defensive gesture, "And she's paying us a *lot*. I don't really have any non-superhero skills that are job applicable: until I get my degree in chemical engineering the best job I can get otherwise is like an intern in some accounting office… at least this way I can save some people. And if SHIELD turns on people, I'll be there to see it and when the time comes… act. What's the worst case scenario? They try to use me to do something bad? I won't do it. They can't force me to use my powers and I won't let them use me to evil ends. And if they turn evil and decide to do something like try to lock me up? I'll teleport me and Teddy away and if I have to make them forget we ever existed."
*
"She's buying you off." Four words come down like rainfall, four words that languish in the silent distance. Wanda is silent, far too long, and far too fraught. "Everyone has a price. This is yours."
Another dark, measured look through eyes gone solid violet in a heartbeat read deep, ripping into the meat of emotional auras and magical life force, peering through the depths. "You speak your own story. Know the worst is much, much worse than that. Reveal to the world what you are. Have you hunted for what you are. Your father's enemies come after you. Mine come after you to force my hand. Drugs can confuse you and weaken your will. They can give you a devil's choice, do this thing or we will do this other thing." The soft timbre of her words is terribly, terribly quiet, no volume given them, and no emotion conveyed. Her tone is oddly neutral, tuneless. "You have some innocence, some faith. Mine was killed on the altar." And with that, two swift motions of her hands bring up a wavering disc against reality, revealing an abundance of sylvan shadows wrought in exquisite detail against overhanging boughs and flowering plants, their hues beyond comprehension of human language. How does one tell jade from ultra jade, the golden honey hue of sunlight glancing off a forest pool? Not even the Germans can do it in 97 letters. "Talk to your father."
*
"It's just a job, Wanda." Billy's tone is a little defensive on this front, "If they try anything like that— they'll find out I'm a lot more dangerous then they ever imagined. As far as they're concerned I'm just a glorified taxi. But think about it. Stephen and you save the world from magical threats, right? Well SHIELD saves the world from other things. And what if it matters one day that they be able to get to Paris right now? I know there's some risk, that they might turn on me, but they might not, too. We can't go through life letting maybe stop us from helping people. If I'm there maybe I can stop them from going bad. Maybe I can see they're starting to go bad and warn people and run. Even I don't really know the future. Besides, *Teddy* is there. And they know he's like an alien-ish, I have to watch his back and be there for him."