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How does a twin know when trouble is amiss? Pietro might have experienced a frisson of discomfort in the mid-afternoon about the same time Captain America hit the ground with a bullet ripped through his throat.
He certainly is unlikely to miss the simple, direct sensation of a spell unfurling in front of him. A simple one: a reddish-purple will-o-wisp floats in front of the Maximoff scion. She's used it since she was a child to lead them through mazes, forests, and cities. It can move as fast as it needs to so keeping up is no simple task. The path goes deep into the warrens of the Village, to a blind little park where sits a young woman on a bench, devouring blueberries and a banana at a prodigious rate.
*
Pietro appears at the bench, eyeing the blueberries and banana, then vanishes again before returning with snacks for himself. Twinkies. "You know your little wisp thing needs to learn how to knock," he tells his sister in between mouthfuls. "Am hoping you could not see what it saw when it found me."
A pause.
"What is wrong?"
*
The girl smells faintly of water and smoke, the kind that comes from bonfires and gas pellets fired into crowds. Nothing unusual there, not in their lifetime of experience. The burgundy coat is largely unburnt, the black wrapped leggings and solid boots made explicitly to hide those little concerns. Corset, well, it largely hides any blood or soot.
"Captain America took bullets to throat and chest at their fair," she answers in Transian, a vague nod towards the northeast where Queens lies. "He is alive. We have a problem. His assassin I know. His assassin was abducted by a … a god. The one they said murdered their president."
*
"'Hello, Pietro,'" parrots the young man in a very poor imitation of his sister's voice, in Transian. "'How are you?' 'I'll teach the wisps to knock — and Captain America took bullets — .'"
He stops midsentence, eyes widening, then promptly sits down on the bench. "Wait," says he, still in Transian. "Someone shot Captain America and you know who did it?! No. No, no, no, no, no — slow down." How does she do that? go too fast for me? ME?! "I read about the assassination in the paper — Loki. Loki kidnapped the shooter-whom-you-know, and spirited him away?"
A pause.
A slump.
"And I missed it."
*
"Hello, you are fine, you ate too much, and you have slept well. The spell does not let me scry you." Wanda rattles off the answers in precise, fine lines. Her twin earns a look through those eyes clouded by a ring of violet frost, proof positive she has active magic on the go or listens in spectra he cannot hear. "Where is Pietro who says 'Do not tell me the unnecessary things, get to the point' or Pietro who sighs when people take so long with the niceties?" She reaches down to take a banana, peeling off the outer skin to reveal the creamy flesh underneath. Complex enough to give her an energy kick and replenish her depleted stores, she takes a bite and chews, barely bothering with the taste. Getting it down matters more than savouring the fruit.
"He is called the Winter Soldier. A Soviet assassin, highly feared. I am not senior enough to see his rap sheet," she says, "but he is that good. He surrendered to SHIELD. They brought him in. They kept him in isolation and I met him several times. When I was with him, that Loki came in and threatened to kill everyone in the building if I didn't let him take the Soldier. I let them." Go ahead, judge her. Those burning eyes have no doubt of her choice in the matter. "Because the Soldier did not want them to die. He did not want anyone else hurt. This is not a man who assassinates Captain America two days later, Pietro. See the chain of events. Loki takes him out. I monitored his movements the last two days. I came to the World's Fair. He shows up and kills Captain America. Or he tries. He ran and I found him again. This is very simple. We need to extract him and find out if this is conditioning or worse."
*
"I gave him the day off," replies Pietro as to where his 'more impatient self' has gone for the moment. "So I could tease you about missing all those details…So."
He stops talking, vanishes briefly, and returns with more snacks. And coffee. "Ugh! American coffee… tastes like cat's — erm, never mind. So you know who did this — who really did this — and Loki is involved… and now you want to find out where Loki has hidden this Winter Soldier away so you can have a conversation with a 'highly feared Soviet assassin'…"
A breath.
"Where do we start?"
*
Busy, impatient Pietro is out rampaging around the world. Wanda might give that thought a little more concerned note if it were not for the simple fact he is in the moment. "I want to first find the Soldier. Return him somewhere safe so this manhunt sure to follow does not end with a stupid decision, shooting a man in the back or more trouble unleashed. I have no doubt he will not be someone we can keep squared." Her nose wrinkles slightly. "Though I have the thought one agent in SHIELD can be trusted. She asked for permission to beat Loki if we go. She hits very hard. You might have to run fast to get there first."
Let's just dangle that bait and see what happens.
*
"I'm the fastest man in the world," Pietro replies a little indignantly, thrusting a thumb at his own chest. "I… I just need directions. You give me directions — I give you a man. For interrogation. Not… never mind. How is the Boyfriend?"
And he smirks.
*
"Presently inbound upon the Soldier. Easier for him to open the door than I, right now." After being the one holding back death until an omega healer could get there, she has her reasons for seeking assistance from a higher power than her own. At least in this particular circumstance. Wanda reaches for a handful of berries, popping them one by one into her mouth. Bite by bite, her energy is building again. "First, finding the man. Then dealing with this business of Loki. I do not know why he wanted the soldier. It is easy to assume what he needs an assassin for. He claimed to wish to take him home, but the soldier hasn't a home. He said as much."
*
"What is Loki?" Pietro asks — or rather, declares — throwing his arms up. "I am too fast for this Loki. Tell me where he is and I will tie him up with ducttape."
A pause.
Loki is Asgardian; Pietro knows this.
"Lots of ducttape. And why would Loki need an assassin if he can 'kill everyone in a building' as he so claims? Why use someone… less dangerous?"
*
"Loki is a god. You do not remember Agatha…" Wanda could sigh. It is probably a lost cause trying to hope he listened to the elder Atlantean witch. Beginning again, she explains. "He is a rude man who stole the Winter Soldier by magic. Teleported out. Threatens humans too freely. I do not care for him."
A wrinkle of her nose makes that clear.
"This is a question for him. He wanted the Soldier."
*
"Can I run faster than a godling can teleport…?" Pietro finds himself murmuring aloud, tapping a chin with a finger. "Oh! Sorry, Sister — you were saying something. Is good to hear you do not fancy this god… I mean, how could he compare to the Boyfriend-Supreme? Is he jealous?"
*
This is a question for which Pietro needs to discover for himself. Wanda eats another handful of blueberries in the time such navel-gazing invariably strays into a question aimed at her, and she neatly nibbles on the small fruits. "I do not know what Loki feels. He did not seem to have the least care about me."
*
Pietro shrugs.
Zipping away briefly to put Twinkie wrappers in the bin — and to acquire more snacks — he sits down on the bench and gives his sister a brotherly hug.
"So what now? More berries? You'll spoil your dinner, Sis."
*
More snacks and far more food. "This is my dinner, Pietro. I intend perhaps to sleep briefly before we start. All the energy we can get." The hug satisfies that primal sense of separation whenever her twin isn't present, and the brunette turns her head against Pietro's shoulder, sinking into the certainty of her other half — biologically, Elder God-messed-up-ly — assuring in his way things will be well.
The slightest of sighs escapes her. "Is it wrong to feel any sympathy for the man? He is broken up about it."
*
"Which man?" the brother asks. "The Winter Soldier?" He 'hmms' thoughtfully. "I suppose it isn't — wrong, that is. If he has been, how these Americans say, 'messed with', then… it is not really his fault, is it? If he has been made to do things… by someone like… 'Busty LaRoux'… then we should be finding and punishing Busty LaRoux — not the toy she found and used, no?"
*
A nod follows, and the black halfeti rose of her perfume — the signature scent that shows up with her magic, at times — floats around her in a dream, melting into the clarity of the speedster's being. It's so much easier to be Pietro, Wanda presumes. Life moves too slow and there is time to negotiate and act. "I saw him. He was not happy or even bored, but like a man grief-stricken."
*
Pietro is silent. His own ordeal at being mind-controlled by a psychic-vampire prostitute (long story) rather pales in comparison to what may have been done to this 'Winter Soldier'… still. If there is a chance the man has been forced in some way to shoot Captain America…
"We should find out what is really going on," Pietro tells Wanda. "Whatever you need — I'm there."