1964-09-16 - Messages From The Front Lines
Summary: Pietro stops by Avengers Mansion with a letter for Cap and finds Hope instead.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
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pietro-maximoff hope 

It's a beautiful fall day outside, with the first hint of a chill in the air and bright blue skies. But outside is the whole city full of people, stores, all sorts of madness. And while Hope's been getting used to the idea of a world full of people and activity, sometimes she just needs to take a break from it all. You get that way after spending most of your life in the company of precisely one person at a time.

One of her favorite places to take refuge is in the engineering lab, where she can tinker with Tony's leftovers and keep herself amused learning a thing or two about present technology. Or Tony's version of it, at least. At the moment, she's leaning over some sort of collapsible gun frame, probably discarded from either a broken suit or a suit idea. She's still in the disassemble to figure out how it works stage, though.

Pietro Maximoff isn't directly associated with the Avengers, but he's sort of friend of a friend. Allies of allies. He knows people. And it's not like he couldn't just run inside anyway, anytime he pleased.

Today, he came by to relay greetings to Captain America from a few Russian resistance fighters Pietro met up with while he was visiting Europe recently, old allies of the Captain who remembered him from colder, but sunnier days. He's clad in a linen shirt, grey slacks and a bright blue tie. He pauses as he speeds by, finding himself staring in at Hope where she works on the frame. "That seems a formidable piece of technology."

"Does it? Because I'm starting to think there was a reason it was-" Hope turns toward the new arrival, stopping for a moment when she realizes she hasn't seen him around before. Old habits die hard, but she's been working on not assuming everyone she doesn't know is a threat. It's a process.

"You're new." Apparently manners aren't a big part of the process.

Pietro Maximoff smiles, "I'm more than new, I don't even belong here," he says. "But I suspect we know some of the same people," he says with a certain amount of aplomb, not caring at all to admit that he's intruding.

"Does Captain America still flit about here? I was given to understand this was his point of contact. Perhaps he has a cubbyhole or some sort of star-spangled slot in which one might drop a note? I don't particularly care if he gets the message, but I did give my word and I'm particular about that, at the least," he says.

"Yeah, he lives here. I mean, I think he lives here, he's definitely around here a lot, and most of the people here have rooms, and I haven't heard that he's got another place." Hope doesn't seem to realize it, but by the time she's finished, she's speaking at a rate well above what most people would be speaking. "I don't know about mail, though. And I feel like it'd be weird to leave something in his room? Is it private? Like, would leaving it in the kitchen be a problem?"

Pietro Maximoff can recognize that her speech has become increased, since his own high-speed perceptions tend to run along those lines, "Are you habitually enhanced in velocity or is it simply my natural musk?" he says with a bemused smirk.

"I concur, I wouldn't want to go into his private regions. The prim and proper almost always have secret lives - their underwear drawers hold demons better left unchecked. The kitchen should be fine, it's a simple greeting from some old friends," he says.

"Pietro Maximoff, at your service."

Hope tilts her head, quirking a brow, before she realizes quite what he means. "Less musk, more DNA," she smirks, pausing to take a look around the room as she actually pays attention to how her perceptions have shifted. "Wow. Is it like that all the time?" She doesn't even wait for an answer before she's turning back, offering over a hand. "I'm Hope. Nice to meet you, Pietro. I don't know if the Captain's home, but I can show you where the kitchen is."

Pietro Maximoff takes the hand, "I don't know how it normally is, so I'm uncertain how to answer that. Nor am I particular sure what DNA is, but I am used to my sister speaking in occult argle-bargle and have learned to just smile and nod when the jargon flows thick as honey," he says. "And please, that would be most helpful, Hope. Are you one of the Captain's merry band of do-gooders, then?"

"Genes," Hope corrects herself with a crooked grin. "The things that make you a mutant. Not magic, just science." She pops out of her chair much more quickly than she intended, grin spreading with a laugh. "Wow. That's…I can see where that could go to your head real quick. I'm kind of just visiting," she adds, a little distracted as she focuses on keeping her steps at a normal speed. "They're…hopefully helping me get home. Sort of. It's complicated? But in the meantime, sure, I help when I can."

Pietro Maximoff nods, "Aren't we all a bit complicated anymore?" he says. "I admit, my education in science is a bit woeful. The little I received as a child came as the subject of experiment rather than a student learning rote," he says. "No schoolboy I, in my cage and my cap," he says.

"I hope, then, that they succeed in helping you home. I have never had one myself, but I am told they're quite worth having."

"Yeah. That's what I've heard, too." Hope heads up the stairs and down the hall, though she's definitely having some trouble regulating powers. One slow step, two, quick zip. Step, step, step, zip. "It's less about home and more about something I have to do. I think. Honestly? I'm not really sure about it all, things are kind of in uncharted territory, but it doesn't feel like we finished, so there's probably more to be done."

She looks over at him, piecing together bits of conversation. "Who's got a message for the Captain? I kind of got the sense he's sort of…disconnected."

Pietro Maximoff watches her struggle for a moment. Tries not to be amused by it. Fails. "The trick is to measure. If you're thinking faster, that means you have more time to think. No need to rush," he says. "But it becomes very tiring holding back. Camels carrying caravans tiring, over time," he says.

"I have contacts among various revolutionary and freedom movements in the Eastern bloc. Some of its members were allies of the Captain during some operations back during the War. They simply wished to convey their gratitude," he says. "They also tried to send some vodka, but I'm afraid it was confiscated at customs."

"Sorry. Sometimes I'm good, sometimes it hits me like that," Hope shakes her head. "Like, one time? I picked up on a mutant who had X-Ray vision. That was an extremely awkward day until it wore off. Other times I don't pick up anything until I mean to." She does, however, seem to be getting better at keeping it under control.

"I can definitely see where it'd be hard to do it all the time, though. You must get stupid bored with other people. Have you ever tried knitting? I feel like…" She lifts her hands, wiggling her fingers at high speeds. "Activities that don't require other people."

Pietro Maximoff purses his lips, "I'm not a traditionalist, by any means. My sister's own authority stands far too stark for me to see anything lesser about women's work. But I do not think I would be much of a knitter. Perhaps, though, if I do get bored enough, I'll give it a go," he says with a hint of a smile.

"And yes, solitude tends to become one's default, lest my temper wear thin to the point of breaking."

"Makes sense," Hope nods once. Then again, it's a lot easier to understand when you can actually experience it, even just for a moment. "On the up side, I bet you could get a lot done. On the other hand, it would feel like just as long. Wow. You're not aging any faster, but time feels like it's passing slower, so you must…feel a lot older than you actually are." Even without the influence of Pietro's speed, she's always thinking.

It only takes a moment to get up to the kitchen, where Hope hops up to sit on the edge of the table, considering him. "What's your sister do?" It could be a simple occupation question. Then again, some things do run in families.

Pietro Maximoff reaches into his pocket, drawing out an envelope and laying it on the table, placing a salt shaker atop it to hold it in place. "My sister is a witch. The Witch, if you as some. She is the stalwart barricade against the endless Hunger of the great beast which dwells in Wundagore, as well as consort to the dimensional guardian known as the Sorceror Supreme. She's also a mutant of considerable potence, an excellent gardener and may have even knitted something a time or two once upon a time."

"We're twins. She got the occult godhood, I got the charm and beauty."

Hope leans over to snag an apple out of a bowl at the center of the table, quirking a brow as she takes a bite. "That's a lot of things to be. You must have gotten a lot of charm to balance it out." She smirks, cheeks puffed out with apple as she chews. Manners…still not her strongest skill. "What's the great beast? Oh, wait, hey, can a dimensional guardian travel through time, too?"

Pietro Maximoff ponders, "I'm not sure. Possibly. Although he'd probably give a rather tedious lecture about the karmic consequences and repercussions of tampering with the fabric of space and time. For someone with all-encompassing power, he can be quite reluctant to use it. Something about 'responsibility'. Very dull," he says. "I fear he's infected my sister with it, too. She used to be much more comfortable with a little bit of chaos and mess. I understand a craving for order, but too much order leads to fascism. And I despise fascists."

"Technically, it would be restoring order. Mostly." Hope beams, then shrugs, taking another bite of her apple. "I'm not sure how I feel about magic, honestly. I don't have a whole lot of experience with it. But if it could get me back where I belong, then it might not be all bad."

Her feet sway at first, though they pick up speed as she's distracted by other thoughts. "Pretty sure most of the people I've known agree that fascism is bad. Except for the bad guys, so. Yeah. Seems fair."

Pietro Maximoff manages to keep himself still, if only as a display of his control. "You'd be surprised. Some among the young never lived through it the first time - I myself was only a child, but I was in the thick. For them, it was something amongs tthe adults, the horrors hidden away from them in philosophy and old ruins. As generations fade, others will pick up the flags and raise the standard again. Unless, of course, we are wary and stomp upon them with the vehemence they deserve. I am very good at stomping."

"People do a lot of stupid things out of fear." That thought stills Hope, the fidgeting disappearing completely as she looks down to the kitchen floor. "Once you decide you're actually saving people, that you're doing the right thing and that it's going to be better for most people this way, you can convince yourself of a whole lot of things that aren't particularly true."

She's quiet for a moment, lost to thought, then clears her throat and looks back up. "Do you really need to do much stomping? I figure as quick as you are, you can probably nip a lot of problems in the bud."

Pietro Maximoff nods, "True enough. People like to belong and it's easier to belong when there's someone who does not," he says. "For the Reich, it was Jews and gypsies and deviants and outcasts," he says. "In the East, now, it is intellectuals and the religious."

"Here in America, it is blacks and mutants," he says. "The targets may change, but the oppressors rarely do."

"Yeah, well. The mutant thing doesn't look like it's going away," Hope grumbles, turning the apple in her hand. "Which is kind of why I need to find a way to get home. I'm supposed to help with that. Which I can't do if I'm here. Not that here isn't nice, and the nice thing about time travel is by definition it lets you get back to right when you needed to be, but, you know. I'd rather not get right back to where I needed to be at seventy years old."

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