1964-09-22 - Bits and Pieces
Summary: Lorna has a proposition for the Maximoff twins. It goes about as expected.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
lorna wanda pietro-maximoff 

Pietro had brought Wanda along while he went to Mutant Town. He was picking up some things to set up his new apartment, and he liked to frequent mutant owned business when he could. Such things could and did exist, much as people tried to keep it otherwise, but they could only do so if they stood up for each other. "Solidary, dear sister," he says to Wanda. "We must stand together, not only in battle, but in life. Only then can we stand against those who hate us," he says.

He's dressed in a simple button-down shirt, white cotton and open at the throat, along with slacks and well-shined shoes. His shock of white hair stands out even here and he draws a few eyes as he walks along with his Bohemian other half. He doesn't mind. They should stare. He and Wanda are, after all, remarkable.

"I know you and your paramour are deeply involved in occult matters, but you are a mutant, too, Wanda. Never forget."

And there was Lorna. The young, green haired mutant stood at the edge of the strip of side walk, point and deliverying large wooden crates stamped and marked with various logos. On further inspection, it was clear she was opening said crates and pulling out large swathes of steel framed pipes for the sewers, or at least the water pipes, that belonged below the street's pavement.

She looked.. different than she had before. Less the pastle and care-free young woman and more the haggard, haunted, waif. Her green hair hung cropped short around her chin. And she wore a pair of jeans and steel toed boots along with a grease stained T-shirt. She'd clearly been working at hauling the heavy pipes and other necessities with her powers. The scent of iron and rust hung heavy in the air around her. A cloud of Earthy scents mixed with the hum of her magnetism.

And for once, she didn't seem to care who noticed her. At least until she heard a familiar voice behind her. She twisted around, arms outstretched as she lifted a pipe into the air, rotated it once and set it back down. "Pietro! Wanda!" She grinned, waving to them.

The golden-skinned twin comes into her own in the summer and autumn. Her dark dress and fitted claret jacket may be a bit heavy for the abundant heat and humidity plaguing New York. Such explains likely why she carries a styrofoam cup full of lemonade and heavy dosage of honey from somewhere in upper Long Island. The straw might as well be a honey stick, for all that the viscosity to liquid ratio is set. Such constitutes a happy centre of the universe.

"I wish you would consider the blue and the gunmetal," she says in Transian. "They would be good for the harmony there."

They have often shared spaces, but almost never an apartment until coming from Berlin. Separate existence is difficult, but not impossible, though the brunette has a certain edge. "I've kept a watch. Why else am I where I stand?"

A nod given to him has to make do for a smile, which so rarely appears in public. "You never forget yourself. We cannot forget ourselves." Her voice goes silent when they are serenaded, and immediateely her hand goes to the knife — one of many — hidden under her coat. Those amber eyes gain a smoky violet cast, and she steps behind Pietro out of habit, the moment of recognition far later after the distrustful.

Pietro Maximoff does recognize Lorna more quickly. He does everything more quickly, it's in his nature.

"I consider everything," he says. "And I am not disparaging your efforts, Wanda. Simply reminding you that your Sorceror, for all his uses and merits, can be a distraction, too," he says. One would almost think he was jealous. One would probably be a little bit right.

"Lorna," he says, his tones always cool simply by his nature, but there's nothing but welcome in the slight smile he offers, "Yes, I am returned from Europe," he says. "I'm glad to see you here amongst our people. I imagine Magneto is about somewhere as well, then. Absent, of course," he says, the latter a bit sharply.

Lorna offered a faint look of concern toward her older sister, at least until Pietro captured her attention and retained it, as he was wont to do. After all the Speedster was always the center of attention when he stood still long enough to gain it. She grinned, lowering her arms as she came over toward the pair. She shoved her work stained hands into her pockets as she came to a halt before them.

"Dad left a few weeks ago. I dunno where. As always." She muttered, looking faintly irritated, her lips twisting into a faint scowl. "I've been holed up at his townhouse. It's mine I guess." She rolled her eyes, shoving her hair back from her face as the wind tossed it into her line of sight.

"Must be back out hunting Nazis or something." She shrugged, a jerky motion, as her green eyed gaze settled on her hald siblings. Her lips twitching faintly at Pietro's words. "Of course I'm out here. I'm always out here. Someone has to be around here to protect people. Never mind simple patch jobs on the water supply." She grumbled, her irritation deepening.

No name echoes from her lips, no voiced greeting afforded. The choice of a weapon in her case may be pointless given their opponent, though Wanda is not without other resources. A focus; a diversion. Pietro's watched how she fights, as vicious and efficient as she can possibly muster with her twin a speedster outside the confines of time fully. Still, the darker shade glances past the broad slope of his shoulder.

"Outside Schweinfurt." The German she pronounces pitch perfect, bereft of the low accent common to foreigners. How not, when it's closer to their mother tongue than anything in the Americas? The coat slides easily over the charcoal dress steeped in ink, and she twines her arm around Pietro's with an easiness borne of reflex and uninhibited experience. Moon-brother, sun-sister, the inversion of the Olympian twins. Even their colour, in opposition, complements one another.

"We do not keep Erik. He goes as he needs," she explains without preamble.

Pietro Maximoff shrugs, "I had business elsewhere. No need to be prickly, Lorna. We're here now. If you're awaiting for thanks or reward, helping the needy rarely results in either. Just as often, it will get you pelted with bricks and driven from the place. People, even mutants, like to imagine that they are self-sufficient, without need of assistance. They don't like being dependent," he says.

He, of course, accepts Wanda taking his arm, the two of them making quite a matched pair. He isn't certain the source of Wanda's irritation, but he doesn't need to be. She is as she is and he will change nothing about her.

"Indeed, Erik has never had need of us in the past, I doubt that he's pining away at the thought of our absence now. He'll come when time and tide bring him."

Lorna shrugged, and crossed her arms as she shifted her weight on her heels. "I never actually considered what you were up to, Pietro. More of a comment of on how many people I know have more or less abadoned Mutant Town to its own devices." She muttered dryly. Her gaze swung over the two, a twinge of something in those green eyes' of her's but what was beyond her.

"And no, don't be stupid. I'm not looking for cheers or some kind of a reward. I'm welding sewer pipes together and water pipes together to kids don't drink shit containminated water." She huffed and rolled her eyes.

"How are you two doing?"

"Ghetto has many people." So says the young woman, her calculating gaze measuring against other such places scattered the world round. Resting slightly on Pietro, Wanda can ease the pull on her calves and the usual strains, though small, coming with considerable walking. And she simply enjoys the contact, a fine substitute for the low-level buzz tugging her in direction of her brighter half wherever he is. Close her eyes and she can almost imagine a warm hillside, a forest, or a lonely alley in the heart of some great city. Not just New York.

Her own quiet nature is reinforced by the contentment to let her brother speak. Pietro has a gift for the gab; she for the silences to surround them, giving certain phrases and ideas greater weight by careful audience.

Pietro Maximoff allows his expression to go flat, "Quite well until you chose to insult me," he says. "I thought you expected something because of the whining and wheedling nature of your complaint. If you want help, ask for it plainly, but don't play the martyr. I have bled buckets more for our people than you ever have and I'll be damned if you deride Wanda or myself with your petulance. If your feelings were hurt by our absence, that was not the intent, but you are a woman grown and must deal with the vagaries of life as such. If you accept the burdens, then suffer them in silence and don't complain that no one else is helping you at the wheel," he says, sharp and direct as he usually is.

"The work is admirable, but can be done without the attitude," he says. "Now, as I have been out of the country and Wanda has been otherwise engaged preventing the occasional extradimensional apocalypse, perhaps you can inform us of what problems do persist here so that we might begin to address them."

Lorna's expression went flat at Pietro's words. Wanda's own mention of Ghettos being only minutely considered. "Whatever. It wasn't toward you, it was aimed at the fact that our father seemed to cheer for mutant rights and then disapear whenever he felt the need. Or that the Brotherhood that once guarded this place is gone now. Dissipated. But please, take everything personally. It's nice to know that it runs in the family beyond me." She shot back, her cheeks hot with irritation.

Green eyes focused on her half siblings and she shrugged. "It's the same as it always is. Humans coming by and being bigoted. Suits driving through in black vans kidnapping kids that have the look of a mutant without having much power. I've tried my best to help out where I can, but it's not a one person job. And I can only handle the few things I see." Her lips twisted and she crossed her arms again.

"It's not getting better. If anything it's getting worse."

Pietro is their diamond grit, Wanda the water to scour clean the world. Momentum added to the suspended silence gives way to her speaking ever so softly. "Who are you to judge?" English fractures on her tongue and cleaves to the inherent music that her maternal inheritance provides. "Is your name Emma Frost now? Charlotte Xavier?"

The gulf lies flat and still, her movements absolutely nil but for breathing and Pietro possibly shifting their entwined limbs. Sunset descends on her eyes; below the lashes, they're swiftly turning a misty plum shade frosted at the edges. "A year ago you first went to the mutant school. Now, you call for an uprising." A glance slices through the middleground, alighting upon the collection of metal and the buildings beyond, in various stages of patching up and tumbling down. A frozen section of society in motion.

"What would you know that Erik does not? You accuse." Her head tilts slightly. "What proof is yours?"

Pietro Maximoff raises a surprised eyebrow at Wanda's retort, but doesn't disagree or counteract her. Even when the twins do have a difference of opinion, they're unlikely to air it in front of others. Them against the world, as it has always been.

"You may feel free to take anything I say personally. I mean it personally. If it's any comfort, I don't have very much regard for anyone, so any cruelty I direct towards you doesn't make you special. If you don't wish to cause offense, watch where you aim and choose your words more wisely. The last who called me stupid learned the taste of his own teeth. I make allowances for you because we are family, but my patience, you may have surmised, has its limits."

"Tell us what you know about these men in suits. Who have they taken and how?" he says. "I do not disagree that the absence of the Brotherhood is unfortunate. They provided a strong counterbalance, the Sword of Damocles awaiting any who dared cross their line," he says. "If there are embers of such resistance remaining, perhaps they can be rekindled," he says. He's spent some time among revolutionary friends fighting the Soviet cloud in Europe. He feels the romance of rebellion.

Lorna looked toward Wanda first. She stood, listening, not answering either twin for a long moment. Her posture remained stiff and uncompromising, her jaw tightened and her fingers clenched around her arms. Yet she remained silent for a good long while. Even if a few pipes shifted faintly on the ground behind her, nothing else so much as jostled.

"I state facts. Whether that comes with judgement or not doesn't matter in the end. No one else has been down here in any kind of strong presence." She shrugged and shoved her fisted hands into her pockets again. Green eyes shifted back toward Pietro.

"Love you too, big brother." She offered dryly, and pursed her lips.

"I don't know who. I haven't been able to catch any of them. I helped Raven out here before. She was dealing with the Friends of Humanity and a few mobster connections. I don't think these are the same guys. Nor do they look like the ones that snagged me before. I dunno. I'm not fast enough. They're here and gone before I can get there."

Those dark brows crest, the dark curl straying from her garnet-laced headband touching her high cheekbone. Wanda draws in a constrained breath after Pietro lapses silent, and the pipes cease chattering against one another. She takes a step to the side, sharply-cut edges of her coat serpentine against the hem of her dark dress.

"Men and women have equal voice among our people." Her fingertips sketch a half-moon, and the flood of radiant light following it shapes the spell energy just so. "Even in America, I say things. People hear and speak. Answers, thoughts. But not you, Lorna." She completes the circuit, the glow forged around her in a faint ruby mist, dancing off the gemstones and saturating her presence violet at the edges where mingling with Pietro. "You treat me like a ghost. You do not talk to me. Or answer what I say. Like the beach, you talked to Father of your classes, your boyfriend, your not boyfriend, French, but never to me. Not about Pietro. Not even about Father."

The spell circuit takes, and she floats up off the ground an inch or two. "Have your silence and your walls. Pietro, I am sorry. I will be rude." It is a rueful statement on her part, offered to him, but the brilliant shades of her burning eyes echo the power she pulls, the whims of reality curving to her call. "You are not family to me now, until the time you learn to care and be with us. You will not see or hear what your eyes did not look at and your ears did not hear. We are not your stage or the paper for your story."

Pietro Maximoff nods, "Quick happens to be something of my specialty. If it is speed required to catch this perfidy at work, then I will begin to look into it myself," he says.

He listens to what Wanda has to say and nods to her acknowledgement. He hasn't been around for much of her encounters with Lorna, especially in recent days. And, again, he wouldn't dream of contradicting his sister in front of anyone, much less someone with whom she came in conflict.

"What others call rude, I have usually called truth, sister." he says simply.

Lorna stared in shock at Wanda. Her lips parting as she gaped at her half sister. She seemed utterly confused and lost at the woman's words. Her heart hammered hard in her chest her breath stopped and she gaped. "What the actual hell? I am sick to death of being accused of either not listening to people or not talking to them! I don't know what to say to you half the time Wanda! I don't want to hurt or upset you! I have tried to be family to you. And every time I mess up because of my ignorance! I've tried to talk to you, and you're not a talker. You've said so yourself! What do you want of me? If I talk, I upset someone! If I stay quiet and listen, I insult someone!" She threw her hands up, and it was clear that her temper was lost. Her voice shrill.

"What do you want from me? I'm trying." She broke down from her sharp anger into a fresh burst of tears, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm alone." She whispered. "Always." As tears trickled down her cheeks and she sniffled hard, rubbing at them furiously.

"But everytime you ever told me anything Wanda, I listened. I swear. Damnited." It would seem she had picked up swearing to add to her vocabulary. "And I am trying so hard to not focus on me and my stupid, pathetic idoicy. Yeah. I get it. I'm a piece of shit."

Pietro Maximoff watches the argument with a display of interest but he keeps his expression primarily still. Does he get a degree of schadenfreude out of watching the two women tear into each other? Certainly. There is an element of sadism in Pietro, perhaps inculcated in him by a lifetime of watching and suffering himself. One must either find a way to make peace with it or go mad. It's possible that Quicksilver did a bit of both.

"Well. If the maudlin display of emotion are quite completed, perhaps we can focus on the task at hand. Is there any discernible pattern to these kidnappings? You say it doesn't seem like the usual suspects, the Friends of Humanity and the like. If I may ask, how so? Is it a degree of organization? Perhaps, if so, they are the same, but simply under new and more efficient management. And, of course, there is always the government to consider," he says. Pietro inherently distrusts governments. Most of the ones under which he's lived, after all, have been despotic.

Lorna's tears didn't abate, nor did the color in her cheeks. Her features stained pink as she furiously rubbed at her eyes in a vain effort to contain the liquid that dripped continuously in a frustrated manner from her. A sniffle followed and she set her jaw, working through the emotions that sparked and died in those green eyes' of hers. Then Pietro spoke and she swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat, and then promptly coughed and spat the snot that had slicked back.

It seemed at least, that her half brother had a distracting effect on her. "Like I said, I dunno beyond what people have told me. And that's not much. I'm too slow to get over to where they were before they're gone. I'm not enough to do anything here besides welding pipes. It could be the government for all I know, or some private corporation." She shrugged. "And all I ever am is too late."

Pietro Maximoff nods, "Then we will have to be earlier in the future," he says simply. He takes a moment and reaches into his pocket, retrieving a handkerchief. He extends it at arm's length. "Here. Take care of…that," he says, gesturing vaguely towards her face.

"I do not know the full nature of the conflict I just witnessed. It likely does not surprise you that I don't particularly care. If you wish to make peace with Wanda, self-flagellation will likely get you nowhere. She respects strength and expects to be treated with respect in return. I will say that she, of the two of us, is probably the kinder and more tolerant one," he says with a bit of amusement. "It's something of a novelty to see her lash out. I quite enjoyed it."

"If you wish to make amends, denigrating yourself will not do. Change. Do better. Be better. It is all we can ever do. That and make our enemies bleed. So let us leave these petty things behind. I will seek these kidnappers. And you…you try to find the remnants of the Brotherhood. IF they cannot organize themselves, perhaps they need someone to do it for them."

Lorna heaved a breath, rubbing at her cheeks as she took the offered handkerchief and scrubbed at her skin. She grimaced, her lips twisting as she rubbed her skin raw from the force. "Thanks." She muttered stiffly, averting her gaze as she wrung it between her fingers.

"I'll settle for figuring out who's targeting mutants this time and stopping them." She hesitated, looking over Pietro. "Thanks." She muttered, and looked down at the handkerchief, her eyebrows furrowing as she held it back out to him in question.

"I know where some of them are. They went to Xavier's. The rest.. I dunno. I haven't seen 'em. I'll try to find who I can." Her lips thinned into a pursed line as she considered Pietro. Then whatever she was going to say died. That wall that Wanda had said she had, bricked up. Tight and high. There was a new coldness there that hadn't been before. Littered with self-loathing.

"I'll be around here." She shrugged.

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