Author's Note: Sorry that I haven't written something in the Evolution section so long. I've been kinda busy over in the comics. I'm also sorry that I won't be continuing some of my preivious fics from this section. I work on them, but they still never wish to be done. This one, however, is a Wanda story. Normally, I write Rogue related stuff, but I found an old stack of Avengers comics that the guy who used to live my house left behind. (The wunnerful, wunnerful man! ^.~) and even though the comic's Pietro and Wanda are very different from the Evolution versions, it made me realize the difference between what they are and what they could have been. I also wanted to see the goth-girl have a softie moment. (like with my Rogue fics!) Hope you enjoy! (and review!!!!!)
Disclaimer: I first became inspired to write about Wanda and Pietro when I saw they interact in a comic book. I didn't write the comic book, so I guess they aren't mine.
~SCARLET WITCH: DIEM NATELEM~
by Christy S.
Happy birthday to you, Pietro....happy birthday to me.....
Yeah right.
The dark clothes, the black make-up, and the wild hair all scare people. It´s the easiest way to tell someone to leave you alone. That´s why Rogue wears it; that´s why I ware it.
The social workers at the mental institution never left me alone. `Tell me how you feel about this.´ and `Tell me what you think about that.´ were all enough to make me puke. They treated me like some kind of kid. But I´m not a kid. I was, but not anymore. I stopped being a kid when my own father locked me up with a pack of psychotics and my once overprotective brother let him do it.
That´s when I learned how to hate my family. Ask any X-man, ask any brotherhood member. Let them just try and look into your eyes when they tell you that my father, the great and powerful Magneto, didn´t deserve to serve in that institution in my place. Yes, I happen to be strange, even for a mutant. It comes with my powers. I´m not supposed to be predictable. Father had no right to shut me up; and Pietro had no right to stand by and pretend everything would be okay.
I could probably name a few people who would belong in a asylum. My brother for one, but that´s a given from me, since I hate him anyway. But, contrary to popular belief, I don´t want to see him dead. That would be a special place reserved for `Daddy dearest´. I can still remember too many pleasant memories with Pietro in them. It would hurt to much to see him dead. Heck, it hurts too much to see him period.
I stroll here, pondering my life since it´s either that or go back to the Brotherhood house and face Pietro. I´m sick of facing him. He wants to make things better, he can tell our father to turn himself into the FOH, and take me away with him to where we never have to face X-men, Brotherhood, School, or anything else. It happens in my dreams sometimes. That´s when I get disgusted with myself.
On my walk, I pass by a porceline shop. That´s when memories hit me. When I was little, before my father went completely mad, and before our mother was dead, she´d let us handle some of the little porceline figures she kept on a mantle. Pietro, being too fast and careless for his own good, would always break them. Wasn´t long before I was the only one trusted with them.
That all changed in the bad place. Porceline can be broken; and if it can be broken, it can be shattered into shards; if it can be shattered into shards, a crazy person can cut herself with it. Porceline horses, china dolls. Those things disappeared from my life never to be seen again. Until now, that is.
More afraid than I let on, I enter the shop. The manager looks at me like I´m the exact freak I am. He knows by my dark wardrobe that I could be trouble. He also knows from my black garb, to keep away. He might not trust me with the china-based crystal ball I hold in my hands, but he´s not going to take it away from me. He´s not going to come up and say `It´s bad for you, honey´ or `Let´s just put the breakable thing away, darling´ He can´t, and I revel in it.
I take a look at the ball itself. Christmas scene. Two proud parents looking over their two kids as they open their gifts. The father is blonde, so is the son. The mother and daughter both have black hair. The son looks a bit younger that the sister.
Okay, so Pietro and my father technically have white hair. My natural hair color is auburn, same as my mothers, but still, it´s close enough. Pietro acts younger than me anyway. I´m not one to believe in signs, but that doesn´t mean I can´t take hope from seeing what my family could have been. What me and Pietro might still be if given enough time. But there I am dreaming again.
I shake the glass to see the snow swirls around it. The snow isn´t pure white. It´s multi-colored. I smile. My life doesn´t have to be perfect. Rainbows are signs of hope anyway. I continue to smile. It´s not like I have an act to keep up here. I don´t know anyone in the store; and it´s not likely that I´ll be let back in again anyway.
I dig for some money in my black coat. It´s just enough to pay for the thing. I hear the manager sigh in relief as he sees me out. Doesn´t matter. I have my own little present for myself now. I bought myself a little symbol of hope....... happy birthday to you, Pietro. Happy birthday to me.........
Diem Natelem: Latin. Means 'birthday'.
Disclaimer: I first became inspired to write about Wanda and Pietro when I saw they interact in a comic book. I didn't write the comic book, so I guess they aren't mine.
~SCARLET WITCH: DIEM NATELEM~
by Christy S.
Happy birthday to you, Pietro....happy birthday to me.....
Yeah right.
The dark clothes, the black make-up, and the wild hair all scare people. It´s the easiest way to tell someone to leave you alone. That´s why Rogue wears it; that´s why I ware it.
The social workers at the mental institution never left me alone. `Tell me how you feel about this.´ and `Tell me what you think about that.´ were all enough to make me puke. They treated me like some kind of kid. But I´m not a kid. I was, but not anymore. I stopped being a kid when my own father locked me up with a pack of psychotics and my once overprotective brother let him do it.
That´s when I learned how to hate my family. Ask any X-man, ask any brotherhood member. Let them just try and look into your eyes when they tell you that my father, the great and powerful Magneto, didn´t deserve to serve in that institution in my place. Yes, I happen to be strange, even for a mutant. It comes with my powers. I´m not supposed to be predictable. Father had no right to shut me up; and Pietro had no right to stand by and pretend everything would be okay.
I could probably name a few people who would belong in a asylum. My brother for one, but that´s a given from me, since I hate him anyway. But, contrary to popular belief, I don´t want to see him dead. That would be a special place reserved for `Daddy dearest´. I can still remember too many pleasant memories with Pietro in them. It would hurt to much to see him dead. Heck, it hurts too much to see him period.
I stroll here, pondering my life since it´s either that or go back to the Brotherhood house and face Pietro. I´m sick of facing him. He wants to make things better, he can tell our father to turn himself into the FOH, and take me away with him to where we never have to face X-men, Brotherhood, School, or anything else. It happens in my dreams sometimes. That´s when I get disgusted with myself.
On my walk, I pass by a porceline shop. That´s when memories hit me. When I was little, before my father went completely mad, and before our mother was dead, she´d let us handle some of the little porceline figures she kept on a mantle. Pietro, being too fast and careless for his own good, would always break them. Wasn´t long before I was the only one trusted with them.
That all changed in the bad place. Porceline can be broken; and if it can be broken, it can be shattered into shards; if it can be shattered into shards, a crazy person can cut herself with it. Porceline horses, china dolls. Those things disappeared from my life never to be seen again. Until now, that is.
More afraid than I let on, I enter the shop. The manager looks at me like I´m the exact freak I am. He knows by my dark wardrobe that I could be trouble. He also knows from my black garb, to keep away. He might not trust me with the china-based crystal ball I hold in my hands, but he´s not going to take it away from me. He´s not going to come up and say `It´s bad for you, honey´ or `Let´s just put the breakable thing away, darling´ He can´t, and I revel in it.
I take a look at the ball itself. Christmas scene. Two proud parents looking over their two kids as they open their gifts. The father is blonde, so is the son. The mother and daughter both have black hair. The son looks a bit younger that the sister.
Okay, so Pietro and my father technically have white hair. My natural hair color is auburn, same as my mothers, but still, it´s close enough. Pietro acts younger than me anyway. I´m not one to believe in signs, but that doesn´t mean I can´t take hope from seeing what my family could have been. What me and Pietro might still be if given enough time. But there I am dreaming again.
I shake the glass to see the snow swirls around it. The snow isn´t pure white. It´s multi-colored. I smile. My life doesn´t have to be perfect. Rainbows are signs of hope anyway. I continue to smile. It´s not like I have an act to keep up here. I don´t know anyone in the store; and it´s not likely that I´ll be let back in again anyway.
I dig for some money in my black coat. It´s just enough to pay for the thing. I hear the manager sigh in relief as he sees me out. Doesn´t matter. I have my own little present for myself now. I bought myself a little symbol of hope....... happy birthday to you, Pietro. Happy birthday to me.........
Diem Natelem: Latin. Means 'birthday'.