The Adventures of Wanda Maximoff
By: Ariesque
Rated: PG or PG-13
Genre: Humor/Romance
Cautions: Mild language and violence if you may.
November 21
No Batman, just John. It appears he has escaped or been released from the heavily secured asylum and since I cannot sleep, I shall write of the happenings of today as best as I can remember them:
I entered a Starbucks not too far away from the station--so different were the surroundings, I realized this certainly was not Bayville anymore. Ordered a triple double shot, figuring it was going to be a long night.
It was.
The cafe was deserted save for one person who was sitting on the couch, face buried in a newspaper. The place was filled with the low whir of the blender, but I could hear someone talking lowly: now, lass. Gotham City is a bloody place to be at dah middle of dah night..."
At first, I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or to himself. I decided it best to tell him off and leave.
"Keep to yourself, Buster," I blurted, rather rudely come to think of it. But it seemed appropriate for I didn't need another person on my back--I get enough of that back at the Brotherhood, thank you very much.
"What?!" came the response, and down went the newspaper. A shock of orange hair and eyes the color of a clear blue sky appeared, and I, taken aback, was speechless.
This, dear diary, was the disgraceful St. John Allerdyce.
What was he doing there I haven't the faintest clue, but a maddening glow was about him, as he was a wonder at first glance. He suddenly grinned, but it wasn't a nice smile. It clearly exemplified what insanity he held inside of him.
A mocha latte in his hand, he smirked, gaily. "Buster, am I, as you are Wanda Maximoff, daughter of Magneto, twin of Pietro..."
"I know who I am," I told him, irritably. "And I know who you are..."
He cut me off, though.
"Fancy yah remember! Was it dah hair or dah gorgeous smile?" Before I could reply, he spoke again. "Wanda! I remember yah now--little as it is. Magneto didn't like yah near the acolytes... come now, what have yah done so horribly dat yah had tah run away?"
I told him it was none of his business.
Lackadaisically, he shrugged. "Couldn't stand him, huh? Your father's a knave, but yah already know dat."
"He sent me to the Brotherhood."
"Well that explains it. You could go mad in dat house. Or, yah could join the X-Men and really go crazy, like I did."
I did not like the conversation for I did not understand a word he was saying. "I do not need to stay here and listen to you gab," I mentioned, heading for the door.
"Then where will you stay?" Brooding question. I stopped, obviously caught off-guard. "Were you plannin' on stayin' at a Motel 6? Gotham is dangerous, Sheila."
Gotham is dangerous. I looked over at him, incredulously.
"Oh," I muttered, angry to have not thought things through very well, "I supposed you can propose a better idea?"
"Depends. Would yah think it's a better idea?" From a mad man? Very doubtful.
So I said, "Maybe. Would you think it's a better idea?"
"What about if I show you?" He approached me and took me by the arm. I could have easily flung him away--he couldn't have been any stronger than Lance--but I was curious. I did not know where he would take me, how far we would go. But I did not resist his hold as he pulled me after him, out of Starbucks, and into the chill of the night. We walked in silence for a mile or two, and finally came across a lone bar, which closely resembled a shanty. St. John pushed open the giant doors and immediately started walking upstairs to the second story. He fumbled in his pockets for his keys, found them, opened the door. The room smelled of burning coals, and fire danced daintily on millions of candles set all over the room.
The flames sickened me. It was a wonder why the shanty had not burned to the ground yet.
John explained he was given a job downstairs as a bartender. The room came with the job. "Lucky too. Asked to have it. They say this place is haunted but you don't believe in ghosts, do you?" he winked at me and gestured towards a bed. "I wouldn't go out, if I were you," he continued, "Gotham is dangerous." Those words again. He must really be serious about not leaving.
John left for he has a night shift to work. There are the questions, like how did he get out of the asylum and if Batman really does exist. But for now, I lay awake, cursing the triple double shot and wondering if ghosts can knock over candles.
November 22
John told me he was on probation. He had been showing true emotions and enough sanity for the board to release him to the public. He says he is stable, but I will find a spell that will expel all remaining demons which haunt his mind.
John has nicknamed me Vapid Vanda because I am dull and wish to sleep all day. I hid my head under my arms and prayed my headache would go away. Twice I have hexed all the fire to die, and twice Pyro came to relite his candles.
November 23
John does not seem insane, but he is rather mysterious. I was sitting up today, feeling a bit better from the coffee two days ago. It had settled and the migraine had passed. John, seeming to make use of his time, made a hat out of newspaper and placed it on his head. He was a bit disappointed when I didn't find him funny.
"Wanda," he said, pulling up a chair to sit near me. He said my name so seriously, I was a bit surprised. "Why don't yah ever laugh?"
"I laugh," I answered, crossly. "I chortle at my father when he plans to dominate the world."
John looked bored. "Oh, anyone could laugh at dat. What I mean is, yah never laugh at anythin' really funny."
"You are not really funny, if that's what you mean. Laughs are not necessarily caused by insane gestures and remarks."
"But insanity is mighty funny, doncha think?" A corner of his mouth dipped into an odd smile.
"There is no reasoning with you," I decided. The odd smile turned into an odd frown.
"Ah, so there is a rebellious flame in yah! No wonder Magneto didn't want yah tah join us."
"You are mad," I rasped, with a tone of finality. "You are evil and you mock me and..."
"I let yah sleep in my bed. Fer shame!" His eyes sparkled with his interruption. Outraged, I grabbed the newspaper cap and crumbled it between my hands. With that, I threw it at him, and he laughed.
I yelled that he was a reprobate and wished he went to Hell.
"Oh, I like yah!" he cried, rushing out the door, just as my hands glowed, itching to hex him. I was fuming, but naturally, let my anger cool down.
One of these days I shall claw his odd expressions off his face.
November 24
We went out to walk around Gotham City. There is not much to see with the tall buildings, but there is a skating rink and the infamous Arkham Asylum. John chased the squirrels and the birds and almost got hit by a passing truck. He showed me where the bat signal is displayed and ordered ice cream even though it's 50 degrees here. Pyro told me that once he lit the back of Father's limo while Daddy was inside to see what he would do. Apparently the right thing, since he is still alive [curse him].
So then John turned back to degrading me, calling me Vapid Vanda once again, so I yelled I'd show him who is vapid, and threw my ice cream. It hit him squarely on his face and for a while it stuck there, cone and all. It was all so absurd, that I laughed out loud.
When finally I could stop laughing, we walked back to his room and here I have stayed while John washes his face. He tries to make me think he is hurt, but he smiles proudly at hearing my laughter.
One of my better days.
November 25
Awoke to the door slamming. It was John, bag in hand. He greeted me a good morning as I rolled over to sit up.
"Castin' any spells lately, Witch Wanda?" There must be no end to his name-calling.
"Haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about. I just woke up." He handed me the brown bag.
"It was a jest, Sheila. Stop being serious." I looked into the package. There laid a few biscotti. "A breakfast," he explained, his clear blue eyes dancing. "It's what I've been havin' each mornin' since my release." I still did not believe he was on probation. He must have slept with someone to have his way.
I muttered my thanks and began munching. He watched me for a second, and then, as if possessed with a faint spirit, crept near me.
"We should be leaving around nine," he told me, settling a safe distance from me. I looked up, my throat dry, wondering. "The train leaves at nine-fifty."
"Leave?! Are you saying I should go?" His eyes danced.
"It's been four days, Sheila. Doncha think yer folks are lookin' for yah?" I snorted.
"Dubious, John. Why can't I stay here?" It was his turn to snort.
"Seriously? I want my bed back." He said it sarcastically, but there was truth behind his words. Still, I was indignant.
"Tell me then, why let me stay here in the first place?"
He said that he hadn't seen anyone he knew for awhile, and he didn't mind my company.
"But yer father shall kill me if he finds out where yah are; what I am doin' with yah."
"I hate him, so it doesn't matter. If you take me to the station, I will jump the next train to Atlanta." John's eyes mocked me; they laughed at me so.
"And where do yah intend tah go after dat? Yah were lucky tah run intah me here; who awaits yah down there?" I frowned at how he wanted to get me home.
"I will manage."
He was very blunt. "No, yah won't." Is there any reasoning with a mad man? "I will ride the train with yah to Bayville, love, so yah don't board any other train."
"We must compromise," I declared, and his face twisted into mock seriousness. "I leave Gotham, and you shall do something for me."
"I already am, riding dah train with yah."
"That is for your benefit. I want to run away." He sighed, giving in.
"Fine. What is it yah want?"
I told him of my father wanting to marry me off, sending suitor after suitor for me. "You, St. John, shall help me rid the suitors."
"Oh Wanda, I could never do dat. Dey will send me back tah Arkham if I play with fire."
"Then yah shall pose as my boyfriend."
He laughed out loud. "We've only met four days ago..."
"I didn't say real boyfriend," I interrupted, annoyed. "You will just pretend to be one until my father gives in and stops sending suitors. It will have to work. It must work." There was a far-off look in his eyes, as if memories buried suddenly resurfaced.
"It shall work," John finally said, agreeing with my situation. "But yah must promise dat yah will not love me."
I almost cracked a smile. Love a crazy man? Inconceivable. So we shook hands, and I followed him out the door.
We boarded the train almost an hour ago and I plan to fall asleep. A tinge of fear trickles in me; I wonder if Father will find me before I arrive.
November 26
Wonder: we are not back yet. The train seems to crawl two miles per hour. I enjoy just sitting here, not being reminded of my fate. John is asleep across from me, lighter in hand. Even in an unconscious state, his face rears insanity.
It is a beautiful face.
November 27
Finally arrived. We walked from the station to the Brotherhood home, St. John telling stories that he heard at Arkham about the Joker and Batman. I almost believed them too, until he said that Batman shook his hand when John burned the Joker. It was just another lunatic's story after that. When we arrived at the porch, I glanced up sadly at the house. Just how I left it: dreary, sullen, ugly shanty. I almost cried. John grinned at me, seeing the pained look on my face.
"Oh, Vapid Vanda, don't be so sad. I'm not dead." I smiled at him, an awkward smile. John seemed proud. "Yah have a knack for smiling, love." He then pulled me close and dropped his head to the side. His lips came to the side of my face and my cheeks blushed. A short peck, nothing much. He looked at me satisfied, and that's when I saw the Brotherhood, standing on the porch, gawking. Todd was actually sniveling.
John released me then, laughing to himself, leaving me to receive disapproval from them. Pietro, breaking the stunned silence, spat that he was telling Father that I had a boyfriend.
I told him to do so; let the fun begin.
Thank you to those who reviewed--I am greatly appreciatve.
