TEST DRIVE ∞ May 2025

[thediadem]

Test Drive ∞ May 2025

The First Collision

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Jump ⇅ :: Arrival — Panorama — Fringes — Invite Request

The Diadem is an invite-only panfandom game set in a retro-futuristic world where uprooted souls find themselves deep within an eerie wasteland of roads and highways frequently assailed by cosmic storms. Three united strongholds keep the population. Its capital is Panorama, a large metropolis at the planet's center.

Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Calling themselves fluxdrifts, the "locals" have similar stories to you, either for themselves or their ancestry. You speak to an old woman who claims she hailed from another star. You meet a young man who says his great-great-grandfather knew a strange language everybody spoke "back home." As you explore, you stumble across a coin you recognize or your sister's locket. How did it get here? What does this mean? That's for you to discover.

But first, you need to find a ride.

No invites needed to play on the TDM. Everyone's welcome! Use the Invite Request thread below to request an invite from another player.

∞ Summary ∞

IC-wise, arrivals are scattered throughout the month. Events described on the TDM are also ongoing throughout the month. If you'd rather jump right into the action, you're free to begin in media res with your character having already been on the planet for several days.

Post-impact, characters will wake up in a med tent by the Scrapyard. From there, they must accept a vehicle on loan and make the 2-hour drive to the nearest city, Panorama. If they refuse the car because they don't want the loan, they'll be in debt for medical bills instead...so just take the car. It'll come in handy.

Some things to keep in mind when bringing in your character:

• Pick an injury. At minimum, they got knocked out; at most, whatever they can recover from. Medicine is decently advanced so they'll heal faster if not painlessly.
• Decide items kept. Reasonable items on their person only: photos, keys, clothes, costumes. No pets or animal companions. Wildly out-of-place tech and personal cell phones will be damaged beyond repair.
• Select a weapon. Do this only if eligible. Guidelines about weapons and powers are on the FAQ.
• Choose a vehicle. Decide whether your character gets 2-3 options or if they're stuck with something they hate. Players can pick directly from our collection or source their own images. Anything under a similar aesthetic will work. If your character needs accommodations for driving, they can have them. Ask us for details.
• Get a phone. Characters have to obtain a phone (and a SIM card) themselves. If they've got one from home, it's damaged beyond repair. Phones are cheap. It'll only take a couple of weeks to afford one. You need to know the number before you text or call anyone. Read about phones and the Forum before you hop on it.

TDM threads can be canon if characters are accepted. Top-levels made to the TDM should be open to all.

TDM Questions? Here — Game Questions? FAQ

Setting — Taken — Reserves — Applications ::: ⇅ Top

Fluxdrift

Arrival & Introduction

Date: Throughout May

You've tumbled over a cliff. You were fighting for your life. You're on the cusp of death. You slipped in the shower. Whatever the catalyst, you struggle to cling to consciousness. As darkness overtakes you, a swirling vortex warps light and shadow in a way that defies all physics. A dark wail etches into your very bones. You couldn't describe it if you tried. You can barely comprehend what it is.

Then you open your eyes.

Through the figure's mask ©, you swear the face is grinning down at you. The tent you're in smells of antiseptic, and scratchy blankets line your cot. Injuries you've sustained have been bandaged. In the corner, you spot a MedBot that's fixed you up. Depending on the extent of your injuries, the doctor on duty might give you some painkillers before you go. Thankfully, your belongings are by the exit. Sorry if anything's damaged. Your landing was pretty rough.

You follow the figure outside. They are Yom Crook, here to lend a hand to fellow fluxdrifts like yourself. Their car's parked beside them. Actually, there are lots of cars around, but Yom Crook's stands out with its painted shark mouth. They explain they found you, unconscious, in a diffusion zone and brought you here. The nearest city is a 2-hour drive northeast. Forget about walking. You'll never make it. Also, you owe the doctor a lot of money for patching you up. But you're in luck: they've got some wheels for you and if you accept the vehicle on loan, Yom Crook will cover your medical bills. That's a good deal, right? It's not the shiniest car or motorcycle, but it'll do. If fortune favors, you'll get to choose between two or three options. Plus, if you need accommodations to drive—like adjustments to your seat height or modified controls—you'll receive all that for free.

Take the vehicle. (And the loan.) Yom Crook assures you that you'll have six months before collectors come around. Any time you're ready to pay a part of it down, return here to the Scrapyard. You'll get a receipt and everything. Paying off the loan in six months isn't impossible, but it will take a lot of work. Just don't get too lax. There's a good chance you'll be juggling multiple loans as you try to get by.

You either know how to drive, or you'll have a bare-bones manual to get you started. Road rules are more a suggestion than enforced, so just hit the pedal and go. The car has some basic features. The built-in compass will help you navigate.

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: a flat tire; a body on the road (is it a trap?); a fender bender

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Panorama

Explore & Settle In

Conditions: Warm spring temperatures, light showers

After 2 hours on the road, you find civilization. The largest of the strongholds, Panorama is where the economy thrives. Massive power plants glowing red make it visible from a distance. The city is divided into three districts. For now, you can access the Pavilion and the Blocks. Don't worry about the Sanctum; they're not letting you in.

You only need to know two things about Panorama: 1) it's big, the size of a modern metropolis, and you'll need your car to get around; 2) anything goes as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person. Street smarts will get you far. Despite its geographical size, the population isn't huge. With roughly a million people in a city designed for over twice that number, Panorama is far from deserted, but nor is it overcrowded. It's a good thing. Resources are limited as it is.

The Pavilion: Free Samples

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Like any large city, Panorama features a couple of supermarkets. The stock's not as consistent as a proper supermarket. On occasion, shelves can remain cleaned out for a week or two. Regardless, the long tradition of free samples remains. If you're not already shopping, you'll notice the crowded parking lot and clusters of lines inside.

Try samples, push through the crowds as you shop, or give yourself a five-finger discount. If you're cautious, you can pocket a few small items without consequences. The Pavillion doesn't have the infrastructure for surveillance; unless someone sees you, you won't be caught. Steal from the store or pilfer someone's wallet. Maybe you even make a new friend if you bump into another fluxdrift. Or, start a fight with somebody who cut you off in the cheese line. Don't make too much of a ruckus, or you'll be thrown out.

As you look around, you'll see posters advertising temporary positions for the cash register or graveyard shifts in the warehouse. Seems they might've lost several employees recently (how'd that happen?), which is good for you! It's just a 6-week position, but it'll get you on your feet. The city has temporary positions like this all over. Permanent ones are harder to come by when you're new.

Samples include: steamed cabbage dumplings, synthetic cherry juice, cheddar cheese, and chocolate-covered alien eggs (it's crunchy and weirdly tasty). They're served in the usual throwaway paper cups with little toothpicks.

The Blocks: Power Outage

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Power's finicky in Panorama, especially in the Blocks. Saint Margery's Hospital, located in the same area, has priority for power so the first to go are the motels. Maybe you've been in your room for a couple of weeks, maybe you just got here—and by the way, every motel desk is happy to put the fee on your tab if you don't have the money upfront—but all the motels on the east side are in a blackout, leaving only the west side motels up and running.

What do you do? You have three choices:

• Risk leaving your room and head to the other side where there's power. Knock on some doors and negotiate with another to share the room. They might shut the door in your face, ask for a favor in return, or be nice enough to help you with no strings attached. There's no guarantee your unattended room will be untouched, though, and you'll be on the hook for any damages an intruder causes.
• Sit in the dark and deal. It's not the worst idea, but the TV's down, the vending machines are powered down, and with the entire place plunged into darkness, you risk getting robbed. If you struggle with defending yourself, you might want to find some trustworthy company. You can also sneak out of there and let them take your leftover pizza. It's not like you've got a ton of valuables, right? Plus, clobbering someone in the face with a frying pan sounds great until you realize you've gotta do something with the body. And what if this person's got a friend waiting?
• Get in your car and drive (or grab a friend for a road trip). If you scroll the Forum, you might notice reports on diffusion zones southward. Besides, these motels are hardly your forever home. The city can only provide so much. Why not go for a ride and see what you can find out there?

OPTIONAL PROMPTS: clean up on aisle 3 (what is that goo?); a knock at your door but no one's there; you hear screaming or a commotion down the hall

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The Fringes

Quad 3: Lockdown

Conditions: Stormy, with flooding roads

Felix Bjurstrom
> Date: 125-05-17
> Time: 02:15:57

> Emergency road lights have been reported in Quadrant 3! Please, can someone go see what's there? When last we chasers investigated emergency lights, a whole truck filled with sour candy had tipped over. Our stores were stocked for weeks! Oh, be careful - reception looks bad in that zone.

Whether you end up here on your own or you were following a tip on the Forum, the outcome is the same: you come to a stop in front of a 2-story office building that's flooded several inches deep. Emergency lights from a roadblock flicker through the stormy night. Stepping out of your car, you're soaked within seconds. When you check your phone, you don't have any bars. No calls in or out.

Through the open windows, a computer awakens and displays a cheerful smile. The lights inside switch on.

Pick your scenario role below. Your thread partner doesn't need to take the opposite role! They can join you in the same scenario (i.e. trapped together). Players are also free to create a generic NPC for the other side to facilitate the thread.

After characters escape, they'll find one bottle of antibiotics in their pocket or car, whether they remember taking it or not.

A: Sealed In
As you peer through the windows, you see crates of medicine floating around. Antibiotics in the diadem are valuable. Hospitals and doctors are always buying. You can keep it for yourself or make a quick buck. Or maybe you're compelled to help somebody back in the city who's in need. Whatever the reason, you decide to take the risk and step inside.

Water splashes around your ankles. The lock buzzes behind you. If you try to break the windows, you discover they're unnaturally resistant to shattering. With the whole place locked tight, the water begins to churn. Then the computer lights up again.

Warning, it flashes in large, bold text. Quarantine in progress. Release code required for exit.

• To find the code, you'll have to search. Duck under the water, go through sopping envelopes and sticky notes or pick the locks on the filing cabinets and desk drawers. You can also try hacking the computers. Use your computer knowledge or fall back on the age-old trick of seeing who wrote down their password.
• The files, notepads, and emails start innocuous, but as you look through them, disturbing phrases jump out at you—a dark thought you've had or a cruel taunt from someone in your past. The longer you're fixed on the terrible words, the higher the water begins to rise. Only another can break you out of your trance.
• With the rising water comes fear. And the more you're afraid, the more the water also rises. You begin to see faces in the water, bobbing like balloon heads. Do you recognize them? If you move to take a closer look, they will sink back beneath the surface as if never there.
• If you manage to swallow your panic, you can eventually find a triple-laminated binder with the release code and instructions. Bad news: you need someone on the outside to punch in the 6 strange symbols in order. The instructions explain that the code panel is located at the back of the building.

Let's hope a friendly face comes along.

B: Set Free
As you peer through the windows, you see not just the crates of medicine but someone trapped inside. They look like they might be in trouble, and from your vantage point, you notice that the water is bubbling strangely. It's definitely not normal rainwater. As you watch, the water rises unnaturally, stopping and starting. It's as if the water level is responding to an external stimulus.

• The glass is soundproof. You can't hear what the person inside is saying, so you'll have to communicate with each other another way. Try charades, typing on your phone, or whatever you think of. Eventually, you determine that they're stuck and that you need to enter some sort of code onto a pad located—according to your trapped partner—at the back of the building.
• Around the back, shadows swallow your surroundings. The panel must be pried open, but a slippery substance makes it hard to get a good grip. Each time the substance touches you, you grow uneasy. You swear you see eyes watching you, though when you turn around, nothing's there.
• You can't seem to keep the instructions in your mind. And those symbols...they burn into your retinas. Through them, you glimpse an incomprehensibly massive figure unfurling in the darkness, pulsing as if in a deep sleep. When you snap back to reality, you realize you've injured yourself, slicing your hand on a sharp edge or a bruise you can't remember getting.
• Once you manage to release the doors, the water inside the office drains upward into the sky as though sucked out by a giant hose. The darkness spreads. Get out of there fast before the shadows drag you or your partner into the void.

Of course, you don't have to help anyone. You can leave the individual there, make a deal, or outright extort them. But remember, you're not the only person on these roads. You might want to play your cards carefully, even if altruism isn't your first instinct.

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Comments

:') cw for death and suicidal ideation?? maybe?

[carmesi]

( he says that he's died before, and wanda catches no lie in that, which surprises her, but also—that just means that there might be truth in her just jesting about him being 'special'. people here are different in their own ways, and some of them hardly normal at all, but that doesn't mean she wants to be pushed in with the lot of them — to be perceived, as different, either.

but it's his words about turning the the scars into a tool, into a weapon that trigger her pain all over again.

her expression shifts, she stands a little more defensively now, arms crossed. )

What if doing any of that doesn't feel worth it anymore? Then it's just pain and nothing else.

( since arriving here, she has been thinking — thinking about how it would be easier to just give up. and yet she's forced to continue, to find a job, to wake up in the mornings, to treat the injuries marring her wrists and neck, feeding herself... all the while being too fully aware hat living hurts. she is so often crippled by the agony of being without, crying herself to sleep, staring at the red that she can summon in her hands and wishing this power had never come to her.

her jawline tenses, feeling angry, now, this constant burst of emotions that she can't always keep in line. )

I don't need the life advice. You could never know what it's like.

( (and she'd wrong, though, to think herself alone in this type of position, in this type of pain.) )

adding on self-loathing and depression tbh I GUESS

[vestments]

( what if, she says, and though marc doesn't open his mouth to respond, the expectancy the almost of it is in the way his expression shifts — the lift of his eyebrows, the tilt of his chin — and then she continues.

marc's familiar with anger, with the way it courses through a body. the difference between cold, quiet anger and sudden heat, and he looks from her face to her arms, back to her jaw and, finally, snapping back to meet her eyes.

you could never know, and his eyebrows pull together tightly, the corners of his lips curving down. he turns to face her fully, aware of the dwindling crowd around them, aware of how it'd look for someone like him to take a step towards her. the city doesn't seem like the place that'd care in and of itself, except for pockets of people, of individuals, but even so.

if he'd been dressed in the suit, he'd busy his hands with his tie, with smoothing out his waistcoat, pulling at his shirt sleeves. physical distractions that give the illusion of nonchalance, but here, now, he has none of that. instead, he leans forward. it's only a touch, the slightest closing of personal space and, )

You don't know me, Wanda. ( where earlier, her accent had reasserted itself, made itself known, his — otherwise softened by travel, of constantly moving — emerges in rough, hard edges, even as his voice is careful and deliberate; low and level. not precisely calm, but it'd be difficult to pinpoint why not beyond the ever-present tension of marc. it could — might be — a warning, could just be a statement of facts, it's hard to tell.

marc spector's a man that's destroyed everything, a man that buried his father, killed his brother. lost his daughter, pushed away his friends. found a way to ruin every piece of happiness he'd ever ended up with, and as soon as he'd started to build something again—.

"and all I ever got was my miserable life back," he'd said to andrea.

she doesn't need to know that. hasn't earned it. ) Some of us don't get a choice, ( in living, he means. the rest of it — choosing to make something of the pain and the hurt, he still means that. ) Don't get to ask your question. There's no what if, only debt and duty and what has to be done.

( abruptly, he straightens, pulls at the hem of his t-shirt. it's almost idle. )

You got pain, you've got something. It's the emptiness you've got to watch out for.

i'm super enjoying them though

[carmesi]

(the change is nigh imperceptible, but it casts upon her in such an obvious manner, the swathes of emotion that stem from him, how his eyes convey—as they lock with hers—something that swirls between a warning and a statement of fact. whatever it is, it manages to lock wanda in place, hands at her elbows.

the thing about grief, about grieving, is that it's so immensely personal. for wanda, grieving for her parents, for her country, for the life and innocence lost, it was done in tandem with her brother. with pietro gone, she's had to navigate it all on her own. it makes her selfish in her pain, makes her stubborn to the reality that others might be in the same straits or down worse paths. in her mind, no one could understand her pain, because it feels, to her, that no one around her has tried. it really is not the best of places to be in, feeling betrayed and used by those who were supposed to look after her.

it all has festered into something ugly.

but, when faced with someone else who has their own path of similar-pain to go through, it scares her. it roots her to her spot, and she's blinking away tears when he speaks again and straightens, having made his point.

her voice is scratchy with emotion, throat tight, but there's not a lot of fight in her. )

You don't know me either.

( what she's been through; how she is stuck in a cage of her own grief, unable to move forward. she feels so small, which is why her admittance is deliberately vulnerable. )

...I don't know how to to stop it.

( the pain, the emptiness. the waves that keep crashing and pulling her down. she wishes she could see her pain as something worth transforming, but that's not where wanda is right now. )

s a m e!!

[vestments]

( it's probably the worst place to be having a conversation like this, and the fact doesn't escape marc, but they're here and it is what it is. the people around them have evidently seen more uncomfortable interactions, because not a single one stops to ask what's going on, not even when wanda is close to tears, not even when her response is a rasp.

he inclines his chin in acknowledgement — you don't know me. he doesn't know her grief, either, doesn't recognise it for what it is, and doesn't think to make the assumption — he's never been good with grief, not even his own. his, he balls up and buries down deep, papering it over with blood and fists and anger, refusing to name it for what it is. it's avoidance and denial as one, a response that extends to how he views the shape of it in anyone else.

without context, without elaboration, marc's understanding doesn't stand a chance. it's not that he's unempathetic, it's that where one person might see a circle, marc expects a triangle.

which is why— ) Neither do I. ( it's not gentle and it's probably not comforting, but it is honest. ) I've spent my entire life destroying, not building. But whatever you do with it, it's yours, no-one else's.

[carmesi]

( the fight seeps out of her as quickly as he says that he doesn't know either, and she remembers that they are all stumbling through their own lives trying to make the most of it, all the while holding onto so much pain and suffering. on a daily basis, wanda doesn't know how much of it she can take, and it leaves her feeling empty but for when her anger boils over.

it's not like she's even looking for answers, nor expects others to have them.

she leans back against the wall, slumped, and just — shrugs. )

Sorry.

( ultimately, she really doesn't want to argue about this, and she's also too close to her pain, still, to see his words as a reassurance. )

[vestments]

( for all his other faults, marc is not especially inclined to want to argue about this either. he may not be agreeable, but that doesn't mean that disagreements are what he enjoys. they tend to set him on edge, leave him terse and frustrated, drifting towards coping mechanisms that have been identified as perhaps not the best.

here, whatever and wherever here is, marc's aware that the absence of andrea will not play in his favour. he's never done well when he's had to be the sole arbiter of his own reactions. he'll draw lines in the sand and then not realise he's crossed them until they're far in the distance, but for now, he's not that far removed for them to be unrecognisable. )

Forget it, ( he says, with a dismissive, off-hand wave of a hand. he means it in the sense of 'for what?' with a side of 'don't worry about it', but whether it comes across as that is another matter entirely — at best, it likely comes across as awkward.

which then segues into his hand hovering near the bridge of his nose, indecisive and hesitant before dropping back to his side and being shoved into a pocket, resolute. ) It's fine. And like you said, you didn't ask.

[carmesi]

( she shifts uncomfortably, but it's not because of anything he's done, doing, or has said—perhaps surprisingly so. despite everything, and how much it feels like her emotions have been on a bit of a roller coaster ride in this interaction with 'spectre' (not that she knows the difference in the spelling, yet), wanda — kind of gets it.

fists curl and uncurl at her sides, before she commits to what she does want to ask. )

...you said my accent reminded you of your father's?

( maybe, just maybe, she can have a conversation that doesn't end with a sour taste in her mouth. )

sliding marvel timeline 🙃

[vestments]

( oh, they're circling back round to that topic. whilst it's not worse than the one they'd ended up on, marc can't say he's especially thrilled, and he does somewhat regret coming out with the remark, especially with the way she forms fists at her side, uncertain in much the same way he'd been moments before.

he finds he minds the fists less than the way his own hand had hovered at his nose. more familiar. )

Similar. ( he relents, half-clarifying, half-correcting — it's not what he'd said, but it's what he'd meant. ) He was from Czechoslovakia.

( even if he still thinks the familiarity of her name is strange, he doesn't, shouldn't assume they're from the same earth, that they're from the same time, or that events even occurred in the same way. it's one reason — not the only one, and certainly not the largest — that explains why he doesn't say why elias left for the states, and allows him to neatly sidestep the fact that talking about his father isn't something that comes easily outside of barebones, nuggets of information that don't really say anything about him. ) He left in the late sixties.

( the reason why of 'czechoslovakia' and not 'the czech republic' — he'd left long before the velvet divorce; it'd been the prague spring, dubček's arrest and the process of so-called normalisation. elias had never spoken about any of it, not to marc, not directly, not beyond chastising the way that marc chose to respond to anti-semitism with violence, the way that he implored him to be the better person.

marc had always hated it. had always seen it as weakness, right until he hadn't. they'd never reconciled, never spoken in the 18 years between estrangement and elias's passing, and marc's opinion of his father has shifted drastically, from singular blame of their issues to placing elias on a pedestal as the kindest, gentlest, best man marc's ever known.

his gaze slides away from her, to the shelf closest the wall she's leant against, and he pauses. instant coffee, some kind of crap he recognises — vaguely, distantly — from some awful, stuck-in-the-90s hellhole he'd ended up in during his twenties, but it'll do in a pinch. all goes down the same way.

his fingers curl round a glass jar, and he holds it as if weighing it, but it's not about the coffee, it's— ) He didn't talk about it. ( the "either" goes unsaid. )

we do our best here

[carmesi]

( wanda is not too familiar with the history of the world, with the history of neighboring countries, because there already was a lot going on in her own little corner of europe. but czechoslovakia sounds familiar, their plight brought in contrast to sokovia's.

he goes for coffee, and wanda follows his hand, thinking how she'd much rather prefer tea. )

My parents wanted to get us out to go to America. We had days when we would only speak in English. To practice.

( it's not really talking about it if she can skip around the parts of the civil unrest and the violence and the riots and the deaths. olek maximoff would leave their home to work—what job, wanda and pietro could never really remember, in the way children don't really know what their parents do to make a living—to make enough money to afford visas, passports, train tickets away from novi grad. in the meantime, their mother, iryna, tried her best to give them a semblance of normalcy at home, and it proved true with the certainty that the twins did have a happy childhood.

all of that gone up in smoke. )

...Europe and its troubles, huh. ( she points at the boxes with teabags beside the instant coffee. ) The black tea isn't bad at all.

[vestments]

( marc lifts a shoulder in a shrug. europe and its troubles. he knows of them in a loose, broad sense, the kind that'd been filled in by history classes at school, by the history of etc in the marines, with the cia, but it's never been somewhere he's spent much time. ) I'm more familiar with Africa and the Middle East. ( iraq, afghanistan; family friends in israel, more dead than not by now.

—doesn't mean he doesn't remember symkaria, too, remembers being there, remembers steven being there. remembers steven's remark, the one to agnes that'd been pointed, even if marc hadn't quite settled on who it was directed at.

"I've seen the worst things in the world. I've done the worst things in the world."

and there's south america, too, but who's keeping track?
(marc.)

speaking of how much elias had appreciated the opportunities that the US had provided him with would simply open the door to how marc's first instinct had been to run away from all of that, and so he doesn't. )

—I don't drink tea unless I have to. ( and there's a hint of wryness there when he adds, ) Never had the opportunity to be fussy, and I've always found coffee goes a longer way when you're only running on a couple hours sleep.

( if that. )

You get used to bad coffee if you drink it enough.

[carmesi]

( the world isn't without its troubles, but for a long time wanda could not see past her own nose. how could she? when her life, her parents, her brother, her home were all robbed from her in the same place? she knows there's conflict, everywhere one is to go, but her life has been a bit of a bubble for her entire life.

she's grateful for the lighter change of topic, though, about tea and coffee.

actually, the fact that he says that he doesn't drink tea unless he has to makes wanda's expression relax, almost in disbelief. )

Tea's meant to be enjoyed. You just don't do it right.

( to her, drinking tea is about community, about a quiet, peaceful moment after dinner. of delicious biscuits and slices of pie. he is definitely doing it wrong. she approaches now with a little less stiffness, towards the shelf, and grabs at a packet of loose leaves—the same one she's bought before—to present to him. )

Try this one.

( she wants to say that maybe she could prepare it for him, so he gets to do it right, but she doesn't want to impose on his time. maybe he doesn't like her enough, and that would be fair. )

[vestments]

( he makes an odd noise when she says he's doing it wrong. it's not quite a laugh and it's not quite disgruntlement, it's something that sits in-between, unbidden and without thought, entirely despite himself. nedda has chastised him more than once, muttered something pointed about how mr. grant appreciated the finer things, the unasked question of what and how marc spector didn't hanging between them — or more accurately, hanging between nedda and samuels and marc and steven, with marlene and jean-paul sat on the periphery playing at mediation.

what there is, is the barest crook of a bemused smile. if wanda were reese, he'd push back more overtly, the sort of deliberate refusal that the both of them have come to know is for appearances only — but wanda isn't, and all they have is this odd back-and-forth, difficult and taut with only the subtlest hints of understanding, and so marc inhales a breath before accepting the box of tea.

the arch of his brows is dubious and challenging before he exhales. an odd, awkward jerk of his hand implies that if he wasn't currently holding a jar of coffee in one, the box of tea in the other, he'd be more animated and decisive, before— ) My housekeeper was Scottish. ( defensive, but not genuinely so. that marc doesn't sound or look remotely like the sort of man to have a housekeeper is something he hopes won't be lingered on. ) Think I know how to brew tea.

( —he does not. )

[carmesi]

That doesn't mean anything.

( she insists, because even if he knew how to brew tea, it's not like that's all it takes to make a good cup of tea. wanda would in fact argue that it takes more than that; the time and place, the people, the sides that go with it. a cup of tea right after dinner along with a cold dessert is one of the more delectable experiences in her mind.

it is one of those traditions that she and her brother tried to continue, on their own, and many of the others in sokovia who felt strength in getting to maintain normalcy.

there is satisfaction, though, when he takes the box. )

Did your housekeeper teach you how to brew tea, or was it done for you? I'd hope they told you it wasn't just about brewing it.

( sorry, it will be lingered on. )

[vestments]

( there is, just for a moment, an entirely blank look at wanda's question. it's incomprehension at the why of it, the implications — marc has never, not once, placed any importance on the community part of eating or drinking in any shape or form. it's always been for function (at best) over anything else — meals often go forgotten, with coffee relied on for a quick, sharp burst of energy.

it'd been one of the reasons marlene had left him (the first time, and the second time—) — he'd rarely made time for her, had often put moon knight at the forefront. )

She— ( a quirk of his mouth. quite clearly, on the rare occasion he drank tea, it was done for him. ) I had other priorities.

[carmesi]

( wanda can tell that she's got him at a bit of a juncture where he is clearly considering the difference between being able to brew tea and actually enjoying tea and the purpose it brings (to her family, to her community).

she tips her hand towards the box he's taken, grabbing it for herself now. )

We can have tea some time.

( an invitation, which comes despite the fact that they had some friction and disagreements in certain topics. an invitation that comes with the tacit consideration that she wants to engage with him, again, should he want to.

for herself, wanda feels warm, in a flustered kind of way. she's not generally the type of person to engage like this with others, not the way pietro would. )

I'll show you how it's done, Spectre.

( not getting the name right— )

[vestments]

( it's not the response he expects.

she takes back the box of tea which, fine, he maybe would've attempted to make one cup of tea before reaching the conclusion of what the fuck mixed with why and switching (back) to coffee.

but it's the invitation. the we. where this isn't something wanda typically does, neither is it something marc ordinarily does — or, you know, is often the recipient of. pointedly, deliberately, he's made it so that he doesn't have much in the way a social life.

he shifts his weight and his mouth twitches again, only this time it's a ghost of a promise of a smile, there if you know what to look for. he exhales a breath, short and light through his nose, and as a concession— )

It's Marc. ( spector, spectre — either way, neither sound quite right, not when it comes to having tea or whatever. ) I'm at the motel near the hospital. First floor.

( or. )

[carmesi]

( she sees it, how things shift a little between them, and that certainty that this is something that she rarely has done on her own—not without pietro instigating it—makes her feel a little nervous.

she expects rejection, even when all the signs point otherwise. )

Marc.

( this she says easily, and, nodding, she pulls out the phone she had been given earlier, almost like she's just remembered she has it. she taps on the hard, rubber keys and finds the option to add a number.

wanda feels awkward about this whole thing, which is why she barrels quickly through her next words, trying to lessen more potential rejection, or mockery. )

I'm not going to knock every door until I find you. What's your number?

[vestments]

( in an ideal world, marc would be able to say 'the room with the crescent moon painted on the outside', but unfortunately — or fortunately, depending on perspective — this is not an ideal world. it's not that he's especially precious about the room and certainly not his debt — he's spent a lot of time fairly recently determined to act as if he doesn't need much of it — but it's not his, and he has zero intention of staying there for longer than he has to.

steven, most likely, will worry about the shape of marc's debt when he's given chance to. )

208. ( it's quick and easy, uttered as if on autopilot. not exactly dismissive, but it edges towards it for the same reason that wanda feels awkward: the concern of rejection despite appearances, the expectation that whatever has replaced the tension is fleeting.

but then— oh. she means his phone number. it occurs a beat too late, and though marc doesn't look overtly embarrassed, there's a sudden awkwardness to the way he pauses, free hand sliding into a pocket to withdraw the phone he's incredibly certain he owned at one point in his twenties. it's a veritable, nigh indestructible brick capable of (hopefully) surviving any and every manner of physical punishment marc might put it through, not to mention being forgotten and abandoned — a stark contrast to the phone he has (had) at home, all touchscreen and glass, shattered front and back and holding on for dear life.

a couple of button presses — sticky, like either marc or the previous owner had spilt something on on the phone — and he holds it out to her, his brand new-to-him phone number illuminated by the dull, green backlight of the early 2000s.

then, the kind of admission that's reluctant, mentioned only out of necessity— ) Afternoon or evening's better.

( the 'but' hangs unsaid.
(those dark circles exist for a reason.) )

[carmesi]

( he says a number and wanda's completely absorbed and ready to insert it into her phone as the first three digits of his phone number, but then realizes that there's a bit of confusion here. for one long, awkward moment, wanda worries that this was perhaps, in fact, too forward; she awaits the rejection, certain it's bound to come.

but then marc takes out his phone and presents to her, without much fanfare, his number.

she punches that in quickly, not wanting to make it a tedious situation that they'll have to overthink later. she puts her phone away, glancing back at him. )

It'll have to be an after-meal situation, for the correct experience.

( so, they'll figure it out.

wanda nods, a little awkwardly, despite herself. )

I'll ... text you, so you can keep my number, too.