xp_logs | Operation: Take A Bow

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Wanda.

Freezing winds howled over the barren dark planes, whipping up dust and ice in swirling crystalline vortexes. It was empty, devoid of life and warmth, a wasteland only barely fit for habitat as it was. A wail could almost be heard over the winds, singing of vengeance, death, and defeat.

The wail grew louder, soon overpowering the wind, and above the inhuman cries, a very human shout rang out. Over the frozen planes, a bright blue sun burst into existence and disappeared almost as quickly. In its wake lay dozens of silver corpses, vaguely canine in shape, some shining but must dull.

Something wriggled beneath one, and pushed the corpse roughly off it. Mark looked up at the black sky, lit only by a silver moon and the tiny pinpricks of starlight.

"Crap."

~

Mark wasn't much more than a shaking zombie, curled up into a tight ball on the floor of the lobby under Wanda's coat. What skin wasn't matted in blood was blue and black. He looked less like a human and more like a frozen hunk of meat, the shivering the only sign of life.

She'd shed the coat as soon as he had crumbled to the ground and now Wanda was using her top shirt to try and gently staunch some of the blood. It was hard to see the wounds, though, and she was trying so hard not to hurt him. "This is a silk shirt," she told him sternly, her voice the exact opposite of how steady her hands were on him. "You bastard. You wonderful, gorgeous bastard."

The only indication that Mark heard anything was a slight nod and a hand slowly reaching out of the jacket to grasp Wanda's wrist. His fingers were ice cold, but his grip was surprisingly strong. He opened his mouth, but the only sound that came out was that of chattering teeth.

"No," she shushed, turning and sliding her hand down so that she held his in hers. He was an awful, horrible mess but he was alive and she planned on keeping him like that. Carefully, Wanda eased his head up so she could slide her legs under to give him both some cushioning and some body heat. "Rest, Mark, there will be plenty of time for talking later, I promise."

"Sssssorry," he finally managed to breathe. His grip weakened and his arm fell bonelessly to the floor. The din of Manhattan outside was overwhelming after Lord knows how long of silence. He curled up more tightly and buried his head in Wanda's lap, like a small child with his mother. "Sorry," he repeated.

For the second time in such a short while, Wanda’s heart broke and she bent over him protectively, uncaring about blood staining her clothes as she held him close. She talked nonsense to him quietly, a soothing repetition of words that had nothing to do with the meaning behind them and everything to do with the fact that he could hear her voice. And when she cried she made sure the tears hit her jacket and not Mark’s tortured skin.