delicate

dive bar on the east side

It couldn't be a great sign that only half of the ceiling lights had bulbs that weren't burnt out. It made the pub much darker than it should've been, which wouldn't have been a problem if the sun was still up - there were plenty of tall windows to let in natural light.

But it wasn't that Wanda was afraid, of course, though perhaps she should have been at least a bit paranoid. She was, after all, completely alone, in an unfamiliar country, sitting in a booth in the darkest corner of the dim room. Any other woman that shared her age or situation may have been uneasy - but then again, most women didn't have Wanda's obvious advantage.

Besides, there were around half a dozen people on the opposite side of the bar. They seemed friendly with each other, swapping stories and jokes and talking about whatever a group of tipsy neighbours talked about when on this sort of outing together. Something burned in the bottom of Wanda's stomach as she stole glances at them, and she hated to acknowledge her jealousy over something so trivial, but her thoughts couldn't resist privately loathing the group.

One woman spoke to another, raising her eyebrows and waving her hands for dramatic effect, waiting for the perfectly timed gasps that meant her gossip was told with success. The man next to her took slow sips from his beer while trying not to laugh at another drunken companion looking for his glasses, which were conveniently placed on the top of his head. They all seemed so relaxed with each other, as if this was a routine that could never be broken, that their friendship could never be threatened.

As if they had constructed themselves into some kind of unit - one without any chance of an international falling out.

Wanda could hardly stand to listen to herself like this. It was all so ridiculous, wasn't it? That she allowed herself to sit here, watching total strangers and overflowing with bitterness just because they were happy. It reminded her of when she used to use alley ways as bedrooms and street corners as front doors, watching statesmen drive by and hating their children just because they continued to eat food and live in homes.

The biggest difference between Sokovia and the accords named after it was the bullets. While her country was in turmoil, Wanda only really faced the ones made of rubber - but when resisting the accords, she was shot at with the real thing. Perhaps she did have the right to be angry. Not with these people in particular, of course - they didn't truly deserve it. Rather at the fact that she was here instead of at home, where all of this could have been so much simpler.

Where she wouldn't have worried about being mugged on the way from the train and accidentally revealing herself as the fugitive 'Scarlet Witch'. Where she wouldn't have walked in and seen the terrible lighting, at first being relieved that she wouldn't be recognized, but later worrying that she wouldn't be found by the only person she really cared to find her.

She had chosen this spot. It was her turn to choose, and she'd long hoped there would be a chance to visit Germany under better circumstances. So here she was, in a small Bavarian town, sheltered in a 400-year-old building. These weren't perfect circumstances by any means - she was still an international war criminal for example, and she didn't get to stay much longer than a day, but she was here for a very important reason. Her time definitely wouldn't be spent alone much longer.

Something golden suddenly began to glow in Wanda's mind, steadily growing brighter and melting away her sharp thoughts and memories of anguish. She smiled to herself as she recognized the warmth, taking a deep breath as it came closer, quickly shoving every shallow memory and sour thought into the back of her mind, where they couldn't bother her anymore. The quiet chatter of the pub faded into background noise, and the group of friends having a pint ceased to cause her such ridiculous grief. A low, Friday night hum began to surround her as she waited.

And waited, and waited, and waited - until she was greeted by the light chime of a bell, and the front door of the bar gently swung open.