deercountry | ( CLOSED ) THEY'RE LYING THROUGH THEIR TEETH.

There are worse things to turn into.

[ she smiles kindly up at him, her lips turning greyscale. wanda rises as she peers down at his legs, wondering if he'll be able to shake off his robotic stiffness. perhaps it's where they're standing that's turning him into his costume. ]

You could be an alien.

Yeah, but I'm not either so turning into something like that? Not normal.

( his leg's starting to hurt and the fact that he can't walk right is annoying. )

What — is wrong with your mouth?

[ wanda furrows her brows as she places her hand over her mouth. what's wrong with her mouth? touching it, she notes that it feels a lot like her mouth! her lips are still there... a little chapped but still there...

where wanda touches herself, she leaves greyscale behind. her mouth and chin and a little of the skin beneath her nose is grey. ]

What's wrong with it?

Are you sick?

( amos leans in closer to her, squints. )

Your skin's...grey. Just completely grey in some places.

[ wanda smiles brightly and waves her hand dismissively. ] I'm fine.

[ but as she chuckles and swings her hand back down to her side, she turns completely greyscale with a little sparkle of magic. ]

We need to look at this leg of yours and see if you have tin feet.

Uh.

( yeah, that's not fine. he eyes her. )

Look at your hands.

[ wanda looks down at her hands, looking at the backs of them with a curious frown. she sees nothing wrong with them. they look like her hands! turning them over, she wiggles her fingers before peering up at him. ]

I have five fingers. What's wrong with my hands?

[ the world she sees is greyscale. and according to her script, that's how it's meant to look. ]

Look at the color!

( how is she not seeing this? he doesn't understand. )

You're grey, Wanda.

[ wanda laughs before she looks down at herself. extending her arm out, wanda smiles before that smile disappears. when she turns her arm over, she sees it—a fleck of greyscale in the crook of her elbow, the inside of her wrist, in the centre of her palm.

she furrows her brow as she regards it strangely, not quite sure why her entire arm seems to be fluctuating from technicolour to grey.

quietly, ] Oh no.

[ she hasn't... surely she hasn't transformed the trench into a sitcom again.

when she looks up at him, she finds he's still technicolour. pale flesh, scruffy dark beard. still bursting with colour. she exhales in relief. ] Oh, good. You're still you. [ with a glance down, she sympathetically offers, ] Kind of. Your tin's still there.

Yeah, I know.

( he can feel it. his leg is stiff and starting to get stiffer. but there's a new problem besides his leg and her greyscale. )

I can't move my neck anymore, Wanda.

[ she huffs rather dramatically which, well… suits the occasion—the greyscale occasion, that is. wanda plants her hands on her hips as she tilts her head to the side and eyes his neck. it's most certainly not looking like a neck. ]

I think you're turning into it. [ it sounds strange, but… she's weird. weird is normal for her. wanda looks a little worried as she gnaws on her bottom lip. ] A… robot.

Fuck that.

( he is not going to turn into a robot. that is not going to happen. he tries to turn his neck and it just doesn't work.

he makes a face. )

Can you fix it?

[ she grits her teeth together as she looks him over. wanda fights through the desire to click on a laughing track and somehow get into sitcom-like escapades.

she can do anything, create anything, fix anything… but she doesn't immediately throw down her magic to try and take control of this. trench's magic is different. ]

Maybe.

[ it wouldn't be nice to get his hopes up. ]

I think I'll have to try fixing it one at a time, just in case.

What about you?

( he's concerned about himself, sure, about how he can't fucking move right but she's turning colors. )

You're not supposed to be that color. You've never been that color before.

That's not entirely true.

[ she's been this colour before. she'd made it so. although she had technically spent perhaps a real day in greyscale, inside of westview, she'd been it for two decades (or what felt like a few days, at least. she'd been very bad at managing the pacing in season one).

wanda doesn't smile cheerily at that. she clasps her hands together and looks a little guilty. ]

Remember when I made everyone characters in a Deerington sitcom? I did it before that. Although, the Trench doesn't seem to be very good at it.

[ she is, after all, aware. ]

Oh. Right.

( yeah, that. he does remember that but he hadn't remembered it while all this had been happening

he rubs a hand over his forehead and finds that now his arm is starting to stiffen, tighten. )

If I turn into a robot, I'm not going to be able to breathe and that's not going to be good.

[ wanda inhales to only exhale loudly. she wants to be her usual burst of optimism—he'll still be able to breathe, given that she knows robots or androids or what have you—but she's never quite known a human to turn into a robot. vision had started as artificial intelligence. ultron had been the same.

so, instead of pulling the wool over her eyes, wanda gently takes amos' arm and runs her finger along it, leaving a trail of red in her wake. ]

We will need to slow it down before we stop it.

How do you slow it down?

( though, he guesses that if anyone can do that, it's her. she has the magic. he'd just try and shoot it to death.

he swallows. )

Can you stop it?

[ she doesn't answer immediately as she looks down at his leg. it may appear like she's merely staring at it, perhaps lost in her own thoughts, but wanda puts what she's learned with vision to use. it may not have been created by the mind stone, but she should—and can—sense its energy.

after a moment, she looks up at him. ]

It will probably hurt. I have to try and rewrite it like... [ she thinks for a moment. ] I'm trying to override a system.

Pain's fine.

( he's more than used to that. )

Do what you need to do.

[ wanda wants to question that, but she knows it's better to let him believe he's above the kind of pain she's sure she's going to have to elicit within him than to make him focus on it.

looking down at his leg again, she settles more comfortably on her knees. she lets her hands hover over his leg as she thinks. she's healed vision's wires. she's created a town and decorated various set designs without thinking. so why does it feel so terrifying to do this while very conscious of her actions?

tucking one hand under his calf, she gently holds his leg as she lets her other hand hover. and much like a puppeteer working a marionette, she wiggles her fingers slightly. nothing comes from her fingertips for a few moments. then red tendrils do, disappearing between the threads of his pants. they feel ticklish and soft, and it feels as though nothing's happening. ]

How does that feel?

( there's definitely some pain there. it's tolerable, nothing he hasn't felt before but he still holds his breath and bites down on the inside of his cheek.

the pain increases and he refuses to look down because he doesn't want to see anything weird. )

It's all right. Not too bad.

( CLOSED ) THEY'RE LYING THROUGH THEIR TEETH.

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