Chapter Text
Xavier’s Manor
Today is a type of day that is so rare, some believe it isn’t even possible. These were the kinds of days Scott Summers fought for. No Sentinels hunting him down, no groups of mutants causing terror, no celestial entities possessing his loved ones- just peace and quiet. There’s one downside to such a day; he was bored out of his mind. He sat in the kitchen, eating a sandwich for lunch, watching the best entertainment TV had to offer (some mind numbing sitcom), when in strolled Katherine “Kitty” Pryde, her eyes scanning the room, before settling on him.
“Scott, can I talk to ya for a sec?” Scott turned to face the oncoming Kitty Pryde as she strolled in front of him.
“Yes? Is everything alright?” He studied her expression behind ruby-tinted glasses, assessing the situation. Her eyes glanced around, even darted up to the ceiling, as she wrung her hands. “Did something happen?” He said, his posture shifting from relaxed to tense.
‘Remain calm Scott, the manor’s got some of the best security in the world. The safety mechanisms would’ve gone off if someone, or something, infiltrated us. Though that hasn’t stopped it from happening before Too careless, Summers. Here you are caught with your pants down, because you thought you could relax. Don’t even have your visor, woefully unprepared, if something’s happened…’ His mind raced, going a mile a minute, honed from years and years of experience. The mind of a man who was more than just Scott Summers, the mind of Cyclops, leader of the X-Men. That mind thankfully was finally interrupted by the voice of Kitty who spoke again. Her pause of hesitation truly only lasted a few seconds.
“No, nothing’s happened, not today anyways, and nothing that’s an urgent danger.” Scott breathed a sigh of relief.
“Well that’s a relief,” he said. “What did you want to talk about then?” It may not be an imminent danger, but clearly she felt that whatever she wanted to talk to him about was important, and what was important to his fellow X-Men, was important to him.
“It’s something a bit more…sensitive.” She said once again glazing over his shoulder just to once again ascertain there was nothing behind him.
“Sensitive?” He parroted, as her behavior concerned him.
“Well, it’s just uh….” She paused again. “I think something’s wrong with Kurt,” she said, now making direct eye contact with him, well as close as one could get through the shades.
“Kurt?” Scott asked, as he did a mental inventory of his most recent interactions with the fuzziest member of his merry band of mutants, searching for any evidence of anything ailing him. “Is he injured? He looked fine in the Danger Room earlier today, didn’t see anything that looked like it could’ve been serious, but perhaps…”
“No no no,” Kitty stopped him, as she waved her hands in front of her emphatically. “I mean emotionally.”
“...I don’t follow.” Kitty rolled her eyes at his response.
“The last week or so,” she said, as she began to pace back and forth in front of him. “He hasn’t really been himself. He’s quieter and he looks like he’s constantly thinking about something. He’s not making his usual jokes, or giving that cheeky fanged smile. I even offered to watch one of those adventure movies he loves, Scott. And he declined . I think it’s something serious.”
Scott stood in silence, as he pondered over what she said. Now that he reflected on it, the manor had been a bit quieter the last week, lacking in the usual antics and jovial laughter the tail-bearing German normally supplied so generously.
“Hmmm perhaps, you’re right. Have you asked him about it?”
“I tried, but he just laughed it off and said “You’re over-analyzing again, Kätzchen. I’m fine, wunderbar even.””, she said, doing her best Kurt impression, her German accent quite abysmal. “But then, when he thought I wasn’t looking, he just got this sad pout on his face. Scott,” she implored. “We have to do something.”
“Well, I appreciate that you came to me about this Kitty,” Scott said, already bracing himself for how she was going to react to what he was about to say. “But, whatever is bothering him, it seems like it’s something that he wants to keep private. It’s not my right to pry, especially since it hasn’t affected his work. I think the best course of action is to respect his privacy.”
“Ughhhhhh,” she groaned in frustration, tearing her hands through the large curls of her red(wait no, that’s brown) hair. “You’re useless. I knew I should’ve just gone to ‘Roro.” And before he could say anything back, she was gone, storming down the hallway, most likely off to find the weather goddess.
‘Well, that could’ve gone better.’ Scott thought to himself as he shrugged it off, sure that whatever was the matter would work itself out in due time. Kurt’s as tough as they come he’ll be fine…probably…
‘Aw man, my sandwich went cold.’
The sound of rain as it pitter-pattered against the windows filled the otherwise silent foyer of Xavier’s Manor. The spacious room currently occupied by only one, their visage frightening to most who did not understand the soul behind it. Kurt Wagner, ‘The Amazing Nightcrawler’, as he was dubbed by his family; or just the closest thing he had to one.
He was an orphan, found by Margali Szardos, a Romani woman, who happened upon his newborn self floating down a river in the early hours before dawn. She never knew how he had wound up there, but it hadn’t been very hard for him to guess, one look at himself was enough to form a good inference. As a child, he had felt pity for those faceless birth parents. How horrified must they have been, when their baby boy turned out to look like him. It’s no wonder they abandoned him, what kind of mother would ever want to raise a blue fuzzy demon as their own? A rhetorical question, as it was one that had an answer: Margali Szardos. It was she who took that monster into her home, gave him food off her table, dressed him in her clothes, and showed him love. For all those reasons and more, she was not just Margali Szardos. She was his mother.
It was out of his desire to repay that kindness that he first became “The Amazing Nightcrawler”, master acrobat, star of her circus. Through those death-defying leaps he discovered a love to perform and entertain. Perhaps it was just the thrill of it, the adrenaline rush of pulling off feats some would never imagine possible, reinforced by the roar of a captivated audience. Now though, he believes there might have been more to it. A deeper underlying motivation. Wow them with stunts, make the crowd ooh and ahh at his spectacle, make sure they leave with a smile on their face and a desire to come back for more. Good business, yes, but besides just that, it was undoubtedly the closest a young fur-covered man ever felt to being accepted by people outside of his family. The foolish hope of a foolish boy. His naivety proved to him the night that they traded their smiles and cheers, for glares and curses. Their applause and tickets swapped with torches and steel. Perhaps still, the worst night of his life if not for how it ended.
He had lost his brother, his home, and his family. He had come close to meeting the almighty himself, until one man stepped in. A man who despite all appearances to the contrary, was much more similar to him, than any member of that crowd. He didn’t know it at the time, but that night, Kurt Wagner found a new family, and a new purpose. He found the X-Men.
Recent events have caused this rumination on his past. A few years ago, his mother, Margali, had tried to kill him on his own birthday. It was born out of a misunderstanding, one that he was not blameless for, for just like all of God’s children he too sinned. His mother had misplaced her anger, her own pain, onto him, and while he has forgiven her, he can never forget how he felt that day. The day when his mother, the woman who had loved him, protected him, looked upon him with the same hate and vitriol of that mob. That betrayal, or the memory of it, still cuts deep, not helped by the fact he has not seen her since.
However, that event is not the one that has brought on this pity party of his. The event responsible for his solemn mood took place a couple of weeks ago. After two and a half decades, he finally learned why that baby had been floating downstream, for those faceless parents are faceless no longer. And her face was all too familiar.
Mystique, Raven Darkholme, or so she claims. Not much that comes from her lips should be trusted. She is like a spider, weaving her web of lies, more than willing to use and dispose of anyone she manages to snare in it. But as much as he’d like to believe otherwise, this time he knows she was telling the truth. She is his mother. And that night, not long before he was found by his foster mother, she had tried to kill him. He had not wronged her, and she did not hate him, no those were not the reasons she attempted to take her own son’s life. She threw her son off a cliff, because it was convenient, because he was inconvenient, because it served her purposes, and because she did not love him. For some reason, that makes it hurt even more.
“I killed my son,” she had said to Rogue, unbeknownst to his presence. ‘In order to save myself, and without a second thought. And you know what? I’ve never regretted it. Not once.’
Perhaps, if he truly believed she was as heartless as she so often portrayed herself to be, he could accept that, but he knew better. He heard Rogue’s stories, and he had seen her care for her firsthand watching the two interact. He had seen their home as well, a quaint little place, the kind that American magazines and tv shows often idealize. A swing set out in the front yard, that a young Rogue had certainly spent lazy afternoons playing on, perhaps with her mothers nearby. And a traitorous part of him couldn’t help but think.
‘It could’ve been me, it should’ve been me. Why wasn’t it?’ Mystique was not a heartless monster, she did feel love, just not for him. Why?
He knows that these envious thoughts are sinful. He knows that the love of Mystique, a selfish murderer who has opposed him and his new family on several occasions, is not a love he should want. But…she is his mother, the woman who brought him into this world. Is it so wrong for a son to want his mother’s love?
And now, she was gone, vanished without a trace. She is a being of a shadow, of course she disappeared when he had finally begun to shine a light on his past.
“Heads up.” a gruff voice broke him free of the ruminations that he had lost himself in. Just in time to realize, a small metallic object was now hurtling through the air straight towards his head. Quickly, he shot his arms upwards, just barely managing to snare the offending object in his claw-like grip.
“Mein Gott,” he said, releasing a sigh of relief for not getting plunked in the head. Knowing the identity behind the voice, he could hardly be surprised by such antics. “Don’t scare me like that, Logan” The man he was proud to call his best friend stood in the doorway of the foyer. He was sporting a flannel jacket over a tank top and jeans, his business casual attire. He was sipping a can of beer, and looking down at the object in his hands, confirmed that the object flung toward him was in fact, another can.
“I was keeping you on your toes,” he said, unapologetic. “Never know when we could suddenly be attacked after all.”
“Don’t I know it,” he replied. “You know I can’t exactly open this now right?” he said, holding aloft his now very shaken can from both the flight over and catch.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little spill, Elf.”
“Words of a man who's never had to clean it off their fur. The stickiness ist ein alptraum.”
“Fine, give it here.” He walked over to him, holding out his free hand. Kurt handed the can over to him, and watched as Logan popped it open, some indeed bubbling over, spilling out onto Logan’s hand and the carpet floor. Kurt couldn’t help but laugh at that, which seemed to please his friend from up north.
“Jean’s not going to be happy about that one,” his amusement seemed to please his friend, unable to fight off a small upturn of his lip, as he handed the opened can back to Kurt.
“That’s more like it. That frown you were sporting is an ugly look for ya.”
Kurt rolled his eyes, but his smile remained, as he took a sip of his can.
“Your concern is touching, mein freud,” he said after swallowing. “Did Kitty send you?” He knew that Kitty had noticed his sour mood, she had even asked him about it, much to his shame. He tried to ease her concerns, but he was an acrobat, not an actor.
“It was Rachel actually,” Logan said, his own can now empty. “Not that anybody needed to say anything. You’ve been walking around these halls looking like a kicked puppy for over a week.”
“Sheiße, have I really been that obvious?”
“Yep,” Logan walked over and placed a strong, heavy, hand upon his shoulder. “Don’t be like me,” he said, tone serious. “You don’t gotta bottle up all this junk and keep it to yourself. You got good people here. People who would gladly listen and help.”
As touching as his friend’s concern was, especially from Logan, who typically was more guarded, it didn’t do much for him. He knew that his friends were growing worried as his downtrodden mood continued day after day. He knew that they would hear him out, do their best to help and support him with these conflicted feelings he was having… but .
That ‘but’ irked him, as he couldn’t quite put any one of his 6 fingers on why he was so hesitant to open up. Logically he knew it made no sense, but he had always been this way. His problems were his own to deal with, he didn’t need to unnecessarily burden others with them. Perhaps it also was because deep down, he’s ashamed of how much this was affecting him. That his friends, who had suffered worse injustices and tragedies, would think less of him for it. Which...was stupid, but knowing it was stupid didn’t make him any more comfortable with sharing.
“Danke, Logan. I appreciate what you’re trying to do. Perhaps, another time.” Logan didn’t seem surprised by his response. The Canadian nodded, presumably having lived long enough, or simply understanding him well enough to have expected this. Kurt was thankful that it seemed like he wasn’t going to pry, as the two stood together in silence for a bit, while Kurt finished his drink. Until finally Logan spoke again.
“You know what, I think I know just what you need,” Logan said with a smirk, never a good sign. “Get changed, we're going out.”
“Huh? Where? Why?”
“‘Cause, what you need is a distraction, something to get you out of that blue head of yours,” he said, with a poke on his temple for emphasis.
“But…”
“No buts,” Logan interrupted, “We’re going, ‘nuff said.” and with that, the hairy diminutive Canadian pulled the confused furry German out for a night on the town.
Avenger’s Mansion
“You gonna eat that?” Jessica Drew, known by the world as the (well… a ) Spider-Woman, sat in the Avengers dining hall, still in full costume, minus the mask. Across from her, and the owner of the uneaten food, still in her black suit and red sash, was Carol Danvers.
“Seriously?” Carol responded, “It hasn’t even been five minutes since I got this.” holding up the burger in question.
“And yet here it sits, completely untouched, its owner neglecting it. So cruel.”
“I took a bite,” Carol responded, indignantly.
“You took a nibble,” Jess corrected.
Carol huffed, “Fine maybe I was a little distracted, I had something on my mind.”
“Oh yeah,” Jessica perked up, now interested in something besides the burger. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“You don’t have a penny to offer, Jess.”
“Ha, true.” the superhero toyed with a stand of her long dark hair, as she made direct eye contact with the former pilot. “You’re not getting out of telling me, though.”
“Fine, it’s about Wanda,” Carol said, her face growing serious. “Everytime I stop by here she’s either on a mission, or cooped up in her room. Haven’t you noticed?”
“I guess,” Jess said, as she shrugged her shoulders. “She seems fine to me whenever we talk. Probably just focused on learning more of that hocus pocus, magic stuff.”
“Oh? And just how often do you talk?” Carol said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Uhhhh…” Jessica looked sheepish. “Once a week… maybe .”
“Exactly, and you’re here more often than me these days. It’s not healthy for her to be working all the time. She has to go out and do things, and those things can’t be looking through some centuries old book learning how to pull rabbits out of hats.”
“Okay,” Jess said. “Tell Wanda that then.” Carol looked ready to respond till a buzz came from somewhere on her person. She pulled out her phone, and whatever notification she read seemed to bring a slightly unnerving smile to her face.
“Uh oh,” Jessica said, knowing all too well where she had seen that look before.
“You know what, Jess? You’re right. Guess what? You can have the burger. I’m going out tonight.” With that Carol stood up from the table in the dining room, and strode towards her new destination, Wanda’s room.
Jessica let out a hmph of thought, now alone in the dining room.
“Where the hell does she keep a phone in that costume?”
Wanda Maximoff was many things. Avenger, Mutant, Twin, and the most recent addition to her many titles, Novice Witch. The novice part of that became a source of ever-growing frustration for her. She had discovered her affinity for magic soon after joining the Avengers, many years ago now. However at the time, she hesitated to look into it. To her shame, she had been afraid, afraid of these new scary abilities of unknowable power, afraid of the memories it conjured. Memories of the first time she was called a Witch, memories of mistakes, fires, mobs, and bloodshed.
‘I barely even have control of my Mutant abilities’ she had told herself. ‘You can’t do this, all you’ll do is hurt everyone that you love.’ And so, for years, she ignored her magical calling, ignored the propositions of training from Agatha Harkness, and focused on her mutant powers. That was until a little over a year ago. When in a battle against a foe, she began unintentionally tapping into her magical energies. Only then did she finally go to Agatha Harkness, and began to study the ways of witchcraft, and how to control it.
Since that first lesson her eyes had been opened, instead of seeing numerous ways she could harm the people she cares about, she instead saw that there had been numerous ways she could’ve helped them. Her hesitancy had only caused greater hardships for those who depended on her. If she learned these powers sooner, how many battles would’ve ended differently? How many innocents could’ve been kept safe? How many friends would still be with them today? She could never know the answers to these questions. What she could do, the only thing she could do, was continue learning, continue growing, and make sure none of those tragedies would ever occur again. Sure, her newfound powers could be scary at times, but failure was scarier, and she would do anything it takes to never fail again.
And thus, here she was. In her room, studying the tomes Agatha had lent to her. That was until a knock at her door interrupted her studies.
“Open up!” the voice of the one who knocked sounded.
“Carol?” Wanda said, recognizing her friend’s voice.
“No, it’s Jarvis. Of course it’s me! Now open up.” Curious about what her friend wanted, she rose from where she was seated, making sure to remember what page she was on before closing the tome and opening the door. She found her friend, still in uniform, arms folded across her chest.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Yes, you. So, you and I are going to go out tonight.”
“Out?” she parroted. “What do you mean, Out?”
“I mean that you, and, are going to walk out of this mansion, find a bar that serves beer cheap, and have a good time together.”
“Well…,” Wanda said, not loving the sound of that. “That’s really nice of you to offer, but…”
“You’re right,” Carol interrupted. “It is nice of me to offer, and that’s why you’re going to accept the invitation.” Carol said, forcefully.
“Carol,” Wanda said, slightly irritated at her friend’s shenanigans. “I’d love to spend time with you, it's just that…” she trailed off glancing towards the tome resting in her recently vacated chair. “I have other responsibilities, ones that I can’t ignore any longer.”
“Wanda, you do realize that I’m not taking no for an answer, right?”
“Carol…”
“Oh don’t you Carol me, everytime I stop by this mansion you’re either on missions or here studying, in this room, alone. I’m worried about you Wanda. This isn’t healthy, everybody needs a break.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I’m fine.”
“When’s the last time you went out and did something? Not something Avengers related, something for you .”
“Uhhhhh….well…there was…” Wanda hung her head in dismay, truly unable to think of anything. “Fine maybe, I haven’t exactly been a socialite of late, but what I’m doing is important, Carol.” she huffed. “This is a whole new world I’ve entered into, and with every new thing I learn, I find a new solution to a past problem.”
“Hindsight is 20/20, you’re being too hard on yourself,” Carol interjected.
“But I’m not, if anything, I was too gentle on myself before, think of all the things I could’ve done, all the people I could’ve saved…” She paused, as she felt Carol’s arms wrap around her.
“Oh Wanda,” she said with a sigh. “You put way too much pressure on yourself. Every bad thing that happens is not your fault. Regardless, no matter how much you put on your shoulders, you’re not gonna become Sorceress Supreme in a night. And even if you could, I wouldn’t want it to come at the cost of you.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Wanda said, but a smile betrayed her, as she returned Carol’s hug. “But, thank you.” she sighed. Maybe Carol was right, to an extent, perhaps the city wouldn’t burn down if she didn’t study one night.
“You’re welcome,” Carol said, pulling away from the hug. “Now. You, Me, Bar. Let’s go.”
“You know I don’t drink, right?” Wanda said, as the corners of her lips turned upwards.
“So what? You can watch me drink, it’ll be fun. Come on, don’t you trust me?”
Wanda looked back to her tome once more.
‘One night out can’t hurt too much, I guess.’ She thought to herself as she bit her lip. Looking back to Carol. ‘Besides, I can’t neglect my friendships forever.’ Her mind made up, she responded with a question.
“You’re going to change into something else first, right?”
Streets of New York City
The rain had let up by the time the odd couple of mutants hit the big town of New York City. Kurt’s luminescent eyes darted across the street, keeping track of the people walking around them. The lack of horrified faces led him to conclude that no one caught a good look at his face hidden beneath his red hoodie; his three fingered hands hidden inside the pockets of the black jacket he wore over it, and tail tucked into his black cargo pants, to his ever growing discomfort. Normally, he wouldn’t have to be so cautious thanks to his image inducer and its ability to make him blend in with a crowd. Unfortunately, due to a recent unforeseeable incident , that was currently not an option.
“Of all times to insist on bar hopping, you sure chose an inconvenient day,” he muttered, knowing the enhanced senses of the man walking next to him would be able to hear him clearly. “Piotr, you big dummkopf,” he said, venting his frustrations at the perpetrator.
“You’re the one who left it on the couch where he could sit on it,” Logan said. Typing something into his phone while walking alongside him.
“It fell out of my pocket while I was sitting, how is that my fault?” Kurt hissed. Logan simply shook his head, in response, tucking his phone into his brown leather jacket. Before stopping in front of a door.
“We’re here,” he said, pointing up at the sign above the door. Chey’s Tavern.
“Huh?” Kut said after reading it. “This place is new.”
“A recommendation from a friend,” Logan said nonchalantly, he then knocked on the door 5 times.
‘Odd.’ Kurt thought to himself. The door then opened, seemingly on its own. ‘ Odder.’
“Come on,” Logan said, as if this was all totally normal. The man walked into the bar. Kurt followed behind him, making sure to keep his head down as he followed the footsteps of his friend out of the chilly evening air and into the warm tavern, curious of what he would discover inside.
Chey’s Tavern
‘A mutant bar, huh?’ Kurt thought over the explanation given to him as he sat alone in the booth. The booth he had picked was off in the corner, the dim lighting of the establishment helping obscure him from anyone looking from both the door or where the bartender was standing. Even if this was a safe place, the shadows are what feel most comfortable to him. The bar was empty save for 2 patrons at the bar, and a group of 3 in a booth close by the door. It was only half past 7 though, so perhaps it would get busier as the night went on. He did notice a couple others with noticeable mutations, like himself, allowing him to feel comfortable enough to remove his hood and expose his own “ angelic” features to the world.
After a few minutes of waiting, Logan returned with their drinks, two draft beers. The two friends drank together, quietly. Normally Kurt is the initiator between them, which isn’t to say that Logan didn’t like chatting with him; he was just a man of much fewer words than his acrobatic associate. A joke here, a sly comment there, and Kurt could crack through the shell his friend often put up. Tonight however, it just felt different. That levity and mirth he naturally had just wasn’t coming to him, and so far his attempts to generate it have born no fruit. The frustrating thing about it being that he knew what he should feel like, sitting here enjoying a drink with his closest friend in a bar that seemingly allowed him to display himself free of condemnation. But, those emotions that should be there…just were not. Missing in action, taken and replaced by memories of women with green and blue skin, and the emptiness they’ve left within him.
Eventually Logan finished his own drink, got up, and soon returned with two more. Kurt quickly drank the rest of his first before reaching for the second.
“Danke,” he said. His mothers may have no manners, but he still does.
“Don’t mention it,” Logan responded in between swigs of beer. “You know Elf, if you need somebody to talk to…” Logan trailed off, seemingly thinking of the right words to say.
“I know,” Kurt said. “It’s just…”
‘Stupid, Trivial, Self-Centered, Insignificant, Shameful.’ were the words that first came to mind, but instead he opted for…
“...Hard to put into words,” Kurt looked down at his beer, the head of it bubbling. “Mystique is…”
“A bitch?” Logan assisted.
“-Not the word I would’ve used.”
“Still accurate.”
“Regardless,” Kurt continued. “Her relation to me should be meaningless.” He twisted his glass around as he spoke. “Nothing’s changed, I was an orphan before, and I’m still an orphan now. I just have context.”
Logan shook his head at his words“It’s not nothing, especially if it’s bothering ya so much. Trust me, Elf I know all about learning things from your past that you don’t like.” Logan spoke to Kurt, his eyes trailing off to Kurt’s right.
“How do you handle it?” Kurt asked.
“Trust me bub, my methods ain’t exactly the healthiest ones out there, and besides, what works for me won’t gonna work for you.” Something changed in Logan’s eyes, a light of recognition. A smirk grew across the man’s rugged face. “But don’t worry, I think I know just the thing to get you outta this rut, Elf.” Logan stood up, eyes locked on whatever was to Kurt’s right…
‘Wait…isn’t the entrance to my right?’ As the realization dawned on him he began to hear footsteps travel towards their booth.
“Evening, Logan.” a familiar voice spoke.
“Carol?” Kurt sprung up, and swiftly turned around, seeing the marvelous miss in the flesh. He hadn’t seen her dressed this casually since her days in the Manor, dressed in a light blue off-sleeve shirt and jeans. Though it now dawned on Kurt that he really hadn’t seen her much at all since her departure from the X-Men’s not so humble abode. Any thought of remedying that, as well as any thoughts at all going through the mind of the man known as Kurt Wagner ceased at that very moment. For at that exact moment he had noticed another woman behind his old comrade. He had not seen her at first because she was standing behind Carol, but now that he had seen her there was no other place his eyes wanted to be.
Waves of chestnut hair framed her face, its curls cascading down past her shoulders. Her skin was dark, as if even the sun could not resist leaving its kiss upon it. Beautiful, familiar, sending him back to nights around a campfire, the starry sky above, and friends and family gathered round. She wore a lilac colored romper, decorated with floral printing, that added a touch of cuteness to her portrait of beauty.
“It’s good to see you too Kurt,” Carol responded, but Kurt did not respond. “Kurt?” Her words pulled him back out of wonderland, as he realized he should probably respond to his friend, he quickly responded with-
“Guten tag, mein freund, schön dich zu sehen. Möchten Sie etwas trinken?” Oh, he slipped into his native tongue. That was probably bad, oh well. If Logan and Carol reacted to his slippage into his native tongue, he didn't notice. His attention was firmly invested into her , as she now turned to face him, and nearly blinded him with the radiant beauty of her visage. No painting or sculpture could ever come close to recapturing the beauty on display. Her vibrant green eyes focused on him, alight with intrigue.
“Grüße,” she said with a chuckle, more beautiful than anything a musician could ever compose. “Schön, Sie kennenzulernen.” She said, giving him a smile he had no right to behold the glory of.
“I see you’ve met Kurt,” Carol said.
“I am humbled to meet you,” Kurt couldn’t help but admit. “Kurt von Wagner,” he said, extending his paw, with a bow. He was delighted to hear another laugh from her in response, as she took his offered hand.
“I’m Wanda, Wanda Maximoff.”