pennysheets | Resurgence [Voicetesting]

Something pulls, and that something is beyond human. No more educated guess could be made than that. It's unlike anything she's ever felt, and leagues beyond what she'd come prepared for. It wants to be, whatever it is. As potentially horrifying as it is wondrous, given the overwhelming energy radiating off of the tone.

There's the gnawing fear she wouldn't manage to halt even if she wanted to, but she decides she wants to see this through. Digs her heels into the earth, grits her teeth, and doesn't relent. Never before has she seen something spring from nothing but its energy, seen skeleton framework and what should have been blood vessels filling out a body that doesn't exist, seen skin - or some approximation - erupt into being to encase it. The similar shapes to the barrier beyond them don't escape notice. It's a lot to take in, even before his decidedly un-average appearance.

Between the surprise and the utterly foreign expenditure of magic, she's light on her feet as she takes one teetering step backward. Two. Sparky is kind enough to dart out of her path, though sticking close.

It's a good, awkward mutual stare. Without thinking she kneels to gather Sparky, mind on ease of escape should he turn out hostile.

"Misty," she answers, adjusting the dog against her shoulder. Tense, ready to bolt, but hearing this out thus far. Whatever it is, it is, and skipping out now feels a waste. "Who are you?"

Who, and what.

"I am." He hesitates. Is he really Vision? Is he really the Vision?

He replays the conversation with his... other self, and comes to the conclusion that he really must not be.

So he settles for: "I am a memory of the Vision." She may recall the former Avenger from before the Snap, rumored to be an android, bearing an Infinity Stone. He sure does look like that guy, what with the purple skin and odd hairless skull, though he resurrected in a sweater and jeans, of all things.

He looks down at his hands in confusion. They look pretty solid. They feel solid. He is processing, a dozen subroutines running in the background, fueled by... he doesn't know. "Wanda collapsed the spell that gave me life. I should not be here."

Oddly specific.

It rings bells, albeit hazy ones. The prime Avenging days were spent isolated out in the swamp, and only when the remaining half of the population reappeared did she deem it safe to travel in anything resembling a public eye. What she knows of the team comes back. The stone in particular, explanation enough for his own ridiculous, beyond-human energy.

The news does less to assure her of his non-hostility than his expression does. The surprise. It's authentic, familiar. She's been in those shoes.

"Once it's there, it's never really gone," she says, perhaps more flowery than she actually intends. "I pull things back. Never a - never a you, never from all this, but it's what I do."

She bounces Sparky, to illustrate her point better. It was him that called her, really. Quite a good boy.

"Are you...okay?"

"I do not know," he says. He's not even sure how to refer to himself. The real Vision is out there. Do they share the same name, now?

Vision is what Wanda called him. Even in the end, when she knew what she had done, that was still what she chose to call him. So that will have to suffice. "I should not be here," he reiterates, though now for a different reason. "The people of Westview should not have to see me, after what they have been through." He doesn't know where Wanda is. Perhaps Wanda should not have to see him, either, the thought occurs to him.

Especially if the real Vision has worked out his confusion and found her, himself.

Chaotic as it's felt...seems fair.

"I have, uh, a camper-? Just back toward the road there, can take it to a quiet spot. Normally this is a lot for folks, you might benefit from sitting a minute. And this guy could probably use something to eat."

A ruffle of Sparky's fur; poor thing's had a rough day.

"Thank you." He lifts off the ground for a moment, ready to simply glide after her, before realizing that will only draw more attention to himself.

More attention than being purple will? Hmm. There is a ripple to his surface, and the illusion of a regular, tall, gawky, blonde man falls into place. It is still a visage that will be familiar to residents of Westview, but it might not catch the eye if anyone doesn't look too closely.

Eyes widening, there's a visible effort not to stare that fails with equal transparency. Never seen anyone do that. The very much living, wiggling dog in her arms keeps her from lingering, however, and - still peeking - she starts back and away from town. It's a short little crop of woods, nothing treacherous to navigate. Beelining through, maybe seven or eight minutes' leisurely walk. Five if he's in a brisk hurry.

"How are you feeling?" She eventually asks, because any silence feels crushing given the sheer volume of questions she's realizing she has.

He's maybe a little bit in a hurry. Six minutes, maybe, looking around as they walk, categorizing the almost-familiar houses, noting how different they look out from under Wanda's spell but not different enough that he doesn't know that one is Herb's, and that one is Agnes's, and that one is Dottie and Phil's-- except those are not their names. He doesn't know their names.

That disturbs him a little.

"I feel alive. Which is only odd because I know I should not. I feel confused and concerned. I am uncertain what I should do, besides leave this place." Leave his home. The only home he remembers. He gave the other Vision his memories back, but none of them transferred to his own consciousness.

Perplexing as the situation at large is, she can at least take solace in what's coming out of his mouth. Eyeing the ground and listening, she gives a sober little nod.

"Been there. I can't promise to be much help with what you should be doing, but the rest feels a little better when you've moved around a little and had something to eat. It's a lot to process."

She nearly asks if he can eat, but thinks it too great a risk of sounding rude at the last second.

"Camper's big, you can stay until you've got things a little more figured out. Or I could help you get a motel someplace, whatever's easiest."

Don't worry, Vision has a long history of saying exactly this: "Oh, no thank you, I don't eat food." And this time, since he's not actively trying to hide anything, he doesn't even try to backpedal. "Or sleep, really, though I can go semi-dormant to focus on internal processing and data internalization."

Which makes the beds in their Westview home a bit ridiculous, in hind-sight. Only really good for snuggling Wanda in. Then again, perhaps that's what Wanda preferred. "I would not turn down sanctuary, however, if you don't mind the company for long enough for me to determine my next course of action."

Sounds like a terrible way to live, great as food and sleep are, but she definitely won't say that. What she does manage: "Huh."

Then, provided with more, "Not at all, no! I've been where you are, this is the least anyone could offer. Someplace quiet, no public eye, I...guess food and shelter'd be less of a worry for you, but the point stands. One less thing to worry about."

She'd like to ask exactly into what the fuck was going on back there, but it's a question for inside. Not much farther - it's a fairly nondescript vehicle aside from its size, visibly aged but in fine enough condition she hasn't had any trouble with it. More than suits her personal reluctance to stay in motels.

"Seems like you've got plenty on your plate as-is."

"Yes, I suppose I do." There are many strains of processing running, and he is not even certain how to properly prioritize them. Everything is a confused mess inside his vibranium head. "I am not certain where Wanda has gone, or if she needs my help. Or if my actual self has gone to her, instead. My presence might be upsetting."

He waits for her to open the camper, not wanting to intrude on her personal space until she's ready. "Do you know how long it has been since the hex went down? Since Wanda's spell ended?"

His actual self. There's another layer of back-asswards weird on top of the pile already there. She doesn't hide the furrow in her brow, thoughtful more than scornful.

"Four days."

Opening the door is more awkward than she'd like, dog in arms, but managed swiftly enough. Three short steps up and they're in - not a spacious place, by design, but clean and uncluttered. To their immediate left a table juts from the wall, bordered by benches long enough to sit two apiece. In front of them an stovetop, pantry to the left of that.

Vision is ushered toward the table, Sparky set down once she's sure the door is shut. After that she busies herself rooting through her limited pantry, procuring two bowls. One is filled with water and set down immediately - Sparky seems appreciative enough - and filling the other requires a little more thought. Pet food wasn't in the everyday budget.

"Had I, uh, known, I'd have slipped in sooner," she finally continues, shuffling boxes and cans, "But the place has been crawling with people." Types she doesn't need seeing her magic - not whatever Wanda'd been fighting, not those government-van types, and not the freshly freed victims. She's played that game. Ends poorly for all involved. Gets goosebumps, if she dwells.

"And all I could specifically make out through the haze - it was like a net, like this massive, buzzing net - was this one here."

Good old Sparky.

He eases down on one of the benches as directed, mostly because he'd bump his head if he isn't careful. "I had no expectation of coming back, not as I am," he assures her. His words to Wanda, that he might see her again in another form, had been hopeful words related to his original body, now somewhere else. Likely far from those government trucks and vans. "So I do not consider your delay as an offense in any way."

The spell is gone now, one might hope. Unless she's feeling the presence of their neighbor Agnes. Who was apparently someone else with wild hair and a penchant for purple. Somehow, he'd never gotten the full story there. "What have you learned about what happened here? I know some things, but there are others I also do not know."

Awfully polite, she notes, digging out a can of chicken, an apple, and peanut butter. No dog food, but this'll tide a tiny thing over until she can get to a store. Taking up the bench opposite Vision, she sets to coring and cutting the apple, seeds collected in a neat pile.

"You're asking a moth to quantify fire a little bit, here," she starts, with a breath of a laugh. An oversimplification when the moth in question has at least semifrequent access to honest to god divination, but it's rarely so easy. "Something had her - Wanda - losing it, upturned deep enough she trapped the whole town. Like a grieving snowglobe. Something else was in there with her. I couldn't tell you what, couldn't tell you who, but there was an awful lot of magic and it did not feel like that barrier did. Almost too much activity for me to guess at, especially from my side of the bubble here. Felt...construction, maybe. Something new. Felt death," a glance to Sparky, and the first peanut-buttered wedge of apple offered and greedily accepted.

"And release. The government types have been around since the beginning, or maybe just a few days behind. Not a united front, I think. Maybe other agencies?" It's not her forte. "Been too nervous to get close. I usually don't fare much better with those types than she does."

Vision listens calmly. Some of this, he has answers for. Most of it, maybe. "The construction, I believe, was me. I am a being of memory and magic, rather than a carbon-based life-form like yourself or Wanda, or even like my original body. I do not even properly have memories before Westview, because Wanda did not see fit to give them to me." He doesn't blame her, though, not really. Not now that he knows what had actually happened. "Apparently this saved us both a great deal of pain, from those memories."

He's running through his memories of the fight between Wanda and Agnes (or whoever she really was) in the background, in a separate process, trying to piece together what actually was going on so he can perhaps offer answers on that, as well. "Have you ever heard the term Scarlet Witch, Misty?"

"Can't say I have, no," she answers, voice muffled as she continues to occupy herself doling out lunch in increments to Sparky. He's not small enough she's leaning below the table, but it's not that far off. "Sounds significant. But I guess just about anything coming out of you will, for a while yet."

None of this, not one iota, is an everyday occurrence.

"Assuming whatever it is, it's her?"

"Apparently so, but I don't know what it means, either." And the databases he has access to are woefully inadequate, with no suggestions for an explanation at all. He doesn't dare risk trying to connect to any local networks, not in Westview. There are probably still military or SWORD people around, even if most of the bustle has settled enough for someone like Misty to feel comfortable entering the premises. "There was another woman who had magic here, our neighbor Agnes, only I am reasonably certain that was not really her name. That's what she called Wanda, a Scarlet Witch. You don't know what you unleashed, she said, and that Wanda would need her."

Considering what Agnes had been doing to Wanda, he's also reasonably certain that even if Wanda required aid, Agnes was not the person to give it.

Maybe this Misty woman is. Whatever she did seems more akin to Wanda's magic than Agnes's. "What else can you do, Misty?" he asks, tilting his head. "You do not steal magical energy, do you?"

"I- no, I do not." Not a question she gets often. Not a subject she broaches with strangers at all if she can help it, but it's unlikely he's got any ulterior motive for asking.

The guy's an Avenger. Counts for something, surely.

"I'm not sure how to start on that. Which- I mean, it isn't to brag, just that I don't exactly have a guidebook. I heal. I resurrect. I can move around, move things, I can get a read on people. Learn things in ways normal people can't. There's names for some of it, but hardly all."

Just as pressing is her not knowing if she's finished yet, what any upper limits are, but that's not his question.

"Agnes was trying to take Wanda's power," Vision explains. "If my wife really does need another... person of unexplained magical power... it stands to reason that someone who isn't interested in harming her would be the better choice."

I.E., one young lady in front of him right now, who quite coincidentally brought him back to life, when that seemed impossible. When only Wanda's power had shown so far to do such a thing. He won't push for it, certainly not at less than half an hour's aquaintance, but she has shown nothing but an inclination to be helpful, thus far. And Vision is nothing if not hopeful for humanity's better nature.

Oh. Straightening up, it's another round of blinks. Flattered, this time, around the edges.

"I'm not certain I'm exactly a teaching type, if I'm honest with you." A laugh nervously bubbles up. "Like I said - no guidebook. I've just been trying to feel things out myself for a few years, I could never..."

Her hands come together and then fly out, fingers splaying. A crude mime of the hex.

"Please do not feel as if I am pressuring you," Vision says immediately, holding up one hand. It's still "formal", as Wanda would have said, still human. "I don't even know where Wanda is now, and I am sure it will take some time to locate her. And if you do not feel comfortable with the idea, I would certainly not insist. But anyone who can bring a creation entirely of magic and memory back to life, after the original spell was ended, must be impressive herself."

"Not pressured - incredibly, incredibly flattered, actually - just nervous about wasting your time." Hastily explained as she jockeys a slice of apple between her hands, fidgets. "Everything that happened here was massive. On some scale I've only rarely felt, and I'm including the Blip. Hard to feel qualified to, uh, manage that. Steer, rather. I'm not opposed, really."

"Wanda had no one to steer her, either, not in her magic. And they may not be related, in the end." But this seems more promising than Agnes with her purple tendrils leeching power away from his wife. With her clear attempts to bring Wanda down, whether with words or magic.

Vision shakes his head once, and pushes the floppy blonde hair back. He could change back, he supposes, but it seems safer to keep to a human guise. It might make Misty more comfortable, as well. "Please do not decide now. I still must find her. And determine if she wishes to see me."

Sparky's about had his fill, so she can sit up and towel off her hands. While doing so, her brow furrows.

"Why wouldn't she want to see you?"

Wasn't him putting on the light show, she's pretty sure. He seems agreeable.

"She has watched me die three times now," Vision says. He doesn't remember the first two times, and the third didn't hurt exactly, it was just... odd. "And I am not the real Vision. I am merely a temporary magical creation, born of her memories and her power. To the best of my estimation, I am perhaps two weeks old, give or take a day, while the real Vision is in the world somewhere assimilating his memories."

He pauses, looking down at his rather obviously not-discorporated hands. "Now I suppose I am born of your power, aren't I."

A moment passes, the silence delicate, precarious, stunned.

And then she corrects, with little more understanding than him, "Reborn, yeah. I can't pull something from nothing. If I had any hand in you - and I did, right now - it's because you were already there. Whole and yourself."

"A hybrid, then, of the two powers," Vision decides, nodding. He doesn't feel any different, but then, would he know if he did? His background processes are still running diagnostics, so perhaps they will turn something up. "Regardless of my current composition, there were, as far as I can tell, two major interested parties: a military group of some sort, who you saw outside the barrier; and Agnes, our neighbor, only she was not part of Wanda's spell. I have determined that the military group wanted me, and Agnes wanted Wanda's power. It appears both have been thwarted for now."

For now. Disquieting.

"They don't have anything convenient that's going to just...track you, right?" Her hands wringing, she lowers her gaze to Sparky, immediately soothing in all his non-human glory.

(He is scratching himself.)

"Because I can get away in a pinch, but I'm not keen on ditching all my stuff, and I don't want to end up involved with, uh. Government."

"You have nothing to fear from Agnes," Vision assures her, but that's all he can say with clarity. "If we move outside of town and find a wireless network, I can determine if the government branch in question is still likely to be searching for me." He'd still rather not try connecting to anything locally, just in case it's still being monitored.

He fixes Misty with an earnest gaze. "If I find my presence poses any threat to you, I promise I will take my leave immediately."

No attempt is made to hide that she's touched. It isn't a concern most share.

"Thank you." Almost bumbling, though she's making an effort at the recovery. "But don't rush if it comes to that, I - well, I don't want to put you out. Doubtful it'd be great for anyone involved. Could drive us out of town if you want to get a jump start on that? Seeing if they gave up yet?"

He nods once, hair flopping in his face again, but not daring to shift back to "himself" while they're inside Westview's borders, when any glimpse through a camper window might give them away. "That might be wise," he allows. "I didn't see any sign I was recognized by anyone outside, but it is always possible I missed something." He knows he isn't infallible, no matter how good his processors and storage bank.

"Of course, yeah." With that she's up, ducking back into a tiny enclave that he can easily deduce is a bathroom - a faucet runs long enough for a rinse of hands, and back out she comes. Sparky is spared a pet on the way to the wheel, and quick work is otherwise made of getting them moving.

For some reason, those four feet of distance are enough room for the surprise of it all to set in again. She finds herself a little starstruck. The next thing out of her mouth is, absurdly, "Is Thor nice, in real life?"

He gets up to come lean on the back of the passenger side chair, so he can see out the windshield without making himself obvious. He'd sit, but then he'd be clearly visible for all to see. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know. I don't remember my life before Westview. Doctor Darcy Lewis gave me an overview, but it didn't include any details of Avengers personalities."

"She with all the shady suited types?" Even they seem fractured, but she won't overcomplicate it for herself any more than she must. "A shame, anyway. I hear they're nice."

Steady and uneventful driving thus far and ahead; she's kept as out of the way as anyone could hope to, and shortly it'll be nothing but increasingly dense wood bordering the road.

"...So you're running on, what, a week or two of existing?"

"Well. Yes. Ten days, to my estimation. Eleven, including today." It's possible that his internal chronometer is off, considering Wanda literally created him and Wanda is not an engineer nor a programming expert, and his version of the Mindstone is not a true mindstone and thus not necessarily capable of regulating his internal processes.

But he's pretty sure.

"Is that a problem?"

"No, just...real hard to imagine. As much as we rely on memories, lived experience, hard to believe you're as calm as you are. As, uh, put together."

She rounds a corner, just sharp enough lived experience may suggest the potential for wild driving in her.

"Is it a problem for other people usually?"

"I wasn't this calm or put together until I learned what had actually happened," Vision admits, and holds tight to the top of the seat through the turn. "Not knowing where you come from is a harrowing feeling." Particularly in the middle of a bunch of very strange occurrences like what he'd been experiencing in Westview.

"But it has been explained to me now," he adds. "And that helps." It's a strange feeling, really, coming back after resigning himself to his fate. Maybe there's a processor in the back of his mind that's on the fritz about it, but he's keeping it quarantined.

Resurgence [Voicetesting]

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