Ten Questions

[Wanda Maximoff]

Wanda follows Pyro, steering him first to the Brotherhood's sorry excuse for a kitchen where, by a pure stroke of luck, she finds the makings of a cup of Earl Grey. It's a teabag, of course, wrapped in foil, rather than a proper tin of tea leaves, but even her abilities have their limits.

She stretches her powers still further in the course of arranging for a cup of water that can be boiled into an approximately hygienic state, then follows Pyro to the upstairs quarters with teacup (which, given its squat cylindrical shape, an uninformed observer might mistake for a coffee cup, but they would be best served not to mention their confusion in her hearing), then stops at the room's doorway.

"Mm. Quaint."

Wanda has, in her time, slept in some unsavory places. Seven, to be precise. Each time there turned out to be a good reason for it. She reminds herself of this as she looks over the room... the stained futon lying on the floor over wall-to-wall carpeting almost her age, a dull olive green carpet she strongly suspects was originally harvest gold, and, perplexingly, two recently laundered sheets sitting folded on the edge of a dresser, somehow reminiscent of an elderly middle-class couple who accidentally got on the wrong bus and are hoping not to be noticed by the local riffraff.

A look at Pyro, who has returned his gaze to her cleavage now that Magnus is no longer in the room, reminds her of what that reason might be. After all, she has already established the boy is a potential handle on her father. Now all that remains is to get a handle on the boy. Which has never been difficult, really.

She finishes her inspection of the room, puts her teacup down next to the sheets, removes her cloak in a fashion that manages to seem entirely practical while nevertheless remaining seductive, and carefully drops it onto the futon. "Would you like to play a game, Pyro? It's called 'Ten Questions.' Let me explain the rules, I think you'll enjoy it," she purrs as she walks back up to him, maneuvering him so his back is to the futon.

"First, I ask you a question, you see. Such as, let's say, 'How did you begin working for Magneto?'" As she speaks, she matter-of-factly shoves him down onto her cloak.

"Then you answer it," she adds, gently placing the toe of one spike-heeled boot a few inches above his belt, its heel resting lightly a few inches below it.

"If I like the answer, you can take off my boot." Her body language somehow makes it very clear she means remove the boot from her leg, not remove her booted leg from its current position.

"If I don't like the answer... well, that would be, shall we say, less rewarding." She doesn't actually do anything nearly so crass as leaning more of her weight on the heel of boot, but the implication is allowed to float in the air, along with implications regarding the results of the other nine questions for anyone able to count her garments.

[Pyro]

… it’s a step up from doorman

At first the whole ‘show Wanda to her room’ thing seems like a total drag – it’s still too damn early to be up, and exciting though her, erm, assets are the only thing Pyro feels qualified to handle right now is a large mug of coffee (though what he wants to handle is a whole ‘nother kettle of fish (or eels…) and definitely not suitable thoughts to have around Magneto’s daughter) – and way more trouble than it’s worth because, enchanting though the view no doubt is, he’s not sure enjoying it is worth being held accountable for every little thing about this place which isn’t up to scratch.

That, of course, all changes when they get to her boudoir room. Because he’s guessing her sort of games aren’t anything Daddy dearest would approve of… and sure enough, this isn’t going to be chess, all meticulous planning and hard, cold little chessmen (hard, maybe, wasn’t such a stretch of the imagination - fuck, electric shocks racing every which way but somehow all southwards - but cold and little have no place here).

This is a game he understands, one he’s been playing for what feels like forever (certainly for a whole lifetime, even though it’s not this one… best not to go into that just now, because though it’s the same record it’s a remix where seedy back alleys and fruit fucker t-shirts have no place), but with a new twist because for once he’s the one sitting back and enjoying the ride (yeah, right. It’s obvious enough where the power lies… but a little thing like that is not reason enough to let this slip).

‘Course it’s still cheap and nasty. Would he really sell out Magneto for…

Hell yeah, no question. He’s done the maths and the odds are definitely in his favour, as much as they can be given serious genital trauma is also on the cards, but it would be so worth it.

”I think I get it” If she’s playing dominatrix, he’s damn well getting the debauched brat prince role downbat, all dark eyes and ‘knowing’ yet inexperienced-ly clumsy aura behind a wicked smile – naïve yet dishevelled is a new experience in itself. Rabbit in the headlight he may be... but it's a bunny with claws, if only he could figure out how to use them, so would she be very very kind and help him get to grips with it all?

”Is that the first question?”

[Wanda Maximoff]

Behind her carefully-schooled expression Wanda smiles... the boy isn't as soft as he'd seemed at first. Good. That will make this more enjoyable. Not a challenge... it has been many years since she's had one of those... but enjoyable nonetheless. It might also make him a tool useful enough to keep, once she's established her hold on him.

She doesn't allow the smile to show, of course. Certainly she doesn't repeat the question, or answer his. That would give him power, and that would defeat the whole purpose of this exercise. Besides, he's being clever, and one should never reward cleverness in servants.

Instead she allows a look of disappointment to spread over her face, her smile to thin out slightly, her body to drift an inch or so further from his, her right heel to take up just a fraction more weight, all subtly enough to seem, not precisely unintentional, but not deliberate enough to evoke resistance.

In the end she doesn't say a word, just fixes him with a glance that makes it clear she's expecting an answer.

[Pyro]

The jolt that her reposition prompts is less pleasant, though to his credit he doesn’t do anything so crass as drop his hands into a shield as the balance shifts from toe to heel (this may have something more to do with stunned paralysis than any Cassanovo-esque bravado, but even if he is just a scared kid underneath images like that sort of put a slightly icky dampener on the mood… much better to think of this as control, of a sort. He has to have some sort of grip on things…)

”Okay…” he says, eventually, the words catching in his throat until he loosens them with a slight gulp. Shit, where to start? The game isn’t exactly loosing its appeal the more he talks about it, but the places questions like that are asking him to go are the wrong sort of ‘dirty’ for the talk in his version of how this should play out, and as a rule he doesn’t confide much in anyone. Though there’s a first time for everything and he feels fairly safe in assuming that what happens here stays in this room (one of the few things in this which does feel anything vaguely like safe)… besides, if he’s going to be put on the wrack this one fits far better than any of Magneto’s attempts to get him to ‘open up’…. Still, words don’t come easily.

Fuck it. He has to say something, because that heel is still hovering dangerously close, she looks like she might walk away, and he can’t decide which is worse. If he can’t handle this question (which, he’s sure, is one of the easier ones she has planned – it’s only worth a boot, after all, and he has a sense that to win the rest of her attire will take something a little more… intimate) then what chance has he got…?

… not that bad a one, really, thinking about it. How much can she know, bearing in mind she thinks Magneto is called Magnus? Sticking to the bare bones might just work… fire off other questions about things she hasn’t got the inside scoop on yet rather than touching on his more, erm, private areas (least not those private areas… other ones are fully open to touching upon, which makes the need to drive this forward more pressing).

So here goes;

”Got sick of waiting on the sidelines at the Leather Emporium. Fucking hypocrites, the lot of them, talking about a place where it’s safe to be yourself. Unless you’re me, of course, when you’re not allowed, because your gift isn’t ‘convenient’” he says, as matter of factly as possible though his choice of words, carefully personal and bitter outburst (because yes, that’s calculated. Obviously he doesn’tstill have any issues there) aside, is deliberately designed to exploit her lack of knowledge. ”Your dad made a hell of a lot more sense” – well, it seemed that way at the time – ”And I sort of” abandoned the closest thing to family I ever had and ran off because he let me play with matches ”ended up getting picked up by the Brotherhood after Alkali Lake”

[Wanda Maximoff]

This time she does smile, just a little.

The 'Leather Emporium' -- can that really be their name? Among Americans, yes, it probably can -- is another group of mutants, obviously, and in some sort of opposition to this Brotherhood of Magnus'.

Which might explain Magnus' odd combination of strength and weakness, the curious haphazardness of their current arrangement... perhaps they were recently defeated and are hiding out now? No... that's not quite right. Pyro's attitude is more anticipation more than concealment, and not for merely the obvious reasons. Regrouping, then. Planning their resurgance.

Which makes this Emporium a force to be reckoned with in her father's estimation, which makes them worth looking further into. And Pyro was once one of them, but they found him "inconvenient" in his estimation. Uncontrollable? Interesting. If the boy's perspective can be trusted, given how... biddable... he appears to be, that would imply a desire for near-complete control on the part of the Emporium's leaders. In which case Wanda may find herself opposed to them as well, sooner or later. She never has taken well to being controlled.

She files the information away. The boy isn't necessarily reliable, and there's clearly more he isn't saying, but that's to be expected... it's early in the game. His answer didn't tell her very much, but any information is more than the nothing she started with.

And in any case, the habit of obedience matters as much or more than the individual questions. She lifts her boot half an inch off of him and inclines her head slightly to indicate he is free to remove it.

[Pyro]

Pyro bites his lip, looking sidelong as if to venture his own question (Are you sure?) before shrugging that off, careful not to question his good luck. If indeed it is good luck. It’s difficult to be sure with Wanda – or at least the Wanda he’s thus far experienced – because not only is she both dangerous and enticing (where it was getting hard to find anyone who had one of those things), it’s nigh on impossible to see where the dividing line was drawn. Being terrified to touch both in case she broke like a much molested doll or bit like a bejewelled but venomous snake just leaves him sort of, well, terrified, which is a new feeling. She’s not a client, or a victim, but more of a predator than he’d ever been, which makes this whole thing feel like driving blindfold…

… and while going straight with his eyes shut had been enough of a challenge, now he’s hit the first corner.

There isn’t much time to check the script (mixing metaphors? Great. He really is messed up) because she’s not the sort who’ll wait, and testing her patience is probably verging on suicidal.

Though he doubts it’ll do anything for her, drawing on certain ‘lessons’ doesn’t exactly hinder him, because making this clinical and professional is easier by far than the clumsy teenage fumbling he knows full well is about the limit of what he could achieve with conscious thought. All the same, he’s strangely hesitant, the routine not flowing as it should, instead disjointed and only just short of noticeably awkward.

One hand slips around the heel of the boot, which might as well already be off because the cool leather is like a second skin, betraying every feminine contour, every taut, unusually strong muscle. His other slides up the back of her calf, reaching the top of the boot and circling, dipping finger tips inside that cleft between flesh and casing in order to find the zip. His touch is feather-light, barely a whispered breath against her skin (fishnets not-so-effective as a covering, though he doubts concealment was ever her aim), but it’s enough.

Meeting the resistance of the fastener he takes the tab between index finger and thumb. A decidedly un-sensual yank (hardly helped by the childish look of concentration which flashes over his features) sets it in motion, the sides parting with a low hiss like an exhalation as he pulls back to something slower, more tentative and consciously less fumbled. That done his hand returns to cup her ankle, sitting above the one holding the heel, and the boot slides free, is tossed aside and falls to the floor with a dull thud. A nervous half-laugh is as much concession as he’ll make to the instinct to cheer (I did it!|) though with her it may still be too much.

One down… nine to go… No, better not to think about that yet. One step at a time. ”Next question”

[Wanda Maximoff]

The boy intrigues her more with every move. His hands are experienced, but his face is not... less fumbling than she'd expected, but his tics reveal less confidence than his hands imply. He is used to being used, this one. Used to action without investment, to being a body without a soul. But not soulless... not yet, in any case. She revises upward her estimate of how many questions he can get through before their game ends.

And that opens up some interesting possibilities. She had planned at first to simply overwhelm him with her presence, seduce him with the illusion of availability and ultimately master his will with hers. Which is still a viable plan.

But now she considers alternatives. Would he be more malleable when faced with young love, adoration, youthful innocence he can corrupt and master? She hasn't played that role since... the banker's son in Grosse Point, she thinks. It has certain advantages. They are easiest to manipulate when they believe themselves in control.

Admittedly, she's already started down a somewhat incompatible path with her current performance, but not irrevocably. A sudden loss of confidence, a mask of tears, the wailing admission that she "simply can't play the part of the harlot anymore", the concession of defeat... it would not be difficult.

But, on further thought, no. Magnus knows her true age, after all. Sooner or later the boy will find out, unless she invokes magics, which she prefers not to do at this time. Which will create suspicion, which will be tedious to dispel. No, her original instinct was correct: dominate his will, rather than subvert it.

She lets him see a small shiver as he slides his fingertips around the hem of her boot, ignores the unsubtle yank on its fastener, adds a small purr of contentment as he slides it off. Obedience must be rewarded, after all, no matter its level of skill.

> "Next question"

Ah... excellent. He has already begun to anticipate obedience. That deserves stronger reinforcement.

"Very good...," she purrs just barely audibly as she frees her stockinged foot from his hand. She replaces it more firmly on its former platform for just a moment, then slides it slowly along his inseam and down his left thigh, pushing his leg all the way to one side as she works her way down his calf.

Then she repeats the process in reverse, ankle-to-crotch, with her still-booted left foot. As she does so, she kneels forward until she is balanced with her weight on her right knee in the triangle she has created between his now-splayed legs, and her left boot has adopted the position previously occupied by her right. She places a gloved hand on each knee and rotates them gently, kneecaps facing outward, with her fingers resting lightly just at the bottom of his upper inner thighs.

Along the way she lowers her estimate again... this game might not last so long after all. Well, no matter. Obtaining information is useful, but secondary to mastering the boy's will.

"Tell me the names and capabilities of the members of your Brotherhood."