wanda actually couldn’t prevent herself from letting a chuckle escape her lips - even if it was a kind of sad and half-hearted one. she knew what he meant, and it was true after all. pale, shaky fingers began to wipe off the hot crimson on her hands. even her PRECIOUS rings were covered in the iron reeking liquid.
❛ it’s… it doesn’t matter whose it is. they are not here to harm anyone any longer… ❜
silence lingers between them once she gives her answer. tension dissuades him from verbally responding, electing instead to let actions speak in place of words. better than having her emotionally shut down, preventing any likelihood of her accepting his help.
broad shoulders shift as he slips from his leather jacket. kneeling next to her with it in hand, peter utilizes it’s fabric lining to work the blood off her face. holding her gaze in an attempt to keep her grounded in his presence, he polishes the grime from the rings on her fingers. once satisfied with his work, quill falls into place next to her, jacket slung over his shoulders.
“ i’d offer to get you a drink, but that might seem skeezy. don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but … if it were ME … i’d probably be a pint in right about now. that’s just me, though. “
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