Melissa

Vanguard: Calder City

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In the aftermath of the First World War, a global pandemic known as the Gray Death changed humanity forever.

While millions died, a rare number of survivors emerged altered, possessing abilities that defied explanation. Over generations, those alterations became hereditary, evolving into what the modern world now simply recognizes as superhuman abilities.

A century later, society has adapted.

Superhumans exist alongside everyday people in a world that otherwise looks much like our own. Governments regulate them, corporations market them, social media idolizes them, and entire industries have formed around their existence. Most superhumans possess relatively minor abilities and live ordinary lives, but a select few are powerful enough to reshape public opinion, devastate city blocks, or become living symbols of hope and fear.

Our story takes place in Calder City, a massive modern metropolis known for its wealth, political influence, and one of the highest superhuman populations in the country. But beneath the surface of modern society lies something older.

Long before the Gray Death, history whispered of miracles, impossible artifacts, vanished civilizations, and places where reality itself seemed wrong. Most dismiss these stories as myth, conspiracy, or religious fiction - but in the century following the Gray Death, strange discoveries and unexplained phenomena began surfacing around the world. Hidden sites reacted to certain individuals. Ancient artifacts exhibited impossible properties. Secret organizations, corporations, and government agencies quietly competed to uncover truths the public was never meant to know.

Whether the Gray Death created something new or merely awakened something ancient remains a question very few are willing to ask openly.

This is a modern-day, character-driven superhero RP focused on relationships, conflict, public perception, conspiracies, hidden history, and the tension that comes with living in a world where extraordinary people have become part of ordinary life. Tone-wise, expect something grounded and contemporary - recognizable modern society with a superhuman twist, layered with conspiracy, mystery, and traces of something ancient lurking beneath the surface.

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This is intended to be a long-term, character-driven roleplay, so please only join if you genuinely have the time and interest to commit to writing and participating consistently. Real life always comes first, and nobody is expected to be available constantly, but inactive players and disappearing without communication can stall stories for everyone involved. If you know your schedule is currently overwhelming or your interest tends to fluctuate quickly, this may not be the best fit. That said, GMs hold the right to reject any application that they feel is incompatible with this game. The GMs are under no obligation to give any reason for an application rejection. Players may apply with one character starting out, but second characters will be granted at a later point provided players have proven consistent and reliable prior to asking.

Characters in this setting are meant to feel human, regardless of how powerful they may be. Flaws, limitations, failures, and consequences are all important parts of the story. Please avoid “god-modding,” invincible characters, or abilities that remove tension from scenes and interactions. Conflict should feel collaborative rather than competitive, and no character should be written as unbeatable or capable of resolving every situation alone. These are also meant to be ORIGINAL characters - please do not utilize superhero characters that already exist.

Writing quality matters, though perfection is not expected. Posts should consist of at least two well-developed paragraphs that meaningfully move a scene, interaction, or character forward. To keep the roleplay active, players will be expected to post at least once every fourteen days unless prior notice is given. Communication is the most important thing - if something comes up, simply let people know. As long as there is communication and effort, flexibility is always possible.

Calder City is a living setting, and public events are encouraged to feel interconnected. If characters are involved in conflicts, incidents, or major events in public spaces, other characters are generally welcome to notice, intervene, spectate, escalate, or otherwise involve themselves naturally. Street fights, public altercations, hero activity, disasters, and other visible events are intended to create crossover opportunities between characters and storylines rather than remain entirely isolated.

However, players may occasionally want a scene to remain private or limited to specific participants for pacing or narrative reasons. In those situations, players are encouraged to clearly indicate that a thread or conflict is “closed” or opt out of outside involvement ahead of time. Please respect those boundaries when they are stated. Otherwise, assume Calder City is an active, reactive world where public actions can and likely will attract attention.

🏕️ Camp Saranac Lake

Looks like we've got enough interest to get the ball rolling here! Will get started on the OOC - should be up by early next week. In the meantime, here's the character sheet template (graciously stolen from donated by my good pal @Lord Wraith) so folks can get started brainstorming!

Please wait until the OOC is posted to share your completed character sheet, as I will be including some pertinent information there.

Character Name

N A M E
N A M E

^"Quote"

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ (FC: FACE CLAIM NAME; Dialogue: ??????) _________________________________________________________ S U M M A R Y S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ First Middle Last _________________________________________________________ Birthday | Age _________________________________________________________ Relationship Status | Gender | Sexuality _________________________________________________________ Year at Camp | Role at Camp S T A T S S T A T S _________________________________________________________ Height | XX _________________________________________________________ Hair Color | XX _________________________________________________________ Eye Color | XX _________________________________________________________ Hometown | XX _________________________________________________________ -

H I S T O R Y H I S T O R Y ___________________________________________________________________________________ This is your character's backstory. Include information such as family situation, their occupation during the year, and how they found out about camp. P E R S O N A L I T Y P E R S O N A L I T Y __________________________________________________________________________________ What's your character like? Are they introverted? Extroverted? Are they more guarded, or are an open book? M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S __________________________________________________________________________________ Why is your character a counselor at Saranac Lake? What are they hoping to accomplish this summer? What are their aspirations for the future?

🏕️ Camp Saranac Lake

Camp Saranac Lake is a sleepaway camp nestled in the Adirondacks, having operated for decades on the shoreline of Upper Saranac Lake. Generations of campers have passed through its cabins, and many counselors once attended as kids themselves. Every summer follows a predictable structure - wake-up bells, scheduled activities, waterfront time on the lake, and nightly campfire gatherings or all-camp programs - but no two summers ever feel exactly the same.

Players will take on the roles of counselors working at Camp Saranac Lake for the summer. Counselors are the backbone of the camp experience, responsible not just for campers, but for maintaining the routines, traditions, and atmosphere that define Saranac Lake summers. They guide camper cabins, run daily activities like sports, arts, and waterfront programs, and maintain the overall flow of camp life. Beyond their duties, counselors also live and interact on-site - sharing staff cabins, navigating friendships and tensions, and becoming part of the camp’s social structure. The focus of the RP is on these day-to-day interactions, character relationships, and the natural dynamics that form in a shared, enclosed environment like a camp over the course of a summer.
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Camp Saranac Lake is inspired by the many summers I spent at sleepaway camp growing up. There’s something so unique about camp - the traditions, the routine, and not to mention, the drama and lore. With summer rapidly approaching, I’m excited to get into the spirit of the season with this RP.

Anyone is welcome to apply, but all applications will be reviewed and are subject to approval. In terms of player etiquette, I expect those applying be prepared to meet a posting minimum of once every three weeks. I want to be realistic as everyone is busy these days (myself included) but I am hoping we can start off strong and keep the momentum going with this guideline. In order to prevent players from spreading themselves too thin (we've all bit off more than we can chew at one point or another) we will have a cap of 2 characters per player. NPCs are encouraged to create a rich camp environment with a variety of personalities present. Primary characters are required to be between the ages of 18 - 26 but can range from first time counselors to returning veterans - real life faceclaims only.

If this garners enough interest, the OOC will follow in the coming days with a character sheet template and some additional rules and guidelines. PM with any questions!

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

I'm Batman

Made you look.

Eastwood Regional High: Senior Year

Interested 👀

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

Am I late?

Fashionably Late: A Crime Thriller Roleplay

Don't touch that dial - we've got something headed your way shortly...

Fashionably Late: A Crime Thriller Roleplay

_{LOCATION. New York City - Marquee Skydeck}

010. After The Final Rose

---

_{INTERACTIONS . N/A}

Scarlett was halfway through a story she’d told nearly a thousand times before.

“...so we’re at 1OAK and somehow, I end up at a table,” She explained, tilting her glass as if it were part of the narrative. “I don’t even know how it happened. One minute I’m waiting in line for the bathroom, the next, girls are coming around with sparklers and a bottle of 1942.”

“That’s when you know you’re in trouble.” The man standing beside her laughed, shaking his head, “Who’s table was it anyway?” He asked, and the dark haired girl hesitated just long enough to make it seem casual.

“It was Ethan Cole.”

The group she was chatting with reacted all at once.

“No,” One woman stated in disbelief while another let out a low whistle.

“Okay, but that’s kind of iconic.”

“Next thing I know, we’re swapping stories about what it was like working with the production team at ABC, and before I even realize it, I’m leaving with him.” She shrugged like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“And Deux Moi?” A woman across the circle probed, and Scarlett couldn’t help but grin as she watched the familiar rhythm of the conversation unfold around her.

“Someone submitted a blurry photo of us getting into the cab. It was posted on their feed by sunrise.” A woman leaned in closer, clearly not done mining for details.

“What was he like?”

Scarlett rolled the question around in her head as she took a slow sip, eyes drifting somewhere over the rim of her glass, back to the version of the night everyone always wanted to hear about.

“Honestly?” She commented at last. “Disarmingly normal.”

A couple of them groaned at that.

“No, come on,” Someone protested. “You don’t just casually leave with Ethan Cole and call him normal.”

“I’m serious,” Scarlett replied, unbothered. “He was funny. Self-aware. A little too good at reading people.” She tipped her head, considering. “And tired. Like someone who’d been famous long enough that it stopped feeling shiny.”

“That almost makes it worse,” Another voice chimed in. The dark haired girl simply smiled and lifted her shoulders in a small, easy shrug.

“Maybe. But he wasn’t trying to impress me, and I wasn’t pretending I didn’t know exactly who he was. We were just two people who didn’t want to be in that club anymore.”

That earned her a few skeptical looks, a soft laugh or two. Someone opened their mouth to follow up - probably fishing for information they already knew they wouldn’t get - but the moment slipped away before they could land it.

“Scar.”

Lily Caldwell threaded her way through the crowd, champagne flute raised in greeting, a grin spreading across her face as she closed the distance between them and intercepted the conversation. She looked flushed and happy, curls slightly loose, as if she’d already surrendered to the night in a way the dark haired girl hadn’t.

“Please tell me you’re not still telling the Ethan Cole story,” Lily sighed, and Scarlett could only grin. “It was months ago, babe,”

“Well… they asked.”

“They always ask,” Lily replied dryly, then glanced around at the group.

“Can you blame us?” Someone in the circle laughed, “We’re talking about Ethan Cole here.”

“Yes. But I get it.” Lily hummed, a smirk gracing her features, “It’s Scarlett’s world, and we’re just living in it.” The blonde’s words drew another ripple of laughter, and Scarlett tipped her glass in mock salute.

“I never said it wasn’t a public service,”

“Mm. A cautionary tale, maybe,” Lily teased, bumping her shoulder into her friend’s as she settled in beside her. Her gaze flicked briefly over the skyline, then back to the group. “You should’ve heard it the first time. Very mysterious. Very ‘no comment.’” Scarlett snorted.

“I have never been mysterious in my life.”

“Selective,” Lily agreed without missing a beat. “You weren’t so forthcoming the morning after,” Lily nudged her again, softer this time. “Tremayne’s making his rounds,” she whispered under her breath so the others couldn’t hear. “If you don’t want to get cornered into a ten-minute conversation about donating, now’s our chance to disappear.” Scarlett smiled, already turning with her.

“Lead the way.” She acknowledged the group around them with a raise of her eyebrow, “Excuse us,”

And just like that, they were alone, or as alone as anyone ever was in a room like this. They slipped out of the circle and back into the crowd, the story dissolving behind them as easily as it always did - another anecdote absorbed into the noise of the night, hanging in the air as the party carried on. The pair of women drifted toward the bar together, bodies brushing past them in tight quarters. Lily leaned in, lowering her voice.

“Okay, important question. Are you having fun, or are you just pretending to have fun?” Scarlett exhaled, the first real one she’d taken in a while. Lily was one of her best friends, and she had the innate ability to read between the lines that most people could not.

“I’m somewhere in between,” The brunette revealed with little theatrics, “You?”

“Same. Hopefully things pick up around here, right now this party is not doing it for me to be honest,” Lily stepped back, giving her friend a once-over. “You look annoyingly perfect.”

The dress Scarlett had chosen skimmed her body without clinging, silver fabric catching the light each time she moved. It was the kind of outfit that photographed beautifully without looking like it had been chosen for that purpose, which was precisely the point. She wore it the way she wore most things now - as if it had simply happened to her, as if no decision had been made at all.

“High praise, coming from you,” Scarlett replied, genuinely smiling now. Lily laughed and discarded her nearly empty glass on the bar as they approached.

“Please. I look like I got dressed in a moving car.”

“Not true,” Scarlett insisted, “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” Lily’s attention drifted past her, eyes tracking the movement of the bar - hands waving down bartenders, bottles lifted, the DJ cresting into another bass-heavy remix. “This place is… a lot, though. Very Tremayne.”

Scarlett vocalized in agreement. From here, the Skydeck felt even more unreal - glass walls stretching out over Manhattan, lights blinking and flickering far below, the whole city suspended in a way that made time feel optional. She rested an elbow lightly against the bar, letting the chill of the marble seep through the fabric of her dress.

“Even the guest list is insane,” Scarlett followed Lily’s line of sight, the blonde’s eyes sweeping the room with open fascination. “I mean, I just saw someone who won three Grammys waiting in line for a vodka soda,”

“How about Bobby Rifo’s surprise set? I didn’t know he was playing tonight.” The dark haired girl added as the bartender approached and she motioned to their empty flutes, “Two glasses of Dom Perignon please.”

“I also saw that guy who used to be the bass player in Caliburn leaving the bathroom, apparently he’s having a moment right now,” Lily revealed.

“More like a midlife crisis,” Scarlett scoffed, “He’s washed up and dating a girl half his age - her frontal lobe’s not even fully developed yet.”

They waited as the bartender slid two fresh drinks toward them, the exchange practiced. Scarlett wrapped her fingers around the flute, condensation slick against her skin, and took a measured sip. The noise, the chatter, the music - it all blurred into something almost comforting, a familiar backdrop she knew how to exist inside. Her gaze drifted again, scanning the room out of habit more than interest. Faces she recognized, faces she didn’t. A few lingering looks she pretended not to notice.

“Uh oh,” Lily murmured, eyes flicking past Scarlett’s shoulder. “Incoming,”

Scarlett didn’t turn right away. She didn’t have to.

“Scarlett Wren,” A bright, practiced voice interjected, cutting cleanly through the music. “Happy New Year - almost.”

Scarlett turned then, expression already in place. Warm, open, unreadable. She recognized the posture before the face - the purposeful ease, the way some people moved through a room like it already belonged to them. Clearly a reporter.

“Hi,” she greeted. “Sorry - have we met?”

“Not officially. Josie Tatl. Tatl-Tales.” The woman smiled like she’d been waiting for that exact line. Of course. Lily’s grip tightened slightly on her glass. Josie was younger than Scarlett expected, sleek and sharp in black, holding a recorder in her hand.

“Ah,” The dark haired girl stated, pleasantly. “You’re everywhere.”

“That’s the job.” Josie’s eyes flicked between them, cataloguing, then back to Scarlett. “I was hoping I might steal you for just a second. You’ve had an interesting year, Ms. Wren. A lot of visibility. A lot of speculation.”

“Have I?” Scarlett asked, genuinely curious, and smiled, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Lily let out a quiet laugh.

“I guess what I’m asking is - are you here as yourself tonight, or as the version of you people think they know?”

“Excuse me?” The dark haired girl raised an eyebrow, the motion small but deliberate. The question hovered between them, light enough to pass as clever, sharp enough to cut if she let it.

“Just curious,” Josie added smoothly, leaning in a fraction closer, “How much of Scarlett Wren is really…you, and how much is, well, the person people want to see?” The dark haired girl took a slow sip, unhurried, letting the question settle.

“I don’t think those are as different as people like to believe,” She replied, a quiet bite beneath the calm. “I’m just here to ring in the new year.” Josie’s smile sharpened, pleased.

“That’s not exactly a no.”

“It’s not exactly a yes, either,” Scarlett countered. Her tone stayed pleasant, unbothered, the kind that made it difficult to push without looking rude. Lily shifted closer, shoulder brushing Scarlett’s arm in a subtle show of solidarity.

“We were actually just about to grab some air,” The blonde indicated, all charm and finality. “It’s loud in here.”

Josie glanced past them, as if weighing whether to press or retreat. Around them, the party surged - laughter spiking, glasses clinking, a cheer rising near the windows as someone spotted fireworks testing in the distance.

“Of course,” Josie said at last. “Last thing - I promise. Any New Year’s resolutions you’re willing to share?” Scarlett smiled again, this time softer, almost amused.

“Probably answering fewer questions.”

Josie laughed, genuine enough to give credit.

“Fair. Enjoy the night, Scarlett.” She stepped back, already turning, the recorder lowering as she disappeared into the crowd with the ease of someone who knew she’d gotten enough. Scarlett exhaled once she was gone, the tension easing from her shoulders.

“Wow,” Lily stated. “She wasted no time.”

Scarlett knocked back the rest of her champagne in one clean swallow, setting the empty flute on the bar and signaling for another.

“They never do.”

The bartender slid a fresh glass toward her, already chilled, already waiting. Scarlett wrapped her fingers around the stem but didn’t drink right away. Instead, her gaze drifted past the bar, toward the open doors leading out to the skydeck.

“Shall we?” Lily asked, noticing where her friend was looking.

“Please.”

They slipped through the crowd together, the music dulling as the glass doors closed behind them. The night hit immediately -cold and sharp, the kind that cut through the lingering warmth of champagne and bodies pressed too close. The city stretched out below them in glittering fragments, traffic lights blinking, buildings lit up like they were competing for attention. Scarlett moved instinctively toward the railing, resting her forearms against the cool metal. Lily lingered beside her for a moment, then excused herself with a murmured promise to be back, disappearing toward a cluster of familiar faces near the heaters.

That was when Scarlett noticed him.

He stood a little apart from the others, close enough to see the skyline but far enough to avoid conversation, his posture relaxed but deliberate. There was a man a few steps away from - too still, too watchful to be anyone’s friend.

Scarlett didn’t stare, she never did. She simply took another sip of her drink, then shifted closer, as if it were coincidence rather than choice.

“So… what are we toasting to tonight, the old or the new?”

---

_{INTERACTIONS .Josie Tatl @Roman Charles Aponte @Sleepy Tani}

Absolute Comics: Odyssey [Invite Only]

The Sanctum did not look the way Wanda had imagined.

There were no looming shadows or arcane symbols etched into every surface, no sense of spectacle waiting to unfold. Instead, the space felt… lived in. Warm wood, worn rugs, shelves lined with books that looked well loved rather than for display only. Sunlight filtered in through tall windows, catching speckles of dust in its path and giving the room a domestic softness.

The mug of tea was warm in the redhead’s hands, comfortably hot - the kind of warmth that seeped slowly into her bones and stayed there. She wrapped her fingers around the ceramic and let herself focus on that sensation, on the weight of it, and the faint texture beneath her thumbs. Steam curled upward in lazy spirals, carrying the faint scent of herbs she couldn’t immediately name. She breathed it in, steadying herself. It was ordinary in a way that felt almost disorienting after everything that had led them here.

Across from her, Pietro’s mug sat untouched on the table, steam thinning as he watched Strange, one elbow hooked casually over the arm of the chair, body angled just enough to keep his twin in his peripheral vision.

“You don’t have to drink it,” Strange said mildly, lifting his own cup to his lips. “It’s just tea.” Pietro’s jaw tightened.

“You invited us into your magical house. Forgive me if I don’t trust the refreshments.”

A corner of Strange’s mouth twitched, seemingly stopping himself from smirking.

“Healthy skepticism. Keep that.” He took a sip. “But the tea is exactly what it appears to be.”

Wanda hesitated, but nonetheless raised the mug to her mouth after watching the older man drink from his own cup. The tea was a mild chamomile, soothing, and her shoulders lowered by a fraction.

“You’re less tense,” He said, not unkindly, simply just taking notice of her change in demeanor, how she had settled. She peered over the rim of her mug at him, only noticing how she was feeling after he had called attention to it.

“It’s quiet.” The redhead stated, glancing down at her hands, half-expecting to see that faint red shimmer curling between her fingers, but there was nothing. Just skin, steady and unmarked. “Maybe it’s the tea.” Strange set his cup down carefully on the table beside him.

“The Sanctum dampens magical resonance. Think of it like insulation. Magic still exists, but it doesn’t echo the way it does out there.” He nodded toward the window, toward the city beyond. “Here, it’s contained.” Wanda’s grip tightened around the mug.

“Contained like… trapped?” Strange met her gaze, understanding instantly that he had struck a nerve. “You said this place was a choice,” Wanda stated, almost accusatory.

“It is. No wards are holding you here. No spells binding you. You walked in. You can walk out.” He reassured, before continuing his previous statement. “Contained like a storm behind glass. You can see it, study it, learn its patterns - without it tearing everything in its path apart.” Pietro leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees.

“So this place is a leash on her powers.”

“A seatbelt,” Strange corrected calmly. “You can still crash without one. You just don’t survive it as often.”

“You’re very blunt,” He said, scowling.

“I’m very tired of euphemisms,” The older man replied. “They get people hurt.”

The room settled into a brief, weighted silence after that.

Wanda stared into her tea, watching the surface ripple faintly as her grip shifted. A storm behind glass. The image lodged itself somewhere uncomfortable, uninvited. She didn’t know whether it made her feel safer or smaller.

“And what happens,” she asked quietly, “If the glass breaks?”

Strange didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled loosely, considering her with the same careful attention he’d shown since the moment they’d met. He was choosing his next words wisely.

“Then we deal with it,” He said at last. “Together. But it won’t if you learn how to reinforce it.”

“That’s a very calm thing to say when you’re not the one living it.”

The sorcerer’s gaze shifted to him, steady and unoffended.

“You’re right. I’m not.” A beat. “But I am the one who’s cleaned up what happens when people with power like hers are left alone with it.”

Wanda’s hands tightened around the mug again, heat pressing into her palms. “You keep saying learn,” she said. “What does that actually mean?”

“It means taking note of what your magic is responding to,” Strange replied. “Fear. Anger. Loss. You’ve been forcing it down, trying to smother it. That only makes it push back harder.”

She swallowed. That felt uncomfortably close to the truth.

“And if she can’t?” Pietro asked. “If it’s too much?”

Strange didn’t dodge the question. “Then we slow down. Or we stop. This isn’t about turning her into something useful. It’s about making sure she stays herself.”

The word lingered in the air longer than anything else he’d said. If she were being honest, she couldn’t remember the last time she had truly felt like herself. She rested her mug on the table, the warmth still lingering on her skin.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she said softly. “It feels… too much sometimes. Like it’s slipping away from me.”

“Then we begin with small things. Recognizing patterns. Learning what triggers it, and what calms it. Not forcing it, not hiding it, just noticing.”

Wanda’s fingers flexed, no longer anchored to the ceramic. She felt the pull of her own magic beneath the surface, faint but steady, contained in this space. It didn’t tremble, it didn’t lash out. For the first time in months, it simply was.

“Noticing,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “That… I can do.” Strange inclined his head, as though satisfied with the quiet resolve that had settled over the room. Wanda lifted her mug again, inhaling the gentle scent, letting the warmth seep fully into her palms and through her chest. She could see Pietro out of the corner of her eye finally taking a tentative sip of his own tea, the tension in his posture slightly eased.

“Good. Then we’ll start with where you are, not where you think you should be.” Strange took one last sip of his tea before rising to his feet, the quiet authority in his movements signaling the end of the small reprieve.

“Come,” he said. “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

Setting down their mugs, the twins followed the older man up the winding staircase and through corridors lined with shelves crammed with books, jars of herbs, and small artifacts that glittered faintly in the sunlight. The mundane comfort of it all - the soft light, the quiet order - was disorienting after weeks of running, hiding, and surviving.

Strange paused outside a door, gesturing, and Wanda stepped inside. The room was modest - a neatly made bed rested in the center, a small desk by the window held a single chair tucked neatly beneath it, and another door suggested a private bathroom just beyond. Sunlight poured in through the window, scattering across the floor in gentle, warm patterns.

“I know it’s not much,” Strange stated, lingering at the threshold. “But I hope you’ll find it comfortable,” Wanda’s fingers brushed along the quilt as she approached the bed, and she paused, taking it in, before looking up at Strange.

“It’s… nice,” She replied, her voice soft, almost disbelieving.

“You may ward it if you like, it’s yours.” Wanda blinked, caught off guard by the quiet weight behind his words.

“I’ve never had one before,” She confessed, almost to herself. Strange tilted his head, studying her expression, uncertain of what she was referring to.

“An ensuite?”

“My own room.” Wanda clarified, letting the words hang in the sunlit space. For a moment, the concept felt foreign. She could feel the contrast between this modest room and the cramped, shared spaces she and Pietro had been forced to occupy for so long. She’d never had something to call her own - not when she and her brother had shared a room under Sinister’s watchful eye, not when survival demanded constant vigilance. The realization made her chest tighten, a mixture of awe and something fragile she didn’t want to name.

The walls didn’t close in, the floor didn’t creak under hidden dangers, and no one had the right to tell her where she could or couldn’t be.

Strange’s gaze softened, as if he could sense the depth of that realization. Only now, seeing her sit on the bed in quiet wonder, did he remember just how young she actually was - and how much the pair had been forced to carry alone up until this point. He cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

“I’m going to show Pietro to his room - he won’t be far, only a few doors down.” He explained, nodding toward the hallway. His tone carried the same calm authority he’d maintained all morning, but also something gentler, patient, almost protective.

Wanda looked up at him, and for the first time since they’d arrived, she allowed herself a faint, grateful smile. The simple gesture felt heavier than she expected, carrying a sense of relief she hadn’t realized she’d been holding at bay.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft but earnest.

Strange inclined his head, acknowledging her words with quiet solemnity. For a moment, he remained in the doorway, as if checking one last time that she was truly alright, before turning. His coat brushed lightly against the floorboards, the sound unusually loud in the stillness, and he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Wanda alone with the warmth of the sunlight, the quiet of her new room, and a strange, delicate sense of safety she hadn’t felt in years.

Fashionably Late: A Crime Thriller Roleplay

You rang?