closed;

[divulsion]

who: Wanda Maximoff, Bryn Zethir and others.
what: Catch-All for Aeslin mice, event things, and more!
when: Starting today and onward
where: Various places
warnings: None expected!



[ooc: I requested a small colony of Aeslin mice for Wanda. They're tiny. They talk. They remember everything said and turn everything into a holiday or religious rite to be observed, or something to be worshiped, etc. Canon quotes involving the mice can be found here for those who don't mind having Seanan McGuire's InCryptid books spoiled.

All starters are closed unless otherwise noted!]

Comments

[wingedman]

Makes sense.

[Sam's seated in one of the patio chairs, just looking amused at the mice that are now scattered throughout their yard. He can't think of them as pests, not when they're clearly sentient creatures.]

In just about every monotheistic human religion, the name of God is considered too sacred to be used by worshipers. Can't just call your god by their first name, that'd be blasphemy.

[He bends down for a moment and gently dissuades a mouse from taking one of his shoelaces.]

Where the hell do talking mice even come from, that's what I wanna know.

[divulsion]

[The mouse near Sam's shoe looks up and squeaks at him.]

We're from Earth!

[Wanda, lifting a brow, looks to the others who nod in agreement.]

Some version of it, at least. I think we would know about talking mice on ours, by this point.

[Not that they have any reason to speak up to people who would keep them as pets or kill them as infestations but still. Wanda starts picking some nearby flowers and begins weaving the tiniest blossoms together.]

I'm never going to hear the end of this when the rest of the team hears about this, am I?

[wingedman]

[He pretends to think for a second, but loses his composure once he realizes that she's making the smallest flower crown for one of the mice, lifting a hand to cover his laughter.]

No. No, you aren't.

[But on the other hand, he feels like having a group of mice - what's the collective noun for mice, anyway? - worship her will be good for Wanda. Not just because it'll boost her self-esteem, but because developing more emotional bonds will help her through her problems. He can't think of anyone who'd benefit more from them.]

But I'll let you tell them about it.

[It only seems proper, after all.]

[divulsion]

I appreciate that.

[Her tone is dry as she gives Sam a Look, pausing in the midst of her careful crafting. This world is lush with greenery and it's hard not to want to make things out of the flowers and grasses around when sitting idly by like this.

The mice watch her with rapt attention and eventually Wanda finishes the tiniest of flower crowns. She holds it out to a mouse with silvery fur who takes it with reverence.]

I have been Blessed by Her Holiness!. [Wanda stares. The other mice begin cheering:] A High Priestess has been chosen! A High Priestess has been chosen!

[Mildly alarmed, Wanda looks up at Sam again. There is a clear "What did I just do and what do I do now?" look on her face. Is she supposed to cheer as well? It feels like she's just digging a hole deeper, supporting this madness...]

[wingedman]

[Sam just blinks, because what the actual fuck.]

Did you just crown a mouse pope or something?

[Nope, he's not helping at all, not that he has any idea how he could help. Talking mice creating a religion around Wanda is not the sort of thing any of them have ever trained for.]

I mean, at least they know their god is real. That's more than most humans have.

[divulsion]

[The urge to place her head in her hands is so very, very strong now. But it's a little hard to do that when the mice are staring at her, cheering Hail! Hail! Hail! and the small mouse with the flower crown is looking especially ecstatic by it's rise in importance.

She looks to Sam, not all that unlike a deer in the headlights.]

I may have. And yes, it's good that they know their god is real but I am also not... [Not a god?? Wanda turns to the mice.] What about him? [She gestures to Sam.] He's my friend. How does he fit into your...theology?

[Is that even the right word? Don't ask Wanda, she's floundering a little here. She has a congregation of mice. And a mouse pope. What is her life?]

[wingedman]

Well, I'm either one of the twelve apostles or the seven dwarves.

[His father probably wouldn't be pleased by the blasphemy - or maybe he would be, Sam had to get his sense of humor from somewhere - but Sam doesn't think he's wrong.]

[divulsion]

[The newly appointed High Priestess turns to Sam. Her whiskers quiver as she considers him seriously. The rest of the mice seem to hold their breath, awaiting her response.

Then she raises her paws in the air and at last says:]

HAIL THE HIGH PRIEST YET TO BE NAMED!

[Hail the High Priest Yet To Be Named! the mice echo, making a considerable amount of noise for such small creatures. Wanda muffles a laugh, giving him a look that clearly says Well, you're in this now, Wilson..]

Is it just me or can you hear the capital letters?

[wingedman]

Wait, why am I a priest? I don't even worship you - not that you aren't worthy of it and all, it's just-

[This is going to awkward places in record time.]

And I have a name, it's Sam. Samuel Thomas Wilson. I'm not some TBA.

[divulsion]

[Wanda can't stop smiling. High Priest Yet To Be Named. Perfect.]

For a high priest, I don't think they expect you to worship me so much as give you some reverence as well.

[The littlest mouse, crown of flowers upon her head, nods in agreement. Already two of the other mice are bringing Sam offerings of flowers.]

They haven't given their mouse priestess a title like they plan to do for you, after all. Perhaps you can suggest one. High Priest of Falcons, Sam? High Priest of Waffles and Whipped Cream Breakfast?

[Oh no. Now she's done it. The mice collectively perk up at the mention of waffles, and then almost as one turn to look at Sam with hope in their astonishingly expressive eyes.]

[wingedman]

[Suddenly Sam has thirty mice staring at him, and it's a little overwhelming.]

So instead of manna, we're going for waffles, is that it? I mean, to be fair, I'd probably choose the same.

[And he points at Wanda.] Your goddess makes a mean breakfast too, though. You oughta try her french toast.

[Because if he's suddenly on the hook for mouse delicacies, he's damn well not going to be the only one.]

[divulsion]

[Oh, Sam. Trying to turn this back on Wanda. A fair number of them do turn their heads when Sam mentions her french toast, but three of the mice walk toward Sam with hopeful looks on their face.]

I think we found the way to their tiny little stomachs.

[Smiling, she holds out her hands, letting those curious enough climb up onto her fingertips and settle on her palms.]

It's a good thing that they've found their way to a place where everyone enjoys baking. Perhaps we should see if they like your cookies as well?

[In about ten seconds those mice are going to go into rapturous joy.]

[wingedman]

Yeah, all right, all right.

[Since Wanda's covered in mice, Sam heads for the kitchen to grab the plate of cookies he made yesterday. He suspects there's going to be more baking in the future - but if that's what they have to do to keep them away from the rest of the food, then it's probably a small price to pay.

When he returns to the patio, he sets the platter down next to Wanda - although he does take a cookie for himself first. Then he sits down to watch the show.]

[divulsion]

[Wanda looks at the plate of cookies with undisguised glee. This whole situation is weird as hell and she doesn't think there's a way out of it immediately so she's going to roll with it.

And she's also going to snatch a cookie for herself before the colony of mice converge on it with cheers and Hails!]

Hail to the High Priest of Cookies!

[It seems they're trying a name on for size. Wanda nibbles on hers with growing amusement, and watches as the mice feast and then, surprisingly, start up a tiny conga line around the nearly empty plate.]

...I think it's safe to say that you've made them very, very happy, Sam.

[wingedman]

[Okay, he didn't expect an actual show.]

I feel like I oughta be recording this and putting it on Youtube. They could be the next viral sensation. Think of the marketing deal.

[He's joking. Mostly. But think of all the money Grumpy Cat's owners have made.]

[divulsion]

[Wanda tsks Sam as she watches the mice celebrate in a cookie-fueled religious ecstasy.]

You'd exploit my congregation, Sam? [She smiles, shaking her head.] I wouldn't say no to recording them for the sake of posterity, however. This is the sort of thing I think some wouldn't believe unless they saw it for themselves.

[wingedman]

It's not exploiting if I share the profits with you.

[It's totally exploiting, Sam. But he pulls out his phone and starts recording anyway, just for Wanda's benefit. He's not going to put it on Riverviewtube, don't worry.]

I'm not sure people'll believe it even after they see it, but you're welcome to try.

[divulsion]

[Pleased that Sam's obliging her in taking video, she watches the mice between them with undisguised amusement.]

I suppose that means I'll have to invite people over to experience it all for themselves.

[Whatever else, Wanda has decided that the mice have to stay until she can figure out if there's a better place or use for them. The rest of her day is occupied learning about them, giving them names, and finding a place for them to live while they're with her. All to the tune of Sam's commentary and the alarmingly frequent celebrations of the mice who seem to find joy and holiness in everything she does, says, or shows them.]