Morse Code

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MONDAY 
This has to be the worst moment of Wanda's life. The absolute worst one, no questions asked it had to be the worst moment. No, the worst day of her life. And all of the blame lay on the colors. These horrible colors weren't coloring the way that they should have been. The way she'd imagined they would. Maybe the lighting held some part of the blame but all the same, it always devastated her when a piece just didn't turn out the way that she'd imagined it would. Hoped it would really. It sent a feeling of absolute disgust and fury through her in a way that just couldn't be put into words. Like she had never been and never would be a good enough artist. That she would never really be able to make a living as one, it had been this thought in particular that had infuriated her the most. Specifically because when she had been younger, much, much younger, everybody had always doubted her abilities, even Steve, who had been an artist by trade or at least attempted it before the whole becoming Captain America thing. 

Wanda did realize later on that the only reason that she'd been feeling so depressed had been because she'd run out of coffee about an hour beforehand. Coffee is life. Maybe her bun had been a bit to tight and the light a bit to bright as well. Many things contributed to those particular feelings. In the end she had figured out that by simply making her messy bun a bit looser, the light dimmer, and refilling her coffee had brought her out of the depressing mood almost immediately. Well not immediately per say, but, close enough.

With all these terribly important thoughts running through her mind on top of trying to fix the problematic disappointing piece that she'd created (at least in Wanda's opinion it had been a terribly disappointing piece) Wanda hadn't even noticed the figure creeping into her room and lightly placing two objects onto her bed.

Which she didn't even bother to notice anyways when she got up to make her habitual trip to her kitchen. Well, not exactly her kitchen if she bothered with the technicalities. If she did bother with them it did technically belong to both her and Natasha. Or as Wanda liked to call her, Deary.

Yes, Wanda did feel like an old motherly grandmother every single time that she called Nat that but did that really bother her when it seemed to ruffle the red heads feathers so much. It always amused Wanda to see just how hard Nat tried to hide her annoyance with the term. So naturally, she did it at every opportunity even going as far as to create opportunity when there had been none in the particular vicinity or near future.

As Wanda walked into the kitchen, bare feet padding onto the cold, heartless tile, coffee cup in hand-she'd come to enjoy it so much that it had now become a need not a want- she noticed the older woman leaning onto the kitchen island. In what could only be the full spy get up, which did strike Wanda as a bit odd not only because Nat had informed her multiple times of not only how much she positively despised the suit for various reasons but also because Nat had been due for some time off. If that agency tried to take that off time from Nat Wanda would make them pry it from her cold dead hands. With that in mind she got as close as she could to the spy before slightly leaning her head on Nats shoulder "Are they making you do overtime off the clock again?" The cold steel behind the sunny tone of the question informed Natasha of Wanda's exact thoughts on unpaid overtime. Paid overtime in Wandas opinion was horrible enough but unpaid overtime had to be the devils creation and illegal. Though that probably didn't bother the government too much.

A heavy sigh seemed to escape Natasha's weary countenance "Yes Зайка моя" Nat seemed to be propping herself up using only her forearms, the weight of a governmental job too much for her to stand up straight under. Especially since it didn't seem like as if they were going to be paying her any sort of overtime. 

Giving Nat a worried sort of smile that seemed to be weighed down at the corners for every second that Wanda tried to keep it up "OK, but just be back in time for dinner?" The small smile that Nat had graced her with had given Wanda the courage to rub the red heads tense upper back in soothing circular motions,  her accent making its appearance as anxiety for the older woman gnawed at her already frayed nerves "If they give you any trouble tell them to go fuck themselves."