#enzo1

Dario ordered a drink and tried to sober a little. There was some political bullshit that had gone down and Enzo was part of the senate so he should probably check in about that but it was hard to come down off the adrenaline high of the fight so quickly. “You deal with all that fae crap? Or it is gonna be a everyone’s headache for a while?” There, he’d asked. 

    {Like this for a para starter x}         The Avengers, Wanda had learned very quickly after joining,     had many facets to their operations: heroes, spies, firefighters,     search and rescue, intelligence, small military. It was interesting     work, to say the least, much more diverse than when she and     Pietro had been attack dogs for HYDRA - and most of the time,     she loved it.          It was refreshing, making a difference that was a bit more tangible          than simply being a thorn in SHIELD’s side, and brought both she          and Pietro significantly more peace. And, despite the lingering effects          of his temporary death, they had fallen into somewhat of a rhythm           with the rest of the New Avengers that Wanda had grown rather fond          of. It was almost like having a family (even if it was a bit odd)     However, days occasionally came along where the work that     SHIELD asked of her was not particularly... glorious. She was not     a glory seeker, however she had attempted to pull away from the     mind manipulations for which she had been mostly known for prior     to being an Avenger and once again she was being dragged back in.     Interrogations, the organization thought, went so much more quickly     when Wanda was involved and while it was a skill she excelled at, the     human mind was not often a pleasant place to be.            People are disgusting, she thought to herself as she peered through the            one-way mirror into the small interrogation room. Fidgeting with her            ‘FBI Visitor’ badge, she attempted not to delve too deeply into the thoughts            of the criminal inside for fear of what she might fight.     “What am I looking vor, again, exactly?”