[He had a debt to pay. Two, actually, but one was more easily remedied than the other. For Rosetta he'd need Chroma, and the money painting on his glass bangle had disappeared two weeks ago.
Hard luck, that. He didn't need much to get by but he found it was difficult to return to the lean pickings of his youth. Travelling with humans meant a soft man's diet. More than one item per meal, more than one meal per day, sometimes with sweets to finish and hot tea. Maybe he was just being stupid yet it was hard to return to the lean pickings of his youth, living off of what he could catch in the woods or snatch from branches. Inuyasha had stooped low enough to follow Thor's scent one day. He'd hoped to find him in the dwelling, but the place had been bereft of thunder gods. Sheepish, he'd taken a small helping of fruit and left the place with a solemn vow to repay him. Double if he could.
He makes certain to do so under the guise of night. A Cordis moon, when the man is sure to be out indulging in whatever the fuck suited his fancy. He's sure that there's no bad blood between them. It's just his pride that wants the secrecy.
He slips through the window as easily as last time. Hastily bounds to the cold box and pries it open, slipping the freshly slain rabbit inside. His stomach rumbles and, biting his lip, he casts a roving eye over the goods within.
Surely a fat rabbit would be worth enough for a piece of something else as well...]
He staggers. His back foot sinks into the sand as he raises his hand and curls it around the cold blade sticking out from his stomach. A dark-faced giant strides toward him, murmurs: "Half of humanity will still be alive."
He disappears. A smaller figure takes his place, raises his hands as they drift away in pieces. "Mr. Stark..."
Tony reaches for him. All he finds is air and ash.
He knows what comes next. It was the only way. He turns, weak and weary, toward where Strange has collapsed against the rocks and wreckage--
And finds someone else. A scarred face. Huge, dark eyes.
"Statement ends."
Tony gasps awake.
It's a small gasp. More like a wheeze as he curls up and his hand clenches into the couch upholstery. In the dark apartment, it takes a dizzying second to remember where this is, what this is.
The kid's alive. He's alive. Tony touched him, held him. Whatever the hell is going on outside of this pocket universe, the Peter here is real. So real that Tony feels anxious every second the kid's out of his line of sight, even though he knows he's capable on his own.
What if he loses him again? He can't lose him. He...
Tony shakes his head, shuts his eyes. He feels like he wakes up from a dream like this every night since he got here, which might make sense if he was terrorized as frequently on the Benatar... but he wasn't. And even when he was, the nightmares were varied -- of Titan, but also of Earth, of Pepper, of good times long past. Now, they're all the same, one after another, and that face--
Something rustles in the kitchen.
Tony sits up. He can see a crack of light from the kitchen doorway -- the fridge is open.
Cold fear grips him. Whoever it is, it isn't Thor -- he would've made a ruckus striding in from his "revelries," and those stupid, ridiculous wings would've probably gotten caught on the doorframe.
Plus, Tony would've. Uh. Probably sensed he was around. Because of other reasons.
Tony stands. He creeps forward and raises his hand, lets his nanites form a repulsor on his palm. It's been about a week since downing the cat and his nanites are back to full form -- or 20% of it, anyway. Enough to deal with whatever the hell is on the other side of the open fridge door as he stalks into the kitchen.
A giant shadow twists and grows on the wall as it blocks out a patch of the fridge light. Tony inhales.
He darts behind the figure and yells. A sonic blast fires from his hand. The thing goes flying into the cabinets, splintering the wooden doors underneath the sink with a deafeaning crack.
Tony kicks the fridge door shut. He hits the light, and--
[ A couple of hours have already passed since Steve's brief run-in with Tony in the hallway. Despite the fact that the two of them have been existing in each other's periphery for almost a month now (to say nothing of helping Thor parent a dragon), the amount of conversations they've had could properly be counted on one hand. And most of those had included outright hostility of some kind.
Suffice to say that Tony hasn't been in good physical or mental shape since they all arrived here, but the state he'd been in earlier had been something else entirely, a whole new flavor of screwed up.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out why, not with Steve's currently canine-level sense of smell. Tony had sex with someone, probably out of desperation more than anything else. For someone who's engaged back home, well...
It's got to be eating him up. Steve feels like he has to reach out somehow, even if he's probably the worst person for the job. Tony had been heading back for his own place, rarely used, instead of Thor's apartment. He's alone, probably beating himself up. He needs a friend. Not that Steve really falls into that category, but here he is, pressing send on the text all the same. ]
Hey. You seemed pretty out of it earlier, just wanted to check in.
[ Despite being on bad terms, Tony had tried to patch him up when Steve had gotten himself stabbed by a trickster god on his first moon cycle. He'll just treat this as returning the favor. ]
[ Uh guess who has a pair of aviators now, too? Yeah, Bucky Barnes, that's who. He sends over a "selfie" of himself with them on along the shoreline of Crystal Beach. Why yes, his smile is very cheeky, thank you for asking. ]
[Tony squints at the bright screen in the still-dim apartment as he chomps on a spoonful of Honey Bunches of Oats. Or whatever alien knockoff equivalent, but it tastes, like, exactly like a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats.
He scratches the morning stubble on his jaw and rubs his dark-circled eyes before he types--]
Are you really picking a "hot or not" fight with a middle-aged man? Sad, kid. Just sad.
[Pause as he shoves another spoonful in his mouth, then adds:]
But I was just kind of thinking and trying to figure stuff out here and I was wondering
if I order delivery to my apartment what exactly is the tip situation? Do I have to like hug the person, or do you think a friendly handshake is good enough? 🤝
[Tony's attacking a joint of his gauntlet with a small screwdriver when his device beeps. He frowns, wipes some grease off onto his work pants, then snatches it up.
He reads the message. An emotional rollercoaster proceeds as follows:
The kid. He sent a message -- that's. Nice. You know, after a lot of scary nothing a couple months ago.
...Wait.
Oh.
Oh god--
...Hugs and handshakes. Okay. Jesus. Fine, he concludes as he sticks the screwdriver between his teeth and texts back with both thumbs:]
just use your device to transfer some demichroma. unless they're moonblessed then maybe a handshake if they got your pizza to you in 15min or did a merry jig or something
[ O M W? Bucky puts his smartphone down on the counter with a dramatic eye roll. He assumes the old man is coming, so he grabs the bartender for another drink and waits without actually calling it waiting. That would mean he's eager to see this asshole again after blowing him off, and he totally isn't.
In fact, a good seven minutes later of semi-fuming, Bucky grabs his smartphone just to text him that he has changed his mind, but just then he sees Tony talk up the stairs to the second floor. Too late to be sassy. ]
I knew you couldn't resist! Few can...
[ He gives the bar chair beside him a little pat for Tony. ]
I'll get your first round, pal, 'cause I'm a great guy like that. What're you drinkin'?
[Tony drops into the retro vinyl bar stool and rests one arm on the counter. He scrubs the other through his hair and holds it there for a second before lowering it again.
Aside from the jacket he pulled over his shoulders, it looks like he came straight from his workshop -- patches of pink chalkdust cling to his jeans and black undershirt, and there's a bit of grease on the edge of his jaw.
[On the floor of an apartment with closed windows and drawn curtains, piled with books and parts and not much else, Tony's device beeps.
It sits, blinking, on the floor next to his bed for a few seconds. Then, the bundle of covers on the bed stirs. A voice groans and grumbles something incoherent.
An arm pokes out, covered in glowing tentacles. It gropes around for a second, then yanks the device under the covers with it.
A few seconds go by. Then a few more.
A bedraggled figure throws the covers off his upper half and sits up on one elbow, squinting at the screen. His hair's a mess, his goatee's overgrown, and his bare upper half shivers every few seconds, fevered. The glow of his extra appendages shift to white, then a distinct shade of red.]
You're kidding me, [he rasps.
He rubs over his eyes. He pulls back his wrist to toss the damn thing back to the ground when he hears a noise from the exterior hallway. He freezes.
Sounds like sparks in the air. He recognizes it, far too easily, and -- someone's out there, skulking. Or... breathing? Hard enough that he can hear it from here. He slowly lowers his eyes back to the screen and reads the message over again, focuses on more than just the names.
It washes over him. The realization. The cold dread.
He wouldn't--
SLAM. Tony jerks, startled, and raises his eyes toward the door. For a second, he wonders -- did he kick his way in? Is he here?
Is he here?
Everything in him hangs on the moment.
Footsteps march back down the hall, into the distance. Tony exhales. He uncoils -- or at least most of him does.
God.
God.
He drags a clammy hand down his sweaty face, over grit teeth. He goes back to the device.]
you are such an asshole. if there was a gameshow called america's asshole you would win millions of dollars you are that much of an asshole
[ It's rare for Thor to catch sight of Tony during an Iris moon, and it's been so for some time since the incident in that shop. It's not that he misses Tony, exactly - perhaps he's just grown accustomed to his presence, and even the predictable lack of it is strange. He's certainly grown to dislike the silence that Tony usually manages to fill.
It's not that he's unaccustomed to travelling or working alone, but being confined to one small part of one small planet with nothing he can do is beginning to wear at him. It's easier to hold his resolve, when it's bright and new and burning, but without a path to follow he finds himself more and more restless. It would be a lie to say that he wasn't grateful for the regular bouts of combat.
He leaves earlier than usual that morning and tries to burn the excess energy at Solar Flexus. It means that he gets back home early, too, with a mind toward finding Steve, or perhaps Samus to spar with him after lunch.
The moment he opens his door, he realizes something is amiss. Tony Stark is standing there, frozen in place, with his hands perilously close to the now smoking remains of Thor's coffee machine.
Thor heaves a great sigh and drops his gym bag in the doorway. A spark jumps across Tony's forearm as the bag hits the ground.
As it turns out, Tony has yet to learn his lesson about playing with things he doesn't understand. Thor tells him as much, not that he expects it to have any more of an effect for the fifth time. Of course he'd used a magical object expecting it to have no effect on him at all. Still, Thor takes pity on him - even during the short exchange, he can see the buildup of electricity getting worse, crawling the length of Tony's arms and arching between the tendrils.
He looks uncomfortable. Thor assumes that he must have been in the middle of working on the incomplete armor he now wears. He assumes that, for the most part, Tony throws himself to work like this when he's away. With that in mind, he can hardly let Tony leave. If he doesn't have the sense to leave magic alone, he's going to learn how to control it before he hurts himself or anyone else. Thor is, after all, uniquely equipped to help with this particular kind of magic.
It might still be an Iris moon but, without Cordis active, at least Thor will be able to keep the situation under control this time. There's nothing to be concerned about.
He moves all of the furniture aside and makes Tony sit on the floor across from him, in the vain hope of avoiding any further destruction. Thor holds a hand out to him, sparks passing idly between his own fingertips. The object of the lesson is for Tony to pass a bolt of electricity through him - and not anything else in the room. Since he's managed to destroy so much electrical equipment, it seems like a good place to start. ]
You needn't be so nervous - even children can learn to wield magic. [ It doesn't occur to him that there might be other reasons for Tony's restlessness. ] Just focus. Try to guide it towards a goal, instead of forcing its path.
There's a completely reasonable explanation why he's sitting on the floor in front of Thor, god of thunder, as electricity zaps between his fingers, jellyfish tentacles writhe off his arms, and a dildo vibrates in his ass.
Exhibit A:
Tony's been working on this suit for a while. Like, a while. In fact, if you consider "mental planning" part of the inventing process (and Tony totally does), then he's been on it for months -- since the morning after The Night of Regret, when he first slammed back into his workspace and feverishly considered what might prevent the previous evening from ever happening again. And even if you don't count mental planning, schematic-building is a definite start point, and Tony began that in earnest around mid-August, as soon as he completed successful test runs of the Mk. Ll and felt comfortable moving onto a version with... additional features.
Which is how the Mk. Lƒ officially became a thing. (No one gets any points for guessing what the "ƒ" stands for.)
So Tony's been working on it for, as emphasized previously, a while. With discretion. Obviously, it hasn't taken priority over dissecting Lunatian devices and analyzing Chroma consumption, and it definitely hasn't come out of Tony's super-casually-named desktop folder whenever Bruce joins him in the now-shared workspace. But when Iris starts to rise into the sky, and Bruce is banned from the apartment anyway, and Tony's alone and fidgety and increasingly agitated (these are euphemisms), then... sure, he'll work on it. Maybe with more gusto than usual. And one hand.
....Anyway.
Exhibit B:
The necklace.
It's no secret Tony's been varying degrees of curious and frustrated with the constant use of magic in this place, and the fact that he apparently can't get in on any of it. Not that he particularly wants to, but he's concluded at this point that understanding this place's illogical laws of physics is the only way he's going to get anywhere on the technological side of things. So, he's been thinking. And scheming. He's got a couple avenues of interest, one being Cirrus' equippable "materia" stones, and the other being... his own Iris electricity. He's played with it before -- zapping objects, measuring voltage, seeing what he can do. The answer has been "not much," but the potential of an electricity-specific power in the literal palm of his hand hasn't escaped his calculations, especially after reading about a "Moonstone Necklace" on the network that can amplify a person's power if they're pricked with it.
So... he tracked down one of the traveling hockers who sell it, and put down the money, and has been staring at it on-and-off ever since. For like a month. Until it occurred to him last night that it was as good a time as any, especially if he was going to be testing the Mk. Lƒ the next day anyway. (And maybe because he needed an immediate distraction from his conversation with Natasha, but y'know.)
So that happened. And he woke up the next morning, and stumbled in a groggy haze to the coffeemaker, and touched it, and -- fried it. Immediately. With a giant arc of electricity from his palm through the wiring, which left him in a cloud of regret and burnt plastic on an Iris day that he had already, from his pre-breakfast activities, judged to be an Extremely Not Safe Day.
Exhibit C:
Tony knows Thor's weekly routine like the back of his hand. He assumed -- reasonably -- that he wouldn't be in his apartment if he snuck up there to use the coffee machine, and even if he was, what better time to try out the Mk. Lƒ for exactly what it was designed to handle?
Exhibit D:
Tony is human. He is sometimes, shockingly, wrong.
Exhibit E:
He just really wanted some coffee, man.]
I'm not nervous, [he mutters. It's not a complete lie, considering that the reason for his tense body language has nothing to do with fear of hurting Thor, and everything to do with fear of Thor finding out What's Up (or rather, what's being Held Down by the padding under Tony's crotch plate).
He scowls and shakes his hand out, causing tiny sparks of static electricity to jump in-between his fingers. Then he leans back, which means he sits back, onto it, and a breath heaves out of his chest that he hopes he can play off as exasperation rather than... the other thing.]
Hey, listen, I'm uh. Okay, man. Totally... okay. Hey. [He jerks his thumb at the door.] I think I'm gonna go back to, y'know, somewhere I won't damage anything, rather than--
[His thigh shifts half an inch against the floor, sending his custom-built, 100% nano-materialized, body-safe silicone polymer-encased phallus straight up against the spot that his wonderful blessing of the moon has decided that he just -- y'know, really loves, just completely... craves to a harrowing degree. He grits his teeth and chokes out a sound in the back of his throat as a bolt of lightning shoots out his thumb, to the umbrella stand, up the coat rack, and sets a jacket on fire.]
Bruce rarely slept but he had just managed to fall asleep when Tony's texts buzzed at him. If it was anyone else he might have hesitated before replying or agreeing to go out, mostly because this is the first time Bruce experienced any side effects from the moon himself. He knew something was wrong since his eyesight was off. He has more than a little startled at his appearance; large deer ears stretched up, a set of simple antlers at the top of his head, and his eyes seemed permanently widened to the 'deer in the headlights' size and black. He could see normally out of them, somehow, but it was different.
And there was no way to put on his glasses. He waited anxiously to see if anything else would happen to him, and thankfully, this seemed like the extent of it. Bruce still wasn't thrilled; bodily changes forced upon him weren't new. He still disliked it. So he planned on keeping quiet and withdrawn until it was past, but then his friend started texted him gibberish, so here he was, tired and perhaps a little on the grumpy side.
He had a key to the apartment that they were both using as a research/work space and stepped in. His antlers were thankfully taller than they were wide so he managed to slide into the doorway without banging against anything. "Tony?" Bruce wanders around for a moment, those ears of his very sharp (an upside at least) and listening for where he might be.
For a second, there's nothing but silence from the apartment. Metal frames and notes from unfinished projects lay on the worktables, quiet and dark. The only sign of life is the soft whirr and blinking lights from a small bank of servers in the corner, cobbled together by Tony from spare parts -- his first true breakthrough in making something from scratch from this universe's weird amalgamation of science and magic.
Otherwise, nothing. If Bruce's new deer eyes scan the apartment as they adjust to the darkness, they'll find a half-eaten sandwich on the counter, an empty bed down the hallway, and...
Is... the bath running?
The faucet isn't full-blown pouring water into the tub, but Bruce's new ears would be able to detect a small trickle hitting a pool -- like someone tried turning it off but couldn't get it all the way. If Bruce approaches closer, he'll see that the darkness in the hallway hid something a little more alarming -- a small but steady overflow of water, seeping out from under the ajar bathroom floor and slowly creating a wet patch on the hallway carpet.
And then, a quiet splash. Like someone -- or something -- is in there.
[It's been a long month. More than a month, considering he missed an entire one thanks to the Hulk, and then he woke up to find out that Tony was in stasis and Thor was gone, which was a double punch. That was followed up by yet another reveal that rocked his world from Nat, and that was the permanent kind. Needless to say, he's been a bit of a mess, only as per usual Bruce carries it all on the inside. Repression is his greatest skill and getting lost in science is doubly helpful. He tries not to hover over Nat too much but does regularly check his texts to make sure she's there.
After he got his mind and body back, Bruce finished creating the novella of sorts that detailed everything about this place so far and the timeline, and he handed out copies all the while making notes in his own mind of new drafts to add to later. Drafts he was thinking about now as he uselessly stared into his microscope that was giving him nothing helpful, and he pulled off, rubbing fingers to his eyes.
The fact that it's his birthday month and he doesn't know how old he is anymore is a question mark so low on the list of concerns that it might as well not exist. He usually ignores it anyway, finding the passage of time uncomfortable considering his condition. Still, he doesn't glance up when the door opens since there's really only two people who come in here, and only one who actually shares the space with him. Like the good old days.]
Hey, good news. [Bruce smiles, already thinking about tea and possibly a daring attempt at caffeine intake.] Guess who replenished all the lab snacks instead of sleeping?
[They didn't have exact 1:1 in terms of snacks like they used to enjoy, but Bruce memorizes details about people anyway and makes sure they have what Tony likes. It's more useful than hovering anxiously around him.]
[Tony raises a brow as he heads over to his work table.] Yeah, because my Cheez-It intake is higher priority than your circadian rhythm.
[He stops at the table and exhales. He'd claimed this particular corner of the gym's back office when he and Bruce first turned it into their mad science lab, but there's a weird dissonance in returning to it -- a fuzziness to his memory. Does he remember why he left this particular motherboard on the desk? Does he know what project it related to? The harder he tries to grasp his past thought processes, the more they slip away, as if through holes at the bottom of a sive.
Same as the conversations from the weeks before he went into stasis, hazy and half-remembered. And there were some important things there too, maybe even something--
He shakes his head and looks out at the rest of the lab. There's something even more disturbing within the evidence lying around him, which is that not much has changed overall. Tony wasn't the only occupant missing for an entire month.
He rubs a knuckle over his eyes and then raises them toward Bruce.] Please tell me you're not going to spend the next two weeks working yourself to death as some dysfunctional form of penance.
[ When Feelings about Catherine start to surface with increasing amounts of guilt, Simon tracks down that one self-described AI expert/genius with... no real reluctance, actually. It generally takes a concerted effort to leave a lasting bad impression on Simon. ]
Tony Stark? It's Simon Jarrett. The robot antlers guy?
[The response comes back way too quickly for Tony to not have glanced at his phone and literally dropped everything he was doing at the self-identification of "robot antlers guy."]
yeah, kind of hard to forget.
[After a second, another rapid-fire text.]
glad you found me. would be happy to sit down and chat minus the whole part where you run away irrationally terrified
[Cap isn't on the premises today, which means that Tony's dream scenario of Rogers getting told off by a robot are all but dashed, but it's probably just as well -- they may be on better terms these days, but his recent run-in with Barnes at the villa was just the most extreme of a few reminders that he still shouldn't let Rogers in on all of his business.
And this business happens to be... a human trapped in a robot body? Is that the narrative he's going with? Sure, he'll stick with that for now, especially since he's pretty sure that's the take Simon Jarret's going to be bringing into the shop. Tony spends the hour or so between their text conversation and roughly-appointed meeting mulling it over, as he sets up his corner of the lab with the hardware and software he'll be using to run diagnostics on whatever "tech-related" issue Simon happens to be experiencing. That includes facing his monitors away from the spot where he'll be sitting -- robot-existential-crisis stage fright and all that.
It doesn't take long between a walking diving rig shuffling into the gym and one of the part-time trainers hollering into the back room that Tony has an "uh... visitor?" Tony himself ambles up to the door of his and Bruce's lab, and makes a wide-armed gesture to the interior of the converted back-office area to welcome Simon in.]
As promised, the "place where I do stuff like this." [He shoos the trainer away and shuts the door behind Simon as he makes his way toward his daily workspace. The area is fairly large -- about the size of a high school classroom, with an extra closet tacked on to the rear to boot. Most of it is taken up by an assortment of long tables and desks, which look like they were either picked up from a curbside rescue or inherited from the previous owners of the gym, but that's where the appearance of shabbiness ends. Otherwise, the collections of wires, monitors, beakers, microscopes, and other technological-slash-biological gizmos seem fairly organized and well-kept, even if a massive, sheet-covered figure seems to be taking up about a quarter of the room at the back.
Tony rests a hand on a desk and turns toward his guest.]
[ Being an "uh..."-something is just Simon's life now. The part of him that still refuses to believe any of this, that knows he is human and feels like he's in one of those nightmares full of people you know who aren't acting like themselves, where you're in the horribly alone position of being seemingly the only person in the world who hasn't gone crazy — that part's stubbornly alive and startled every time, so the rest of him can get used to it. He can't completely get used to it. If he did that, he'd lose... something indefinable.
He enters with the Omnitool in his hand, held level with his thigh. He's free of deer ears or the massive metal Yggdrasils that make it difficult to accomplish things like getting through doors and not scaring the shit out of people.
As Tony closes the door behind him, he takes stock of the place. When he's welcoming him in, Simon is already wandering down the length of the lab, slow and with a cautious, fractional bend to the waist, but still not as tentative as someone so unqualified to be in here could probably stand to be. He doesn't touch anything, but he doesn't exactly shy away from it, either.
Of course it reminds him of PATHOS-II, not that many of the rooms still looked like this by the time he got there — or ever had. It's sleeker, closer to what Simon would've envisioned The Future looking like. He could see glimpses of something like it in Catherine's lab, in the scribblings and whiteboards and eager orange paint of Theta. Places where great things were being done, and everyone involved knew it was Important.
He does a half-turn toward Tony while he moves toward the massive covered thing, not even aware he's ensuring that the door isn't behind him. ] What's that thing?
[ He half-expects to hear the grinding actuators of a zombified UH coming to painful life under the sheet. It's partly curiosity that makes him ask that instead of answering the question. Part, maybe, some deep-down reluctance to leave the comforting ambiguity of Schrodinger's Catherine behind and start this process that's already ended in failure before. ]
[While crowds rush out to the Lunatia Archives event, Tony sits back on his apartment balcony and flips through notes.
His notes, to be exact, which are pretty much the only worthwhile ones. You'd think he'd be at the front of the line to see whatever red tape that the Lunatian officials have torn down, but what he's more interested in is declassified items not on display. For example: Records obliquely mentioned in other texts, but which curators haven't given him access to. In a couple days, once the crowds (and intensified security) have died down, he'll venture over there, but now is prep time for--
His wrist beeps and he taps it. Bruce. He catches the first few cryptic words in the notif, but doesn't think much of it. After all, he and Bruce have now spent hours in their lab trying to figure out how this place ticks, so it'd make sense that he'd find--
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
industries) wrote2019-05-15 09:19 pm
Around June 7th, full swing of Cordis
Hard luck, that. He didn't need much to get by but he found it was difficult to return to the lean pickings of his youth. Travelling with humans meant a soft man's diet. More than one item per meal, more than one meal per day, sometimes with sweets to finish and hot tea. Maybe he was just being stupid yet it was hard to return to the lean pickings of his youth, living off of what he could catch in the woods or snatch from branches. Inuyasha had stooped low enough to follow Thor's scent one day. He'd hoped to find him in the dwelling, but the place had been bereft of thunder gods. Sheepish, he'd taken a small helping of fruit and left the place with a solemn vow to repay him. Double if he could.
He makes certain to do so under the guise of night. A Cordis moon, when the man is sure to be out indulging in whatever the fuck suited his fancy. He's sure that there's no bad blood between them. It's just his pride that wants the secrecy.
He slips through the window as easily as last time. Hastily bounds to the cold box and pries it open, slipping the freshly slain rabbit inside. His stomach rumbles and, biting his lip, he casts a roving eye over the goods within.
Surely a fat rabbit would be worth enough for a piece of something else as well...]
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He staggers. His back foot sinks into the sand as he raises his hand and curls it around the cold blade sticking out from his stomach. A dark-faced giant strides toward him, murmurs: "Half of humanity will still be alive."
He disappears. A smaller figure takes his place, raises his hands as they drift away in pieces. "Mr. Stark..."
Tony reaches for him. All he finds is air and ash.
He knows what comes next. It was the only way. He turns, weak and weary, toward where Strange has collapsed against the rocks and wreckage--
And finds someone else. A scarred face. Huge, dark eyes.
"Statement ends."
Tony gasps awake.
It's a small gasp. More like a wheeze as he curls up and his hand clenches into the couch upholstery. In the dark apartment, it takes a dizzying second to remember where this is, what this is.
The kid's alive. He's alive. Tony touched him, held him. Whatever the hell is going on outside of this pocket universe, the Peter here is real. So real that Tony feels anxious every second the kid's out of his line of sight, even though he knows he's capable on his own.
What if he loses him again? He can't lose him. He...
Tony shakes his head, shuts his eyes. He feels like he wakes up from a dream like this every night since he got here, which might make sense if he was terrorized as frequently on the Benatar... but he wasn't. And even when he was, the nightmares were varied -- of Titan, but also of Earth, of Pepper, of good times long past. Now, they're all the same, one after another, and that face--
Something rustles in the kitchen.
Tony sits up. He can see a crack of light from the kitchen doorway -- the fridge is open.
Cold fear grips him. Whoever it is, it isn't Thor -- he would've made a ruckus striding in from his "revelries," and those stupid, ridiculous wings would've probably gotten caught on the doorframe.
Plus, Tony would've. Uh. Probably sensed he was around. Because of other reasons.
Tony stands. He creeps forward and raises his hand, lets his nanites form a repulsor on his palm. It's been about a week since downing the cat and his nanites are back to full form -- or 20% of it, anyway. Enough to deal with whatever the hell is on the other side of the open fridge door as he stalks into the kitchen.
A giant shadow twists and grows on the wall as it blocks out a patch of the fridge light. Tony inhales.
He darts behind the figure and yells. A sonic blast fires from his hand. The thing goes flying into the cabinets, splintering the wooden doors underneath the sink with a deafeaning crack.
Tony kicks the fridge door shut. He hits the light, and--
He blinks. Heaves in a breath.]
"Furcon?"
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INSOLENT MORTAL!!!!!!! YOUR EDITS HAVE DISTURBED MY SLUMBER
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06/18, evening
Suffice to say that Tony hasn't been in good physical or mental shape since they all arrived here, but the state he'd been in earlier had been something else entirely, a whole new flavor of screwed up.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out why, not with Steve's currently canine-level sense of smell. Tony had sex with someone, probably out of desperation more than anything else. For someone who's engaged back home, well...
It's got to be eating him up. Steve feels like he has to reach out somehow, even if he's probably the worst person for the job. Tony had been heading back for his own place, rarely used, instead of Thor's apartment. He's alone, probably beating himself up. He needs a friend. Not that Steve really falls into that category, but here he is, pressing send on the text all the same. ]
Hey. You seemed pretty out of it earlier, just wanted to check in.
[ Despite being on bad terms, Tony had tried to patch him up when Steve had gotten himself stabbed by a trickster god on his first moon cycle. He'll just treat this as returning the favor. ]
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Finally, at the 27 minute mark--]
OK
[The next one comes rapid-fire.]
I come here all like the universe is gone and this is what you check in on lol ok
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voice 🠲 text;
Not so hot now, are ya?
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He scratches the morning stubble on his jaw and rubs his dark-circled eyes before he types--]
Are you really picking a "hot or not" fight with a middle-aged man? Sad, kid. Just sad.
[Pause as he shoves another spoonful in his mouth, then adds:]
especially because you're gonna lose
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text (around august 6th)
Sorry to bother you
But I was just kind of thinking and trying to figure stuff out here and I was wondering
if I order delivery to my apartment what exactly is the tip situation? Do I have to like hug the person, or do you think a friendly handshake is good enough? 🤝
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He reads the message. An emotional rollercoaster proceeds as follows:
The kid. He sent a message -- that's. Nice. You know, after a lot of scary nothing a couple months ago.
...Wait.
Oh.
Oh god--
...Hugs and handshakes. Okay. Jesus. Fine, he concludes as he sticks the screwdriver between his teeth and texts back with both thumbs:]
just use your device to transfer some demichroma. unless they're moonblessed then maybe a handshake if they got your pizza to you in 15min or did a merry jig or something
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text; 7/29 evening
Come here and drink with me.
It's at McDenny's.
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sorry got important things to do, cool things to build
maybe next time jersey
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SAD DRINKING (7/29 Evening @ McDenny's)
In fact, a good seven minutes later of semi-fuming, Bucky grabs his smartphone just to text him that he has changed his mind, but just then he sees Tony talk up the stairs to the second floor. Too late to be sassy. ]
I knew you couldn't resist! Few can...
[ He gives the bar chair beside him a little pat for Tony. ]
I'll get your first round, pal, 'cause I'm a great guy like that. What're you drinkin'?
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[Tony drops into the retro vinyl bar stool and rests one arm on the counter. He scrubs the other through his hair and holds it there for a second before lowering it again.
Aside from the jacket he pulled over his shoulders, it looks like he came straight from his workshop -- patches of pink chalkdust cling to his jeans and black undershirt, and there's a bit of grease on the edge of his jaw.
He turns toward the kid.]
You ever had someone disappoint you?
[Oh, boy.]
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fuu icons expired
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july 16th whoops
[ and that's about all the detail Stark gets by way of warning that the word is out, leaving him to fill in his own gaps, not expecting a response. ]
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It sits, blinking, on the floor next to his bed for a few seconds. Then, the bundle of covers on the bed stirs. A voice groans and grumbles something incoherent.
An arm pokes out, covered in glowing tentacles. It gropes around for a second, then yanks the device under the covers with it.
A few seconds go by. Then a few more.
A bedraggled figure throws the covers off his upper half and sits up on one elbow, squinting at the screen. His hair's a mess, his goatee's overgrown, and his bare upper half shivers every few seconds, fevered. The glow of his extra appendages shift to white, then a distinct shade of red.]
You're kidding me, [he rasps.
He rubs over his eyes. He pulls back his wrist to toss the damn thing back to the ground when he hears a noise from the exterior hallway. He freezes.
Sounds like sparks in the air. He recognizes it, far too easily, and -- someone's out there, skulking. Or... breathing? Hard enough that he can hear it from here. He slowly lowers his eyes back to the screen and reads the message over again, focuses on more than just the names.
It washes over him. The realization. The cold dread.
He wouldn't--
SLAM. Tony jerks, startled, and raises his eyes toward the door. For a second, he wonders -- did he kick his way in? Is he here?
Is he here?
Everything in him hangs on the moment.
Footsteps march back down the hall, into the distance. Tony exhales. He uncoils -- or at least most of him does.
God.
God.
He drags a clammy hand down his sweaty face, over grit teeth. He goes back to the device.]
you are such an asshole. if there was a gameshow called america's asshole you would win millions of dollars you are that much of an asshole
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text around...idk aug 13/14th
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THUNDERSTRUCKKKK - Oct 12th
It's not that he's unaccustomed to travelling or working alone, but being confined to one small part of one small planet with nothing he can do is beginning to wear at him. It's easier to hold his resolve, when it's bright and new and burning, but without a path to follow he finds himself more and more restless. It would be a lie to say that he wasn't grateful for the regular bouts of combat.
He leaves earlier than usual that morning and tries to burn the excess energy at Solar Flexus. It means that he gets back home early, too, with a mind toward finding Steve, or perhaps Samus to spar with him after lunch.
The moment he opens his door, he realizes something is amiss. Tony Stark is standing there, frozen in place, with his hands perilously close to the now smoking remains of Thor's coffee machine.
Thor heaves a great sigh and drops his gym bag in the doorway. A spark jumps across Tony's forearm as the bag hits the ground.
As it turns out, Tony has yet to learn his lesson about playing with things he doesn't understand. Thor tells him as much, not that he expects it to have any more of an effect for the fifth time. Of course he'd used a magical object expecting it to have no effect on him at all. Still, Thor takes pity on him - even during the short exchange, he can see the buildup of electricity getting worse, crawling the length of Tony's arms and arching between the tendrils.
He looks uncomfortable. Thor assumes that he must have been in the middle of working on the incomplete armor he now wears. He assumes that, for the most part, Tony throws himself to work like this when he's away. With that in mind, he can hardly let Tony leave. If he doesn't have the sense to leave magic alone, he's going to learn how to control it before he hurts himself or anyone else. Thor is, after all, uniquely equipped to help with this particular kind of magic.
It might still be an Iris moon but, without Cordis active, at least Thor will be able to keep the situation under control this time. There's nothing to be concerned about.
He moves all of the furniture aside and makes Tony sit on the floor across from him, in the vain hope of avoiding any further destruction. Thor holds a hand out to him, sparks passing idly between his own fingertips. The object of the lesson is for Tony to pass a bolt of electricity through him - and not anything else in the room. Since he's managed to destroy so much electrical equipment, it seems like a good place to start. ]
You needn't be so nervous - even children can learn to wield magic. [ It doesn't occur to him that there might be other reasons for Tony's restlessness. ] Just focus. Try to guide it towards a goal, instead of forcing its path.
[nsfw starts here 🌶️]
There's a completely reasonable explanation why he's sitting on the floor in front of Thor, god of thunder, as electricity zaps between his fingers, jellyfish tentacles writhe off his arms, and a dildo vibrates in his ass.
Exhibit A:
Tony's been working on this suit for a while. Like, a while. In fact, if you consider "mental planning" part of the inventing process (and Tony totally does), then he's been on it for months -- since the morning after The Night of Regret, when he first slammed back into his workspace and feverishly considered what might prevent the previous evening from ever happening again. And even if you don't count mental planning, schematic-building is a definite start point, and Tony began that in earnest around mid-August, as soon as he completed successful test runs of the Mk. Ll and felt comfortable moving onto a version with... additional features.
Which is how the Mk. Lƒ officially became a thing. (No one gets any points for guessing what the "ƒ" stands for.)
So Tony's been working on it for, as emphasized previously, a while. With discretion. Obviously, it hasn't taken priority over dissecting Lunatian devices and analyzing Chroma consumption, and it definitely hasn't come out of Tony's super-casually-named desktop folder whenever Bruce joins him in the now-shared workspace. But when Iris starts to rise into the sky, and Bruce is banned from the apartment anyway, and Tony's alone and fidgety and increasingly agitated (these are euphemisms), then... sure, he'll work on it. Maybe with more gusto than usual. And one hand.
....Anyway.
Exhibit B:
The necklace.
It's no secret Tony's been varying degrees of curious and frustrated with the constant use of magic in this place, and the fact that he apparently can't get in on any of it. Not that he particularly wants to, but he's concluded at this point that understanding this place's illogical laws of physics is the only way he's going to get anywhere on the technological side of things. So, he's been thinking. And scheming. He's got a couple avenues of interest, one being Cirrus' equippable "materia" stones, and the other being... his own Iris electricity. He's played with it before -- zapping objects, measuring voltage, seeing what he can do. The answer has been "not much," but the potential of an electricity-specific power in the literal palm of his hand hasn't escaped his calculations, especially after reading about a "Moonstone Necklace" on the network that can amplify a person's power if they're pricked with it.
So... he tracked down one of the traveling hockers who sell it, and put down the money, and has been staring at it on-and-off ever since. For like a month. Until it occurred to him last night that it was as good a time as any, especially if he was going to be testing the Mk. Lƒ the next day anyway. (And maybe because he needed an immediate distraction from his conversation with Natasha, but y'know.)
So that happened. And he woke up the next morning, and stumbled in a groggy haze to the coffeemaker, and touched it, and -- fried it. Immediately. With a giant arc of electricity from his palm through the wiring, which left him in a cloud of regret and burnt plastic on an Iris day that he had already, from his pre-breakfast activities, judged to be an Extremely Not Safe Day.
Exhibit C:
Tony knows Thor's weekly routine like the back of his hand. He assumed -- reasonably -- that he wouldn't be in his apartment if he snuck up there to use the coffee machine, and even if he was, what better time to try out the Mk. Lƒ for exactly what it was designed to handle?
Exhibit D:
Tony is human. He is sometimes, shockingly, wrong.
Exhibit E:
He just really wanted some coffee, man.]
I'm not nervous, [he mutters. It's not a complete lie, considering that the reason for his tense body language has nothing to do with fear of hurting Thor, and everything to do with fear of Thor finding out What's Up (or rather, what's being Held Down by the padding under Tony's crotch plate).
He scowls and shakes his hand out, causing tiny sparks of static electricity to jump in-between his fingers. Then he leans back, which means he sits back, onto it, and a breath heaves out of his chest that he hopes he can play off as exasperation rather than... the other thing.]
Hey, listen, I'm uh. Okay, man. Totally... okay. Hey. [He jerks his thumb at the door.] I think I'm gonna go back to, y'know, somewhere I won't damage anything, rather than--
[His thigh shifts half an inch against the floor, sending his custom-built, 100% nano-materialized, body-safe silicone polymer-encased phallus straight up against the spot that his wonderful blessing of the moon has decided that he just -- y'know, really loves, just completely... craves to a harrowing degree. He grits his teeth and chokes out a sound in the back of his throat as a bolt of lightning shoots out his thumb, to the umbrella stand, up the coat rack, and sets a jacket on fire.]
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October 16th, post text
And there was no way to put on his glasses. He waited anxiously to see if anything else would happen to him, and thankfully, this seemed like the extent of it. Bruce still wasn't thrilled; bodily changes forced upon him weren't new. He still disliked it. So he planned on keeping quiet and withdrawn until it was past, but then his friend started texted him gibberish, so here he was, tired and perhaps a little on the grumpy side.
He had a key to the apartment that they were both using as a research/work space and stepped in. His antlers were thankfully taller than they were wide so he managed to slide into the doorway without banging against anything. "Tony?" Bruce wanders around for a moment, those ears of his very sharp (an upside at least) and listening for where he might be.
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Otherwise, nothing. If Bruce's new deer eyes scan the apartment as they adjust to the darkness, they'll find a half-eaten sandwich on the counter, an empty bed down the hallway, and...
Is... the bath running?
The faucet isn't full-blown pouring water into the tub, but Bruce's new ears would be able to detect a small trickle hitting a pool -- like someone tried turning it off but couldn't get it all the way. If Bruce approaches closer, he'll see that the darkness in the hallway hid something a little more alarming -- a small but steady overflow of water, seeping out from under the ajar bathroom floor and slowly creating a wet patch on the hallway carpet.
And then, a quiet splash. Like someone -- or something -- is in there.
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Timey Wimey a little bit after Tony wakes up from stasis?
After he got his mind and body back, Bruce finished creating the novella of sorts that detailed everything about this place so far and the timeline, and he handed out copies all the while making notes in his own mind of new drafts to add to later. Drafts he was thinking about now as he uselessly stared into his microscope that was giving him nothing helpful, and he pulled off, rubbing fingers to his eyes.
The fact that it's his birthday month and he doesn't know how old he is anymore is a question mark so low on the list of concerns that it might as well not exist. He usually ignores it anyway, finding the passage of time uncomfortable considering his condition. Still, he doesn't glance up when the door opens since there's really only two people who come in here, and only one who actually shares the space with him. Like the good old days.]
Hey, good news. [Bruce smiles, already thinking about tea and possibly a daring attempt at caffeine intake.] Guess who replenished all the lab snacks instead of sleeping?
[They didn't have exact 1:1 in terms of snacks like they used to enjoy, but Bruce memorizes details about people anyway and makes sure they have what Tony likes. It's more useful than hovering anxiously around him.]
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[He stops at the table and exhales. He'd claimed this particular corner of the gym's back office when he and Bruce first turned it into their mad science lab, but there's a weird dissonance in returning to it -- a fuzziness to his memory. Does he remember why he left this particular motherboard on the desk? Does he know what project it related to? The harder he tries to grasp his past thought processes, the more they slip away, as if through holes at the bottom of a sive.
Same as the conversations from the weeks before he went into stasis, hazy and half-remembered. And there were some important things there too, maybe even something--
He shakes his head and looks out at the rest of the lab. There's something even more disturbing within the evidence lying around him, which is that not much has changed overall. Tony wasn't the only occupant missing for an entire month.
He rubs a knuckle over his eyes and then raises them toward Bruce.] Please tell me you're not going to spend the next two weeks working yourself to death as some dysfunctional form of penance.
[...said the pot to the kettle.]
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december i guess ???
Tony Stark? It's Simon Jarrett. The robot antlers guy?
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yeah, kind of hard to forget.
[After a second, another rapid-fire text.]
glad you found me. would be happy to sit down and chat minus the whole part where you run away irrationally terrified
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linking to a new log thread!
dec. 29 | solar flexus gym
[Cap isn't on the premises today, which means that Tony's dream scenario of Rogers getting told off by a robot are all but dashed, but it's probably just as well -- they may be on better terms these days, but his recent run-in with Barnes at the villa was just the most extreme of a few reminders that he still shouldn't let Rogers in on all of his business.
And this business happens to be... a human trapped in a robot body? Is that the narrative he's going with? Sure, he'll stick with that for now, especially since he's pretty sure that's the take Simon Jarret's going to be bringing into the shop. Tony spends the hour or so between their text conversation and roughly-appointed meeting mulling it over, as he sets up his corner of the lab with the hardware and software he'll be using to run diagnostics on whatever "tech-related" issue Simon happens to be experiencing. That includes facing his monitors away from the spot where he'll be sitting -- robot-existential-crisis stage fright and all that.
It doesn't take long between a walking diving rig shuffling into the gym and one of the part-time trainers hollering into the back room that Tony has an "uh... visitor?" Tony himself ambles up to the door of his and Bruce's lab, and makes a wide-armed gesture to the interior of the converted back-office area to welcome Simon in.]
As promised, the "place where I do stuff like this." [He shoos the trainer away and shuts the door behind Simon as he makes his way toward his daily workspace. The area is fairly large -- about the size of a high school classroom, with an extra closet tacked on to the rear to boot. Most of it is taken up by an assortment of long tables and desks, which look like they were either picked up from a curbside rescue or inherited from the previous owners of the gym, but that's where the appearance of shabbiness ends. Otherwise, the collections of wires, monitors, beakers, microscopes, and other technological-slash-biological gizmos seem fairly organized and well-kept, even if a massive, sheet-covered figure seems to be taking up about a quarter of the room at the back.
Tony rests a hand on a desk and turns toward his guest.]
So. What kind of "stuff" we talking about?
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He enters with the Omnitool in his hand, held level with his thigh. He's free of deer ears or the massive metal Yggdrasils that make it difficult to accomplish things like getting through doors and not scaring the shit out of people.
As Tony closes the door behind him, he takes stock of the place. When he's welcoming him in, Simon is already wandering down the length of the lab, slow and with a cautious, fractional bend to the waist, but still not as tentative as someone so unqualified to be in here could probably stand to be. He doesn't touch anything, but he doesn't exactly shy away from it, either.
Of course it reminds him of PATHOS-II, not that many of the rooms still looked like this by the time he got there — or ever had. It's sleeker, closer to what Simon would've envisioned The Future looking like. He could see glimpses of something like it in Catherine's lab, in the scribblings and whiteboards and eager orange paint of Theta. Places where great things were being done, and everyone involved knew it was Important.
He does a half-turn toward Tony while he moves toward the massive covered thing, not even aware he's ensuring that the door isn't behind him. ] What's that thing?
[ He half-expects to hear the grinding actuators of a zombified UH coming to painful life under the sheet. It's partly curiosity that makes him ask that instead of answering the question. Part, maybe, some deep-down reluctance to leave the comforting ambiguity of Schrodinger's Catherine behind and start this process that's already ended in failure before. ]
so sorry for the wait aaaahh!! real life.... rip
no worries!! id wait forever for you booboo
whelp, text
Tony. Literally have no idea how to prep you for this so I'm just going to rip the band-aid off. Howard's here.
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His notes, to be exact, which are pretty much the only worthwhile ones. You'd think he'd be at the front of the line to see whatever red tape that the Lunatian officials have torn down, but what he's more interested in is declassified items not on display. For example: Records obliquely mentioned in other texts, but which curators haven't given him access to. In a couple days, once the crowds (and intensified security) have died down, he'll venture over there, but now is prep time for--
His wrist beeps and he taps it. Bruce. He catches the first few cryptic words in the notif, but doesn't think much of it. After all, he and Bruce have now spent hours in their lab trying to figure out how this place ticks, so it'd make sense that he'd find--
Uh--
...Uh.]
what
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