[ Strange isn't expecting the blink of his device when it comes: doesn't keep much company, hasn't sent out anything or seen anyone in the last couple of hours that would make getting a message right now likely outside of a very small pool of possible suspects. it's one of three people: Steve Rogers, texting to continue the fight from a distance; Loki, somehow having heard what happened in the brief minutes between now and then, texting to comment; or Stark.
he checks the message.
... hm.
well, if it was going to be anything that broke the stretching silence between his last words to him and his next, it might as well be that. a new spin on an enduring theme.
rather than offer any kind of query or explanation: ]
Good to know. I'll bear that in mind next time I'm down on my luck
[Tony's laid back down on the bed, shoulders flat on the sheets, arm over his eyes. He doesn't expect a reply, maybe out of the assumption that Strange has an iota of shame and will let things lie.
It's an extremely stupid assumption.
The device beeps. Tony's eyes shoot open, to the dark underside of his arm, interspersed with blurry flashes from the surrounding, writhing tendrils.
He grabs the device and reads it. He sees red -- literally. His glow's shifted again.
[ so here they are. Tony Stark, once and future king of the last word, and Stephen Strange, abdicated ruler to that same throne, except now the Cordis moon's high and he's never been less inclined to stand down. ]
[ and perhaps that isn't the kindest choice he's ever made, lacking in a certain amount of consideration for the man behind the door, but split second thinking determined it might jog Steve from his moral high ground.
well. that, and when a whole conversation's focused around one person and you've got a second to picture a place before you've got Captain America's claws in you, what's the easiest thing to latch onto? ]
Tony rubs over his eyes and for a moment is thankful that his brain's slogging through mud right now, only able to piece together about half the puzzle pieces rather than all of them. He already doesn't like the portion of the picture he can see -- Cap, figuring out way more than he should, with the same stupid, terrible alterations that caused this whole mess in the first place. And... getting violent over it? Why?
Sanguis. Must be. Steve's a lot of things, but he'd only start a fight if someone else threw a punch first, literally or metaphorically. And in this case, the punch was...
...Ugh. Yeah. Let's leave that half of the puzzle empty. Just like how he should leave the blinking text box on his device alone.
But.]
okay, my bad
*you portaled a violent, maul-prone werewolf captain america to my apartment
[Red again. Tony's fingers type. Two lines, then--
The world spins. He inhales. Presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.
This needs to stop. Tony needs to stop. He's reminded of a conversation he had directly after a breakup, just after cellphone texting became a thing. Furiously punching keys on a number pad for like, an hour. God. This is stupid. Even that comparison is stupid.
And he's shivering again. He closes his eyes, and tries...
To picture their living room, feet up on a pillow on their mod-style coffee table. She leans over him, slides her hand over his. She rests her chin on his shoulder.
"Tony."
He opens his eyes to the dark, dingy cave of his bedroom.]
I know, [he says aloud.
Slowly, he lays himself down. Rolls onto his side. He tosses the device back to the floor and pulls the covers back over himself.
From the shadow of his bed, the un-sent message still glows from the screen.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
industries) wrote2019-05-15 09:19 pm
no subject
he checks the message.
... hm.
well, if it was going to be anything that broke the stretching silence between his last words to him and his next, it might as well be that. a new spin on an enduring theme.
rather than offer any kind of query or explanation: ]
Good to know. I'll bear that in mind next time I'm down on my luck
no subject
It's an extremely stupid assumption.
The device beeps. Tony's eyes shoot open, to the dark underside of his arm, interspersed with blurry flashes from the surrounding, writhing tendrils.
He grabs the device and reads it. He sees red -- literally. His glow's shifted again.
Furiously--]
right yeah your terrible luck with your like
2 slit eyes oh my god the horror
no subject
Put it down, Stark. You're embarrassing yourself.
no subject
you portaled. captain america. to my apartment
no subject
[ and perhaps that isn't the kindest choice he's ever made, lacking in a certain amount of consideration for the man behind the door, but split second thinking determined it might jog Steve from his moral high ground.
well. that, and when a whole conversation's focused around one person and you've got a second to picture a place before you've got Captain America's claws in you, what's the easiest thing to latch onto? ]
no subject
Tony rubs over his eyes and for a moment is thankful that his brain's slogging through mud right now, only able to piece together about half the puzzle pieces rather than all of them. He already doesn't like the portion of the picture he can see -- Cap, figuring out way more than he should, with the same stupid, terrible alterations that caused this whole mess in the first place. And... getting violent over it? Why?
Sanguis. Must be. Steve's a lot of things, but he'd only start a fight if someone else threw a punch first, literally or metaphorically. And in this case, the punch was...
...Ugh. Yeah. Let's leave that half of the puzzle empty. Just like how he should leave the blinking text box on his device alone.
But.]
okay, my bad
*you portaled a violent, maul-prone werewolf captain america to my apartment
fixed it 👍
no subject
no subject
The world spins. He inhales. Presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.
This needs to stop. Tony needs to stop. He's reminded of a conversation he had directly after a breakup, just after cellphone texting became a thing. Furiously punching keys on a number pad for like, an hour. God. This is stupid. Even that comparison is stupid.
And he's shivering again. He closes his eyes, and tries...
To picture their living room, feet up on a pillow on their mod-style coffee table. She leans over him, slides her hand over his. She rests her chin on his shoulder.
"Tony."
He opens his eyes to the dark, dingy cave of his bedroom.]
I know, [he says aloud.
Slowly, he lays himself down. Rolls onto his side. He tosses the device back to the floor and pulls the covers back over himself.
From the shadow of his bed, the un-sent message still glows from the screen.]
you're right. i did live to see another day
thanks for that