[ 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
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