He didn't have to mention you, when everyone and their brother replied to your write-up.
[Although that's about the last thing that jumps out of Clarke's message, compared to the other stuff. Not gonna lie -- the casual text of of "a Tony" has him a little squeamish, not the least of which because he already knows there's two of them running around.
And then there's...]
He implied it, but held on the details. So, y'know, basically what you probably expected if you know the guy.
Anyway, it's not the first time someone's remembered meeting me when I don't have a clue who they are. Guess the silver lining here is you'll actually believe me when I tell you I'm extremely good at what I do. Which is, like, everything.
We were a bit more humbled when we met. We'd just been in a bus accident, so let's say that there wasn't a lot of time to show that you were good at everything and you just needed to be good at the one thing, which was helping a post-apocalyptic citizen settle in.
[The "oh you went there" isn't present in her text, but she's definitely feeling it.]
Let me guess. You typically forget people because you meet a lot of people because you're important?
[Despite the glib commentary, the squeamishness starts to turn into a straight-up churning in his stomach. A different version of him, from another universe -- that he can wrap his head around, but the thought that he, himself was here at one point, making an impact on the people around him--
Space-time. Wormholes. Keep your cool, Stark.]
Pretty much. And let me guess. The post-apocalyptic citizen was... you?
Call it culture shock. You recognized the symptoms.
[AKA "you knew what it was like to be traumatized and on the verge of a panic attack," but even in her world no one calls a spade a spade on trauma, so here we are.]
What, of your life getting flipped turned upside-down?
[He pauses in his typing, stumped for a second on how to continue. Maybe there's a Hallmark card for "Dear Friend, sorry I forgot who you are, and/or am actually a different person entirely. Yours Truly--"]
Yeah, guess I've got some experience in the field at this point.
He blinks at the interface for a second, though it stays steady and present in his retina, projected by the little chip in his head. The churning in his gut raises its ugly head again in response to something so specific, so personal. Tony wonders for a second if this is how Strange might feel if he ever brought up what he'd found out in Lunatia about the scars on his hands, during their big mech mind-meld and... otherwise.]
Ah. Yeah, that's a "part" all right. [What to type back? Deflection, probably--] Was it about the whole existential jet lag of getting here, or something from home?
Something from home. A long story. I'd be happy to tell if you wanted.
[But she's also not volunteering. It's not the point.
The point is:]
It was something that helped. [A moment, even if Clarke wouldn't sardonically refer to it that way.] I wouldn't feel right not telling you about it. [Because she's bizarrely sincere that way.]
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no subject
[Although that's about the last thing that jumps out of Clarke's message, compared to the other stuff. Not gonna lie -- the casual text of of "a Tony" has him a little squeamish, not the least of which because he already knows there's two of them running around.
And then there's...]
He implied it, but held on the details. So, y'know, basically what you probably expected if you know the guy.
Anyway, it's not the first time someone's remembered meeting me when I don't have a clue who they are. Guess the silver lining here is you'll actually believe me when I tell you I'm extremely good at what I do. Which is, like, everything.
[There it is.]
no subject
[The "oh you went there" isn't present in her text, but she's definitely feeling it.]
Let me guess. You typically forget people because you meet a lot of people because you're important?
no subject
[Despite the glib commentary, the squeamishness starts to turn into a straight-up churning in his stomach. A different version of him, from another universe -- that he can wrap his head around, but the thought that he, himself was here at one point, making an impact on the people around him--
Space-time. Wormholes. Keep your cool, Stark.]
Pretty much. And let me guess. The post-apocalyptic citizen was... you?
no subject
Call it culture shock. You recognized the symptoms.
[AKA "you knew what it was like to be traumatized and on the verge of a panic attack," but even in her world no one calls a spade a spade on trauma, so here we are.]
no subject
[He pauses in his typing, stumped for a second on how to continue. Maybe there's a Hallmark card for "Dear Friend, sorry I forgot who you are, and/or am actually a different person entirely. Yours Truly--"]
Yeah, guess I've got some experience in the field at this point.
[Maybe even more than "he" did before.]
no subject
It's more the panic attack part. That part.
[Though she's not surprised that he wouldn't leap to that part.]
no subject
He blinks at the interface for a second, though it stays steady and present in his retina, projected by the little chip in his head. The churning in his gut raises its ugly head again in response to something so specific, so personal. Tony wonders for a second if this is how Strange might feel if he ever brought up what he'd found out in Lunatia about the scars on his hands, during their big mech mind-meld and... otherwise.]
Ah. Yeah, that's a "part" all right. [What to type back? Deflection, probably--] Was it about the whole existential jet lag of getting here, or something from home?
[Better than talking about himself.]
no subject
[But she's also not volunteering. It's not the point.
The point is:]
It was something that helped. [A moment, even if Clarke wouldn't sardonically refer to it that way.] I wouldn't feel right not telling you about it. [Because she's bizarrely sincere that way.]