"anthony" stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
servomotor) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
xistentia2018-01-05 11:02 am
servomotor) wrote in xistentia2018-01-05 11:02 am
Entry tags:
o1 👨💻 Nothing like a big bad bridge (open)
Characters: Tony Stark, CR, & YOU
Summary: Asmol average height technologist superhero man goes about his business in the wake of war and random comedic holiday shenanigans. Some closed starters in the comments.
Date(s): Catch-all for January 2018!
Warnings/Notes: Mental illness, manpain, etc. Maybe some sexual content in here eventually!
open;
Whether in this world or the last, Tony Stark manages to be both a highly private person and incredibly easy to find. Most of the time, he can be found in his workshop, where he invents and repairs a range of machinery for people. Lately, he's been working on copying Xistentia's emotional energy conversion technology and turn it into something that the average citizen (or above average, depending on your self-concept) can use. Behold: sewing machines and weaving looms that feed off bursts of emotional inspiration, coffee machines fueled by your addict's desperation, and cars that go a little faster because you really really want them to!
The rest of the time, he might be found out and about, often in the iconic red suit. He's often preoccupied with brokering deals to acquire more scrap from the beach or trade with other people from contemporary worlds. You might catch him in dry debate, negotiating; you might even find yourself waved over and asked for your honest opinion about the value of a piece of chassis or energy source, in the middle of an otherwise incomprehensible technobabble conversation. Just remember: there is definitely a right answer.
However, in his off-hours, you might instead find him at your local liquor establishment or listening to some live multiversal music downtown, wearing an Immensely Doubtful expression on his bearded face. On the other hand, it's Tony Stark. Maybe that's just what his rich white boy face looks like.
Summary: A
Date(s): Catch-all for January 2018!
Warnings/Notes: Mental illness, manpain, etc. Maybe some sexual content in here eventually!
open;
Whether in this world or the last, Tony Stark manages to be both a highly private person and incredibly easy to find. Most of the time, he can be found in his workshop, where he invents and repairs a range of machinery for people. Lately, he's been working on copying Xistentia's emotional energy conversion technology and turn it into something that the average citizen (or above average, depending on your self-concept) can use. Behold: sewing machines and weaving looms that feed off bursts of emotional inspiration, coffee machines fueled by your addict's desperation, and cars that go a little faster because you really really want them to!
The rest of the time, he might be found out and about, often in the iconic red suit. He's often preoccupied with brokering deals to acquire more scrap from the beach or trade with other people from contemporary worlds. You might catch him in dry debate, negotiating; you might even find yourself waved over and asked for your honest opinion about the value of a piece of chassis or energy source, in the middle of an otherwise incomprehensible technobabble conversation. Just remember: there is definitely a right answer.
However, in his off-hours, you might instead find him at your local liquor establishment or listening to some live multiversal music downtown, wearing an Immensely Doubtful expression on his bearded face. On the other hand, it's Tony Stark. Maybe that's just what his rich white boy face looks like.
closed to shepard;
But the daemon communique represents that that's done now. The fine brandy she'd bought him for Christmas, as well as the glasses to match. Set up in his workshop. She can see the quinjet in the background, sitting quiescently in the half-light of the hangar. And something else off to the side, out of focus, all scintillating curved parts. Something between a cage and a frame.]
9PM?
[is the invitation. He hadn't opened the bottle yet, out of consideration for her timetable. It probably could have been more romantic, he knows; by now, she's been to the workshop half a dozen times, familiarized herself with Fridayd's charging station, the tools and tape, the one-man assembly line of projects, the handful of fabrication machines and blacksmithing employees he's taken on to fill in the space. The funnily labeled Peter's Corner for a certain baby Spider-man's personal projects. It's not quite romantic, because she's been here so many times before. More than anyone else, in fact.
It's not romantic.]
I'LL WEAR A SUIT.
[Not quite.]
no subject
( is the response. the message is both a surprise and not - she was, of course, expecting it eventually, but eventually got pushed further and further back thanks to a certain christmas disaster, and it just became a 'one day' kind of idealization. not that a date is a lot to ask for, and neither because she thinks tony isn't interested, it's just that lives are busy and filled with chaos, and sometimes the points don't exactly meet up. shepard isn't especially worried.
though, there's a little pinprick of anxiety, but she's glad enough that it's there, because it means she hasn't completely lost her head since being here. tony's probably the best friend she's made on this planet - not to mention that he's certainly the best kisser, but she'll be the first to admit she doesn't exactly have a wide reference range when it comes to that. she's more comfortable around him than she is with anyone, and that's partly where attraction has stemmed from - comfort, and understanding, and a chiseled jawline.
anyway, she's comfortable enough to let herself into tony's workspace without knocking, padding in with an outfit most of the known galaxy has never seen commander shepard in: a dress. it's incredibly simple, and not too dressy just in case tony had been talking about his iron man suit, but it fits the occasion, nice and warm with long sleeves and a high collar, cutting off at her mid thigh. black velvet bunches forgivingly at end of it, hiding a thigh harness and a pistol strapped on her skin. you can never be too safe. )
Hey.
no subject
Tony can play at more than one kind of rich.
But you know the funny thing-- as he pulls the door open for her, shows her into the familiar workspace, costumes aside— the truth is, he isn't playing at anything with her, really. Sure, he will always maintain surfaces, such as shaping his beard, sassing his word choice, keeping people at arms length, keeping FRIDAY coded to keep people. A lot further away than arms length, actually. Locked elevators and high towers, air-conditioned basements deep into the rock of Malibu. Suits and jewel-encrusted watches. He brings some of that to meeting her, of course, but
somehow, with her, it's less about maintaining distance. His face, no matter how meticulously maintained and manicured, is just his face. His suit, no matter how carefully chosen and flattering to his smithy-muscled frame, just happens to be what he's wearing.]
Hey yourself.
[He shuts the door behind her.] You look real nice, Commander Shepard. Your crew would get upset, military boundaries getting all kinds of messy. Aren't you only supposed to wear one pair of shoes? Spit-shine and bootblack. [But he leans over to kiss her on the cheek, and takes an extra quarter a lung of breath to pull the scent of her detergent and hair into him. He flips the latch behind the small of her back, and motions his hand toward the table with the gifted liquor. She'll realize that it's actually set inside the bubble-shaped contraption she'd glimpsed int he picture-- it's a big contraption.]
no subject
she's not really thinking about it, at the moment. she's thinking about tony, who also gives her a lot of ... human urges. earthly desires, maybe. )
I didn't know I was heading off to a battle, otherwise I would've worn my boots. Should I expect fighting every time you ask me out? ( hovered somewhat close to him, she reaches a hand out to straighten the already perfect lapels of his suit jacket, tilting her head, using it as an excuse to be close to him. she wore flats, obtusely aware of how much shorter he is. ) That sounds like us. ( fondly. she pats his chest before turning.
she knows the lay of the land pretty well at this point, so the structure in question gives her pause, an eyebrow raising in curiosity. her steps forward are unquestioning - she trusts him, as always - as she makes her way into the bubble, toward the brandy. )
Hamster ball? ( she tosses over her shoulder. )
sdgkhlfs how tall is she?!
No, I like peace too. I'm learning mission-life balance, [he says. He doesn't think to second-guess the new alignment of his tie, not for a second.] In the-- midst of a war, I guess. Because that's how you do.
[Despite the PERFECTLY INSIgnificant difference in the lengths of their legs, Tony arrives at the odd little mini-chamber when she does. He picks up the brandy in its lovely dark bottle and opens it, doesn't bother to watch the translucent curl of vapor come out of its nozzle because he's watching her. The glass walls of the 'hamsterball's how her reflection back to her, translucent and reshaped, but rendered in the proper palette, the red of her hair in contrast to the pale lilt of her collarbones.]
Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, [he tells her.] Pay no mind to the acronym, please and thank you. [The rim of the glass nudges her hand.] Mark two point oh. Integrating what I could put together from the Temple tech, inscrutable as F.A.T.E.S. wants her 'magic' to be.
['''magic.''']
I built the first model to revisit the memory of the last time I spoke with my parents. Self-help, I guess. Spinning out the situation the way I wish it'd gone down. But I guess these days there's more to life than trauma, and you had a world or five you wanted me to see.
;)
she accepts the glass with her palm, silently trotting over to the mirrored wall of the - B.A.R.F., pressing gentle fingers against it. her head tilts, fiery red hair getting a little bit too long, brushing the top of her shoulder. tali would love this sort of thing. she was always - is always - excited about tech-type things, more likely to spend more hours rattling on about a sexy engine she saw than any of the quarian men on the flotilla. she and tony would get along, definitely. tony would get along with every member of the crew.
he's a book that takes a little more finesse to get the pages open - written in binary so the translation takes a little work, but she's getting through it, piece by little piece. being orphans is something else they have in common, shepard has learned, and her expression is just a little bit soft as she looks back over her shoulder to him. not pitying - understanding. she crosses back to him leisurely, this time with a smile, letting her eyes fall down first, before tracing back over him, toe to head. lavish and smooth. )
How does it work? If it's F.A.T.E.S., then I'm guessing something like, ( she steps in close, a little bit too close, and finds tony's hand with her fingers, lightly tracing over his callouses before interlocking their fingers. ) this?
no subject
[The other one-- he leans over and kicks the floor. Something metal goes clank, and then begins to move, shifting, a faint buzz of small motors. A panel rises up on a platform, a hand-shaped print settled on the glassy, luminous surface.] The rest, you can power with your powers. You know, superpowers. Kinetic blast from your biotic. It's-- sturdier than it looks.
The rest of the tech is from Earth. My Earth. Made it a year or two back. [His fingers tighten briefly around hers. Steadily, he lifts her captured hand, splaying his callused fingers through hers. He settles her palm on the panel, his own hand behind it. And from the side of the pedestal, he tugs out two more little devices-- they look like they'll clip onto her ears. Which he does now, easy as you like. Click. Click. It's not painful, not even a little. He thumbs her hair back from her temple, the ringlets snagging at his digit.]
You should know this is character development, for me. Once upon a time, a clandestine government operation had me down for 'compulsive behavior,' 'prone to self-destructive tendencies,' and 'textbook narcissism.' As a function of that, I usually drag people into my world. Not the other way around.
no subject
( it's heat, mostly, that tony will notice. not absurd or unpleasant -- just a tingle of energy that hits his palm, purple static that shepard concentrates in her arm, building it up before surging it on the platform ... the b.a.r.f. lights up. there's no question to where she'll take them first, even if for a little while they're suspended in dark space, sandwiched between stars that are some light years away and still feel as if they're winking against their skin. she regains her bearings, focuses. and then she thinks.
it's a very urban place. the streets are white and clean and with an undercurrent of technology seeping in the very framework of this place, booming with life in every singular corner, respectable and seedy, the whole nine yards. the air is fresh here. artificial. somehow it's cleaner than the real stuff. )
The Citadel. ( shepard explains. it isn't so crowded, but it is certainly busy, with different alien faces to be found at every turn. an asari holds hands with a krogan. a pizza delivery volus scuttles swiftly past them. ) It's a space station that was left from our ancestors, the Protheans, 50,000 years ago. You could consider it the ... capital of the universe. It's where the Council holds meetings, and ambassadors of all the different races make peace. It's also acts like a cultural hub for all different species. I have an apartment over, ( she points across from them, the flower-like structure of the citadel meaning that on one of the petals, you can look across and see another working at it's own opposite gravity. ) there. Technically it was my Captain's, but he gave it to me as a gift.
Want to meet some of my crew? They should be around here ... if I remember right.
no subject
The Citadel. Sounds grand, monolithic. It's more hospitable than he'dve thought, somehow; simultaneously reminiscent of sleepy, suburban residential zones and sprawling luxury malls the likes of which you only find in the Middle East or East Asia. Up-and-coming cities with governments investing money in monuments of chrome and glass. Except this place feels somehow low-key. Functional. What is that music, some cross between dubstep and-- jazz? It's smooth and friendly, emanating from a shopfront behind him, to go with the sunny glow of light. Vegetation growing everywhere, and near as many people.
It takes him a disorienting second after Shepard describes the petal to realize the way the structure floats through the limitless recesses of space, how they two of them and thousands of others standing on a platform that has its own gravitational pull generated somehow. The nerd in him immediately begins to grapple with the concept. The skeptic in him wonders if she's embellishing, a little, in order to impress the nerd in him.
But mostly he's a boy, slipping his arm around the waist of a girl, wondering suddenly if her friends would like him. Not that Tony Stark is particularly gifted with caring about the opinions of others, but even he, occasionally, will dabble.]
It ain't Malibu, but it's cute, [he says.] Cozy. I should've guessed you're the type who likes to live in a warren. With 'sidewalks.' And 'neighbors.' Soldier of the people, aren't you? [As opposed to him, he means. Descending from his remote high towers only now and then, to attend parties and promotional events in war zones.] Did you have a best friend? I want to meet him first. Or her. Th--whatever genders that space likes.
[He pauses, blinking as a couple of krogans wander by commenting loudly about seafood availability. Looks back at her, his expression pleasantly blank.]