revivalproject

Entry tags:

Burden

WHO: Tony and OTA??, though a few people are getting mentioned (Kaz, Jon, Cayde, Ronan?, Bucky?, this is already falling apart)
WHERE: Around Temba where all of those people can be found
WHAT: Tony's delivering gifts again
WHEN: A little while after the Eyepocalypse
WARNINGS: There could be talking about the event-related trauma in here, but none of that to begin with.
NOTES: You can interpret this as catching Tony at any of these places to interact with him, or just find the package and text him later, or not respond at all and just know you have this thing in your life now. I'm not your boss, surprise me. You may also intercept a package that isn't for you, unless the rightful owner tags in here first and claims it. Fight.

It wasn't like he was getting much sleep, so Tony had plenty of time to work. He had some apologies to make, first and foremost, and only some of the construction was like rocket science. It was the deliveries that turned out to be challenging. Most of the Iron Man's helmet was finished, too, before he was making his reluctant way through the city, D.A.T.A. bumbling along behind him to cover more ground quickly and let Tony retreat again before he lost his nerve. It wasn't like the blood wasn't already on the ground.

None of the packages were very big, easy for the robot to carry and wrapped neatly in scraps of what felt like toasted paper, which crumbled under too much handling. Small, brass tags fixed them together, bearing the name of their recipient to be found at their doorsteps.

...at the Bloodsport
A soft, squishy package labelled with KAZ. Inside, laid carefully on top of each other and smudged slightly in the ash of the paper, is a pair of black gloves whose texture is closer to vellum than leather. Maybe its this thinness that lets the wearer sense so easily through them, and interact with touchscreen devices. Its not at the sake of durability, though. A knife will leave a mark, but that's not how you're getting through these gloves.

...at the library
A small, cylindrical package labelled JON. To different people, this might look like a high calibre bullet, or a gold tube of lipstick. It's a sleek electric lighter, though. No patterns on the case.

...at the clock tower
This package clatters slightly when it is moved, which might be worrying because it only has the explosive hazard symbol on the label. If it is handled gently, you'll find a pair of generously heavy dice inside. They're slightly oversized, and feel like they might be solid iron all the way through. Every time they are rolled, they always turn up on an ornately stamped pair of feathers in place of snake eyes.

...at the theatre
Another squishy package, though this label just says 'FOR NEXT TIME'. It's another pair of black gloves, though these ones don't cover the tips of the fingers or the thumb at all, and there seems to be a distinct weight to the knuckles. They cover most of the way up the forearm, like they might be part of some kind of...superhero costume...

...at the hotel
About the size of a chocolate bar, and labelled JAMES. That black vellum-looking material has been formed into a small, stiff domino mask. Its eyes are darkened with some kind of glass. Try it on, and it will prompt you to pair with your communication device, and suggests vaguely on this HUD 'TRY ME'.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There may be a certain clumsiness to it, but Jon appreciates the kiss and the honesty in its imperfection and gladly returns it, wrapping one arm around Tony's lower back as they walk before responding with a lasting smile. "Glad I can make you feel that way. And- Thank you. For the new lighter."

With a dismissive flap of his free hand, looking with distraction up toward the sky again, Tony muttered vaguely, "You--...deserve it." His hand settled over his heart, or as settled as it ever got, and he kept the other wound around Jon despite rounding their way back up to the town centre, where there weren't so many shadows to hide in and anyone was likely to be passing through on their way to the hospital or hotel, or follow them through the diner where Tony easily picked up the scent of warm coffee drawing him back into the kitchen.

This wasn't exactly a place he spent much time, to everyone's benefit, and when he had it was with appliances pulled away from walls to service or upgrade them, so he glanced around with a sense of being lost and finally let Jon go, as much as he was willing, to let him get them served from whatever cupboard a cup might come out of. He kept a hand on the back of Jon's shirt, or his sleeve, largely being a hindrance to the effort despite his obvious impatience as he leaned against the counter ready to reel Jon in close again.

Deserving a new lighter? For what, though, Jon finds himself wondering as he blinks up at Tony once, yet doesn't voice the question. Instead, he follows Tony readily into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee machine he has left to brew their coffee. That Tony turns out to not entirely want to let go of him while he gets some cups and pours them both a coffee is a bit of a surprise, but not something Jon feels mad about.

"How about we find a place to sit?" Jon suggests as he turns to face Tony with one of the cups offered to the other man with a fond smile.

While Tony started to nod, willing to agree, Jon had to wait a moment with Tony's hand still on him while Tony accepted the coffee and take his first greedy gulp, apparently unaffected by the temperature, before he was willing to actually move. Then he had to gather the pot as well, no man left behind, and then he actually followed, crowding behind Jon to leave the kitchen to a more familiar seat in the dining room. "Is it usually this quiet?" he wondered as he draped himself into a seat next to Jon, glancing around at the empty tables, and immediately regretted it. He probably actually came here more than Jon did, despite the proximity, so he might actually know better. Worse, the whole city was distinctly more quiet lately; there were less people to keep the diner lively.

Leaving the coffee pot to Tony, Jon carries his own cup over into the dining area, but not without casting the occasional look back at Tony, unbothered by the prospect of openly showing the fondness he has for the man. He leads them to the table he has been sitting at before, a notebook and pen still present on it. Tony's prompting has Jon look around the empty place as well, and he shrugs before shaking his head. "We are fewer people now." Is his initial answer before turning to look at Tony again, one hand reaching over to place it on one of Tony's. "I keep going over the user list of the network and- I'm sure you noticed how much shorter it is these days."

There have been fewer of them before this most recent nightmare happened, so there's some degree of relief in that.

Tony's nod this time was slow and awkward, teeth on edge, because he had very much noticed but he didn't have any explanations or solutions yet. There still weren't any obvious patterns except for a nerve wracking downward trend that had him squeezing Jon's hand in return, like he might be next if Tony wasn't hanging on. "It's good," he said, though he didn't sound convinced and tried for a more decisive nod, "Right? It's good that they're home." That was what they were trying to do in the first place. So Tony wasn't also going to say that he was glad Merrin was still around for Cal.

Abruptly, not wanting to linger on that morbidity, Tony dropped Jon's hand to drape an arm along the back of his chair instead, where he could gently hold Jon back from resisting as Tony slid the notebook across the table toward himself curiously.

"Hmm." Jon hums pensively, silently appreciating the squeeze of his hand and Tony keeping him close. Tony just keeps having his own means of communicating what he feels without the direct use of words. Which remains very unlike to how Jon works, but not necessarily something Jon can't understand. At least he wants to believe he has figured it out by now.

It's not wrong, however, that a lot of those brought here simply wish to go back home. Meanwhile Jon doesn't even know anymore what exactly that means for him. Will he be dead? Will he be somewhere else? Will he be able to find Tony again?

He doesn't phrase any of these questions as he watches Tony pull the notebook close. Neither does he make any move to stop Tony from opening it up and checking the notes inside. The notes aren't spectacular, just a collection of simple recipes doable with what exists in this kitchen. A Different part of the notebook is dedicated to listing local plants and which ones are usable to make tea out of. All in all it's a collection of information regarding the planet and its resources.

"Have you eaten anything today?" He asks, his eyes scanning whichever page of the notebook Tony ends up inspecting.

Without any secrets to discover or Jon sputtering in protest, the notebook wasn't nearly as interesting as Tony was hoping and mostly looked a lot like the kind of notes Jarvis would keep on the Avengers' favourites, allergies and patterns to keep the kitchen properly stocked. Much like to Jarvis, Tony muttered, "You need a better system," as he considered a soup recipe, though knew from that experience that it wasn't much use trying to make one. Maybe Tommy would find it useful, though. Tony would have to find out if he was interested in learning some coding.

"Ah, maybe," was the most honest answer he could give, prone to not thinking very hard about food himself in general, and particularly not when committed to a project. So, most of the time. He swept his hand through Jon's hair to tuck behind his ear and give it a teasing nip as he purred, "Why, are you offering?" He didn't quite get that far, though, the question coming out more of a murmur as he was distracted tracing his fingers down Jon's neck, sketching cautiously around the mark of a distinct burn there.

Sorry, Tony. But any notebooks concerning any more interesting content surely won't be left at the diner like this. "I'm not going to make audio recordings of recipes." Jon replies with a bemused tone. Maybe it would be useful for anyone unfamiliar with Earth language - Or even just English.

"I- uh-" Jon starts to answer, but finds himself distracted by Tony's touch and falling into a soft little hum rather than sticking to words. He knows which mark Tony is tracing and as with each of his scars, Jon well remembers the event as well. He reaches the hand up that isn't occupied with Tony's other hand, his fingers lightly touching the mark himself and brushing against those of Tony that are currently exploring this newly altered patch of skin. "It- It's strange. I was a hunter but- I didn't want to hunt you? A-at least not in the usual sense of prey. If that makes sense. Still I felt drawn to pursue you."

The suggestion that an audio version would be the more efficient system had a laugh bubbling up in Tony's throat. It was quickly pushed down with guilt as Jon raised his hand to the scar as well, then a very unexpected shame and dread that had him primly stretching his arm out long the back of Jon's chair again where he could tap his fingers against his own palm, held carefully away from Jon and any other scars he might have left. Whatever Tony had been, he very much had wanted to make Jon hurt, and maybe he was too eager to trust that this urge was under control if whatever compulsion had been guiding them had been more of a gentle nudge.

"I don't know if I understand," Tony admitted; either because he was blinded by his own hunger to have noticed any subtleties in it, or because he was just too distracted now by that possibility to actually listen. "Is that...something? One of your fears, being prey."

"Being hunted, being chased by a predator is actually one of the oldest fears, yes." Jon nods with a glance back at Tony's hand, currently having retreated and difficult to reach. "It's older than the fear of death, since in order to fear dying, you need to be aware enough of actually being alive and the possibility of said life being to be brought to an end." He pauses there a moment, then adds: "At the very beginning, Fear was but one... Being. It just split in response to things living beings started being afraid of."

Jon moves his attention back over to Tony, looking apologetic. "What I meant to say is, yes. That's one of the fears. Hunters live for the chase and they can feel lost the moment they have nothing to pursue. Though they also are drawn to one another. To me it always felt like there is some sort of pack mentality at play."

Somehow, thinking about fears having an age and some kind of inception didn't feel so outrageous when Jon explained it like this, and it wasn't as rocky as Tony anticipated to accept fear, as a collective concept, as an individual impulse, and as an active force were all different and in balance. He nodded slowly, no longer so convinced that that active force was unique to Jon's world, not after feeling what it might do so intimately, just that it took different shapes.

"I don't think I was hunting..." Tony muttered, less sure what to make of what he was doing now. There was certainly some stalking involved, but that wasn't the part that he was...enjoying. Silver linings, though: "But I was part of your pack anyway," he inferred, trying for a teasing smirk. "What I don't understand is, why you haven't been manhandling me like that this whole time to show your affection."

"M-manhandling you?" Jon exclaims in return, turning to look at Tony with an expression that is equally flustered as it is disbelieving. "Why would I-- W-why would you- I, uh..." He stammers, not entirely sure what Tony is meaning to imply - Or if it's simply a joke.

It must be a joke. Which Jon ends up pointing out in the end. "That's a joke." Pause. "R-right...?"

While Jon stammered his way through his disbelief, Tony relaxed back in his seat to take a distinctly satisfied sip of his coffee with a sense of triumph for managing to fluster Jon while he was trying to explain this very serious Fear thing to Tony, watching Jon over the rim of his cup with a playful glint. This wasn't exactly an opportune time to explain any further while Tony was struggling with some much darker sadistic impulses, so he only muttered, "Doesn't have to be," punctuated with the noise of his mug returned to the table.

"You were different," he continued, head tilting to concede, obviously, the physical differences were hard to ignore, but he meant more, "Wild. And I didn't know what to expect, and that scared me." He had to take a deep breath. "But if that's more you than this--" he gestured loosely with the hand still over Jon's shoulder, then drew it back to trace down his neck again, mouth open and searching for the proper language. "You've been part of that machine for as long as I have known you," he landed on. If those Fears had so much influence, then Tony wasn't sure what parts were Jon.

Jon finds himself just staring dumbly at Tony for a short while while working through that initial teasing response. The flustered expression doesn't fade quickly, either, even as realization dawns on him.

"You are asking if there is a more... Feral side to being the Archivist." He pauses there, glancing up towards the ceiling as if the answer might be up there. Unfortunately, it isn't. "Not in such obvious ways as the Hunt who is craving the chase or- The Desolation." The last part is delivered with Jon lowering his eyes back onto Tony. He then gives a small, apologetic shrug. "I have forced information out of people in the past, however..." Which is something Tony has experienced himself and may well remember.

Tony's frustration with articulating anything about Jon's whole magic thing had him shaking his head at Jon's interpretation, which was the opposite of what he was trying to ask. By the time he worked out how to correct Jon, though, he was making that meaningful eye contact, making Tony stare back at him inquisitively. So he did have some guess at what was happening to Tony. Desolation sounded like it did describe most of his nightmares.

"But that's...the Archivist," he tried to redirect. "Not you." If Jon hadn't understood Tony because he didn't think there was much difference between the two, then maybe Tony didn't really want to hear the answer because that could mean there wasn't much difference between himself and the person he was with his hand around Jon's throat.

"...how much of the monster is myself and how much am I the monster." Jon offers with a small sigh, shoulders dropping. "I have been wondering that for a long while. I know not all of my actions can be blamed on instinct. I also recognize the difference between what I know to be right and where it differs with what I feel to be right. Just to- To name an example: The apocalypse. It felt right to me, though I knew it was wrong. I knew I had to stop it, but at the same time I also just wanted to explore and observe it."

It was definitely still frustration that Tony was feeling, though it was getting harder to place where it was coming from after that answer. With his elbow still balanced behind Jon, he propped his head in his hand where he could scratch restlessly at the back of his neck, other hand splayed on the table to tap an erratic rhythm. The way Jon described it made it sound like those were clear cut, two different kinds of impulses, but Tony suspected that the Jon he knew would want to explore and observe most anything, and he didn't know what would be in that place instead if all of that urge was just the Archivist.

"Most of the time that I was still drinking, at my worst, it always felt right," he could intimately understand. "When I was too sober, I felt sick and empty and I couldn't focus, everything hurt. I also knew more clearly when I sobered up that the drinking wasn't right, and I wasn't the only person I was hurting, which--which drinking more fixed, too, so--...But last week, when I was..." Tony shook his head, not really wanting to articulate any of the horrors that he was causing. "I never had that part. I just got--angry. I was starving. I needed to do this. And you've done that--your thing--to me, but I always pushed you. So, if that, that hunger, is how you feel all of the time, I honestly don't know how you don't act on it."

There's a nod of understanding, followed by a sigh. "I want to claim it being self control, but realistically... I just had more time to adjust. To get used to what I am and how to keep myself in check and find alternatives. Which also were readily available to me back in the Archives." He reaches a hand over to Tony's restless one on the table, not interrupting the motion but instead offering an alternative, if Tony wishes to take it.

"You didn't have any of that. And neither did I when I was a Hunter. None of whichever discipline I claim to have acquired kept me at bay. I hunted, I hurt, I craved the pain of others in ways I weren't familiar with. Please know that I'm not blaming you for what you did back there. Because even I was powerless to this influence and I should have been the one most familiar with it."

None of that really helped untangle which parts were the Fear and which parts were Jon, bringing a slow realization that Tony's agitation might be from the conflict of not wanting them to be distinct parts against very much wanting to be able to distance himself from the horrors he had revelled in. It would be much easier to think of Jon as a single whole, because there weren't just parts of him that Tony wanted to pick and prefer, it was all of him and some of that might have been this thing that chose him. Tony accepted his gesture on the table, watching their hands intently as he tangled one finger around one of Jon's. It wasn't like the finger came off, Tony still had the whole hand.

"You're not blaming yourself then, either," Tony declared, because Jon should have had no room for argument. Not that it was that easy or that Tony expected the declaration to just work; even hearing the assurance from Jon, he still blamed himself for what he did. It was hard not to when it was viscerally real, could feel the blood on his hands and still knew exactly how it felt to taste that fear like he could do it tomorrow and still sigh with satisfaction. The thought made him shiver, and he abruptly released Jon's hand again to let himself into Jon's pocket, retrieving the lighter. "Do you Know?" he asked.

"I know it's difficult to not feel any guilt at all." Jon acknowledges. "But I much rather want to blame those that put us all into that position." And preferably find a way to get some semblance of revenge.

When Tony moves to retrieve the lighter from his pocket, Jon is left to blink at him. "Know what? It's a lighter?"

That wasn't a wrong answer, so Tony chuckled and gave a nod, sure, relieved that if Jon was using his weird omniscience, it had been largely limited to tracking Tony down. "You don't think it has anything to do with what happened back home?" he prompted as he gave a deft twist to what looked like just the hinged cap of the lighter, then cracked it open upside down in one practiced hand. "That Fear Entity--I guess it wouldn't just go away if it had that much control over us, but--" Tony wasn't sure what he was trying to say exactly. That this Fear wasn't the only being of that scale, maybe. That it might have...friends. "Those that have put us here, into this position, maybe we've been thinking too small."

This puzzle of the lighter in Tony's hand revealed what looked like a flat, onyx button under the igniter cap that he twisted in the light, slowly dropping his other arm around Jon's shoulders again where he kept his hand carefully aloft and tense. Now that he had it in front of them, he didn't seem eager to explain, and with a deep breath he rushed through it, "In case something happens. It'll give you control," miming pressing is thumb down on the button. "Of the Iron Man." What 'something happens' meant was going to have to be up to Jon's interpretation, because Tony was quickly flicking the device shut again, the click closing the conversation. He didn't exactly have Steve around now to make that kind of decision--not one that had any idea who Tony was, anyway.

In case something happens. Those words alone open up a pit in Jon's stomach that he feels himself dragged into only to be faced with the vagueness of everything this something might be. It takes him a moment to swallow those possibilities down before giving a small nod of understanding. "Promise me you won't give me any reason to use it." He requests, not necessarily waiting for a verbal confirmation when he then looks back at Tony.

Then he shakes his head, acknowledging that discussing the potential use of the lighter isn't what either of them is terribly keen of. "What happened here was different from how it worked on my Earth. We weren't tied to any entity. We only acted that way. It feels... Different. Which is not to say that there can't be other powers out in the multiverse. The plan the Web designed literally aimed for the Fears of my world to be released onto a new hunting ground. Which may have succeeded?" He shrugs. "But what I'm saying is... What we had here was an emulation. Luckily. I wouldn't wish to consider the possibility of the Atroma teaming up with otherworldly powers just to provide them entertainment."

That wasn't a promise that Tony could make, or they wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place. So he didn't meet Jon's eye then, pouting softly instead and keeping his focus keenly on the delicate way he placed the lighter on the table in front of them, fingers raised primly a setting it down gently on its end to leave the bullet pointing toward the ceiling. He only really answered when he couldn't reasonably keep his attention on it any longer, and lifted his chin to press a kiss to Jon's temple instead.

"There definitely are other powers," he said. "And plenty that are not bound by the limits of their dimension." Tony's Earth had almost succumbed to a number of them, after all, and most of the time only survived because of a whole team of extraordinary people making huge sacrifices, not just one man already fighting his own instincts. "What my concern is, is that the Atroma are one of them. And you can't fight that the same way we can't fight these storms. They're not some sadistic alien race, they're a force of nature."

Of course he couldn't make any promises. Jon at the very least doesn't sigh and just lightly leans towards the kiss in acceptance before wordlessly picking the lighter up and carefully pocket it again. This one he actually needs to pay more attention to.

The suggestion Tony makes about the Atroma is what brings a frown to Jon's face. "That's admittedly not an angle I have considered myself until now." And it's not a possibility he particularly likes, now that he is actually considering it. "What chances do we even have in terms of fighting them should this be true?"

Burden

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)