Tony Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
in_extremis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2021-11-29 02:36 pm
in_extremis) wrote in revivalproject2021-11-29 02:36 pm
Composition
WHO: Tony, Jon and OTA!
WHERE: The Temba Civics Centre and the library
WHAT: Tony is looking for some help for a little art project
WHEN: End of November
WARNINGS: I can guarantee you Tony and Jon are going to get weird, but what kind of weird is a gamble. Some of the paint effects are open to interpretation, so tag accordingly I guess?
a. NETWORK//TEXT un:iron man//PUBLIC
Do you know how to draw? Paint? Hold a paintbrush at all? We're hiring! Join us at the Civic Centre, downtown Temba, to contribute your artistic excellence to an important installation in Temba's cultural expression. No resume or portfolio necessary. Bring snacks.
b. He-Row Moor All [OTA! Treat this as a mingle, and feel free to get wild with the paint effects]
There aren't many more instructions for interested artists or intrigued onlookers arriving at the Civic Centre. Upon entering, the facing wall of the comfortable entrance hall has been scrubbed clean in expectant preparation. Artists might get an idea of what to do with the items arranged around it, like the small pile of roughly fabricated brushes made of sticks and an array of different material tips, such as grass and fur. A round, metal robot or droid, with six spidery legs and a wide camera lens considers them and will move around the room skittishly. If it isn't bothered, it will project images of some familiar faces onto the floor. They seem to be the same faces that accompany a He-Row's name in the communication device dictionaries, but some of them definitely aren't on that list...
Tacked to the centre of the wall is a small scrap of paper with a surprisingly geometric, but incredibly vague sketch of what looks kind of like a police line up: various shapes of people standing next to each other in what might be an amateur's rigidity.
None of this would be any use without the containers of paint(?) arrayed against the wall. Take your pick! This definitely came from a very reliable source, all very local and organic, so you shouldn't be worried about how toxic it might be if you get it on your skin.
Red is a familiar colour. A lot like that fruit around town, or the juice produced on the Flygood.
Blue gets weirdly sticky. Like, REALLY sticky. On the wall its fine, but once in contact with skin you're not going to want to let anything else touch it...
Yellow is a real jolt to the system. One minute you might be painting happily, the next minute you're bouncing off the walls like a shot of adrenaline.
Mix some more colours and you might be in some real trouble.
Painters might notice one last thing as they turn around to go back out the door; a tiny stack of thin, hammered brass tags, all of them stamped simply 'I. O. U.'. Maybe they should take one before they go. It's not like anything bad could happen.
c. Nearby... [for Jon]
There wasn't anything obvious to Tony about the mural project that should be irritating Jon as much as it seemed to be. Not that he thought there would be much to stop him if he did understand where this distaste was coming from any better; he was used to asking forgiveness. In fact, sneaking his way into the library to leave his apology gift was getting to be annoyingly familiar, and even with the nagging awareness of Jon's recent reticence starting to settle uncomfortably in Tony's chest, he was comfortable enough in the repetition of the act to linger for a moment against Jon's desk in the basement and consider what D.A.T.A. was observing in the Civic Centre. No, there was no way this was a terrible idea. At worst, it was a waste of time for a handful of people who happened to enjoy painting and maybe could have been doing something more productive if miserable instead, like peeling potatoes. Space potatoes. Around Tony, stacked on the desk and without anything shiny this time to attract the disruptive attention of the mothcats, were a group of bouquets. Five of them, in fact; none of them particularly big, to Tony's frustration, just big enough to be tied neatly with a long piece of grass around their stems, and all sorted by hue. They had looked impressive while all gathered in his arms, but once they were spread on the desk they looked a lot less bountiful, and Tony had sighed and was frowning as he crossed his arms and his ankles and stared blankly into the middle distance as he considered his cameras.
WHERE: The Temba Civics Centre and the library
WHAT: Tony is looking for some help for a little art project
WHEN: End of November
WARNINGS: I can guarantee you Tony and Jon are going to get weird, but what kind of weird is a gamble. Some of the paint effects are open to interpretation, so tag accordingly I guess?
a. NETWORK//TEXT un:iron man//PUBLIC
Do you know how to draw? Paint? Hold a paintbrush at all? We're hiring! Join us at the Civic Centre, downtown Temba, to contribute your artistic excellence to an important installation in Temba's cultural expression. No resume or portfolio necessary. Bring snacks.
b. He-Row Moor All [OTA! Treat this as a mingle, and feel free to get wild with the paint effects]
There aren't many more instructions for interested artists or intrigued onlookers arriving at the Civic Centre. Upon entering, the facing wall of the comfortable entrance hall has been scrubbed clean in expectant preparation. Artists might get an idea of what to do with the items arranged around it, like the small pile of roughly fabricated brushes made of sticks and an array of different material tips, such as grass and fur. A round, metal robot or droid, with six spidery legs and a wide camera lens considers them and will move around the room skittishly. If it isn't bothered, it will project images of some familiar faces onto the floor. They seem to be the same faces that accompany a He-Row's name in the communication device dictionaries, but some of them definitely aren't on that list...
Tacked to the centre of the wall is a small scrap of paper with a surprisingly geometric, but incredibly vague sketch of what looks kind of like a police line up: various shapes of people standing next to each other in what might be an amateur's rigidity.
None of this would be any use without the containers of paint(?) arrayed against the wall. Take your pick! This definitely came from a very reliable source, all very local and organic, so you shouldn't be worried about how toxic it might be if you get it on your skin.
Red is a familiar colour. A lot like that fruit around town, or the juice produced on the Flygood.
Blue gets weirdly sticky. Like, REALLY sticky. On the wall its fine, but once in contact with skin you're not going to want to let anything else touch it...
Yellow is a real jolt to the system. One minute you might be painting happily, the next minute you're bouncing off the walls like a shot of adrenaline.
Mix some more colours and you might be in some real trouble.
Painters might notice one last thing as they turn around to go back out the door; a tiny stack of thin, hammered brass tags, all of them stamped simply 'I. O. U.'. Maybe they should take one before they go. It's not like anything bad could happen.
c. Nearby... [for Jon]
There wasn't anything obvious to Tony about the mural project that should be irritating Jon as much as it seemed to be. Not that he thought there would be much to stop him if he did understand where this distaste was coming from any better; he was used to asking forgiveness. In fact, sneaking his way into the library to leave his apology gift was getting to be annoyingly familiar, and even with the nagging awareness of Jon's recent reticence starting to settle uncomfortably in Tony's chest, he was comfortable enough in the repetition of the act to linger for a moment against Jon's desk in the basement and consider what D.A.T.A. was observing in the Civic Centre. No, there was no way this was a terrible idea. At worst, it was a waste of time for a handful of people who happened to enjoy painting and maybe could have been doing something more productive if miserable instead, like peeling potatoes. Space potatoes. Around Tony, stacked on the desk and without anything shiny this time to attract the disruptive attention of the mothcats, were a group of bouquets. Five of them, in fact; none of them particularly big, to Tony's frustration, just big enough to be tied neatly with a long piece of grass around their stems, and all sorted by hue. They had looked impressive while all gathered in his arms, but once they were spread on the desk they looked a lot less bountiful, and Tony had sighed and was frowning as he crossed his arms and his ankles and stared blankly into the middle distance as he considered his cameras.