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.
no subject
[do not know a tony. what is this creature? where is he suppseed to be? i have not seen anything like it ebfroe.] Like Celty's mysterious motorcycle that made a faint horse noise.
The elf picked up the robot and brought it slowly back over to the armor-clad man. He held it out as far as he could with one arm. No weapons from what he could see, but what if he was hiding them?
no subject
"The 'creature' is called Data," Echo explained, trying to simplify the concept. "He's a robot Tony created -- artificial intelligence, more like, to the point where he has a mind of his own. Which is both a good and a bad thing." A brief look was given at D.A.T.A, brow furrowed before relaxing again. "As for Tony, he's around." The statement came with a shrug. "You'll get to meet him eventually if you don't see him on the network first."
At the approach, Echo raised his arms, showing that he had nothing in them as he stepped forward to take D.A.T.A. from the elf. He did have his pistols holstered, but his hands were nowhere near them as he spoke again. "...So, I'm assuming you're new here. I'm Echo."
no subject
That word was being put to use a lot since coming here.
Echo? What an interesting name. Lerith pointed to Echo, tapped his index and middle fingers against the top of the other hands same fingers, before holding up one hand to point a finger against it and ricochet back off. [Your name Echo.]
The device was pulled out to text again. [my name is lerith. i arrived not too long ago. this world is nothing like my own. electricty and no candles, this device instead of writing down everything i say. no parchment, no horses! and the ground is not a stone i have seen before.]
no subject
His eyes then scanned the lines of text that came after it, nodding in understanding at the current predicament the elf faced. "Lerith? Yeah, it's a pretty strange place," he agreed. "Where I'm from, there are many planets -- worlds, in a sense -- to travel between. And it's normal to see how vastly different they are from one another."
He could only assume it was kind of overwhelming if one wasn't used to such a setting, but Lerith appeared to be fine. He might as well check, though. "Are you doing alright? From what I've read so far, this is a big change for you."
no subject
[little overwhelming. but beter than where i was. which is better than wheer i was before that.]
His typing still needed work. [my world still use horse and carriage for getting around, no building like this except maybe chantry and a city in orlais.] Lerith was not going to try and spell 'Val Royeaux' on this device. He scrubbed a hand against a scarred and tattooed cheek before typing again.
[is this world like yours?] It was interesting that there were so many different types of people in this strange city. They all had something that the Agrii wanted them to do apparently.
no subject
"Better?" Although curious, he let the thought pass, scanning the lines the elf typed in. The misspellings weren't terrible, so that was the least of their worries. He turned to answer the question first. "It's...well, it's nothing like the world I come from. The most obvious difference is being on dry land -- Kamino's covered by ocean, and Tipoca City is built above it. And I guess it depends on the world we get deployed to," he explained. "Some have semblance to Temba, and sometimes their technology is limited. Others are far more advanced and better maintained."
He glanced at Data before letting the robot down again, brow lifting slightly at Lerith. "What is the Chantry?"
no subject
Lerith nods at the question of 'better'. [yes better. right before i came here, dragon attacking haven. i had only been there a few months after escaping tevinter where i was a slave] Which might've explained the heavy scarring on the elf's face. [chantry is where people go to pray. maker and his bride...] He paused in his typing, thinking. [andraste is her name. there is chantry in every city, with one person in charge or something.]
no subject
Obviously it isn't, and Echo is glad that Lerith hasn't arrived seriously injured. That relief is fleeting, however; his brow furrows at the word 'slave,' reading it a few more times too many and saying nothing, nodding as the pause comes and goes. It's probably better to move on, anyway -- the elf is new, and there's no reason to linger on the detail.
"They must have a lot of followers if they're that spread out..."
His nose wrinkles again in thought, another beat passing before he speaks up again. "Ah. Before I forget, it might be good to get you settled in. There are rooms at the hotel if you need somewhere to rest, and food at the diner if you want something to eat."