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)
revivalproject2021-12-23 07:05 pm
in_extremis) wrote in revivalproject2021-12-23 07:05 pm
Trimming
WHO: Everyone! It's a mingle, get into it, bring your own winter traditions
WHERE: The diner
WHAT: A little winter celebration
WHEN: The solstice/end of the year
WARNINGS: Mark it if you get weird. I assume we're all a little busy, so if you want to use this to handwave some cordial introductions or a quick lore dump from Tony, just let me know.
There wasn't any official invitation or forewarning. In fact, Tony hadn't exactly planned to spend his day like this. Arriving at the diner, though, it would be difficult to ignore the acrid smell of burning, or the waft of coffee trying vainly to cover it. The scorched scent could have come from the brazier crackling outside of the diner door, spreading a ring of warmth that left a patch of the walkway cleared of snow, though the effect of that fire was more cozy, inviting anyone in the square near the fountain closer, with a sweet, woody smoke and an extra sharp, green scent from the lurid red and weirdly purple, piney boughs hung around the doorway. The burnt smell was stronger inside, anyway, clearly from a mishap in the kitchen, with another stack of those prickly branches on the diner counter not doing a convincing job of covering a black mark scorched into the surface. The rest of the room might have been distracting enough, though; red, white and pink glitter was dusted throughout the space, spreading from where it had been intended to be contained in clusters of flowers on tables, and colourful glass was hung from the ceiling in icicles or gathered into balls that all winked in the flicker of warm light. Where there weren't lumpy, grey-ish candles, hurriedly disguised with more glitter or brass bowls, there were small, woody shells like chestnuts dotted around the room, filled to teetering brim with a viscous sap that gave off a yellowish glow and left the whole diner shimmering.
Nestled in doorframes and above the counter where a spread of food that might be alluring to the particularly brave, were more lovingly crafted decorations: clusters of small, gold leaves in bouquets tied with red ribbons that chimed softly like bells if someone stood underneath them. The food on display did not give a great hint of what the disaster might have been. Rather, it was difficult to discern which dish would be the main culprit. There was a large bowl of a creamy, yellow liquid, with suspicious lumps and blackened flecks floating in it, with a stack of mismatched cups next to it for serving. The coffee pot next to it was probably safer. The foods that weren't cooked, per se, but sliced and piled onto plates were likely innocent, too, though it was entirely possible that some of those fruits should have been cooked to be edible. A tray of what kind of looked like pancakes looked trustworthy enough, assuming the worst of them didn't make it to the serving stage. In general, the decorations were clearly handled more competently.
The days had been dark and cold, and the diner was warm, bright, and ready to leave everyone full of dubiously edible cheer. If you stayed long enough, maybe Tony would even offer you one of those strange bundles he was fastidiously working on at a table, where an occasional crack sent a puff of smoke swirling up among the gently tinkling glass ornaments.
WHERE: The diner
WHAT: A little winter celebration
WHEN: The solstice/end of the year
WARNINGS: Mark it if you get weird. I assume we're all a little busy, so if you want to use this to handwave some cordial introductions or a quick lore dump from Tony, just let me know.
There wasn't any official invitation or forewarning. In fact, Tony hadn't exactly planned to spend his day like this. Arriving at the diner, though, it would be difficult to ignore the acrid smell of burning, or the waft of coffee trying vainly to cover it. The scorched scent could have come from the brazier crackling outside of the diner door, spreading a ring of warmth that left a patch of the walkway cleared of snow, though the effect of that fire was more cozy, inviting anyone in the square near the fountain closer, with a sweet, woody smoke and an extra sharp, green scent from the lurid red and weirdly purple, piney boughs hung around the doorway. The burnt smell was stronger inside, anyway, clearly from a mishap in the kitchen, with another stack of those prickly branches on the diner counter not doing a convincing job of covering a black mark scorched into the surface. The rest of the room might have been distracting enough, though; red, white and pink glitter was dusted throughout the space, spreading from where it had been intended to be contained in clusters of flowers on tables, and colourful glass was hung from the ceiling in icicles or gathered into balls that all winked in the flicker of warm light. Where there weren't lumpy, grey-ish candles, hurriedly disguised with more glitter or brass bowls, there were small, woody shells like chestnuts dotted around the room, filled to teetering brim with a viscous sap that gave off a yellowish glow and left the whole diner shimmering.
Nestled in doorframes and above the counter where a spread of food that might be alluring to the particularly brave, were more lovingly crafted decorations: clusters of small, gold leaves in bouquets tied with red ribbons that chimed softly like bells if someone stood underneath them. The food on display did not give a great hint of what the disaster might have been. Rather, it was difficult to discern which dish would be the main culprit. There was a large bowl of a creamy, yellow liquid, with suspicious lumps and blackened flecks floating in it, with a stack of mismatched cups next to it for serving. The coffee pot next to it was probably safer. The foods that weren't cooked, per se, but sliced and piled onto plates were likely innocent, too, though it was entirely possible that some of those fruits should have been cooked to be edible. A tray of what kind of looked like pancakes looked trustworthy enough, assuming the worst of them didn't make it to the serving stage. In general, the decorations were clearly handled more competently.
The days had been dark and cold, and the diner was warm, bright, and ready to leave everyone full of dubiously edible cheer. If you stayed long enough, maybe Tony would even offer you one of those strange bundles he was fastidiously working on at a table, where an occasional crack sent a puff of smoke swirling up among the gently tinkling glass ornaments.
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Someone other than his brother loves him. He hadn't even said that to David or heard it. He's loved. It's something that is so foreign that, before Tommy can help himself, a sob ripped from his chest, tears in his eyes. Love. Holy shit.
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"It's not that bad," he joked.
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No one should get to see the tears in his eyes, so he buries his face in Kyle's shirt.
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"It's okay," he murmured. "I was just kidding, it's okay, let it out."
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"No one's loved me before."
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"In all the ways. So thank you."
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He hugs Tommy again. "Don't thank me, dingus. Just like... yeah." He kisses his cheek.
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"I'm sorry I cried."
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"Crying is weakness. Guys don't cry," Tommy answered. It's stupid, but it's also true.
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"You were hurt. That's okay. Like, it makes sense. But me? I can't cry like that. Frank..."
He stops himself, because he realizes what he was about to say. Fuck. Frank always got on him about it. This was stupid.
"Fucking hell, my trauma is showing ain't it?"
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Another hug.
"I'm still hurt. I hate it."
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"The things I grew up knowing, they're wrong, aren't they? The whole 'guys shouldn't have emotions'? Damn, Gramps tried to warn me but..."
He had taken it as a joke.
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"Are you sure? Because you're, like, so in touch with yourself."
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"Feelings are good."
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"Dammit, I really do love you. You're so damn smart."
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"I love you too, dingus."
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"You do better than okay. I'm just shit at this shit."
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