revivalproject | Two Weird Planets

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Two Weird Planets

WHO: Dustin, Felwinter, Tony, the Palm Cottage crew, and OPEN
WHERE: The Charcoal Star Map Roof in Temba, crew quarters on the Palm Cottage, various crafting guilds, the Eorzean wilds, and the Gold Saucer
WHAT: Curiosities, Crabbiness, Collecting, Crafting, and Cards
WHEN: First prompt is backdated to an evening in early July; the rest take place throughout the Eorzea event, July 17th - August 10th.
WARNINGS: Dustin is mean and uses mean words. Also, there might be violence/injury if monsters (or guards??) get involved on some of these quests.
NOTES: An outfit for the event!

1. Northwestern Temba Rooftops [Closed to Felwinter]

It's been a week. And, just like they'd agreed, Dustin is here - specifically, on the roof he and Felwinter had previously met. The familiar campfire has been lit to signal his presence, though its base is a lot neater than it has been; it rained yesterday, ruining the residual charcoal pile and washing away nearly two weeks of star map work in the process.

The boy who'd spent so much time drawing these maps is, perhaps, understandably perturbed - but not actually for that reason. Rather, as he paces agitatedly around the perimeter of the roof, the only thing going through his head is how he won't be able to keep up his end of the deal.

So fucking stupid. Dustin viciously kicks a piece of loose pavement in his path. Making promises I can't keep. Dumbass. I don't even know if he'll be pissed or not. I just wanna get this shit over with and go to sleep.

He pauses, casting a harried glance over the roof's edge.

Where the fuck is he?

2. Palm Cottage Crew Quarters [Closed to Palm Cottage Crew]

When the Palm Cottage and her crew slip into orbit around Eorzea and receive their directions for planet-side, Dustin does not leave the ship. Instead, he grabs the items the Agrii have left for him in his labeled chest, glances at the note with glassy eyes, stuffs it in his pocket and stomps his way back to crew quarters in silence.

In fact, Dustin's been pretty quiet the whole trip. Too busy sulking. His first time in space--fucking space--and he can't even enjoy it because the Agrii forced him here. They really do seem to have a knack for pissing in his cereal. So Dustin spends his time thinking about the best way to get back at them, and by the end of their journey he's settled on a protest of inaction. Any precious seconds he can spend not doing what the Agrii want him to do are victories, by Dustin's estimation. They can get some other sucker to go fuck around for their 'Seek Rats' or whatever. Not this guy.

He wastes the whole first day like this. A lot of it is spent just laying on the top bunk he's claimed, long since devoid of sheets that he stole on day one, tossing the bundled shawl of the outfit the Agrii provided him at the ceiling.

Thump. Thump.

That's definitely not going to get annoying.

3. Gridania Crafting Guilds [OTA]

Thankfully, Dustin's fit of petulance doesn't last long. By the second day he's on the ground like most everyone else.

He's surprised at how quickly he's able to find a place here. The concept of having to massage a population of strangers into giving him intel is daunting, to say the least, which is why Dustin immediately notices how ready the locals are to give him work. They peddle quests like merchants, flagging down passerby, talking loudly about their misgivings, never seeming to care about supply of potential applicants. They even have honest-to-god quest markers. To call the experience 'surreal' would be an understatement.

Dustin ends up having to turn down the first few requests, realizing quickly that he's not equipped to handle the monster-slaying or rumor-mongering needs of these people, but it doesn't take him too long to find something much more achievable: Apprentice woodworking. And from there, the whole world opens up to him.

The biggest hurdle is the tools. The Eorzeans don't use the same sorts of equipment that Dustin is used to for probably obvious reasons, though that equipment also appears to operate with different laws of physics, too. 'Magic,' apparently. All he knows is that this saw he's been given is too light and big to handle the whittling work he's able to squeeze out of it, yet here he is, gently shaping the curved end of a longbow with it like he's handling a precision carving knife. This shit just works and it's incredible.

Dustin does most of his carpentry (and eventually leatherworking) outside, on the small terraces facing the large, dark forest that surrounds Gridania. People wander past, but they don't bother him. The locals go about their business with a silent dignity that Dustin appreciates; perhaps they, too, just want to be in their own head, appreciating the simple beauty of this untouched wilderness.

His fellow spies from Agra-10, on the other hand, are probably not so quiet.

4. Ul'dah Crafting Guilds [OTA]

Dustin does not find Ul'dah nearly so pleasant.

Yes, it has more crafting professions for him to volunteer at. Yes, one of those is motherfucking alchemy. But also it's loud, full of little greasy merchants, and his customers keep riding his ass about meeting deadlines and cutting material costs and other stupid shit that Dustin does not have the patience for. However, for everything that Ul'dah lacks in decorum, it makes up for in quality of information. Dustin cannot fault the locals for their respect in coin and their diligence to follow up on debts paid. His crafting quests here have paid out twice as well as the ones in Gridania.

That being said, he doesn't want to spend any more time around them than he absolutely has to, so most of his days in Ul'dah are spent in the guilds proper. He finds that the Alchemists' Guild calls to him moreso than the others. The underpinnings of basic chemistry spun with something else is absolutely mesmerizing, enough that it helps to block out all the noise of the bustling stalls outside. Or the fact that he's in the company of someone else from Agra-10. Face down over a mortar and pestle, partially-made health potion bubbling over a flame nearby, Dustin reaches out a free hand to where he knows he set aside that water shard. It's missing now. He frowns at the table and, not looking up, snaps his fingers in the direction of the missing ingredient.

"Hey. I need that. Give it back."

5. Limsa Lominsa Crafting Guilds/Markets [OTA]

Limsa Lominsa is a unique blend of exciting jobs and absolute chaos. Dustin settles into being both an armorer and a blacksmith very well - especially so with blacksmithing, a job that he doubts he would ever have the constitution to perform without the assistance of magical tools - however the company that he finds himself in when he tries to sell to the market, or find an isolated place to work by the docks, is...questionable. Something about being surrounded by pirates makes him feel nervous. Sure, they're all very friendly and helpful pirates that he knows are being strong-armed by the local government into cooperating, but they wouldn't stick with the name if they didn't at least partially adhere to the definition, right?

In any case, Dustin is very paranoid at all times here and he constantly feels like he's being tailed. Maybe he is? He hasn't been yet, but today could be the day. It's the primary thought running through his head as he deals with the vendor currently trying to haggle a price for the set of simple leather armor he's trying to sell them. Dustin knows he's being scalped at the current offer and he couldn't care less. He feels so many eyes on the back of his neck right now.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Dustin hisses at the hapless merchant, shoulders hunched as he quickly pushes the roughly-bundled armor over the booth's counter. "Just take it, would you? I'm--I'm in a hurry."

6. Eorzean Wilds [OTA]

Alongside crafting stuff comes gathering stuff, and Eorzea provides on this front, too. There are plenty of people Dustin finds that have quests related to finding unique items out in the wilderness, with just as many willing to let him keep any extra materials he comes across along the way. The related guilds even loan him specialized tools for the job. He supposes he should be thankful for all of this generosity.

But there's a catch.

All of the best gathering spots seem to be inevitably patrolled by monsters. It makes a kind of sense, Dustin has to admit - these materials wouldn't be so sought-after if there wasn't a risk involved in procuring them, else everyone and their mother with a basic pickaxe would go out and dig the mountains dry. Problem is, Dustin is one of those people; he has made plenty of weapons and armor, and is even wearing some of it right now, yet he has no confidence in his ability to protect himself if he's attacked. A couple of daggers and a studded leather jacket will only get him so far without any kind of combat experience.

The only real solution to this problem is to bring someone along that can fight. Regrettably. So here he is, at the edge of town, shuffling his feet and anxiously looking around for faces he recognizes that might be headed in the same direction. Finding one, Dustin meets their eyes and tries to wave them over as subtly as possible.

"Hey! You. Where are you headed?"

Other times - well, most times really - Dustin lacks the patience to wait and tries his luck on his own. It works out well enough at first, as the simpler materials are not far off the main paths and the monsters he catches sight of are generally small and preoccupied with their own business. All he has to do is stay quiet and take his time so he doesn't draw any unwanted attention.

The first few solo ventures leave they boy emboldened. So when he goes out just a little bit further from the trail to park at an isolated pond, rumored to have rare fish in it that some merchant or other wants to cook for his fiance, Dustin is maybe a touch too confident that the local wildlife will leave him alone.

He is mistaken.

Diving out of the way from a swiped tail, Dustin abandons his fishing pole and scrambles for the rocks bordering the water. He's being menaced by some kind of giant, very angry salamander, either territorial or hungry or both. Honestly Dustin can't be bothered for those sorts of details right now.

Shit shit shit! He skids to a stop and presses his back to the cool stone, desperately trying to control his panicked breathing. Way too close. Fuck! How am I supposed to shake this thing?!

On the other side, Dustin hears the heavy footfalls of the salamander following his path up the slope.

Fuck!!

7. Gold Saucer [One thread for Tony, all others OTA]

For Tony

A casino is the last place Dustin expected to find himself. He'd never be caught dead gambling - it's a statistically ruinous waste of money, and the games that can be exploited are often a ruinous waste of time, besides. There are more useful ways for him to make money.

It's not until he gets some intel that the Gold Saucer is selling a few strange, wooden boxes as grand prizes that he starts to reconsider. Now this is something Dustin can justify sinking a bit of time into.

The unpleasantly loud and busy atmosphere is oppressive, enough to drive Dustin to look for the familiar. Scratch cards, racing, costume contests...nothing piques his interest at first. But then he stumbles on a small table in a corner, one of several like it, green-felted with a semi-circle of chairs and a dealer. Dustin slips into the crowd to observe a few hands and finds that whatever game they're playing works remarkably like blackjack. It only takes a round or so for him to memorize this foreign game's rules and card composition, which is enough for him to recognize that he could easily cheat.

Worth a try. Drawing his shawl further over his face in case this massively backfires, Dustin shuffles out of the crowd and takes a seat at the table, signaling for a hand by tapping two fingers to the velvet. As he unconsciously glances around at the rest of the contestants, one of them sees the writing on the wall (and likely his coinpurse) and returns his cards, scuttling away to the bar as the House scoops up his coin. Another man takes his place - some flashy asshole in shades. Dustin narrows his eyes at him briefly before returning his attention to the cards.

Don't need to focus on anyone else, he chides himself. Just count the cards and you'll do fine.

OTA

Later, Dustin settles on playing a game that requires a bit more hard strategy - without needing to cheat at it, anyway.

He's learned the rules of Triple Triad from various inhabitants of the three cities and, inevitably, won their cards off of all of them, so it's a pleasant surprise when he finds this deceptively simple card game being played in a tournament structure at the Gold Saucer. Easy money. It helps that the local custom is to give away one of your best cards if you lose a match, so each win Dustin accumulates makes the next one even easier.

It's starting to get a little boring, actually. Slumped back in his chair, Dustin waits for his next opponent at the gaming table, languidly scratching his head through his hair until he suddenly realizes--

--This is someone else from Agra-10. Dustin's expression shifts rapidly from boredom to surprise to blanket irritation. Looks like the fun's over.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Even with the shawl hiding most of his face, Dustin is not difficult to read. The kid's been playing very cautiously these last few rounds, placing small, conservative bets directly from the satchel around his waist, and returning any winnings directly back to it as soon as they cross the table. He doesn't want to draw attention to how his pile is slowly starting to grow - or give away how he's starting to make more confident gambles now that the dealer's deck is whittling down. Aside from cursory glances at other cards being dealt, the game Dustin is playing might as well not have any other players in it.

That is, until one of them addresses the table directly. He glances up sharply and raises an incredulous eyebrow at Tony. Trying to burn out faster I guess, Dustin figures. Not my problem.

"You can have mine," he answers, even as the rest of the table rumbles with appreciation and the dealer gestures at the bar to fulfill Tony's request. Dustin jerks his head at the dwindling handfuls of coin held by the man's hovering admirers. "You probably need it more than I do."

Hostile, too. The needling only made Tony grin, leaning in with an elbow on the table, fingers still tapping restlessly with his chin in his hand. This kid was in far too sour of a mood for all of that coin he was carrying. It must not have been enough yet. He didn't seem to be looking around much, though, so whatever the pressure was must not have been too close. Tony narrowed his eyes, searching for that pressure point and if he could simulate it.

If nothing else, a bit of a scene was an effective distraction, like the drinks were, and the good cheer they brought when Tony suddenly won his next bet now that he had most of the table on his side. It must have been that karma he just bought. He raised his eyebrows, watching the kid's money get dragged away, hand still on the table splaying then curling up in a spidery crawl to show him where it was going to end up.

This flashy man is quickly making himself Dustin's problem. He had decided that it was safe to go back to ignoring him, figuring that he'd run out of money soon, or get too drunk and bored to keep playing, or both. His pattern of behavior and streak of bad bets suggested as much.

Clearly, Dustin had been wrong about that.

His green eyes are hard and steely as he watches the current round's winnings get pulled away - the only one at the table, apparently, that isn't celebrating Tony's miraculous recovery. Too busy analyzing how the fuck that just happened.

Odds were definitely in my favor on that one. Dustin's gaze flickers to Tony's cards, just in case they were discretely changed since he checked them last. They weren't. I mean, advantage is definitely on the player side by now, so it would've been safe for him to call, too...maybe he just got lucky. Broken clock and all that shit.

Something about that smug grin and his very unsubtle gesturing does rub him the wrong way, though; just because Dustin knows that it's intentional doesn't make it stop working. His expression goes deadpan.

"You finished?"

Any reaction would have been a success to Tony, so being directly addressed cracked his smirk into a laugh that Tony had to quickly control to reply with the utmost gravity, "Not even close." He didn't dole his winnings out to his companions, who had clearly rallied after that losing streak as well, only to look concerned again when their hands weren't refilled and Tony was clearly going to let it ride. Worse, he was still talking to this kid, earning him raised eyebrows from the women while Tony needled, "Let me know when you're ready for that drink."

Dustin easily rises to the bait, face flushing with irritation. That laughter is definitely aimed at him and it's drawing way too much attention from the rest of the previously self-absorbed crowd. He can feel them staring. It's maddening.

So the boy handles this situation the best way he knows how: Rude deflection. "In about two years, maybe," Dustin drones, voice tight. "Around the time I imagine you learned to hold yours."

Meanwhile, he's watching the cards being dealt with nakedly intense interest. I'd be an idiot not to call right now. Odds are too good. Dustin gestures for the dealer to give him another card, raising his bet by a single coin - testing the waters in spite of his favorable hand.

The kid looked young than that yet, or just very bony if Tony was going to take his 'about two years' at face value. Weird timeframe to admit if he wasn't supposed to, though, making Tony narrow his eyes thoughtfully again. The kid still hadn't made any move to suggest he was here with someone, or concerned about them spotting him, so he must have already gotten some distance from that home he was running away from. Still sounding light and teasing, and through a perpetual smirk, Tony suggested, "This isn't the best place to make your big break, sweetheart. More likely to break your heart--" At least, that should have been true. Tony's cards weren't great, but they should have still nudged him out another win, instead of the coins being passed across the table to the kid.

The confident smirk that tugs at the corners of Dustin's mouth is hidden behind his shawl, but the smile still manages to reach his narrowed eyes. He stops himself short of scooping away his winnings into the safety of his satchel; the rest of the players have dipped out at this point, and the man across the table is obviously paying too much attention to him to obfuscate how much he's won. Continuing to do so might open the doors to accusations of cheating - which he technically is, by most Earth casino standards, but not by something as pedestrian as snatching people's coin.

"Don't be weird, old man." Dustin watches the next set of cards dealt and, after a slight pause, gestures that he'll stand. He already knows that the house is going to bust based on what's left in the deck. "The indoor sunglasses are bad enough. You don't need to double down."

Something about Dustin's response was effective enough to make Tony briefly pout, drawing up more rigidly in his seat and finally turning his attention more obviously to his cards as they were dealt. He wasn't old, or at least he put a lot of effort into looking distractingly exceptional regardless. Weird, though, that one he couldn't shake, though he did eventually he had to correct, "Eccentric." That was what one called 'weird' when they came into the habits honestly, and nothing made a person weirder than, "Too much in the bank to be weird." And he came into that mostly by studying patterns and projecting them to their natural end, and the natural end here was for him to slowly lean back from his cards with the return of his easy smirk.

That gets Dustin to raise an eyebrow - 'that' being equal parts Tony's defense of himself, and the fact that he also doesn't take a hit. Any kind of curious thoughts about why the man might be choosing to do this are suppressed by a mounting irritation, driven by how Tony seems to be leaning heavily on wealth. His fixation reminds Dustin unpleasantly of the managers and executives his adopted mother would tell him about. The same sorts of people that told her to use him like a lab rat.

His eyes narrow. "That's what having money means to you?" The dealer starts taking cards. Dustin ignores the mounting excitement of the small crowd surrounding their table. "An excuse. Like you can pay people off to think you're funny instead of an ass."

The house busts. Coins are distributed to both Dustin and Tony among appreciative claps from the crowd, but the teenager does not look happy about it.

The whole kid seemed to be exposed wires, but the money really got a consistent spark out of him, and he didn't even appear to be satisfied with his winnings. Tony let his smile grow slowly as he considered the kid, and looked like he was really putting some thought into the accusation as though it was a curious hypothesis before concluding, "No. Mostly it means I can buy a boat when I get the urge." Leaning against the table again to eye the kid over the frame of his glasses, his cool blue eyes much more intense than the flippant why he had tossed his hands or cracked a smile, he pressed, "Is that what you're going to use this windfall for, starting a comedy career? Because I think you've got a brighter future in counting cards."

Dustin's expression goes through a few different phases in rapid succession. The startled fear at being called out for counting cards is the first and the most obvious, and based on the rumbles of the crowd and the way the dealer is glancing sidelong to what is almost certainly a bouncer, he's not the only one.

That changes quickly to anger. Shit. Shit! Motherfucking bastard! Dustin's glare from earlier returns, becoming distinctly venomous as he catches Tony's eyes from behind his shades. Need to deflect. Can't believe this bitch, making me--wait a fucking second, I know those eyes.

Then suspicious recognition. Dustin's own eyes twitch a little as he mentally flickers through the images in the network's 'Dictionary,' settling on one picture.

...Goddammit. The 'beware of Stark' warning Tommy gave him a month ago still holding water, apparently. But at least this gives Dustin an avenue for a distraction. Take this asshole down with me if I have to. Fuck the Agrii and their anonymity.

Finally, his expression settles on cool contempt. "You're not very funny yourself, Stark," Dustin says, deadpan. The dealer shuffles the deck but doesn't call over security, though it's obvious they're being watched closely now. "Maybe you should use some of that money to buy yourself better jokes."

There was no chance anyone would actually act on Tony's accusation, as long as the kid could control himself enough not to completely blow up and earn their serious attention, and for a second it seemed like he might. Tony raised his eyebrows, tipping his head to caution the guy against it and maybe just let Tony get under his skin this time, curling a hand innocently under his chin with an incongruently impish grin. There wasn't a lot that could knock him out of alignment then. Except maybe being recognized.

He froze, blinked, grin replaced with a slow parting of his lips just to bite a baffled tongue between his teeth, without a proper response lined up for that one. He had been putting in some good work, but there was no way he'd made that much of a reputation for himself yet. A whole new planet took time.

"I think it's more of a problem of not knowing my audience," he gathered himself enough to admit. Now that the kid had broken the firewall, he might have been better at spotting the defensiveness in Tony's posture as he pulled himself back and straight and daintily pushed his sunglasses back up, so he made a show of smoothing down his shirt and tried to consciously relax his shoulders again. "That's unfair, isn't it? You got me with my pants off and--I'm sorry, have we met? It wasn't me who slept with your sister, or whatever, those rumours really got out of hand, simple misunderstanding."

There it is. Dustin might be especially bad at reading people, but even he can sense that he's caught Tony in a backpedal. It's difficult for him to hold back the urge to visibly gloat, forcing his gaze to stay level and hands steady. A poor bluff, considering his previous expressiveness and the fact that his words betray him.

"We haven't." Not a lie. Dustin maintains his habit of cautious betting, though he intentionally throws his first hand to try and shake the eyes and interest of the crowd. "Life isn't fair. One day you're some rich bastard trying to intimidate a kid into losing a game of cards, then next..."

He pointedly quirks an eyebrow.

"...You're out of your depth, in a whole new world."

Not exactly subtle, but Dustin's hardly been one for subtlety.

There wasn't much about the game itself that could hold Tony's attention anymore, and he hadn't started nor knew very well how to be cautious in comparison, and didn't seem particularly bothered what happened with his bets either way now. Instead, he watched the kid, almost breaking the intensity of his study with a smirking chuckle at the complete lack of gravity generated by a fourteen year old with a fistful of gold trying out 'life isn't fair'. No wonder no one took him seriously when he was that age and so full of cynicism.

It stopped being so funny when the kid made it clear he knew way more than Tony's name. Tony's smirk dropped, gone behind the contemplative press of his knuckles as he slowly nodded. He thought he had been trying to bait people into showing their hand this whole time, turns out he just had to ask. He barely had the patience for the dealer to dole out their next winnings, leaving half of it on the table as he abruptly stood and swept around to take the kid deceptively firmly by the shoulder, his other hand flitting daintily to button his jacket. "You owe me a drink," he instructed with a subtle nod away from the table, and the crowd.

...And there it goes. Dustin has just enough time to savor his control and poise over this situation, narrowing his interest back on the cards so he can get back to winning, when he feels the weight of a heavy hand on his shoulder. Reflexively he gives it a roll, trying to shake Tony off, but is simultaneously annoyed and a little alarmed to find that the man's grip is more intense than he was expecting it to be. Dustin abruptly locks up.

Well, shit. He certainly doesn't want to go with Tony, but he also knows that the only way not to would be to make a scene, and that's unacceptable. Compliance is the only option here. Begrudging, irritable compliance.

"Right," Dustin says, voice tight. He sweeps his winnings into his satchel and stiffly gets to his feet - not much taller than he was while sitting down in these high chairs. One coin remains in the palm of his hand, which he holds out to Tony as they turn away. "You'll have to buy it yourself."

There wasn't enough of the kid that it likely mattered, but Tony kept a hold on him, slinging an arm very casually around his shoulders and tucking the other hand away in his pocket as is laugh returned, leaving the offered coin. The bar wasn't really the best place to ask what he knew about other worlds. "We'll work something out," Tony promised. That the kid was even willing to try to make some accommodation so that drink would happen suggested he wasn't so hostile after all, or a lot more nervous than his baiting prepared him for now that they didn't have a table in between them.

Under Tony's lead, they veered past the busy bar and through the crowd and flashing lights while Tony searched for a place they wouldn't be overheard, all the while chatting casually, "How long have you been skimming the money off of that table? Couldn't have been that long, someone else would have noticed. Maybe not before me, but the pattern's hard to miss even if you don't know the math and, listen, sweetheart, you're doing yourself a disservice by looking so shifty, basically put a spotlight on yourself that I couldn't ignore, you've got some technique to work out."

Dustin stuffs the coin back in his satchel and follows - though the look of absolute disdain plastered on his face and the stiffness of his shoulders under Tony's arm says that he would be doing literally anything else right now, if he could. It cannot be overstated just how uncomfortable Dustin feels about being physically maneuvered like this. Like he's being dragged off to be lectured, like a child. It's mortifying.

He's silent while Tony rambles, unable to keep his face from growing hotter the longer they walk, until finally Dustin finds his voice. It's not to answer Tony's question.

"Maybe I don't want to be a good liar," he mumbles. Some of the previous edge returns to his tone as he quickly follows up, "--And quit calling me 'sweetheart.' That's fucking weird."

The smile that Tony had for him then was clear that Tony was not going to be told what to do, but appreciated the effort. "Eccentric," he reminded the kid just as he abruptly pulled him to a stop with a hook of his collar, right before a door swinging open stopped itself on his face. The waiter that burst through it went busily hustling away, precariously laden with restock for the bar, not making a glance back to see Tony stick his foot in front of the closing door then nudge the kid through it.

The halls beyond the public floor felt alien against the clamour and spectacle of the casino, empty, cool and fluorescent white. The party was still a murmur behind the doors as they swung shut, and there was a clattering and shouting from a kitchen some feet away. Tony risked letting the kid go entirely then, slouching smoothly against the wall and encouraging, "Honesty, then." Whatever this gig was, Tony could buy that he didn't want it to be permanent. "You can start with your name, and what it is you know about me."

Tony probably can't see the scowl Dustin shoots him under the shawl covering his face, but he puts in special effort to show the man a middle finger instead. Open and honest communication is important, so Tony ought to know how Dustin feels about his running joke.

Although, his attempts at being a little shit do end up distracting him from the door ahead. He's saved from being slapped in the face only by Tony pulling him roughly backwards. Dustin winces with more than just surprise; Tony's wrenched his shoulder, which still quite sore from a monster fight last week. He goes stumbling into the hallway rubbing and rolling it irritably.

At least they're somewhere more private now. With a few careful glances up and down the hall, Dustin finally pulls down his checkered shawl, revealing the distinctive scar across his nose that he was trying to keep hidden.

No need to spare any details. "Dustin Silver," he says. "You're Tony Stark. You arrived here on the Vanquish, you maintain the Forge, and apparently you have a robotic suit that you go on walks in sometimes. That cover it?"

By Tony's reaction, the surliness was just another part of this inside joke they had together now; Tony was incredibly charming and and self-aware, and Dustin was kind of an asshole about it, and they both clearly found that hilarious. Tony wasn't going to be very easily insulted or discouraged by a rude gesture. His teasing smirk only melted as he watched the kid massage his shoulder, working his fingers together like he could mirror the motion and calculate the exact problem.

That would have to wait. Tony's eyebrows were up in surprise again, distantly recognizing that scar, then he was tipping his head back against the wall with a laugh of relief. "You scared the shit out of me, Mr. Silver, I thought you were going to get me locked up in Area 51 or whatever we're supposed to be finding here involved some child labour ring--it was dark, the best contact I have is that gal with the big, blonde hair, she wasn't ready to adopt you, she has her own shit going on," he chattered, hands up and animated then, only to fold together abruptly to correct, "You forgot 'better than you at cards'. What are you doing here?"

Dustin beckons Tony on through his dawning series of realizations with an impatient roll of his hand and his eyes. Goddamn, this man can ramble. His flippancy drops only at the end, giving way to a more venomous deadpan.

"--Winning," the boy sneers. "Before you showed up, anyway. What the fuck was that? Calling me out in front of--"

Dustin chokes back the rest of that rant, looking deeply frustrated. Even he has enough self-awareness to recognize how juvenile that argument sounds and be annoyed by it.

"--They could've put me on--on a list, or something," he stammers instead. "I'm gonna be watched. Why? So you could show off to your off-world side chick?"

It was Tony's turn to twist his hand in the air, only his was to encourage Dustin along to the obvious conclusion to his own question, landing on a dainty point Dustin's way. Well, toward his frustrated little scowl. "Get you all worked up," he helpfully voiced. He raised both hands in surrender then, eyes closed to accept the guilt or whatever other rude gestures Dustin had for him now, adding, "In my defence, I thought you were some squirrely planetside weirdo, and I thought we were supposed to be here looking for weirdos. I didn't know you were just a normal squirrely weirdo."

Dustin's mouth opens to give Tony all of the mean words he's prepared, only to let it hang, then shut it with a slight click of his teeth and an agitated huff. Point made - Dustin can recognize when he's letting his temper get the better of him, and the fact that someone else could use that to their advantage is a social situation that he hadn't necessarily accounted for (as if he regularly accounts for social situations at all). Tony must've been playing him like a fiddle this whole time. The realization hits Dustin with a wave of anger first, predictably, but then it's followed up by a much longer flush of embarrassment, accentuated by how he ducks his head and folds his arms tightly across his chest.

"...Well, whatever," he mumbles, trying and failing to brush off his pesky emotions. "It's done now. I'll have to come up with some other disguise and strategy so the house doesn't see a pattern. Gonna take twice as long to save up for that stupid fucking box. Thanks, asshole."

This time, Tony at least didn't seem to take any glee in Dustin's frustration, still smirking but cocking his head inquisitively as Dustin closed himself off. He probably should have stayed that way, or better yet developed some patience several years ago, because he was quickly interrupting, "That's what I was saying, your tactic was already going to get you caught, slinking around here with your face covered, you got the amp up to eleven letting everyone know they should keep an eye on you--You're welcome--Wait--What do you know about the box?"

He pushed himself up straight at that, hands up enthusiastically but without a direction to form them. "There's a bunch of them, the prizes, right?" he tried to circle back around. "We found one in a cave, behind a secret door and everything, looked just like them. Only, we can't open it. Figured out the secret door, can't smash open this box."

Dustin's eyes snap up, his attention yanked away from his moping sharply enough to give him mental whiplash. He blinks blearily in an attempt to figure out what part of this new thread to tug on first.

"--The cave, on the beach?" is where he eventually settles. "The one that looks like the beach cave entrance near Temba?"

Dustin feels like he already knows the answer to this question, but it can't help to have Tony's confirmation on it.

Two Weird Planets

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