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)
revivalproject2023-07-11 10:39 pm
in_extremis) wrote in revivalproject2023-07-11 10:39 pm
Wilt
WHO: Tony, Donatello, Lestat. Let me know if you want one for ✨you✨
WHERE: The agricultural building and the beach
WHAT: Checking up after a couple of different traumatic events.
WHEN: July
WARNINGS: Lestat, there will be blood. Might be following up on any relevant Calibrations traumas with Donnie.
a. greenhouse [for Donnie]
It was even hotter inside the glass building. There was a dark cloud on the horizon that Tony looked to with longing, willing to weather whatever nuclear-level storm this planet could fabricate for them for a little rain to cool down the shimmering street, only to decide once inside that humidity was actually exponentially worse. DATA was entirely unconcerned, tapping away on his spindly legs down the aisle and brushing through the lush greenery that practically burst out of every bed on either side of them. The robot didn't have to struggle through a thick breath of dense air. He wasn't waiting for Tony to keep up, either, and rounded a corner into the thicket while Tony tugged at his cuffs to push them impatiently up his already damp arms, where there wasn't even a breeze anymore to cool them.
"Hey," Tony complained, but was already alone and released all of that pressure in a sigh with a droop of his shoulders instead of the argument he had puffed up with for being abandoned. He didn't want to spend any longer in here than he needed to, and definitely not wandering around lost, so he had to muster the willpower to jog after DATA before he had entirely disappeared. He was the one that knew where Donnie was.
Tony hadn't properly warned the kid about what that tunnel really was, and even a month spent scavenging berries was preferable to being stuck in that nightmare. He might have been a little thin and bruised, but at least Tony had gotten a tan. In his time since being violently deposited back at the fountain, a few anxious days prodding around the tunnel did mean a lot of time for Tony to have designed a new suit that may have had something to do with the boots swinging from his hand. Tony might not have deserved forgiveness, but Donnie did deserve a little freedom.
b. waterfront [for Lestat]
The arguments in favour of becoming nocturnal were mounting. Not that Tony was getting much sleep at any time of day, but he could see the benefits of being completely unconscious through the height of the relentless sun and only coming out of wherever Lestat was storing himself in the relative cool of the night. The raucous birdcall wasn't as pervasive, either, leaving the beach clear and attuned to the meditative lap of the water that slipped away from the sand silently. Not that Tony was very good at meditating, either. Or waiting. He filled that gap with his own voice then, sometimes mumbled, sometimes snatches of song, up toward the stars as his hands worked just as busily at nothing just over his stomach, fingers tapping at the air as though he sat at a keyboard rather than sprawled on his back in the sand where he could dig his toes into the cooler layers below. When the noise he made wasn't quite enough to drown out his own doubts, it would get quieter still, fading out into occasional mutters if he wasn't biting his lip, until an idea was distracting enough that he wasn't consumed with the crushing weight of its ultimate worthlessness. They were all stored on the servers back in the library, anyway, blueprints and equations or more ephemeral sketches for Tony to sort through when he returned to the workshop, maybe find something that Jon could make an approving noise at.
While he worked, his head was pillowed on his silk jacket, shoes abandoned beside him, one of them holding down the corner of the blanket where a basket and small box waited. In the stillness between each wave, while the water seemed to hold its breath, he could still sometimes smell the sticky sweetness from the picnic, reminding him every time to check his messages in the back of his mind as though he could miss a notification. Two more minutes, if Lestat didn't show, Tony would leave, and no one had to know he had been tricked into wasting his time out here. He could have been wasting his time at home.
WHERE: The agricultural building and the beach
WHAT: Checking up after a couple of different traumatic events.
WHEN: July
WARNINGS: Lestat, there will be blood. Might be following up on any relevant Calibrations traumas with Donnie.
a. greenhouse [for Donnie]
It was even hotter inside the glass building. There was a dark cloud on the horizon that Tony looked to with longing, willing to weather whatever nuclear-level storm this planet could fabricate for them for a little rain to cool down the shimmering street, only to decide once inside that humidity was actually exponentially worse. DATA was entirely unconcerned, tapping away on his spindly legs down the aisle and brushing through the lush greenery that practically burst out of every bed on either side of them. The robot didn't have to struggle through a thick breath of dense air. He wasn't waiting for Tony to keep up, either, and rounded a corner into the thicket while Tony tugged at his cuffs to push them impatiently up his already damp arms, where there wasn't even a breeze anymore to cool them.
"Hey," Tony complained, but was already alone and released all of that pressure in a sigh with a droop of his shoulders instead of the argument he had puffed up with for being abandoned. He didn't want to spend any longer in here than he needed to, and definitely not wandering around lost, so he had to muster the willpower to jog after DATA before he had entirely disappeared. He was the one that knew where Donnie was.
Tony hadn't properly warned the kid about what that tunnel really was, and even a month spent scavenging berries was preferable to being stuck in that nightmare. He might have been a little thin and bruised, but at least Tony had gotten a tan. In his time since being violently deposited back at the fountain, a few anxious days prodding around the tunnel did mean a lot of time for Tony to have designed a new suit that may have had something to do with the boots swinging from his hand. Tony might not have deserved forgiveness, but Donnie did deserve a little freedom.
b. waterfront [for Lestat]
The arguments in favour of becoming nocturnal were mounting. Not that Tony was getting much sleep at any time of day, but he could see the benefits of being completely unconscious through the height of the relentless sun and only coming out of wherever Lestat was storing himself in the relative cool of the night. The raucous birdcall wasn't as pervasive, either, leaving the beach clear and attuned to the meditative lap of the water that slipped away from the sand silently. Not that Tony was very good at meditating, either. Or waiting. He filled that gap with his own voice then, sometimes mumbled, sometimes snatches of song, up toward the stars as his hands worked just as busily at nothing just over his stomach, fingers tapping at the air as though he sat at a keyboard rather than sprawled on his back in the sand where he could dig his toes into the cooler layers below. When the noise he made wasn't quite enough to drown out his own doubts, it would get quieter still, fading out into occasional mutters if he wasn't biting his lip, until an idea was distracting enough that he wasn't consumed with the crushing weight of its ultimate worthlessness. They were all stored on the servers back in the library, anyway, blueprints and equations or more ephemeral sketches for Tony to sort through when he returned to the workshop, maybe find something that Jon could make an approving noise at.
While he worked, his head was pillowed on his silk jacket, shoes abandoned beside him, one of them holding down the corner of the blanket where a basket and small box waited. In the stillness between each wave, while the water seemed to hold its breath, he could still sometimes smell the sticky sweetness from the picnic, reminding him every time to check his messages in the back of his mind as though he could miss a notification. Two more minutes, if Lestat didn't show, Tony would leave, and no one had to know he had been tricked into wasting his time out here. He could have been wasting his time at home.
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"Well, not like I've had much opportunity for pizza here anyway, so that's no big worry. Not sure I'm a fan of liquid diets though, although some of the pastes they provided in that hole weren't too bad..." That observation was less than enthusiastic.
"Man I miss pizza..." And his family. He missed home.
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He blinked, pulling himself back to the present. If there had been pizza he would've certainly have known by now. Dimly he remembered something possibly mentioned somewhere, but he'd thrown himself headlong into other things and hadn't paid attention at the time.
Plans for a pizza oven were much different than an actual pizza oven, and even having an oven didn't guarantee pizza. ...where did pepperoni even come from? He rolled Tony's words into a more cohesive ball he could make sense of before dropping his shoulders in a sigh.
"Figures, needa work for my food. I'll put it on the list," he muttered, rubbing a palm against his tired eyes. It wasn't exactly a complaint, but right now he wasn't in the mood to tinker and going outside to do anything was less and less appealing.
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He set the boots by his battle shell and dashed out after Tony. "Wait-" he started, swallowing down whatever weird self-image he had of himself in his head as he threw his arms around the man as soon as he turned. Was it weird, hugging people you barely knew? Yeah, probably, but Tony'd been doing so much and he'd even come out here looking for him, he made him boots!!!(???!) and it didn't feel right to just leave it at that. He might have wanted a hug too, but that was something Donnie would never openly admit.
"...thanks. For...you know."
Even then he retracted his arms from Tony as though there was some unspoken time-limit, looking awkwardly at the floor before turning back towards the dampness of the sectional rainfall.