revivalproject

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Scoria

WHO: Tony and...you?
WHERE: The forge, the hospital
WHAT: Dealing with Iron Man
WHEN: Mid-September
WARNINGS: Tony's depression is a rich bouquet of alcoholism and self-destruction. It's a touch gory.

a. forge
This wasn't a completely unusual scent in the close air of the forge. The acridity was standard, the taste of coal and slag even before the regularly singed hair. It was the richness, like oil that shouldn't have been so close to the mouth of the fire, that Tony could taste in the back of his throat and had him blinking out of his distant focus to finally feel the sear that seemed to reach straight to his heart. He sucked in a sharp, wakeful breath, any other sound cut off by the metal clanging to the ground as he dropped the crucible, tearing the deadened skin of his palm with it and leaving him still again as he watched silver spread across the floor and held his scorched hand shakily aloft, struggling to remember what his intended next step was meant to be. His glove dangled from his other hand, along with a glass, chosen primarily for its cleanliness as he searched through the Deep End, and was now smudged liberally with fingerprints as Tony endlessly twisted it at his side.

The criteria for the bottle he had taken had been significantly different, though no less straightforward; as long as it wasn't a terribly lurid colour, it would probably do the job. Tony backed away from the fire, to return to the bottle on the workbench, dropping the gloves and the glass alongside it to consider his blistering hand with a sigh of disappointment. It did hurt a little more when he tried to stretch out his fingers, and he couldn't quite bring himself to, instead leaving it with a glare and propped up on the table as he searched carelessly through nearby boxes and baskets for something to wrap it in so he could keep working. Not that he was going to get much further. Dedicating the amount of resources that he had in the first place to the Iron Man had been a profound waste, and now anything else was best applied to regrouping and rebuilding, and actually protecting them against a future disaster. If he was going to build something like the armor, he was really going to have to recycle what he already had. Which meant he was going to have to go get it again.

b. hospital
When a gentle knock returned only silence in the darkened hallway of the hospital, and Tony easily pushed the door open to a largely empty room, there was an unspooling of disappointment in his chest. Not that he was exactly prepared for what he might say to Wesker, but it didn't seem like he'd have to carefully calculate the kind of provocation that would get him pinned to a wall. A cheerful 'good morning' would have been perfectly effective. Leaving a small puddle of water behind, Tony went drifting into the abandoned room, and slowly sank down onto his knees in front of the lumpy rag that he knew when he tweaked up would reveal the slightly battered scales of the Iron Man. "Morning, dear," he mumbled to it in lieu of someone that would punch him, and slid the scattered pieces he'd dredged out of the fountain alongside it. They jangled delicately, while the bottle he set down at his other side clanked on the ground with conviction. Now what? It wasn't like he could lift the imposing weight of the full set of armor and cradle it back to the forge to be melted. It wasn't even all here; there were more parts yet, glowing like embers behind his eyes, somewhere further down the hall, the full list of their individual destructive power and itemized armament scrolling endlessly at the back of his skull like white noise drowning out everything around it. He was squeezing the glass in his lap, and had to take a deep breath to release it again, and shake out his stinging, bandaged hand. He could have at least filled it with water while he was at the fountain, so he could also have something to sip.

He unstopped the bottle, so he could watch the pour, just a couple inches, then carefully set the arrangement aside. He could just ask the armor to assemble and walk itself out of here. It was probably fine. What was the worst that could happen? Plenty of people could have one drink. He wasn't doing anything anyway. He took another breath so he could push himself back up, and set out for those last few pieces. Once the full set of armor was together, then he would have to think about tearing it apart.

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If Tony were to pay attention, he would notice one of the glowing embers moving towards his location. There is no hurry in the approach, but also no sign of attempted stealth. Wesker has expected Tony to come for his armor. He actually has expected the man much sooner. He isn't surprised that Tony is able to track his property though he is interested how exactly he did it when he spots the sorry excuse of a man kneeling on the floor in the empty former examination room Wesker has stored the majority of the armor pieces in.

The room is far enough in the back from the actually used areas to keep people from accidentally stumbling over the pieces. Wesker has cleared it out enough and an attempt at sorting the pieces of the Iron Man can be seen, but so far he hasn't had mch time to entirely solve this particular puzzle.

"I wasn't aware I still missed a few pieces." Wesker comments upon entering the room and setting the piece he has brought with him on the empty counter at the door, letting the Iron Man's head face Tony before crossing his arms and leaning against the counter next to it. He isn't dressed in his usual attire of black leather weave but is wearing his light blue shirt instead, sleeves rolled up over his elbows as he always does.

"So you have finally come to pick up your knightly armor."

Wesker's appearance brought with it a certain relief; that the travelling piece of armor hadn't made it to yet another pair of hands, and that Tony wasn't going to have to explain himself. It sounded bad enough in his head. He was up by the time Wesker made himself comfortable, bringing the glass with him and not getting much further, mirroring some of that lean with a tilt of his hips and drop of his shoulders, a slouching contrast to the intent stare he kept on the helmet. It was supposed to be a knight. That was humiliating. "Actually, I prefer something more formal for the evening. More of a day look," he replied, flicking a few fingers off of his glass toward the helmet, and only then finally considering Wesker with that same cold stare. It was piercingly steady, like Tony could calculate the average distance between his pores, despite looking so unglued. "We can look passed your sloppy work this time. Don't expect a recommendation. Finish packing it up for me."

Either someone was in or someone wasn't. That was pretty much the state of being for the forge, as Donnie had come to find. It would have only been stranger if it was someone else in there rather than Tony.

Slightly more quiet, slightly more cautious; that was Donnie's state of being ever since the night of the attack. He felt only a little better going about whatever business he had in the daylight hours, but his tendency to stay out at night had been curbed dramatically, and more often than not, he'd taken to camping out in the forge again. So far as he was concerned, it had the most security, if such things were to be measured by high-tech security doors.

After easing the door open, Donnie peeked inside, having picked up the faint sounds of someone's stirrings. He'd sacrificed one of his replication slots for a new hoodie, just as purple as the last and tugged over the bulk of his battle shell with some room to spare. Over his shoulder he had his usual bag with all the tools he'd amassed and whatever project components he wanted to work on, his hoverboots slung over the other shoulder.

It wasn't so much that he needed the forge itself nowadays so much as that he just liked the space for what it was, and the odd ambiance of someone else at work when they weren't picking at some project together. He was also hoping some of that anxiety and tension in being down underground for so long had the time to bleed off, and while things to that extent had been replaced with an entirely different sort of anxiety he could have done without, the turtle still yearned for some normality. Glimpsing Tony, he wondered if that would be possible.

He hadn't gone too far past the door, hesitating as he took things in. His eyes settled upon the molten metal on the floor, frowning a little before his eyes adjusted to the lighting to find Tony.

"...everything okay?"

Edited 2023-09-16 04:16 (UTC)

Just as Tony stares back at him, Wesker keeps his eyes on the man that so desperately tries to make himself appear to be in control. But Wesker knows that Tony knows that the latter is anything but in control, They are both aware that Wesker has beaten the many weapons of the armor before - And can do so again.

But at the very least Wesker isn't interested in picking any pointless fights. He instead uncrosses his arms and picks the helmet back up, bringing it up in front of him and with a few manipulations of his fingers prompts its faceplate to open up and give way to a better look inside.

All the while, Wesker's shaded eyes stay on Tony.

"You built this, if I understand correctly." He states. It's hardly a question. "Humans are weak, but few understand that. Even fewer are willing to accept it. And of those yet fewer will attempt to change something about the fact." Wesker closes the helmet between his hands again before tossing it over to its owner. "Yours is an interesting approach."

"Always," Tony readily answered. He was watching Donnie just as cautiously from the workbench, though, gone still with his burnt hand dropped below the edge of the table in a very casual lean, the other stretched out to brace while one finger continued to tap in a tiny, restless perpetuity. The kid was at least the best case scenario when the door slid open and Tony had cringed away from the light, on guard and glancing around quickly for the most noxious possible chemical reaction on hand to send them running right back out. It still wasn't ideal, but Donnie had made himself enough of a fixture that it wasn't a given that Tony would have to talk to him and innovate some new way to irritate him, and he seemed content enough for Tony to continue to talk to nothing at all.

"Why, are you bringing me a problem?" He said it like an accusation, but something different to solve and restructure his brain would have been welcome.

Having the armor taken was bad enough, Tony knew it wouldn't just be gathering dust in a back room, but watching someone else idly manipulate it like that had Tony's lip raising in a grimace that he couldn't quite control, and realizing too late how easily the helmet and its violation had drawn his focus. He shouldn't have brought the glass with him, either, because the toss should have made for an easy catch, except he had to let it hit his bandaged hand then roll into his elbow against his body with a hiss caught against his tongue between his teeth. That really didn't help his argument, "No, they aren't," brow furrowed in some frustration because Wesker had expertly intuited why he needed the armor. He was the wrong person to make the argument, that didn't mean it was the wrong argument. "People have their weaknesses," he amended. "Humans can be better." Why was he even trying to explain this? This was the longest conversation they'd had without Wesker grabbing him, like he knew exactly when that would hurt Tony more. Tony had to try, "You're probably beyond help, though, sorry, end of your evolutionary line. Hey, at least you got that jawline, it's not all bad."

The turtle squinted at him; he probably should have anticipated that sort of response. He nudged the door closed behind him, pressing it back with a heel until he heard the locks engage again before stepping further in.

"Well, I wasn't followed if that's what you mean," he said even as his eyes trailed back towards the door like he was second guessing himself. He shook his head, setting his bag down before looking around for something to maybe start cleaning up the pooling metal. It wasn't his mess, sure, but it was habit. He liked keeping a clean workspace. Anyway, hot metal on the floor was a hazard. He looked around the forge itself for the proper equipment to deal with it.

"Although if you happen to have anything for a projectable, interactive holocomputer screen, I would not object."

That was a weird and specific enough answer that Tony had to admit, "It wasn't," earning Donnie a suspicious squint right back. "Have you been picking more fights?" Tony had to figure out how to get this school thing in motion, because Donnie clearly had an idle hands and questionable friends problem if this harassing girls on the network thing was becoming a habit.

The squint became irritable as Donnie made it clear he was going to make the mess his problem, though Tony only made an aborted move to draw away from the bench and had to commit to his lean to keep his hand between himself and the table, flapping the other one impatiently, "Leave it, it's fine. It'll be easier to deal with later."

The request was more what Tony had intended to ask after, though he sighed like he was being terribly inconvenienced as he started tipping baskets again to spill across the table, searching. "Just a screen? So it's portable? What's in it for me?"

"You say that like I picked the last one," he pouted, blowing out his cheeks as he remained devoted to looking for some gloves. At the very least he could pick up the fallen crucible. In any case, it was something to busy his hands with.

Donnie pulled his sleeves back, the show of bandaging brief as he tugged on an oversized pair of mittens that had two fingers too many. Regarding the floor, he stepped around to carefully pick up the fallen receptacle.

"For a wrist computer- more like a bracer, but yes," he said regarding portability as he set the weighty cup at the edge of the forge and then more or less let the gloves slide off his hands. Tony's insisted stance behind the workbench had him arch a brow, but he didn't seem to think too much of it.

"...what do you need?"

That bandage looked to Tony like Donnie had got that fight that he and his friend were spoiling for, so he raised an eyebrow as Donnie moved around, only until he couldn't crane his neck anymore and went back to searching through parts. "That's what it looks like from here," he pushed. "Thing about this place is, everyone is meant to be extraordinary, specially picked. You can't go swinging your dick around and assume it's going to be an easy win. Probably should think a little harder about what you want to get out of it." If it was some kind of prison rules thing that Donnie was going for, picking a little girl to make his display of dominance probably wouldn't have worked out under the most favourable of circumstances.

Despite the warning, Tony continued conversationally, assuming Donnie wasn't actually asking after anything Tony would need, "Your phone, probably. No sense carrying it around if you're also going to have this bracelet, might as well put it to use. And some sand. How are you with glass?"

Donnie dragged a hand down his face at that. "For the record, it was not my idea to call anyone out, I was trying to stop him," he huffed. "But if I disappear then you can assume I got eaten by someone bigger." He sounded sarcastic (okay, his usual tone tended to lean that way in general), but there was a flicker of worry there and gone in the next as he pushed it aside.

The request of his phone was startling, or would have been more so if he'd actually had his, so he relaxed a little then. "What, the communicator? I mean, true, if I can get a functional computer, but the tablet's still a backup..." He'd have to consider that one.

"Glass, like, are we talking glass-blowing or for windows or something? Although the sand from the beach would probably put out some really nice coloring..."

"Uh-huh." Tony had paused his rifling again, looking to Donnie like he clearly had more to say, only to bite his lip as his eyes darted and he tried to calculate how far he had overshot how much he should have been saying already. "There's always someone bigger," he mumbled instead as he turned back to the array of screws and solder in front of him. If Donnie wasn't willing to repurpose his communicator, Tony was going to have to grow this pile some other way.

"Like glass-blowing, sure," he accepted, raising his eyebrows at DATA who drew himself up over the edge of the table from wherever he had been idling, answering Tony's silent call. They eyed each other for a moment, then DATA was slinking away again, scuttling across the floor to let himself out of the forge. "Projections take a lot of glass, small pieces, delicate work. Is this not something you made before, is this theoretical to you?"

Sidestepping the ever-cooling metal on the floor, Donnie drifted over to where Tony had for whatever reason decided to root himself to. He'd pulled out his tablet, lips pursed in thought.

"I've never had to make something like that entirely from scratch," he admitted with a frown. "And with limited tools."

It was weird to think that he might have been spoiled, considering most of what he'd ever had had been cast off by someone, scavenged from somewhere or another. Parts were still parts, components still very much in convenient, yet workable states.

He had said it with such confidence that it sounded like a foregone conclusion, of course he could make this thing, he just needed the parts, and Tony had to breath a fond laugh before accusing, "The ego is verging on delusion." He plucked up the empty glass that had been sitting in front of him then, only to prop his chin on his knuckles, still committed to his spot but not looking like he was waiting expectantly. "Wouldn't know anything about that."

He didn't have to wait long, because the door was swinging shut again in a moment, and DATA was returning with a brother-camera that he rolled out ahead of him. As he approached, Tony flicked a finger, then nodded toward them impatiently, for Donnie to collect the camera so Tony could get to work disassembling it. "If you weren't picking fights," he noted, despite telling himself that he didn't need to talk, "you wouldn't need a third redundancy, you could be making something else right now. Like a popcorn maker. Or a Gamecube."

If he could tuck his head into his shell as easily as Mikey, he would have right then, instead taking some weak refuge behind the gathered folds of his hood. Sullen, a bit, embarrassed, just so, but he eventually he was also looking over towards the door upon DATA's return.

Donnie arched a brow at the camera before glancing back at Tony. He stepped over to gather up the camera at the man's indication, bringing it over.

"Wasn't picking a fight," he still felt he had to say, practically out of reflex as he wrinkled his nose, but he settled there by the bench, folding his arms to stuff his face against in a proper sulk. "I'd still need games," he mumbled into his sleeve. "Thought the arcade could be salvageable but all of the internal systems are beyond repair so we can't even make any use of the parts."

He shifted a look towards Tony as he watched him work. "You still didn't tell me what you need."

The dedication to the line was admirable, but it got weaker without any better explanation for why Donnie thought he needed the communicator, the goggles, and this new interface, so Tony treated him to another skeptical expression as he eagerly put the glass down again to roll the camera across the table, contemplating how to break it down with one hand. A hammer straight to the shell would be pretty effective.

Following that loud crack, then quick scramble as the camera bounced and Tony had to drop the hammer to catch it, it probably wasn't so convincing when he panted, "Did I say I needed something?" He was perfectly fine, see, the camera was coming apart easily now so it could be divested of its parts. "You can make a game. Game's easy. What, were you just going to use this as a calculator? That's 95% of the way there."

"...."

If Tony thought he was going to overlook the whole one-handed challenge the guy was apparently undertaking then Donnie would take it as an insult to his intelligence. He was already a bit tender in that department for his lack of acceptable (by his standards) productivity.

"I can make a game but it's the whole process. You can't make anything around here without needing to make something else for it, everything's connected and it's annoying- what's wrong with your hand."

Donnie slid right into it as abruptly as he pushed away from where he'd been leaning to make a grab for Tony's hidden hand.

"I know, what do you think I've been doing this whole time? You're welcome, by the way, you should have--Hey!" Tony probably shouldn't have been in the habit of talking over people in the first place, but especially when it left him open and unprepared to be so assaulted. His instinct was to make a quick brace with his free hand against Donnie's shoulder, like he was putting on the brakes too quickly, like seeing the damage was enough to hurt him, too. Tony had at least managed to close his hand by then, clutching around the worst of it where the metal had been against his palm, but that left his knuckles bleeding where the seared skin cracked and broke easily as it stretched. That did look bad. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said quickly. "It's the fire. Occupational hazard. You get used to it. Listen, that's why you can go straight to making a tactile interface, and can skip all of the caveman steps, this is just the price for not living in the stone age."

Donnie held firm, his grip strong but not in a way that would further cause any hurt. He winced as he saw the blood, concerned that maybe he had caused him the pain. But he looked over the mess, letting Tony babble, his own concentration spent analyzing the damage.

Finally he released Tony's wrist, turning to step away from the workbench so he could gather some things. A couple of clean rags kept over by the sink, soaking one in water. He circled back to where he kept a first-aid kit by the pillow and blanket he had stuffed in the neatest corner he could manage in the place. And then he circled back to where Tony was, provided the man wasn't going to make him chase him down.

"Hand," he said once he'd set things down on the workbench, holding his own out expectantly while arming himself with the wet rag.

Edited 2023-09-17 04:38 (UTC)

At least Tony could stretch up out of his awkward hunch finally, but the roll of his shoulder and crack of his neck was a short-lived relief before he was weighed down around his hand cradled against his chest in uncomfortable shame after Donnie's cold departure. He'd have to run out of ways to disappoint the kid eventually, right? Maybe try not to race toward that inevitability, and get some of these parts sorted so he could build his computer.

The most unexpected part of Donnie's prompt return was definitely the prepared kit he brought with him, making Tony's mouth open the moment it appeared so he was saying, "Where did that come from?" even as Donnie made his demand, and had to double back and belatedly work up the proper amount of indignation. "What? No. Didn't I tell you to go get sand? DATA can't handle that, awful at it, he'll be bringing on grain at a time, some things you have to do yourself."

"Oh you know, after getting clawed up and bitten I figured it'd be a good thing to have around," Donnie replied, glib as ever. He gave another shake of his awaiting (bandaged) hand in emphasis. "Hand. Now."

His neck wound wasn't nearly as deep as the ones on his forearm but he still had a thin bit of bandaging wrapped around there, just visible behind the gathered folds of his hood. "DATA, can you grab the bandages in there? And the salve should still be in there too." At least he knew someone was cooperative around here. Well, when he wanted to be, anyway. Sigh. It was difficult being the adult. He hated having to be the adult, but it seemed more often than not, no one else wanted to be.

The obvious display of pain swiftly followed by Tony's arguments for humans not being weak feels incredibly ironic to Wesker and he allows his lips to twist into a little smirk to show his bemusement.

"Humans can be made better." He corrects. "I am intimately familiar with the limits of the human body even at peak performance and efficiency." Wesker gestures a hand at himself. "Outwardly my body hasn't changed from when I was human." Only his eyes have changed, but that's a minor detail. "And yet back then I would have struggled against your armor and probably lost." He can admit that. "You have experienced what I am capable of these days. So you are not wrong: I am the pinnacle of human evolution."

Wesker crosses his arms again and his mouth pulls back into a neutral line as a frown settles over his glasses. "But that's all merely physical. Mankind's true flaw is its mentality. The insecurities that lead to conflicts and wars and prevents them from making any progress." A pause. "That's why you lost."

That was a little detail that Donnie had been keeping to himself thus far, making Tony finally betray, "Did you let a vampire bite you?" He couldn't imagine doing something so reckless, he'd never do such a thing. Before Donnie had to answer, Tony was finally properly turned toward him, to reach out and brace a hand on his face to first drag down on his cheek to check for any redness in his eyes, then his lip for any evidence of growing fangs.

DATA was entirely unbothered by this examination, more than happy to be of assistance and dip his legs into the kit, slowly dragging it toward himself until it was tipping over and spilling across the table.

"That's stupid." Tony might have just been irritated that Wesker wasn't irritated, and instead had just wilfully given Tony a remarkable amount of information without even yelling it at him. That Wesker no longer considered himself as weak and flawed as the people around him was always where these kind of guys lost the plot. Probably the same crossed wires that lead him into that ill-conceived argument. "You're the one who started the conflict, I was minding my own business. Making progress, before you showed up. Try again, and hold the bullshit about how being able to punch harder makes you the better person, that's going to embarrass both of us, we're already too aware of your insecurity, let's try to work around it."

His retort in annoyance turned into an "Ow!" as he tried to pull away. His cheek was still tender but the scratches and bruising were faint if not already faded. His neck however was still protesting to certain angles.

"I didn't let her do anything, she had me pinned!" Donnie tried to explain around the intrusion of space. "But as soon as I felt her teeth, she disappeared!"

His eyes flicked to the side at the sound of things being knocked over. "DATA, careful with that stuff!"

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Scoria

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a. i'm sorry, this kid won't shut up

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