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)
revivalproject2024-06-02 03:42 pm
in_extremis) wrote in revivalproject2024-06-02 03:42 pm
Peel
WHO: Tony and open!
WHERE:The university The Brand New Avengers Mansion!
WHAT: Tony's finally putting a space together to house a team.
WHEN: Early-mid June
WARNINGS: Nothing yet, stay on your toes.
a. the foyer
Without a reliable local florist or catering company, or a very loyal butler besides, it was up to Tony to ensure the space was a welcoming one. If everyone was sufficiently distracted with a canape, then maybe they wouldn't notice the gaps in the armor, and would see this place as Tony envisioned it; a fortress, a home, and everything that Tony had to offer. For now, the door stood open to welcome anyone curious inside, and the bouquets of heavy summer flowers (maybe weeds) that Tony had stuffed into mugs and beakers on either side of it might have concealed the bolts and darkened panels that flanked it. The entrance to the university building, a long neglected structure mostly given to mothcat nests and spiders, had finally been properly cleaned, even the windows shining clear where the glass had survived, or sealed over to leave no more gaps to the elements. The space was sprawling, and the salvaged table dragged to the centre of it mostly served to make it look emptier still, propping up a lone carafe of coffee and a few plates of hastily assembled snacks. The cut fruit was probably more trustworthy. Whatever was on the other plate looked like it had been cooked too long. Tony stood beside it, frowning as he struggled to compose a text that was equally enticing and casual enough to not put absolutely everyone it was meant for on edge. Now that he had gotten this far, he was struggling to see why an Avenger would trust his invitation. He certainly wouldn't. Maybe a flirty 'u up?' was a disarming enough tactic, even with the sun streaming across the polished floor. It could hardly fill the space, barely creeping into the open doorways spilling off of the foyer, leaving the darkness a curious beckoning. "Hey, uh, hypothetically," he said at the first shadow that fell across the floor, "if you couldn't trust a word I said, I know, try to keep up, how could I convince you to stay the night?"
b. the gym
The tiered room must have once been an ampitheatre style lecture hall, big enough to host a full cohort, the awkwardly tall steps making each level of seating a sheer drop to the next. Now, it was a training room for all manner of superpowered muscles. There were targets to test aim, and punching bags to take a hit, braced around the carefully arranged mats at the cleared centre of the hall. The multi-armed A.G.R.I.I. robot waited at the corner of this sparring area, tucked imperfectly into a striped sweater that could have been evocative of a referee. Mostly, it appeared inert, like the dark cameras hidden in most corners, or flat, reflective screens staggered throughout the observation levels. There were no windows, the room entirely contained with only the entrance door from the hall, and a single break in the wall for another doorway that was at this point painted over with a large X and warning 'UNDER CONSTRUCTION'. The distinct drip of constant water could be heard beyond it. Tony had his priorities, and dressing the robot was well above finishing a functional locker room. This wasn't the kind of place for conventional work out amenities, anyway. It looked a lot more like it was prepared for a show. Tony draped himself on one of the steps, arms spread out behind him and legs stretched out to fold at the ankle, where he dipped his chin to peer down at the sparring arena over the frame of his dark glasses. "Floor's all yours," he invited. The wiggle of his fingers was subtle, and one of the flat panels nearby lit up on alert, awaiting instructions. He wasn't dressed for such a demonstration, after all; this suit's tailoring was too precise to start risking the seams, and he wasn't the one who had to earn a room in the new mansion.
c. the bedrooms
None of the demolition, wiring, or security systems were as challenging as developing the bedrooms. They were obviously the last spaces to be finished, and only a pair of them even had any furniture in them, waiting to be customized. Light fixtures still hung exposed, and if there were any soft comforts prepared they must have been protected under that lumpy tarp against the wall. The rooms were spacious, though; what must have been classrooms, flanking a bathroom that had been repurposed and divided into more private en suite spaces with the raw edges of unfinished doorways opening into the echoing tiles. These new bathrooms had to have been where all of Tony's plumbing energy had been spent. They were even fitted with massive tubs, thanks to a month spent underwater that provided a convenient collection of Hulk-sized clam shells, for the luxurious decompression that a long day of Avenging deserved. At least, Tony hoped that was a convincing selling point, because he didn't otherwise have the confidence to personalize any of the rooms, or finish anything too securely, abandoning each project before completion with the hollow awareness that it wasn't going to be good enough to work. It was all too little, too late.
Tony had to push the windows open to carry out the smell of paint and sawdust, and ease in the summer breeze from the richly green garden. At this vantage point, a floor above the ground, the imprint of what had been the hedge maze was still clear in how the grass grew, and there were distinct circles where the foliage had been scorched by rocks belched out by the volcano, flourishing now in the rich ash left behind. A mothcat that had been wrestling in the grass came flitting up curiously at the movement, landing gracefully on the windowsill. At least they appreciated the effort, and earned a scratch between the ears while they yawned. Maybe they had some nest-building advice to finish crafting the perfect bedroom with these tools and materials laying around.
d. housecalls [for Tommy and Jon]
[There's a knock at the door. Who could it be?]
WHERE:
WHAT: Tony's finally putting a space together to house a team.
WHEN: Early-mid June
WARNINGS: Nothing yet, stay on your toes.
a. the foyer
Without a reliable local florist or catering company, or a very loyal butler besides, it was up to Tony to ensure the space was a welcoming one. If everyone was sufficiently distracted with a canape, then maybe they wouldn't notice the gaps in the armor, and would see this place as Tony envisioned it; a fortress, a home, and everything that Tony had to offer. For now, the door stood open to welcome anyone curious inside, and the bouquets of heavy summer flowers (maybe weeds) that Tony had stuffed into mugs and beakers on either side of it might have concealed the bolts and darkened panels that flanked it. The entrance to the university building, a long neglected structure mostly given to mothcat nests and spiders, had finally been properly cleaned, even the windows shining clear where the glass had survived, or sealed over to leave no more gaps to the elements. The space was sprawling, and the salvaged table dragged to the centre of it mostly served to make it look emptier still, propping up a lone carafe of coffee and a few plates of hastily assembled snacks. The cut fruit was probably more trustworthy. Whatever was on the other plate looked like it had been cooked too long. Tony stood beside it, frowning as he struggled to compose a text that was equally enticing and casual enough to not put absolutely everyone it was meant for on edge. Now that he had gotten this far, he was struggling to see why an Avenger would trust his invitation. He certainly wouldn't. Maybe a flirty 'u up?' was a disarming enough tactic, even with the sun streaming across the polished floor. It could hardly fill the space, barely creeping into the open doorways spilling off of the foyer, leaving the darkness a curious beckoning. "Hey, uh, hypothetically," he said at the first shadow that fell across the floor, "if you couldn't trust a word I said, I know, try to keep up, how could I convince you to stay the night?"
b. the gym
The tiered room must have once been an ampitheatre style lecture hall, big enough to host a full cohort, the awkwardly tall steps making each level of seating a sheer drop to the next. Now, it was a training room for all manner of superpowered muscles. There were targets to test aim, and punching bags to take a hit, braced around the carefully arranged mats at the cleared centre of the hall. The multi-armed A.G.R.I.I. robot waited at the corner of this sparring area, tucked imperfectly into a striped sweater that could have been evocative of a referee. Mostly, it appeared inert, like the dark cameras hidden in most corners, or flat, reflective screens staggered throughout the observation levels. There were no windows, the room entirely contained with only the entrance door from the hall, and a single break in the wall for another doorway that was at this point painted over with a large X and warning 'UNDER CONSTRUCTION'. The distinct drip of constant water could be heard beyond it. Tony had his priorities, and dressing the robot was well above finishing a functional locker room. This wasn't the kind of place for conventional work out amenities, anyway. It looked a lot more like it was prepared for a show. Tony draped himself on one of the steps, arms spread out behind him and legs stretched out to fold at the ankle, where he dipped his chin to peer down at the sparring arena over the frame of his dark glasses. "Floor's all yours," he invited. The wiggle of his fingers was subtle, and one of the flat panels nearby lit up on alert, awaiting instructions. He wasn't dressed for such a demonstration, after all; this suit's tailoring was too precise to start risking the seams, and he wasn't the one who had to earn a room in the new mansion.
c. the bedrooms
None of the demolition, wiring, or security systems were as challenging as developing the bedrooms. They were obviously the last spaces to be finished, and only a pair of them even had any furniture in them, waiting to be customized. Light fixtures still hung exposed, and if there were any soft comforts prepared they must have been protected under that lumpy tarp against the wall. The rooms were spacious, though; what must have been classrooms, flanking a bathroom that had been repurposed and divided into more private en suite spaces with the raw edges of unfinished doorways opening into the echoing tiles. These new bathrooms had to have been where all of Tony's plumbing energy had been spent. They were even fitted with massive tubs, thanks to a month spent underwater that provided a convenient collection of Hulk-sized clam shells, for the luxurious decompression that a long day of Avenging deserved. At least, Tony hoped that was a convincing selling point, because he didn't otherwise have the confidence to personalize any of the rooms, or finish anything too securely, abandoning each project before completion with the hollow awareness that it wasn't going to be good enough to work. It was all too little, too late.
Tony had to push the windows open to carry out the smell of paint and sawdust, and ease in the summer breeze from the richly green garden. At this vantage point, a floor above the ground, the imprint of what had been the hedge maze was still clear in how the grass grew, and there were distinct circles where the foliage had been scorched by rocks belched out by the volcano, flourishing now in the rich ash left behind. A mothcat that had been wrestling in the grass came flitting up curiously at the movement, landing gracefully on the windowsill. At least they appreciated the effort, and earned a scratch between the ears while they yawned. Maybe they had some nest-building advice to finish crafting the perfect bedroom with these tools and materials laying around.
d. housecalls [for Tommy and Jon]
[There's a knock at the door. Who could it be?]
no subject
He also wanted to point out that Tony rarely actually offered anything the Soldier wanted and that if he wanted to hear a yes then maybe he needed to reconsider what he thought the Soldier might like, but he held that thought back. Even if he did express it, he doubted he'd truly be heard. At least he was used to that feeling.
"You're hearing. Are you listening too?" Not that he thought he'd get a real answer.
no subject
no subject
Not that he thought anything he'd just said would actually make a difference in the conversation but the Soldier felt that he'd laid it out plainly. He felt like pointing out that Tony hadn't tried asking the Soldier what he would want, in the times he'd offered things. He'd just assumed, and apparently taken it as a rejection when the Soldier said no.
no subject
That would mean sitting in silence for more than ten seconds, though, so Tony had to eventually clear is throat and propose, "So, hypothetically, so we can dig into how this works in practice," with a twirl of his hand for Soldier to waive some of the obvious roadblocks, like the fact that Tony already said he wasn't making any further offers. "If I was to call you up and offer you, just spitballing here, some kind of chart, maybe, to open an avenue of communication, and you react in a way that makes me think you're hurt and unhappy, it's fundamentally incorrect of me to drop it. What I should really do in that situation is to ignore the reaction, because it's got nothing to do with me." There was no way the Soldier really thought Tony was hurt, because that would make his tactic particularly callous. Tony's best guess was that this feeling was also part of that internal world, and had to ask, "Are you hurt?"