revivalproject | Stranger in a Strange Land

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Stranger in a Strange Land

WHO: Tony, Steve and Bucky? And everyone else!
WHERE: Some network nonsense, and skulking around the resort
WHAT: Tony's playing catch up, and doesn't have a good lead yet. This is also Tony's TDM thread, relocated to make more sense on Risa, so if you want to properly canon that meeting, here we are!
WHEN: Risa: After Hours
WARNINGS: Nothing scandalous yet!

The Resort
The amount of information that Tony had now was not helpful, and neither the tablet he had been carefully tucked into his new bed with nor the computers spread throughout the resort were properly calibrated to help Tony map this ever sprawling conundrum. He had no way to connect the mysterious '31' to apocalyptic storms on a planet he had never heard of to all of the information telling him he was currently in an episode of Star Trek. What he did have was: an already rockstar-trashed room, a new wardrobe, and a creeping sensation of truly disgusting self-pity eating away in the pit of his stomach that he was going to have to overcome very rapidly before it grew any more powerful. To do that, he needed answers. He needed Cap. No, he could do this.

If he was going to solve the problem, he had to be in control of how at the very least. So far, the market had offered Tony plenty of fun and fashion, but not anything particularly useful, and it was about time he experienced a childhood fantasy: the replicators. One of the staff members had helpfully directed him in a way that felt so reminiscent of suggesting the ice machine back on familiar ground, that when Tony was actually standing in front of the thing, his first impulse was 'computer: ice'. And the replicator just made it, just like that; and not even just ice, this thing was advanced enough to interpret this failure of a human communication, vague and directionless, and delivered the beautiful, mouthwateringly glistening ice chips in a delicate glass, a useful container for his bumbling desires. Tony could smell how crunchy they were. He stared at this gift for too long in wonder, before remembering that he was still in public and gave a glance up and down the hall, regrouping, trying to focus. It was late so the halls felt deserted, but anyone could be coming back from the clubs at any hour in this place. Current problem: Kidnapping situation. Problem for another time: solving world hunger. He collected his glass of ice, then tried again, asking for a set of precision tools and a soldering iron. Then, after holding all of this cradled in a hammock of his shirt pulled away from his stomach, asked for superglue (this did not work, Tony had to get more specific and got what he hoped he was looking for with 'Cyanoacrylate?'), then, duh, bandages. He should have brought a bag. "Oh. Computer, one more thing, sweetheart. Do you have a bag?" A Ferengi rounded the corner, looking festive in a Margaritaville shirt (would he get the reference?) but staring very seriously at Tony, clearly suspicious and unwilling to share this space with him at this hour. Tony wasn't eager to find out if the species was really as they were portrayed, and instead gave a courteous nod of acknowledgement as he slung his cleverly resort-branded cloth bag of goods over his shoulder and slid away, glass in hand, to find another station to test the limits of. It couldn't hurt to test out his new tools on one, just a little bit. He could solve two problems at once.

It was late, and the breeze flowed easily through the open-air halls of the resort, keeping the still-warm, tropical air from feeling oppressively hot and carrying the sweet smell of alien, fruiting flowers with it. It was the perfect time to case the joint.

[Video]
[A video message posted to the network of a man frowning down into the camera, chin propped up in one hand and looking equal parts bored and skeptical, but occasionally glancing up, just past the camera, possibly betraying his alert tension.
Tony is in his room, sitting with his back against the bed where he has clearly thoroughly tossed the blankets, a single pillow left in the middle of the mattress among the mess. He knows from Billy that this is the best way to get in touch with anyone who might be able to relate to his situation. It doesn't make him feel any less vulnerable.]

I'm used to having some, you know, guidelines-- hard to read the room here, hard to read the audience. Um-- Tony. [He quickly touches his chest, that's me, before holding his chin again.] Looking for: just some fun, nothing serious. Likes: long walks on the beach, particle physics, black coffee. Dislikes: The smell of bookstores. I know, you'll try to convince me, and it will be a very good date, because I've never had a bad one, but I still won't like the smell. What else goes on these things...? [He's looking past the camera again, like he's waiting for the response to come from out there. If this doesn't produce solid results, Tony's ready to take this thing apart and make it more useful to him.]

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Tony seems to like to talk quite a bit but it puts Sansa at ease and gives her something to focus on other than her aching back and her son kicking at some part of her body that feels bruised and battered already. She's happy to take his arm but she stops when he says they have something in common. Then she says it's their name.

"You...you're of House Stark? There's so few of us left," Sansa says, gasping a bit. "Only I would be able to keep our line going and I'm married to a Lannister...it can't be coincidence. We must share the name for more than just it being common. Stark is not a common name."

Sansa looks at him, trying to see if she can see any of the Starks in him. He's got dark hair and eyes, so that's Starkish enough, but he doesn't speak as if he's from the North. If anything, he speaks more like the modern people in the fleet.

"Well, Lord Stark, it seems we must be cousins. Oh, Wanda will be so excited to know I've had family come - even if it's family I've not met and seems to be...from the future. Stark blood is Stark blood."

This was so much more exciting to her than Tony thought he was going to get, he honestly expected to be laughed off and didn't have a convincing argument in the cue. This wasn't the kind of situation a guy planned for, and Tony planned for a lot. It was so fantastically unexpected that he started to laugh with a confused furrow of his brow even at the first way she phrased it-- 'House Stark' was so evocative of a duke with his knights ready to defend his lineage, even before she went and indulged him with a title. They did kind of still talk like that, but Tony was pretty sure Sansa was not some Scandinavian royalty that Tony might have run into at an uptight party, even if they were from the same era. At least he knew they were in the same predicament.

"Lord Stark does sound very good. If you're the last one...then I have to ask, what to do prefer: Granny? Nana? You look like you could be a Gram-gram." He grinned, but Tony was narrowing his eyes then, looking Sansa over a lot like she had when while she tried to place him, but he didn't expect to find too many shared features. Instead, because that wasn't a terribly common name either, he asked, "Do you mean Wanda Maximoff?"

"I am not a Gram-gram. Steve calls me San from time to time and I like that."

When he asks about Wanda, Sansa nods quickly. "Yes, Wanda Maximoff! You must be another of their friends, then. There's so many here. There's Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff, Bucky Barnes, and the younger men - Billy, Tommy, and Teddy. There's quite a few people from where you're from, actually, and some of them are my dearest friends."

Sansa gives him a smile and her cheeks color a bit. "All the more reason to be related, hm?"

Thank God, Sansa made it very clear very fast that Wanda was from a universe distinct from her own, and she had no Wanda of her own worth noting in the meantime. For a second, Tony was sure that she and Wanda had come from the same place, and this Stark was somehow that closely related, and he wouldn't know what to do with that. He wasn't ready to have kids, some alternate version of him had no business outpacing him there.

"You have had the honour of meeting an incredible calibre of representatives from where we're from, and I'd appreciate it if you went ahead an assumed absolutely everyone from our home is that fantastic. Steve's honestly just average, wouldn't turn heads on the street," he encouraged, welcoming her to assume the absolute best of him. After all, Tony had to have been above average, right? "If he's giving you nicknames, I know I'm in good company. Might not be a looker, but he's an extraordinary judge of character."

Sansa cannot help but laugh at the idea that someone like Steve Rogers would be deemed "perfectly average" when he's anything but. She's seen people of extraordinary talent and merit and, as far as Arya and Jon are concerned, a bit of magic too but Steve is possibly one of the most talented she's ever met. Wanda too, come of it, and she supposes Tony might be correct about his world after all.

"I would want to say it's unlikely that Steve Rogers would be seen as average anywhere but just from who I've met from your world...I'm not so certain. Everyone has some sort of gift and they're not the sorts that you'd come by easily. My sister is possibly - no,is the greatest assassin in the known world and uses magic to do it but she is a singular talent. Everyone from yours seems to do extraordinary things."

Sansa smiles a bit, still amused. "I'm afraid I only have a head for politics and the poor fortune of being pretty. I was once called the cleverest person in Westeros but the party who said so was quite biased."

It was true that there was a remarkably high percentage of uniquely gifted individuals not just from Earth, but from New York specifically, and Sansa wasn't the first one to observe it. A high percentage didn't explain how well targeted these choices were, though-- there had to be a pattern here. Sansa might be a helpful part of that equation.

"I'll tell you what, I'll assume it's true until you can prove to me how completely stupid you are. You're on the clock, let's go," Tony prompted, offering to take the glasses from her if she needed to extra mobility for her goofy performance. A couple of Starks that happened to be connected to extraordinary people, doing their best on sheer brainpower and a pretty face, could have meant something. It felt tenuous, enough that Tony would have just got her number and bragged to Rhodey about everything they had in common, back home. This party had a devious host, though.

Sansa laughs at him, both shocked and in mild disbelief, and arches an eyebrow. "So you want me to be stupid on purpose? I don't know if I can manage that but let me tell you how stupid I was as a girl and how exactly I learned to be clever."

She thinks she can share enough details to paint a picture while leaving the bits that are particularly painful in dark corners and invisible. It's something she does naturally now, dissembling, and she lets her lips settle into somewhat of a wry smile.

"When I was twelve, I was betrothed to a prince of what is now the Six Kingdoms. I naively and blindly thought myself in true love with this prince and looked past every unsavory thing he did until it was too late. He cost me my father, my mother, and one of my brothers. He used to humiliate me in front of the court, used to try and make me burst into tears in front of him and everyone else. I learned that the best way to win was not to react at all. The only way to survive was to be smarter and to think faster.There are no heroes. Only the ruthless survive."

It isn't like that here, though, and possibly her world is much grimmer than his own. "Fight every battle in your mind. Chase every possibility, work out every possible end. Be prepared for everything and nothing all at once. Never let anyone see past the mask. That's how you survive long enough to rule a kingdom. You just have to be better than anyone else at playing the game."

Edited 2020-04-04 00:14 (UTC)

If that story was supposed to be in any way not dark, Tony was in no way prepared to give Sansa the reaction she was expecting. He was ready to tease her for not being able to pull a silly enough face, not uncover her trauma after five minutes in this empty hall on an alien planet. That was a lot of trust to put in him, he thought, not to dig into this wound, and Tony wasn't one to assume he'd earned it; either Sansa wasn't as good at maintaining the mask as she thought, or Tony shouldn't entirely believe this story. Because Tony was intimately familiar with that particular mask, and guarding weak points like that was integral to his own.

He slipped his arm from hers to curl around her back instead, tugging her against his side as he said, "You weren't stupid, mama. You were twelve." That treads dangerously close to Advice Tony Would Give To His Younger Self territory, so for a moment he took his time guiding Sansa out onto an open patio dotted with swinging hammock seats that gently twirled in the breeze. Was this prince the Lannister she had mentioned? She spoke about the whole event in past tense, but it would have been easy to make about eighteen months of pregnancy, from Tony's visual evaluation, in this whole new environment, seem like a totally different life by now. "Sorry for, ah, bringing that up," he offered. "But I don't see how you would have been any less clever without someone forcing it into you. Some people are just..." Tony tapped his heart, not sure if she would have the whole context but feeling confident now that Sansa would have her own reference to understand, "Good, whether or not they have anyone to nurture that." It wasn't a cycle that Sansa had to perpetuate. Some of them had to be strong enough to not let that abuse continue, Tony hoped at least one of them was.

"Some people are good," Sansa agrees. "I forgot that until I came here and got to know people from places other than mine. My world isn't...safe like this. Women have no standing without a man to defend them and even with it, their value is placed on having children and making alliances through marriage. It's different here. I have friends who just like being my friend and not because I'm a queen or my name is Stark. If I hadn't come here, I wouldn't have ever trusted someone good again and I would have lost out."

She gives Tony a smile, a soft one, and tips her head a bit. "I'm not one to trust easily. The bit I told you - it's something that most people know about me. It's something they celebrate about me back home. They don't know the underneath of it, though. They don't know that the steel mask was a mask and that I have to ready it each and every time. They think it's something I do by second nature. I'm the Queen of Winter, after all. I'm supposed to be cold and removed. Wanda helped teach me to trust again."

This experience had overall seemed like a traumatic nightmare with the threat of never escaping back to Kansas, but Tony could easily see how this would be a fantastical wonderland for anyone who had come from what sounded like a truly medieval society and faced even a fraction of the oppression that came with it. Tony was confident plenty of the women he knew in his now, a pretty socially advanced period when weighted against his Earth's history, those women would say they would prefer the Star Trek socialist utopia in a heartbeat. Of course, he didn't know what the culture on Agra 10 was like, but no one had told him yet that they were structuring this society of Lost Boys around slavery or something, the Risan culture was suitable to them.

"I couldn't have recommended a better teacher," Tony grinned back, much more comfortable praising his friends than talking through anyone's trauma. "If she's anything like the Wanda I know..." he started, twirling a hand in the air to invite that supposition for now, because he was having a hard enough time processing the ramifications of recognizable people from alternate dimensions otherwise, "she's had the kind of life that should have made her hard and cold, and instead she's got to be the most passionate and tender person I know. The magic thing, that's just a fun party trick." He was revealing a lot about how he judged his friends to this person who happened to be in between them, he realized, and cleared his throat, searching for something to keep talking about before that kind of fact ionized. "Our history, back home, living history, hasn't been any kinder to women, but there's a positive trend in social thinking. The future is bright. There might just be a few generations between what you're enduring, and somewhere...safe. Maybe it'll take contact with an alien species that can't be assumed man or woman at all," he offered, gesturing at this situation they were in now and the rooms around them filled with an infinite spectrum of life, "but, hey, you know, here you go, bring one of these guys back with you, you're the catalyst."

Sansa laughs softly. This place has taught her many things, things she'd taken back to Westeros and had helped her to become Queen in the North. Tony is kind and she feels comfortable enough letting him know a few things because he seems familiar with her friends. Not everything, no, but a little.

"I've come to be here twice and spent two years at home between," she explains. "People can disappear and come back. I'm not sure why that happens. The things I learned here helped me to ascend to queen back home and I learned how to protect myself from a man called James. He was quiet and a bit withdrawn from everyone else but he seemed to know the other people from your world. He was a dear friend, probably the best friend I've ever had."

She touches her belly lightly. "I'm naming him after James. When he decides to arrive, of course, which I hope is very, very soon."

"Honestly, Sansa, I've known you for five minutes and I can say with full confidence I have never met anybody with better taste. 'James' is an impeccably good name," Tony beamed, so swept up in this revelation that he could have easily forgotten the bomb Sansa dropped about her extracurricular travels. If Tony ever had a son of his own, there would be two James Starks in this vast and weird multiverse, and maybe their meeting would feel as unavoidably surreal-- is it possible that this is an alternate me? The 'James' coincidence was so circumstantial, though. They would need to do a deeper dive. "Quick, taste test," Tony demanded, holding up one hand to count off as he asked, "One: Best time of day. Two: Worst bug. Three: Least favourite small talk topic. Don't tell me it's random personal trivia, it's too late to break a man's heart."

She had left this place and come back. Either the Agrii didn't find her useful in that time, or didn't find her useful as she was, but she had gone back. As far as she knew. Every part of this could still be an elaborate simulation, but Tony wasn't seeing the value of it yet.

"The best time of day? I would say the stillness of the night, when the moon is bright and the stars are wheeling above. We call it the Hour of the Wolf, where I'm from, and I'm nothing if not a wolf. Worst bug? I'm inclined to say all of them, really, but I especially dislike spiders. Least favorite small talk? Marriage. I hate talking of marriage. Who is married, who isn't, who wants to be, who's unhappy - it's nonsense, really. Either you've a husband or you don't. No need to draw it out."

Sansa tilts her head at him, curious as to whether or not she's passed his test. James seems to have passed the test, at the least, so perhaps her answers won't send a potential new friend scurrying away - especially not one who shares her name and her friends.

"Have I passed?"

Tony seemed to be taking this in quite seriously, with an academic nod, pouting thoughtfully at the very good points Sansa raised. Well defended, the expression said. "Hour of the Wolf, very evocative..." he muttered, because it did feel very poetic and correct, and much more dignified than it would be translated in New York, 'Hour of the Raccoon'. Tony was more likely to feel like a raccoon than a wolf in those late night hours, though. Cultural differences.

"How can you turn down a bit of relationship gossip?" he admitted, with his all wolfishness in a grin. They would have to differ in some way. "I don't get to hear it much. It's either about me, and, hey, all press is good press, or I have to book in some time with a friend to talk shit about everyone else's bad choices." Sansa seemed to know so many people from Tony's circle that he had to try, "Maybe you've met her, too, Janet Van Dyne? Tiny little spitfire, about two feet tall and commands every room she's in. If it's on the social grapevine, she's tasted it; she knows who I'm going to date next before I do. That does seem exhausting, you're right, I've come back around."

"Janet Van Dyne? No, I've not met her," Sansa says regretfully. "But I think my friend Margaery Tyrell would have liked her. She loves to gossip too. I like to have my time to simply think."

Sansa looks at Tony, trying to gauge whether or not he'll laugh at her. "I used to say I was praying so no one would talk to me. They all thought I was very pious but I didn't believe in much of anything. I just wanted to be left alone. Some gossip is good, though. Sometimes it's good to know what others are saying about you so you can get ahead of it, yes?"

"I'd go with, 'had a bad burrito'," Tony replied with a tender pat to his stomach, which wasn't as elegant as slipping away for a chat with a higher power, but could definitely result in a similar position. It was, luckily, not a tactic he'd had to deploy often, but Pepper could definitely be far too savvy for the 'sorry, have a meeting' ploy. "What did you need all of that alone time for? Hold on, let me guess..." Sansa didn't come off as someone who worked with her hands much, so it wasn't likely a need for some time in the garage. "You're...writing a diary as a completely different character, so that when it is discovered the whole place thinks some spy has been living in the walls for years. You were teaching yourself to juggle. You have an embarrassing singing voice but can't stop yourself. Am I getting close? Oh--you have a telescope, don't you?"

"I have a beautiful singing voice," Sansa says, shaking her head. "It's more likely to be that I want to sew, honestly. I sew clothes for my husband, for Wanda - I used to make them for James when he was here. His arms are uneven, you see, because of the metal so to make shirts that fit him one must be a skilled seamstress."

Or leave the sleeve off entirely, which Sansa has done before, but she liked to make things for James out of gratitude and friendship.

"Right now it's all baby clothes, naturally, but I do tire of it. I'd like to make something different just for the novelty of it."

Of course being a talented engineer wasn't limited to metalwork, Tony should have seen that answer from a mile away. The hint of the metal arm made Tony more suspicious that she could somehow mean his James, but it was depressing to think of a Rhodey from any universe as 'withdrawn'. Another coincidence, but it left Tony very curious about this other cybernetic James who had made such a good impression and sounded like he had a very cool prosthetic. "It's going to be toddler, then fully-grown man clothes faster than you know. We'll find you a project, though. Come on, you can't just throw out there that you're a singer and expect me to leave that alone," Tony said, gesturing for Sansa to find a seat and put her feet up. "You've got to show that off. Maybe it will chill James out and we can get some sleep around here."

"Oh, I imagine I don't know any of your songs," Sansa says. "No one seems to recognize them. There's one called the Autumn Maid, though, and people at home seem to think it fits me because of my hair." She settles in the chair, though, and clears her throat.

Sansa begins to sing, voice easily rising over high notes and tumbling into the lower ones. It's one of the things she's best at, even when she's clumsy with technology and feels so much like a fool at times, and it feels good to perform again.

"What is your verdict, then? Am I a good enough singer?"

Tony dismissed her concerns about recognizing her songs with a wave of his hand as he left her to sit, leaning his weight against the balcony railing where he could fold his arms across his chest; unless her culture's music was wildly different than anything he had ever heard, Tony couldn't imagine it would matter if he even understood the language. It would be a thrilling surprise if this lady's beautiful singing voice was exclusively for some medieval screaming death metal.

The position braced him between the gentle crash of the waves on the dark beach and Sansa's voice as she sang, and while Tony watched her intently as she did, he couldn't help but wonder at the serenity of this alien abduction. Maybe these aliens' intentions really were altruistic. What would he be doing with his night back home? Ru was gone. The Avengers had just watched him ruthlessly give a man a heart attack, which would have been bad enough if he couldn't already tell the trust was fraying between all of them. He quickly straightened, snapping back to attention as Sansa's song ended, and gave a delicate clap to enthuse, "Brava, diva. You're a revelation." He crossed his arms again, though, staying rigidly where he was to hold her in a scrutinizing stare for a beat then point out, "You keep on asking me that, for my judgement. Is that a habit, or do I make you self-conscious?"

"I am not from your world, remember? Sometimes the things from my world do not translate to yours. James seemed to understand that better than most. He seemed to be a little out of step with everyone else from your home here and I think that was why we were friends, in part. I like to think - I hope I made him feel at home. He was restless sometimes."

Sansa gives Tony a smile, though. "I am confident about some things, though. I was a great beauty in Westeros and I cannot imagine that changed much. I was a queen and I helped my people survive a war and a hard winter. Sometimes those things don't matter so much here," she admits. "But sometimes they do."

That wasn't a satisfying answer to Tony, mostly assuring him that he had to be explicit about his boundaries with Sansa if he wanted to avoid participating in what she thought was a cultural expectation of her submission. Plus, wonder if James was more than a good friend. She talked about him more than the abusive husband, it seemed more likely, so what did that mean for the baby? Split him in two when the time came to get back to their own universes? Bringing it up felt like gossip.

"Alright, let's make this even then. You're worried that your customs might be strange for my tastes, but who am I? I'm just a guy. You're a queen. Say this was your court, and there were more of your people here than there seem to be of mine, what do I have to do to earn my place this close to you?" That answer would show Tony more about how their cultures might differ than either of their standards of singing voice. If it was anything like the royal standards of Earth, it only took a couple of million in the bank to earn an invitation to the table-- there weren't any strict moral or personal standards for that relationship.

"Pledge your fealty," Sansa says succinctly. "You've an advantage with having the Stark name but, if we took that out, you'd have to prove yourself. You'd have to pledge your sword to me or, if you had lands and an army, you'd have to pledge your men in defense of Winterfell, the North, and me. You'd not have to bend the knee, that's ridiculous, but I do expect some things."

It's been a while since Sansa has spoken about her life at home and as she does, it comes back as easily as a song or a particular stitch. "The North is proud. We don't love easily because we've been betrayed. We aren't rich in gold but we're rich in loyalty, in hard-working men and women, in resources."

She arches a brow at him. "Not asking me to marry you is also a great start. I am married here because I chose to be but I was forced into marriage twice. If I were home I would never marry again. I would choose my heir and never bear one of my own. That is one of the things I cherish about this place. I have the chance to have a family just for myself."

That was a PR answer if Tony ever heard one, so he wasn't expecting Sansa to end with the marriage restriction and he laughed in surprise and put his hands up in preemptive apology. She said it herself, she was a great beauty, being inundated with marriage proposals for the honour of admiring her every day wasn't a problem that would end soon for her. The way she spoke about her kingdom was a very fun change, like something straight out of Malory, and Tony couldn't help but play along, "Feed me to the wolves then, Lady. I've no sword nor army to swear to you, and if you'll bear my presence despite that, I can't promise I'll have self-restraint enough to not propose at least once a season." He grinned and spread his arms, see? He couldn't even be trusted, now she didn't have to worry about his approval.

She spoke about home withe confidence, and not without some love, to Tony's ear, but it clearly wasn't where Sansa felt she could lead her best life. Tony had to ask, the evidence mounting up, "Do you want to go back?" It might not have been part of the puzzle of this situation, but everyone Tony had talked to so far seemed to have left some pain at home.

Sansa laughs at the proposal and lifts her hand to cover her mouth, laughing hard enough that she needs to hide it. When her laughter dies down, though, she tilts her head as she takes in his words. Does she want to go back? Yes and no.

Her people need her but being a Queen is a lonely life. Here, she can have Tyrion and the babe. She gets neither back at Winterfell but she has a crown and the mantle of a kingdom on her shoulders.

"I should want to," Sansa says quietly. "But I cannot have this," she says, cradling her belly tenderly. "And I won't be able to have my husband. It's selfish if I say that I want to be here instead, though."

Stranger in a Strange Land

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