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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"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."

Selfish was relative, and wasn't always the worst choice for a person to make. Some people used selflessness as an excuse to be reckless and self-destructive, or to excuse what was really an erosive narcissism. Between superheroes and Alcoholics Anonymous, Tony found being a little selfish sometimes was the safest path. So Tony shrugged, hugging himself again and without a good way to express that without admitting to those sources. Instead, he asked, "What's the point of being queen if you can't have both?" He did know, in his own way, that being the face in charge of a larger body meant plenty of sacrifice, but a Queen protecting her family was very much doing her job. It must have been dire, Tony could tell, because he continued, not really a question to Sansa but an acknowledgement of the choice she was really making, "And what happens when everyone else goes? And it's just you'n'James," then bit his lip, worrying it thoughtfully. He would really have to have nothing left at home to make a call like that, if the survivors guilt didn't kill him first.

"I try not to think about being left alone," Sansa admits softly. "I cannot have this at home. Any man I took for husband would have more power than me by virtue of being a man. There wouldn't be a Stark in Winterfell. It'd be a Lannister like my husband or the name of whoever I married."

The next bit, she doesn't know how to say. "I'm afraid of men except my husband here. I couldn't bear a child back home. It would terrify me to do what was necessary to continue my line. That's why I don't want to leave. It makes me a coward, yes, but I am a happy coward."

That was very rock and a hard place, and Tony knew better than to try to encourage some flimsy girl power when faced with a man that had zero respect for it. A crown was much more a target than it ever was armor in that context. But Tony excelled at finding the third option, and he already had one lined up; he spread his arms again, open hands, let's try this and see if it fit, "Here's the thing. We got here somehow. You know already that you can go back the same way, door works both ways. We get control of the door, who's to say you have to go back to Winterfell? Earth's a big place-- hell, whole galaxy of places to settle down and raise a family. Much bigger weirdos than you in new York, I promise you that. You've already got Steve and Wanda and whoever, James..." It was hard to know who Sansa had met, and what Earth they had come from, but at least one of them had to have a couch to crash on. "You've got a tour guide grandfathered in."

"I think of going to New York," Sansa admits. "I think it would be safer for James, Tyrion and I to live where our friends are and not go back to Westeros where we'd be targets. I want that, honestly. I haven't had true friends that I could trust in ages."

Sansa smiles softly. "I think I might like being in New York, actually. I don't think James would be there but I could find him somehow. Steve says his life changes, that the James I knew wasn't the James he knew. My James had been used as a spy and an assassin. He'd not want to be in a place with a lot of people but perhaps if he knew I was there, he'd come to me."

There had been people with more checkered histories than some compelled assassination living in the Mansion, and the Tower in its short life. Surely, if Sansa managed to get her family to the Avengers in any multitude of dimensions, there would be a roof there ready for all of them. Tony smiled back, easily picturing Jessica struggling just as much as Sansa was with her pregnancy to navigate around the kitchen while the team fussed over her right this minute, way back home. She'd fit right in. "You'd love New York," Tony agreed. "Best city in the universe."

He shifted, finally peeling away from the balcony railing to approach slowly and ask, "How's he doing? Still working on his dance moves?" The baby wasn't the only one, there were clubs here that would serve breakfast to keep the dance floor open, but it was definitely well passed some of their bed time out here.

"A bit calmer now, Lord Stark," Sansa teases. It hadn't taken long to deduce that Tony has a sense of humor and it's nice to be here where joking and being lighthearted is not only allowed but encouraged in some instances. She lays her hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly.

"The company was very nice as well. I just hope you won't be a stranger after I head back home. I like to collect people from your world, as you've said, and you've been very kind to me."

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Stranger in a Strange Land

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