revivalproject

Entry tags:

salon

WHO: Esteemed, invited guests (everyone).
WHERE: The greenhouse
WHAT: A party! And not the kind of crime that the Agrii commit. Come show them how it is done.
WHEN: During a very long and slow space trip.
WARNINGS: Mark your threads if you get into trouble.

pre-festivity...network?
[Over the shipwide broadcast system that everyone is lucky Tony has not made more liberal use of, accompanied by gently dimming lights as though signalling intermission was coming to an end, and Act II was about to begin.]

Your attention, please. Please give me attention. You're not doing anything important, I know you aren't, so if you would kindly make your way to the quote-unquote 'Green Room', the rest of us are waiting for you.

Wear something that makes you feel delectable.

[Did he have to say it like that? Of course, he's trying to set a mood.]

the event
The atmosphere of the Green Room, which had at other times been a battleground, and a quiet resting place, was what could be called a soiree. Some of it was magic, brought to brief reality by Billy to disappear as the get together came to an end like carriages into pumpkins as their clock ran out, and other things were altogether different kinds of illusions. Like the tree Cayde had worked to fell, hauled up off of the ground to brace in the branches overhead, its dying boughs slouching down toward the ground in winding tendrils that were strung with glittering lights, a fragrant curtain around the area conveniently cleared by the destruction of the tree to give plenty of room to pull a partner into a dance. The music, naggingly familiar to those who called Earth home but distinctly synthetic, was playing through the broadcast system, loudest near the clearing and progressively softer the further away from this hub, but continuous throughout the ship until it felt like a whisper from another room at the farthest points like the cargo bay.

The noise competed slightly with the raucous beckoning of the karaoke machine installed near one end of the Green Room. This corner felt like it hadn't quite received the dress code, dotted with balloons and nearest to what could be described as a sundae bar, with what looked like all of the right textures for a very indulgent ice cream experience. The Agrii were more than happy to help with the food, so be prepared for a less obvious flavour profile.

More (potentially?) savoury options were offered throughout the Green Room, in no centralized location but spread across tables that had obviously be borrowed and dragged from throughout the ship, flanked by equally mismatched seating, flat-enough surfaces, or piles of linens and pillows where the ground was less even. Some of these tables had a datapad left on them, locked to a curious list that could only be checked off and not otherwise tampered with, at least for those not particularly technically inclined. Each item seemed to describe a person, all following a similar format in various levels of complexity, starting simple with, 'Someone with hazel eyes...'

One of these datapads, on a table tucked under a heavy lattice of vines and under the drape of what looked like approximately 40 metres of a sheer silk, started the evening much more blank, only marked at the top with a bold WHAT WE KNOW. That was a broad statement. Surely, everyone had a little of something to contribute to an article like that.

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It doesn't take much convincing for Jon to follow Tony's nudging and let his head drop against the taller man's shoulder, allowing himself to take a moment and just feel comfortable with that familiar warmth and scent and presence.

"I don't think about the future." He admits into that comfortable space of safety. "I fear it. I fear the ritual I won't be able to stop and what it might do to my Earth. And I fear... I fear not knowing what it is that- That I am becoming." And aren't those things formidable reasons to not even consider having a family. Not that any employee of the Institute Jon happens to know seems much of a family person.

Though it's Tony's admission that rather draws his attention at that moment. There is something easier, something that doesn't entail monsters and magic and rituals. Something entirely human once one gets around to think past the part where there are different versions of the same person apparently living different lives. "Were you angry at yourself?" Jon prompts gently. Because it could be possible. Seeing this other Tony having achieved something Tony wishes for himself... Fear of missing out, that's a thing, after all.

"I guess," Tony replied, because he wasn't often not angry at himself and didn't really know what the alternative felt like, but decoding the enigma that was his emotional systems was definitely not the easier option for him, if he had to pick between that or monsters. He knew how to deal with plenty of monsters. He stopped the restless wandering of his hands to squeeze tighter around Jon apologetically for even bringing it up, it was nothing, and for his fears, that were definitely much bigger than Tony's narcissism.

"That's the beautiful thing about the future," he pointed out, "We're still building it." The past was far more worth dreading, Tony thought, because it was unmalleable. "So, maybe it could be terrible, and terrifying, but you're still in control of what could happen. It's inevitable, and it's eternal." It should have been easy then for Tony not to hate himself over one missed chance. But it wasn't like he had ever been good at taking advice.

I guess.

That's a telling enough answer, even with Tony moving away from the topic. Or maybe because of it. For Jon it's reason enough to draw his arms a little tighter around Tony's neck, effectively pulling him down to his own level just a little bit.

"...right." is what Jon mutters once before his voice picks back up, a certain pensiveness remaining in its tone. "Then lets build our own future. At least- Hypothetically. I'd like a future without monsters. A future where- One where you aren't angry with yourself." He exhales slowly, producing a low humming sound before going on. "Since you want kids, which-" And that's a tiny, fond chuckle right there. "Right. I can see that. You'd spoil them and teach them the worst pranks. That's fine. We just adopt some. Nothing wrong with that. I was adopted myself- By my grandmother, but... I think I would like a cat."

Is he rambling? Maybe a little. Rambling about a hypothetically happy place that might never exist.

This position had become less dancing, more holding onto each other, from a question Tony thought had been perfectly innocent, making him gladly bow but breathe a laugh into Jon's pull, then slowly pass his hands up Jon's back to his shoulders as he begrudgingly worked out how to extract them from the position before it hardened the mood into something so desperate. By Jon's hum, Tony was following up Jon's arms to gather their hands together again, so he could share a surprised smile with him at his chuckle, not used to anyone reading him as the type to actually want a family, what with the general bad behaviour and bugged personality. It was about then that he caught on with the rambling, so he was ready to mutter as Jon continued, "Not spoil, enrich," and twisted him again in a more balanced spin to pull his back against Tony's chest instead, where Tony could watch his face in the reflection of the glittering window as he pressed a kiss behind his ear. "Lots of kids out there need homes," he agreed, then started to laugh, "Lots of cats, too."

That hypothetical future didn't seem like such a big one while facing the vastness of space and the impassively shining stars that Tony didn't recognize winking through it, like it was almost manageable, despite the monsters. "Multiple kids, just the one cat," he summed up with a skeptical smile. "Not that we'd have room for any more, I'm not the settle down in the country type, but that's not a bad start. Future's not so bad."

After everything? Yes, Tony certainly seems like someone who deep down yearns for a family. That deep need to care for and look after others is but one telltale sign. Jon doesn't doubt that Tony would make a great father, if maybe one that can be a little overbearing. Jon can balance that bit out, though. He is certain of that.

Tony meets no resistance from Jon as he shifts their position, and Jon finds himself blinking twice at the reflection before them, becoming instantly aware just how long it has been since he has actually seen himself. No new scars, at least.

His attention moves over to Tony's reflection and from there over his shoulder to Tony himself, a single brow of his moving up. "Have you ever lived outside of a city? Out in the country...?" He wonders out loud, but appears happy that his little play of thought has been accepted this well. Maybe they can expand that little mental picture a little further. It's a nice distraction.

"Only if Ventura counts," Tony flashed a grin, then returned the skeptical look, because Tony knew he was living in the city so he didn't get bored, but was certain Jon wasn't in London because the pace suited him. "This isn't going to be a 'don't knock it 'till you try it' conversation, I know your grand plan isn't chopping wood and a pick up truck. You couldn't even see over the wheel," he said, and with his hold around Jon's middle, lifted him from the floor with a wheezing laugh. "Sorry," he continued, knowing full well how insincere that sounded eve as he graciously allowed Jon back onto his own feet, "you're not that short, but you've seen Steve, and let me tell you, he's small for an Avenger, I've got a skewed data pool, I don't get to make the short jokes."

Jon isn't entirely sure where exactly Ventura is, but judging by Tony's tone, that's pretty much a no. He also doesn't really get to comment on the wood chopping bit before Tony simply picks him up and basically reduces any complaint to a quick "Woah!"

At least the laugh helps ease the initial surprise and takes the edges off the look of indignation Tony has earned himself and the tiny pout at being set back down is a forgiving one. "It's fine." Jon reassures and pats one of the hands that have just picked him up. "I'm aware of my... Stature. And I... I guess I forgot that there are different expectations between American and British countrysides." He further admits with a little grin. "But you are not wrong. I never lived outside a city and I'm not sure how well I would do against wild... Bears, I suppose?" A tiny chuckle underlines that guess before Jon settles with a little sigh. "I actually grew up at the ocean. Would have liked to visit is again. London had none of that."

This distinction hadn't occurred to Tony, either, who had to reevaluate this very specific image he had of country and started to laugh, because England was so small it really wasn't the same thing. "Oh, a bear would love the scent of you," he growled, squeezing Jon so he could nose into his neck with another giggle, sure that was the kind of encounter that would end with Jon shivering in a cave. "You know, I'm thinking about it now, and I could probably do British country. I didn't live in the city when I went to Cambridge, and it was basically a five minute walk, it's faster to get downtown than trying to fight New York traffic for a couple blocks. I didn't hate that. I could do that again. Hey, Hank and Jan'll be there, you'll love them, we can have high tea in the garden or whatever, English stuff."

He couldn't just ignore another assumption he had made, though, which was that Jon had spent his whole life in London, and that was part of his strange travel-aversion. Tony's guess might have been more delicately put, because he had to ask, "Was that with your parents, the ocean?"

Shivering in a cave might be about right. Right now, however, Jon is rather shivering in response to what Tony is doing to his neck. Though this is a whole different type of shiver. The type that brings along those restrained little noises Jon produces when trying not to embarrass himself by squeaking. Or giggling. Or a mix of both. At the very leas it's not a noise of protest.

"Grandmother." Jon corrects easily. "Though I was born in Bournemouth, so I suppose I lived there with my parents while they lived as well. I was too young to remember them, unfortunately. But I lived there until I left to study in London and during that time..." There is a brief pause and Jon offers half of a shrug. "My grandmother passed. That... It hit harder. Left me in a weird place. And I don't necessarily mean London by that." And while Jon falls silent after that for a moment, he maintains a little smile nonetheless as he drifts back to the base topic. "We can look at the villages near one of the larger cities. Overall quieter, but not entirely dislocated. Having everything accessible is a good thing." A pause, then a curious: "So... Hank and Jan. Who are they?"

At that moment, Tony thought he preferred those quiet noises to Jon's indignant squeaking, maybe by a narrow margin, it was a tough call, making him purr appreciatively before he was spinning Jon back around to hold once more against his back, hands together. "I must have lost my parents about the same age," he said, tipping his head, more or less, he knew what that was like. "I wasn't in school anymore by then, so I was kinda in a different place, but...weird place, yeah. Didn't join a costumed band or anything, bought a car company to gut it and consumed a lot of questionable substances, same thing, you know." This idyllic little life that Jon was envisioning for them in an English village was wildly misguided for several reasons, but the kind of parents they might actually turn out to be, based on their respective upbringings, felt particularly unavoidable then, so Tony pressed a small smile in return and was more than happy to talk more about the Avengers.

"Giant-Man and the Wasp, you know, from the..." he tried to remind Jon, bringing their hands up together to gesture vaguely at his head, where Jon had seen the pair as Captain America thawed in front of them. "They retired after, ah..." This, Tony realized, was one of the few things that made the Avengers suddenly not his favourite topic, but it did bring them in a meandering circle, so he tried to parse it down for Jon. "Wanda, the Scarlet Witch, in my world, had Billy and Tommy at the mansion, with the Avengers. It was where I grew up, my house, so it's not like--it was a home, you know, Cassie was there half the time after she was born--the gal that Billy, in the diner--okay, so, the mansion. Wanda lost the twins then, though, it was just--some stupid magic shit, you know, typical, but that's hard on you, so, so, not a home anymore, not for her. It was destroyed, she--I don't think she wanted to remember any part of it anymore, so Avengers Mansion was destroyed. And it really felt like we did this, you know, the team grew up there together, too, and it was because of us that that even happened. That day, it wasn't just the house, our friends had died, Wanda was gone, it really was the end of the Avengers. Hank took it really hard, he had to get as far away as possible, so he took a faculty position over in your territory, and Jan went with him."

He finally took a breath, frowning, hoping he managed to at least halfway present what he had been trying to express about the kids, the house, and the team, then finished, "So, they're already doing it, cushy academic job, probably got a cat 'n everything, we've got an in."

"Not everyone can afford to buy a car company." Jon chuckles and continues with a grin. "Some of us were glad they could afford a used, ratty-looking leather coat to have a suitable costume for their future endeavors of scraping by a living." It's not an accusation of any sort, it's simply the truth. They have both taken entirely different roads based on what had been available to them and their own abilities. And somehow they made it work and got through. They made it through to this very day, which allows them to at least for a moment picture a bright and happy future that by no means is plausibly possible. But just for now Jon will allow himself to look past reality and monsters.

He gives a short nod at the reminder, not having forgotten the memories he has been treated to. And this is turning into one of those rare times that Tony is telling him more, so Jon won't interrupt, but listen. Wanda, yes. There is a Wanda here, but apparently not the same Tony, Billy and Tommy know from their version of Earth. And he remembers what he has been told about Cassie. And he remembers what he has already learned about Billy and Tommy. This is a different angle of the story. A different view on a catastrophe...

It's another, a very slow nod that Jon gives this time, then looks over his shoulder up to Tony and reaches a hand up and behind Tony's head to gently nudge it down and lean his own temple against Tony's cheek in a wordless display of comfort and gratitude. "I'm sorry that happened." All of it, really. From Tony losing his parents to having his home destroyed and friends die. Though Jon knows better than to go into those details he knows Tony doesn't wish to dig into any further. He has already laid out a very comprehensive picture and chewing on it further might rather make him reluctant to share anything else in the future.

And so Jon leaves it at that.

"You are right, though." He says, instead, his voice more of a soothing mumble with their faces kept close. "I think I would like to meet them. See how regular life is treating them."

That entire tragedy wasn't something that Tony had really had to put in his own words before, another one of those things that his whole world unavoidably knew about him, the Mansion, and the Avengers they lost, and any of the details that Tony could provide weren't anything that anyone else would believe, anyway. That it was Jon he got to voice some of it to, and that Jon could continuously surprise him with a well of patient warmth behind the stuttering and glaring, unwound the anxiety that had ratcheted up his spine for the telling to spool into a staticy warmth in his chest.

The gesture had made him close his eyes, trying to keep his restless hands calm for a moment, so his own laugh was a surprise when he replied, "I hope you're not implying you're going to have a 'regular' life. Please." He swept down to scoop Jon up behind the knees then, no longer in control of this fantasy for Tony to make some declarations: "I'm buying you a castle, of course, if you insist on raising your cats and kids in England, the place is lousy with them. Excalibur will probably recruit you, to deal with the next existential threat, it'll be a whole thing, none of them have ever liked me much, I have some, ah, misaligned affiliations. There will be some very tense and, I'm sure, very magical dinner parties, but you'll be invaluable so we'll all have to put up with each other. At the very least, you could use the diplomatic passport, we're keeping a place in New York. Or are we getting married? You'd hate the wedding. I'm not prepared to compromise on that." By then, he had dipped Jon back low again with a warning grin, his legs in the air to swing them down as Tony spun them together on his heel.

"Woaah!!"

Suddenly being picked up like that? Yes, that's a bit of a surprise for Jon and he instinctively holds onto Tony as the man goes on to add his own view to their little play. It's nice that even despite sharing such parts of what has happened the mood hasn't been soured by it and Tony is still capable of laughing and playing along, so Jon has no reason to hide his own smile and the amusement towards Tony's words.

"Our kids and our cats, Tony." He correct with a playful jab to Tony's shoulder, then tilts his head curiously, decidedly not freaking out at the posture Tony is keeping him. It's fine. He trusts Tony not to drop him. "Now I'm not sure whether to be more inclined to ask how King Arthur's sword would go about recruiting me, or..." Jon pauses, making a deliberately thoughtful face for a moment, before giving a small shake of his head. "No. You know what. Rather tell me about this wedding you said I would loathe. Didn't think you'd have specific plans for that. And let's be honest: If Excalibur doesn't like you, I may be hard pressed to be in favor of it."

It took Tony a beat, and a slightly baffled, "What?" under his breath before he was rolling his eyes, right, this again, Jon's world really had huge gaps in it that didn't have any business being there, with fear eating Archivists and vampires that someone should have had some control over. "It's really just you against the world, huh?" Tony muttered, he got the picture. "But you have, like, MI6, right? You know what police are? How far down does this go?"

Okay, he wanted to talk about the wedding, not the strange anarchy he had apparently been blissfully living in all his life, so Tony cleared his throat, nodding, far more important, taking this brief stumbling block as his chance to stop swinging Jon around like a ragdoll and slouch against one of the thick trees holding up their canopy instead. "First of all, of course I have plans, please," he said, as though this was a very obvious and natural trait, and it was perfectly normal to plan a wedding at the first hint that someone had expressed an interest in Tony. If asked, this was just one of many contingencies, that was what he did, he was a futurist and had to plan for the future, he just happened to plan a lot of weddings. He was choosing not to think about it. "Second of all, look at me, I'm not doing some small, intimate affair bullshit, you're going to have to go out and make more friends explicitly to invite to this; I'm talking, custom built venue big, the Queen is going to be there, I'm carrying you out of there on international television," he explained, and grinned, eyebrows raised with a question he already knew the answer to; Jon was not going to love that.

Jon is about to inform Tony that, yes, the police exists in his world as well. But he sets that part aside when Tony lays out his certainly grand ideas for their hypothetical wedding. Which Jon listens to with interest and rising amusement. He's just barely holding back a bout of laughter by the time Tony mentions the Queen being among their guests, but he fails at controlling his response of cheerful chuckling.

"Jesus Christ!" He exclaims with an actual little laugh that settles into a somewhat challenging smirk, not nearly appearing as disapproving as Tony has anticipated, perhaps. Though then again, Jon hasn't exactly been displaying any signs of stage fright before, has he? He isn't afraid of being the center of attention or putting up a dramatic show. And most importantly, perhaps, he isn't afraid of public displays or declarations of affection. Which, with what he has observed from Tony so far, makes him wonder just how grand of a thing Tony really would be willing to make such an event.

And so he lets the challenge expand from his smirk to his look. "I will hold you to this, you know." Then, almost as an afterthought and while putting a hand to the side of Tony's face appreciatively he adds: "And I get to pick the music. Some of it, at least."

Tony's question became a skeptical look at Jon's laughter, really not expecting that based on how well he handled being around people, then a smile of surprise when it really didn't seem like Jon was going to fight him on this grand plan and would actually be encouraging of this particular performance for attention. That was dangerous. As much as Tony thought they were ignoring the myriad of hurdles that made this a fantasy, Jon's challenge felt much more grounded, making Tony meet it with his own sharp smirk and accept, "Yeah?," thrilled to discover he had found the one person in the multiverse that wasn't going to simply roll his eyes at Tony's impulses, and to find out just how hard he was going to have to push before Jon did get exasperated.

The expression was effectively schooled for Tony to very seriously deny Jon's single claim for control, despite tipping his head fondly into Jon's hand, "No. Not happening. That can be our first argument of the day, it'll be great, we'll make the band incredibly uncomfortable and get very close to calling the whole thing off. That'll happen twice more, by the way, between four other smaller fights, I told you, I've planned the whole thing."

It's really less that Jon can't handle being around people, but rather that he has very little patience for dealing with stupidity and a short fuse when faced with rudeness. In fact, he is far more inclined to say that a lot of people don't handle him well than him being able to handle a lot of people - Or the attention of such. Of course that which Jon tends to let those people see is the stern, little man that is quick to fight back with harsh words rather than the person Tony has managed to unearth underneath. Which not many people manage. Tony may well consider this an achievement.

"Really now." Jon responds with a raised brow to Tony's refusal to let him have a say in the matter and almost looks about ready to pout. "If you're also planning our arguments, then I will politely request a script to study in advance."

Almost pout? Almost? Tony watched this expression with hopefully climbing eyebrows, then could have pouted himself for being refused the treat. He caught Jon around the middle to pull him against his side as he gave his own tsk of disappointment for his ineffectual bait, with a roll of his eyes and rueful smirk. He kind of liked that stern, little man, too, but it was definitely looking more like Tony was going to have to unleash him on someone else if he wanted to see more of that side of Jon.

"Ah, now, that," Tony said, free hand up grandly as though the other wasn't crawling up under Jon's arm, then wafting over to tip his chin up to meet Tony's wolfish grin. "For that kind of service, there will be the small matter of my fee."

Jon isn't certain if it's the tone, the words, the gesture, the grin or the hand on his side that have his mind go blank for a moment and leave him just staring with his mouth half open as if he has been about to say something in response to that. In all likelihood, it's the combination of everything with this little mindscape they have created as background and for all it's worth, Jon will blame his own embarrassment at losing his words for the blush he feels creeping onto his cheeks.

"...please remind me to never try negotiating with you." Jon finally manages after an exhale of hot air and putting his coherence back together.

"We haven't even started yet," Tony pointed out with a laugh, clearly enjoying that blush as his gaze followed his fingertips from Jon's face, trailing down his neck to where he tugged gently at Jon's collar, like he might find out if that colouring went any further. Jon didn't know yet how devious Tony could get if they were negotiating, he didn't even have a Stark Tower on his planet to constantly remind him that Tony was used to winning in the billions at that kind of table. "But if you're already agreeing to give me whatever I want, I have to say, that's the best deal you could have made, boss, you're a natural," he purred.

There is honey in that laugh and electricity at those fingertips, Jon is certain of that and it takes him a moment of biting his lip to not simply dissolve on the spot. Of course he is already well aware that Tony has a very potent personality, but the moment he feels certain of his victory, the man seems to increase the level of it to twelve.

Which, of course, has its very own charm. And as tempting as it is to simply give in to it, Jon manages to hold onto himself long enough for a deliberate exhale and a vaguely raised index finger to support the slightly stubborn set of his jaw.

"I... I said I won't negotiate, Tony. I will still argue if whatever I want exceeds certain boundaries."

That made Tony's grin widen with a skeptical twist of his brow, not sure what line Jon was drawing between the two concepts, and only took that pointed raise of Jon's finger as an invitation to capture his hand, smothering the attempt at stubbornness in a mollifying massage of his thumb up Jon's palm to link their fingers together instead. He was already tilting his head to nose along Jon's cheek as he said, "You'll let me know if I find one then, hm?," before pressing his first kiss to that stubborn knot of Jon's jaw and working his way up to his temple. "Roses, by the way," he murmured as he went, a laugh still in his voice. "We're both in white and red velvet, so no one can keep their hands off of you, you minx. I have to occupy myself flirting my way through the wedding party, but it's when I get to your best man that causes the second fight."

The capturing of his hand pulls Jon's attention in that very direction and he can't help the little smile in response to the warm touch and the familiar gesture of lacing their hands together. It's a sweet distraction, causing Jon to tilt his head a little to the side to grant Tony better access.

Roses and velvet. Now that one sounds awfully over the top, maybe a little cliché, even. But the closeness of Tony's deep voice and the amusement in it reduce Jon's reaction to a content little hum. It takes him a bit of effort to open one of his eyes again which he hasn't even been aware to have closed by the time Tony mentions flirting with Jon's best man to cause the second fight. Jon doesn't quite manage to hold back that chuckle. "So I'm less picking my best man but rather your second opponent."

And knowing his options, Jon can see that neither of them would take kindly to Tony flirting around in the first place.

No boundaries yet, Tony was happy to discover, but an invitation instead, making the hand he held around Jon's ribs slide down his back until they were in what felt like a dancers' hold once again, with Tony's thumb stroking restlessly against Jon's sweater. Tony followed the invitations to agree in a whisper against his ear, holding back another giggle, "They're very protective of you," and continue to kiss his way down Jon's neck, slowly and delicately as he listened hopefully for the next cue. "Luckily, both sides of the aisle already adore you and think what you're doing in crazy, so they're all getting along great, we're really bringing a family together."

Protective, indeed. Just when did that happen anyway? When exactly did people start getting protective of him? shouldn't he be the one protecting them...?

But that's an odd trail of thought to briefly detour on. It's not one to linger for sure, that voice so close to his ear sending shivers down Jon's spine happily reminds him of that. That bit of bemusement still hasn't left his voice, though. "You may be the first person ever to suggest people were to adore me. Or do I have to wonder what it is you have been telling them about me?"

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