revivalproject | affairs

Entry tags:

affairs

WHO: Anyone in or around Stark Industries, and the boss himself
WHERE: The very normal offices of SI, in The City
WHAT: Kind of an SI catchall, come do your business, this can be a mingle. Make a note if you're mingling or actually talking to Tony.
WHEN: Early Super Heroics event
WARNINGS: We abide by the comics code around here! I'll let you know if anything changes. This Tony is 'unaware' of his alcoholism, so tread lightly if that's a concern.

a. Boardroom [Open to anyone who could get on the schedule!]
This was the worst hangover that Tony could remember. Not that he clearly remembered most of them, but this one had to be bad--it had definitely been a long time since he felt so crushingly aware of the weight in his chest, struggling to catch his breath against the indifferent squeeze of the chestplate and around the useless, scarred limits of his lungs. Labouring to sit up left him sweating against the headboard like it was a whole morning jog, hand over the glow of the RT until he remembered how to breathe. The reliable morning cure stirred into his first coffee would fix that bug.

The kitchen was already fragrant with the fresh drip as Tony came shuffling through, ready for him to stare longingly at the filling pot with the waiting bottle of whiskey as he scrolled through the schedule on his phone without really looking at it. Someone had been diligently updating it as the morning ticked on, rearranging early meetings and quietly recording his time as 'R&D' as arranged for all of the times he abruptly left the office out of the sky-high windows. Development, it could be argued, was kind of happening, though the research had been thoroughly covered at this point. When Tony finally had the life-giving cup poured, he topped it with a generous splash of the outrageously expensive rye, then was blearily retrieving a carton of cream to finish it with a dollop, leaving him staring down into the swirl of fading white in the black coffee in bewilderment. He didn't even know he had cream. He watched the colour feather out a moment longer before taking up the mug to gulp carelessly, then the pot as well to bring along with him into the shower. It was about time he made his way to the office.

It was with a paper cup yet that Tony came tearing into the underground parking of the Stark Industries tower, one hand on the wheel and the other juggling his Starbucks and phone as he watched for who to expect on his way through the building. The subtle indicator of the chestplate's power ticked over to a shocking 98%, so he must have had it plugged in at some point last night and couldn't have been making entirely terrible choices. By the time he made it up to the executive suites, he was visibly wired (not the charging kind), impatiently glancing around for the first person he knew he could trust with a quick touch up for these bruises before he let himself into his twenty-minutes-ago meeting.

It was going to be fine. He was the perfectly coiffed and intimidatingly poised face of the company that he was supposed to be as he entered the meeting room with the disarmingly confident grin designed to make someone forget about any tough questions. "My apologies, let me get you a drink." Distracted by how to best duck around the people he knew would engage him in conversation as he made his way up, he had forgotten to check the ever adapting schedule.

b. Cafeteria [Open to employees or visitors!]
"Look out!"

A cat went bolting through the 'tearoom' cafeteria, 24th floor and typically kept muffled quiet behind the clear stretch of glass overlooking the lush botanical lab several stories below, the vines creeping up through the chamber toward the sunlight. The animal galloped silently across the imported carpets and wove deftly around tables and legs, but behind it rushed a much less nimble porter-bot. It upended tables, knocked into people trying to have their break or read through reports over a hot matcha, and stumbled through the deeper pile of the carpet until it was wheeling, thoroughly out of control, into the multi-story sheet of glass. Someone shrieked a warning over the chiming of rolling cutlery, but it wasn't enough to stop the bot from crashing its head into the window. It slumped, with a buzzing groan, to the ground, while a crack crept its way slowly up the glass.

The cat leapt up onto an abandoned seat where a pot of milk had been upended, head tilted slyly as it slowly cleaned a paw. The collar it wore brightened slightly as a cool voice said, "I tried asking nicely."

"They're not designed to be nice," Tony said of the sparking porter-bot as he came to stand over the cat, hands on his hips and frowning. He was out of his jacket by then, sleeves rolled up and knuckles already nicked, but had dutifully exchanged his shoes for slippers as he stepped into the tearoom and the crisis unfolded, despite the croissants now crushed into the carpets.

c. Outside+Presentation Hall [OTA, the doors are wide open]
The eldest of the scientists standing nervously beside their display units throughout the afternoon could have been 11, maybe 12. Most of the work didn't look nearly so juvenile; even the odd volcano experiment was much more than it seemed, and interested parties were solemnly handed protective goggles before they were invited to check the results for themselves. There was plenty of room in the hall and courtyard for the offerings to sprawl, some of them taking advantage of the room with massive tanks of water or winding tracks, most of the students offered the funding to explore their concepts and bring to the Stark Junior Expo unable to complete, or putting the money into more immediate needs. There seemed to be less kids every year. Tony tapped restlessly against his chest as he surveyed the hall from the edge of the stage where he sat, kicking his feet and squinting through his sunglasses out at the sunny yard. He knew most of the people weaving their way through the displays with their tablets, tallying marks for the final awards, but the event organizers tried to invite new faces every year and plenty of them were people Tony hadn't even met yet. Like the gal with the dreadlocks who kept on shooting him shy glances as she rounded an endcap nearest to him, clearly waiting for an introduction and the chance to explain her research on space debris. Or the one that hadn't taken her glasses off all afternoon, either, and had yet to look at her tablet as far as Tony could tell, keeping her face turned away from him as she moved throughout the space so he couldn't quite place her in the manifest.

"Mr. Stark. Hi. Greetings," Dr. Dreadlocks said breathlessly, surprising him out of his contemplation and into smiling warmly.

"Tony, please," he insisted, and missed the nameless judge slipping out of sight and behind the stage.

d. Reception [This is just the wildcard option]
There may be some very noninvasive security recording what you had for dinner last night based on the protein structure of your sweat as you walk through the doors, but the public facing entrance to the Stark Industries building is open, bright and welcoming, all glass and gold with the reassuring sound of a bubbling fountain coming from somewhere out of sight, and fragrant with carefully manicured gardens built into the clean edges. A smiling receptionist is ready to greet you and answer all manner of friendly questions. Much of this hall is open to tourists, some camera flashes already popping nearby, but were you looking for something in particular?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The drink was regarded, very pointedly. It was too early for such a thing. Then it was ignored.

"Tony," he said, keeping the testiness out of his voice, "I am quite happy to work with Namor whenever he asks. Designing things that serve him and his people without adding to humanity's propensity for overdevelopment and disregarding nature has always been a pleasure of mine. He receives very different rates than you do."

His fingers drummed on the table for a long moment before he reached for tube and popped it open to pull out the physical blueprints he was proposing.

"I don't normally allow organizations on your level to hire me."

This was not a lecture that Tony had intended to invite and he was rolling his eyes very early into it, raising his glass again quickly for the fortitude to survive Reeve completely missing his point for the rest of this meeting. He only looked over again sharply at the admission that he was getting charged for the inconvenience of not being a whole kingdom, open hand up inquisitively, what the hell? Shoving his now emptied glass aside, Tony took a deep breath then slung his hands into his pockets, tipping his head as though he might actually be engaged and about to take Reeve's bait. He didn't know what he had done to make the man so irritable, but the punctuality was clearly a pain point and Tony was very used to being told he wasn't worth the time, so picking this fight was a mistake. "Oh, hold on, I just remembered something," Tony said suddenly instead of apologizing for being whatever it was that Reeve was displeased with this morning, and drew his cellphone out of his pocket. "I know, we've got our thing here, but it's always something, isn't it....?" he muttered as he started typing aimlessly but with great focus.

Reeve sighed. With Tony's attention drawn aside, Reeve's hand slipped under his coat to rest over the ache in his side. Stupid fucking ribs. Stupid fucking villains that could kick someone through the wall. That had hurt.

"Namor provides such interesting design specs. With tech giants I never get to design with hidden water purification and salination systems."

He didn't mind talking through Stark's typing. The man was supposed to be good at multitasking. And complaining made it easier to avoid the...

Damn. He reached for the alcohol and threw it back as quick as he could. He needed the little buzz to help with the pain.

There he went again missing the point, talking like Tony was giving him any attention right now or cared how hard Namor bossing him around made him. It was such a shame that Tony didn't live underwater to keep Reeve intrigued with a unique design challenge like that, Tony would have to work on that one. His pointed performance of completely ignoring Reeve only slowed as he noticed Reeve's hand held awkwardly under his coat, gaze sliding slowly from there up to his face as he knocked the drink back, watching him through his lashes like he could pretend he was still focused on this important matter on his phone. He was pretty sure that spiteful act wasn't what got Reeve to break like that.

"If you just came up here to have a heart attack on me, I will bill you," Tony said, typing conspicuously paused by then and not looking quite as hard as his tone suggested.

"I assure you that my heart is perfectly fine," Reeve answered, pushing the glass across the table. "Mister St-... Tony, you are the one that hired me for this project of yours. You are the one that arranged today's meeting, or some secretary of yours. Would you at least do me the courtesy of looking at the plans for the project? The sooner there is approval, the sooner laying foundations can begin. Even for Stark Industries and all your money, work takes time and sooner started, sooner done."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. And winced. Then just as quickly schooled his expression.

"Or should I be speaking to someone else? Perhaps that bodyguard of yours. He seems a man focused on getting work done."

Next time, he's making a decoy robot of himself to send to these meetings. They were too early in the morning for him.

"Perhaps a doctor," Tony suggested as long as they were brainstorming, because that wince was difficult to miss and as much as Tony would agree that just about any conversation was easier with the Iron Man, his skill set did not include treating chest pain. That would just be another delay, though, and Reeve had made it very clear that he would not put up with those any further. Tony tucked his phone back into his pocket, keeping his hands out of sight to tug there restlessly at the seams as he indicated with his chin for Reeve to spread out the plans already then.

"Is this how you talk to Namor, too, or is it just something about my face that makes you so judgmental? Because that guy would have thrown me across the city five minutes ago if I started in like this. Don't get me wrong, I'm getting the message, I don't need you to like me, but I gotta say, most people at least try out a 'good morning' when I write a check that big," he said, looking genuinely briefly concerned by the end that his singular appeal was wearing thin. If a big number didn't work for the guy that Tony just wanted to build a basement for him, it was really going to go poorly when he tried it on someone to make up for plowing a suit of armor into their car.

Reeve sighed. No he didn't talk to Namor like this. Namor would run him through with the trident, Tony. That would get him hurt. He moved to roll out the plans because what else was he going to do.

"Good morning, Tony. I'm sorry, I had a very bad night last night. A..." how to describe the encounter last night without it sounding questionably legal or slightly sexual. "An old friend put in an appearance in town last night and he was always a bit forceful in demanding my time for whatever little party he was throwing."

Yes, that shouldn't fall in line with the news's reports about Meowchanist fighting one of his long time rivals, The Exterminatrix, the night before. He's safe. Clearly.

There should have been more work put into that not-questionably legal or -slightly sexual concept because Reeve did not go nearly far enough to keep Tony from raising his eyebrows. At least Reeve wasn't being so aggressive anymore, but Tony wasn't sure he liked the weary sigh any better; if the rudely ignoring tactic had been more effective and gotten him properly spitting mad, Tony wouldn't have to pout and carefully offer, "Listen, you're technically on the payroll and I know the boss, so we could get you an employee ID. That thing gives you round the clock access to some of the best, uh, mental health support in the city, you could head down there right now and..." Tony made a gesture like popping the top off of a bottle, like he thought maybe that was how post-traumatic therapy worked. He didn't have a lot of experience, the amenities in the compound weren't there for him.

What? Reeve... stars.

"The man with the bodyguard who refuses to be seen in anything but a full on metal body suit is talking to me about mental health concerns?"

He is frankly incredulous, and sounds it as he stands. And then winces from the quick motion. Damn those ribs.

That was a weird argument to make when Tony thought they were talking about an ex beating Reeve up, making him recoil slightly with a hand open again to ask, what the hell? "I'll let him know how worried you are," he said coolly, but was quickly reaching to steady the architect at that wince.

"This isn't a good time," he decided for both of them like Reeve hadn't already made it very clear that he didn't want to be here. As gently as possible, sure that there was little he could do at this point to avoid Reeve getting frustrated with him and doing his best, he asked, "Did you get someone to look at that yet?"

An ex beating Reeve up? He hadn't even gotten that idea out of it. So he had just felt defensive. But he was right, he's hurting, and Tony is really getting through to that.

"No, I..."

Reeve sighed.

"I'd have to explain."

Between plenty of entirely inexplicable batterings taken in the Iron Man and a few 'forceful friends' of his own, Tony could give a slow nod of understanding, free hand on his heart with the other still lightly touched to Reeve's shoulder. "Please," he invited to explain nothing at all, then waved a hand vaguely over the assorted plans on the table before taking up Reeve's glass again, "Leave this, it'll be safe enough in here. My office is just down the hall." The glass was a good enough reason to not leave his own briefcase behind, returning to the bar where he could gather it and pour another generous drink for Reeve's nerves and meet him with it back around at the door.

Well, he supposed he couldn't argue against that, if he wanted the work. And in a way, he did.

"Alright," Reeve answered, his arm wrapping around his ribs as if he might hold himself together. "I don't suppose you keep pain killers."

Tony shot him a look for even wondering, he was going to be spoiled for choice in a moment, but was opening the door out into the more public office space by then and didn't immediately comment any further. Instead, he went striding confidently through the area, chin up and free hand gesturing loosely like he was just giving Reeve an overview of the place, chatting absently about some of the complications of building the compound to house both these executive levels and the regularly hazardous development work. His own office wasn't far, as promised, and the elderly and sharp-eye secretary that sat outside of it raised her eyebrows at their approach, but knew well enough to go back to her typing as Tony went sweeping by and clicked the door shut once again behind them.

'Office' didn't properly describe the space that Tony allowed himself to drop his shoulders once again in, easily multiple times the size of the boardroom and split into two, open stories with enough ceiling space for a third to encompass the massive windows overlooking the city. Tony gestured for Reeve to make himself comfortable in the seating area arranged in front of them, a selection of chairs and couches all facing each other where Tony presumably held more intimate meetings and had more often fallen asleep. He retreated to collect the kit he regularly used to staple Iron Man back together before anyone could walk in on him bleeding on the carpet, returning without the briefcase but with what looked like a cardboard box full of the careless remains of a wide array of first aid kits, an a bottle of pills rattling in the other hand.

Reeve followed Tony, doing his best to not grip at his pained side as he followed Tony. Once the door to the proper office and almost curled in on himself again. He moved to a couch and lowered himself onto it carefully.

But he looks at the box and raises and eyebrow.

"Do you play nurse to your bodyguard?"

"Yeah, it's our little game," Tony replied as he handed off the painkillers. There were a variety of pills in the bottle, different shapes and colours that could have been from anywhere, but Tony had mixed them frequently enough in a careless stupour to be fairly confident he wasn't handing Reeve a helping of kidney failure if he picked the wrong cocktail. It didn't look like it, but this was a thoroughly tested system that Tony had brought over. He dropped down onto the couch with Reeve more loosely, box still held against his hip and arm propped up on the back of the couch to lean his head against his knuckles, watching the architect expectantly.

Reeve sighed and opened the bottle. Soon he was carefully missing two matching pills out. Too neurotic to allow for anything other than matching he supposed.

"He does a good job, protecting you.

That was something of a reversal from whatever Reeve had been trying to say about Iron Man's mental state a moment ago. Tony shifted his head into his palm, ostensibly more comfortable but mostly masking his face and lopsided smile behind a cage of his fingers and gave a small shrug. "I'm lucky to have him," he muttered, not sure how much more he was comfortable saying with anyone this close. "Keeps me from awkwardly sitting in a client's office and racking up the bill on his goodwill."

Hey, someone's mental health being questionable doesn't change how good they are at protecting someone. But the reminder of what he was doing made Reeve groan.

"I didn't mean for it to turn into this. Last night was a mess."

Tony gave another shrug and nodded, sure, he had gathered as much, and continued to watch Reeve expectantly without an interrogation. He knew full well that if he had been in that position, anyone asking for details would have just sent him climbing the curtains, and mostly what he needed to hear was, "You're in control here, sweetheart." He studied Reeve a beat longer before continuing, voice still low like he was idly filling the space with the purr, "The last time I patched up Iron Man, sitting right there, he'd been in a scrap with one of my exes. Got him clean through the leg, blood everywhere, changed the whole suit design after that. He was frustrated. It's lonely, in the suit. The worst part, sometimes, is bleeding and feeling like you're never supposed to let anyone else know, and how long a night can be when you keep your own secrets."

Oh what a tone. The near purr definitely made Reeve lean in more. He just couldn't help it. Too many cat-like minds tied to his to not find it soothing.

"You almost sound like you've been there personally," Reeve answered with a sigh. "It's not much. Just a cracked rib I think."

That might have been the point, so Reeve didn't feel nearly so guarded or aggravated with Tony, though the small lie of keeping himself a step removed from the Iron Man and what bleeding he might do in a fight was meant to make it easier to talk about than and bleeding done out of love. Reeve's observation left Tony very still, with a tense smile and watching carefully for any further indication that Tony might have implied too much, his own shoulders dropping in tandem with Reeve's sigh.

"I can take a look," he accepted the out easily, "if you want." If Reeve accepted the premise that Tony occasionally treated his body guard, he could trust that Tony would recognize a broken rib, after all.

Oh no, he hadn't implied too much at all. Some people just felt deeply for others. With a sigh he started to unbutton his shirt. had to get that undone to pull it aside and the undershirt up to show the area.

"Why Tony, I wasn't aware you were this form of a doctor as well. A man of many surprises."

With a slow smirk, Tony insisted, "Actually, I never finished high school, all of this is an elaborate ruse to get cute guys to strip in my office. It never worked this well before, I really should have tried the medical angle sooner. Now that it's happening, you know, it's obvious."

He had finally pushed the box aside on the low table before them as Reeve lifted his shirt, eyes narrowed and head cocked like the architect had just presented him with a problem in the build budget. That kind of bruising definitely looked familiar, but while Tony raised a hand with a curious splay of his fingers like he was mapping the shape of the swelling, he kept his distance. It felt like he should have a more believable explanation for his experience than breaking a few ribs more than enough times himself, so as he collected a flat, plastic pack from his first aid kit and cracked it like it was a glowstick, he said, "Spend enough time on the helicarrier and you're an honourary part of the triage team." It wasn't any secret that Tony spent plenty of time supporting the superheroes, and that could mean gluing them together as often as he did their helmets, even outside of his own bodyguard. He handed the rapidly chilling pack in his hands to Reeve, the air around it already going foggy with the cold, so he could collect the tape they would need to hold in in place.

“I didn’t know that you were that experienced,” Reeve answered. The cold pack made him hiss in pain and from the cold as he put it in place. Wow.

“So cold. Fuck. I should have gone to the hospital. But things are complicated.”

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