Tony Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
in_extremis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2021-05-04 02:28 pm
in_extremis) wrote in revivalproject2021-05-04 02:28 pm
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?
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?
no subject
Jon snorts dismissibley. "No, Stark. They would have tried to use it themselves. And I wouldn't have gotten any of the data I managed to derive from it before it broke." And plunged a group of islands into eternal darkness in the progress, but they aren't talking about that little mishap.
His voice has lured another mothcat closer, as it often does, and the feline has come walking over the length of the large table with quiet elegance until it has come to stand right behind Stark where it now rubs very bodily along the man's back.
no subject
"Do you think, maybe, in that particular case, the alternative might have been better--" Tony started, fairly certain they, and especially those islands, would have been better off letting S.H.I.E.L.D. stick the black sun in the Negative Zone where it at least wouldn't be broken, only to be cut off by that purring bump against his back. It might have just been a mothcat and, logically, Tony knew that, but it still about made him jump out of his skin, hopping away from the table and spinning on his heel to eye the creature suspiciously as his hand came up to pat anxiously where it had been touching. The move could have just been to try to brush the any hair or feathers left there away, but his hand lingered as he felt along the edge of the chestplate and held the animal's gaze like it might admit to him what it knew. Why were they even talking about something that had already happened?
"Listen, it's--fine. A book? That's it? Not a problem. I won't even charge you extra for the emotional blackmail this time, I think I'm starting to like it and that kind of thing is hard to put in a dating app. Likes looking at the stars, cheeseburgers, and having his morality vaguely threatened," Tony said, hand still high on his waist where he could feel the metal under his clothes and the other twirling in the air as he constructed his new dating profile.
no subject
"Dating apps." Jon mutters in a way that is nothing if not derogatory, utilizing the roll of his eyes to move his eyes away from his mothcat as the animal flutters its wings while resuming its quiet flirting with the man that has just agreed to Jon's offer. At least that went easier than it could have.
Following a mental nudge, the mothcat in his lap raises his head and sits up with a little stretch. Jon settles with a nod. "Alright. That settles this matter. And I can tell you are... Rather busy at the moment." Busy creating dating app profiles for himself. This sort of game Jon has never had any appreciation for. The mothcat easily climbs onto Jon's shoulder and flutters up into the air and over to where a few others have gotten comfortable, allowing Jon to push himself out of his chair and onto his own two feet. This doesn't change much about him having to look up at Stark, but Jon is well familiar with how to do this by now without constantly craning his head about. "You will receive the details shortly."
no subject
The only recovery he had on hand was, "You know, you can just call me," as though this exchange would have gone at all in Jon's favour without the mothcats leaving their mark all over Tony's office and with the series of lower management and secretaries that Jon would have been juggled through if he had called SI expecting to talk to Tony. Maybe that was healthier for both of them, and Jon could start bringing his problems to someone more appropriate, like Strange or the Pope.
no subject
Jon raises a single, unimpressed brow. Though there is the hint of victorious bemusement in his voice. "And miss these delightful little chats about your online dating profiles, Stark? Right." Or maybe he's just pleased he got what he came for this easily.
Following an unspoken command, all the mothcats rise from where they have settled down and come flying over to gather in the middle of the large table, all of them turning their eyes on Stark. About half of the group winks at the man, even though it's obvious that they are getting ready to depart.
no subject
"There's an easy way to keep well informed of my romantic activities, if you're that curious," he pointed out with a smirk that was supposed to be suggestive but still wasn't entirely confident. Quickly, he was clearing his throat and frowning seriously again to move on, "If this book is as dangerous as you say, Iron Man should go with you. Don't get me wrong, if you get yourself eaten, that's on you. I want to be very clear that I don't trust you not to experiment on some college kid and I'd rather you didn't leave her unaccompanied. You're a hazard."
no subject
The remaining mothcats watch with interest, Jon doesn't comment on it. He just frowns mildly at the mention of Iron Man.
"Hard pass. On your walking tin can's presence as well as further insight on your private endeavors. If I wanted to observe you, I would send some of my cats." So much more reliable. "We're leaving now. Good day, Mr. Stark." Jon starts to make for the door, prompting the mothcats to undo their formation to follow.
no subject
Iron Man hadn't been an offer, it was a requirement, but it wasn't exactly one he needed Jon's permission for. He didn't need room in the car. So while Tony frowned at Jon's back, all he said was, "Tony," trying to urge the mothcat off of him to join the flock so he wasn't left with any lurking around. "Please."
no subject
Tony, huh? Jon narrows his eyes at the offered name, lips pressed into a tight line. This isn't the first time the man has made this offer.
It takes him a moment, but he swallows the reflexive 'No.' and leaves the office without any verbal confirmation or rejection, letting the mothcats file out of the room first before following them. He may, after all, still have need for Stark, his influence, craftsmanship or money for future projects. But that doesn't mean they actually have to be friends.