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

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.”

Tony did allow with a shrug, "They wouldn't have done much more for you. Maybe given you some of the good drugs," as he unspooled a strip of tape and finally gave a warning gesture for Reeve to keep steady and brace for Tony's hands. They were still very careful, like he was doing his best to only touch the tape itself as he secured the icy pack down, but it still meant pressing into Reeve's tender side with an apologetic frown. "Could be good to have the paper trail, though," he muttered, eyes fixed on his work with more focus than necessary. "If you ever need that kind of thing."

A paper trail was exactly what Reeve was trying to avoid. But he knew he had to come up with a reason for that.

“Yes, just what the press needs. Famed Architect Battered In Drunken Tomfoolery Episode.”

Not that simple and he knew it.

Unfortunately, it might have also been what Reeve needed to make himself safe, but Tony took the cue well enough as he shifted back into his lounge against his hand, tucking his knee up onto the couch between them to keep himself turned toward Reeve as he suggested with a smile, "Any press is good press, isn't it?" Maybe not if the humiliation was part of the game, Tony had suffered that one enough times. "How about this," he said, gaze rolling idly to the ceiling like he was just thinking out loud and wasn't already calculating what it took to keep a violent ex at a distance, "Famed Architect Escorted By Iron Man."

“That old adage is patently false. And I don’t think your bodyguard should not be at hand to protect you.”

Reeve moved back a bit, he needed to take a deep breath and move past this conversation.

“Why did you hire me, Tony? Why contract me if all people?”

They must have lived in very different worlds because Tony pouted dubiously, head weighing side to side at how false the adage might have been. Tony relied plenty on the image crafted by lurid headlines, and every one meant a healthy paycheck for his employees. Reeve didn't seem particularly interested in the debate, though, and mildly surprised Tony with the question instead, leaving Tony cobbling together the response to something he didn't feel like he had the right context for.

"You say that like you're some unknown ingenue, and if that's what you're going for, I have to say, the beard is not a convincing choice. I grew mine so people would stop offering to change my diaper in college," he said. "I'm trying to build the future. I didn't think you would be so conservative."

"I'm not saying it like that. I'm saying that I am known for working with forward thinking, environmentally friendly companies. And don't claim SI is. Yes, your alternative energy solutions are great, but your company has a history of work on weapons, and those are never environmentally friendly."

Oh, he's not conservative at all. He's an environmentalist. And that's why he's so confused.

Tony was absolutely prepared to point out that SI was forward thinking and environmentally friendly, so his teeth clicked together with a recoil of surprise when Reeve insisted he couldn't. Reeve was far from the first person to choose to actionably hold the company accountable for the arms production, Tony was reasonably confident some familiar protesters were outside the gates as they spoke, but he was definitely the first to use it to assert this meant the company wasn't forward thinking.

It wasn't as though Tony had any argument for the benefits bombs had on the Earth. Instead, he asked, "What are you doing here then?" Reeve had clearly refused enough contracts from Tony until now, and wasn't hurting for money if Namor was putting food on his table.

"I was quite strongly encouraged to take the work," Reeve answered as he leaned back on the couch to try and tried to close his eyes to rest. "By someone I respect deeply. They assured me that your aims are very... noble and good. However with the treatment I have seen here, I continue to wonder at SI and it's true purposes."

The unexpected assertions kept on coming, keeping Tony off balance as he tried to work out what exactly he was dealing with. Reeve's claims were again not entirely foreign to Tony, he had been up against more than enough sneering confidence that he and his company were untrustworthy war profiteers, but he did his best to make his business practices as transparent as possible and didn't often get confronted with the suggestion of some personal mistreatment outside of a few superpowered thieves nursing broken fingers. What he might have done in the last twenty minutes that told Reeve that he wasn't dealing with a noble or good situation had Tony carefully shifting roles. He deliberately dropped his knee from the couch to turn away, feet planted on the floor to sit carefully straight as he allowed, "If you feel like I've been inappropriate with you or your contract is in any way unfavourable, I'm more than happy to bring someone you are comfortable with in to mediate the problem."

"You are late to our meetings, and seem bored over them, Mister Stark," Reeve observed. Today was the worst offender of that. "Or you schedule me at strange hours. There was one meeting that your secretary called me to cancel on no notice because of a mechanical issue with your bodyguard's suit."

So yes, he felt poorly used.

It probably wasn't the best time to correct the name to something more casual when Tony was already clearly abusing some boundary here, so he caught the impulse with his tongue against his teeth, only to thoughtfully run it along his lip when Reeve's concerns seemed to amount to a particularity about punctuality. Just so they were very clear and both of them were aware that Reeve had just called him ignoble and bad to come around to this accusation, Tony said, "So you were willing to keep an open mind about where the money comes from, but you're drawing the line at tardiness." Tony could understand being frustrated if the compensation for his time wasn't enough, but he was left feeling like the architect didn't really want to be direct with him.

He swept to his feet then, tugging his jacket straight as he explained, "Your time is valuable, of course, so we can arrange for your contact to be someone with a more predictable schedule in the company. You'll understand if the development calendar changes somewhat to accommodate this, so if you think the extra time required will be out of the bounds of your contract, you're within your rights to dissolve it."

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