Tony Stark (
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?

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Maybe it was a little late to reconsider the value of pre-planning.
Inevitably he wandered from his spot, deciding to nose around at the projects. He decided to even indulge a few kids posing for pictures with them.
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"Your attention please," Tony's new friend announced blithely, slightly muffled behind her mask. "The prize money has been claimed, so you might as well go home. Now, where is Iron Man?" Tony made a valiant attempt to wrench himself out of her hold, but she squeezed her elbow more tightly around his neck with the sharpness of a dog trainer while the crowd in the presentation hall slowly gathered what might have been going on and started breaking out in small, panicked groups toward the exits.
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Seems that particular reaction was going around too. Cayde glanced over towards the stage with a double-take. Obviously this wasn't part of the show. The question asked seemed a little silly to him considering just who the masked one currently had in a headlock, but he vaguely remembered something about secrets and such. Well then.
"He's on a ramen break," the Exo called out, dusting off his sugary hands before he planted them on the edge of the stage and vaulted on up. Took a moment to appreciate the feeling, except most of what would have been an audience was making a break for it. He instead turned to Tony and his handler.
"So is this like a hold up or something? That's what it's called, right?"
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Okay, so maybe they weren't working together and they were all making terrible assumptions. The aesthetic was so obviously incorrect to Tony that he frowned his offence and tried to point out, "You think every metal--?!" before she was cutting him off again with another impatient squeeze around his throat. This was not to be an ongoing discussion. With her free hand, she effortlessly lifted the heavy podium, ripping up tape and wires from the sound system with a ear-splitting feedback screech, and hurled it at the metal distraction.
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So that explained the whole arm thing. The Exo yelped and threw himself to the side as the podium went flying past him. "Okay, not cool! What's this place got against me that I'm consistently having to dodge heavy objects?!"
In the next moment he ducked into a dash for the pair. Clearly when the lady was capable of treating podiums like light lifting, having her so clingy to squishy humans was not a good option. His hand was grasping at his side for a gun he was soon enough reminded was not there, which left him cursing even as he aborted...whatever he'd planned to do in favor of trying to tackle the immediate threat.
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"Are you kidding me?" Tony complained, not sure if this was the best time to be defensive of his IP but feeling defensive nonetheless. Would it be more or less annoying if the strange robot had already lost this fight? Tony went scrambling to the wings of the stage again, not waiting for the strong lady to find out for him before he got his hands properly on his briefcase.
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"Ulp?" Cayde found himself saying as his momentum was suddenly halted, right before thing started spinning around again. "Wow lady! What kind of vitamins are you takiiiii-"
He couldn't see what he was crashing into but he had a very bad feeling there would be a lot of teary eyed and very upset kids once this was over. Not that crashing through several displays didn't hurt or anything. "Ugh..." he groaned as he sat himself up dazedly from a pile of shattered glass and bits of broken tables. It took him a moment before he realized the woman was addressing him...not to mention already heading this way.
"Wait, I'm not-!" he started, quickly abandoning any attempt to explain in favor of scrambling to his feet. On the upside Tony was no longer being held by her, so that was something, right? He reached down to grab a chunk of table that still had part of its folding leg attached to it, hurling it at the incoming crazy woman before he took an enormous leap over her head to get clear of her path.
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Backstage, with the helmet on, Tony could see the security protocols all lit up across the compound, the headcounts and successfully sealed areas and the ETA of emergency services already inbound. He didn't think the firefighters were going to have much luck against Wrestlemania out there. It took him a few fumbling tries, trying to process this, walk, and hop his way into his boots as he went, but it was Iron Man that came sliding back out of the wings of the stage as the woman let out another gleeful cackle and was throwing a full, glass tank of what looked to be a thriving ecosystem at the robot.
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As much as he'd love to try salvaging some kid's science project there was just no way he'd be prepared for an entire tank, which was exactly what he found flying for him next. "Oh my g-are you insane?!" he sputtered, optics going wide. He found himself attempting to catch the thing rather than dodge it, some irrational but sentimental part of him wanting to salvage something of all the hard work some kiddies had put into all this. And all at once his thoughts were a complete 180 as he wondered what would it matter if this all wasn't real to begin with- but by then he'd had a full tank slamming against him as he tried his best to cradle it, feet skidding slightly before he leaned forward to try easing the tank down as careful as he could. All this not real was still banging him up pretty bad and he wasn't all that happy about it.
He felt a familiar warmth in his hand as his fingers curled into a fist, golden flames wrapping around him like an old friend. He grinned, and then jumped into the air again, twisting around as knives of fire formed from between each curled finger, and he hurled them with precision at the cackling madwoman.
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"Not very heavy, is she?" he directed with some surprise at the metal man, clearly as surprised as his adversary at how far he had managed to shove her after all of the lifting she had proven capable of.
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The flames had dissipated from him once he'd landed, but he found himself looking towards his hand curiously. He could still use the Light? Or something of it, it seemed... Flexing his fingers, he started over by Iron Man, wincing a little at the scorch marks. "Er, sorry about the paint job, chief."
He glanced down the aisle after where the woman had been practically launched. "So what's she got against you?"
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Down the aisle, the woman had found a box and raised her mask enough to take in mouthfuls of the metal balls some kid had thought were just for their research project and had not intended them to be spit-covered projectiles.
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"What is- eyew! Is she spitting those at us?!" He felt one ping off his forehead, hoping the things weren't leaving any marks. Looking around, he grabbed Iron Man to haul behind one of the overturned tables, nudging it into a better covering position. He had his right hand cocked like a gun without even realizing it. The feeling was still there, and he tried to focus it into something tighter, even if he still thought it was a longshot. But his hand was glowing and he was not about to wait for the spitballs to run out- he didn't have that kind of patience.
He rose around the makeshift cover and took aim, hoping he didn't get an eye put out for this, but his hands were poised, and even if he didn't have an actual gun the rest of him knew what to do, his aim was still sharp and the golden shots that blazed from his finger tip were short but effective bursts that intercepted several of the balls flying their way. His next shot was at whatever container had held the improvised ammunition, and the next aim was towards her feet to stave off further projectiles.
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"We've got to get her under control before the police arrive," Iron Man said, hoping the robot gathered the important beats--not kill, subdue, and help was on the way--before leaping up in a short burst of his jets that looked a lot like the jump Cayde had made before. He arced over the woman's head to land heavily behind her, effectively flanking her and leaving her half twisted toward him, attention divided. With Iron Man's hands up and palms glowing, the threatening whine of their charge filling the air, she was left unprepared for the unexpectedly shove of the gentle repulsor nudge that sent her slipping in the mess of ball bearings across the floor until she was splayed on her back among them.
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Cayde gave him a curt nod, remaining where he was even if he still felt a little silly just holding his hands like some kid would playing at shooting, but the flames had already died away. He edged around the table as Iron Man moved to block her off, and once she was brought to the ground, Cayde moved in to try pinning her down by her arms. Given how easily she'd flung things (including him!) he wasn't sure how much strength she actually had but at least he was better prepared.
"O-kay, I think that's enough, ma'am."
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"Oh, woah, okay!" Iron Man blurted, catching the robot by the legs before he could slam into the ground or be a blunt weapon, and trying to drag him out of range of any more weaponized thigh deployment.
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Getting unexpectedly suspended from that outcome was even more disorienting than the setup, not that the Exo wasn't thankful for it as he found his flailing legs getting grabbed and the rest of him getting tugged free. Of course that meant he was still hitting the floor either way, but his metal head could take that much as he found himself being dragged back. This wasn't a comfortable situation to be in, not when the crazy strong woman was once again free and he was flat on his back. He waved his hands at Iron Man, some harried gesture that he hoped translated to 'lemmee go, lemmee go!' so he could roll onto his stomach and back on his feet before someone tried smashing his face in or something.
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While she was still folded forward, Iron Man grabbed the back of her jacket to twist up and haul her into the air with him, leaving her dangling like a kitten held by the scruff, her shoulders wrenched back and legs kicking wildly. No more leverage to wrestle.
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He felt himself being swung around then, the room once again blurring around him before he found himself being yet again shot off, although this time he was closer to the floor kind of in a reverse luge position. He kept his arms clasped over his head and his legs pinned together to minimize the chances of him hitting anything else as he went sliding off.
"I'm okay!" he called out from somewhere down the row as Iron Man apprehended the flailing woman.
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Iron Man idly drifted toward the sound of the voice, trying to peer around his charge to spot his strange teammate among the science projects. "Hey," he called. "You're not going to explode or something now, are you? Because Stark's gone, you missed your chance, you might as well, uh...relax."
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"Exploding would be a mess. And painful too. Also that would probably mean I would be dead, and that thought doesn't quite sit well with me, 'specially with Sundance MIA." He finally looked back up at Iron Man, squinting at him. Then he grinned, wagging a finger at him. "Riiiight, glad that Stark guy got clear while he could. He owes me a ramen lunch, just so you know."
He looked towards the masked woman but at least she was being handled. "Uuuuh... So you got this, right? I'd love to stick around and see how this all pans out but I'm allergic to questions." And he was sure there would be a lot of them, as he heard those sirens closing in.
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"Hey, pump the breaks, Chyna, it's over, we were never going to have a fight," Iron Man tried to manage before the robot went skulking away, giving her a shake to stop the squirming before it knocked them into a wall. Over his shoulder, he tried, "I'm sure if your stick around, he'll be back to check the damage, it could be a late lunch..."
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"Late lunch is better than no lunch," he noted. "Tell you what, I'll go take a coffee break- stuff at the table back there's free, right? Are there donuts? Gotta have donuts with coffee. Do I gotta go buy my own donuts?" He was already wandering off, trying to hide a slight limp. Maybe sitting for a moment wouldn't hurt. All that being thrown around probably got that bad coupling in his leg acting up again.
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It didn't take long for S.H.I.E.L.D. to land their birds on the poor displays arranged around the courtyard and get this new metahuman under control. Iron Man made a lot of noise about definitely getting to that debrief, right away, he'd be right behind the helicopters until they left him alone, still holding the mask they had pulled off of he woman to very little fanfare. He considered it briefly before slipping away backstage, not nearly in the same direction as the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents but effectively disappearing before Tony came sauntering back across the remains of the Junior Expo, looking disappointed and distinctly more harried than he had been when sitting curiously on the stage. He wasn't bleeding anymore, but there was definitely a bruise forming behind his glasses, his jacket discarded somewhere in the emergency and hair anxiously run through, no longer carefully coiffed. He stopped short next to the robot on the low bench next to the remains of the coffee service, considering, before sitting next to him, hands still in his pockets, looking out at the destruction from the fight and the helicopters.
"There wasn't any prize money. It was a scholarship," he muttered eventually.
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It was strange, the things kicking around in his head if he sat still enough to let them settle. Things he had no business knowing, like scholarships and how to work a cellphone, although he was still getting the hang of tipping.
"So she stole from the kiddies?" He grimaced. "Did you get it back?" Some things he still wasn't quite sure of how they worked, probably because every other thought was how this was not how anything was supposed to be.
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