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?

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"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."

"I draw the line at lack of respect," Reeve countered. "But... this afternoon has absolved you that, for hte kindness you have shown me."

Tending to someone's wounds can be like that. But he looks up at Tony and rolls his eyes.

"Sit down, Tony."

After that exchange, Reeve's expectation that Tony just sit on command, especially with the eye roll like what Tony was offering was ridiculous, formed a pinch of irritation on Tony's brow. Absolutely not. He gathered his first aid box to bring it back to where he had it secreted away, insisting as he went, "I'm not saying I want you to stop your work. I did hire you for a reason, I thought our goals aligned, so I do hope you see the project through."

"Our goals don't align. My goal is sustainable architecture, building a world that is cleaner and brighter. Tech companies are not the greatest for that. Beyond the history of your company, you are a tech industry and thus most of your constructions are consumer electronics, yes? Those are often designed with copious consumerism in mind. People buy an item, then eight to ten months later they buy the same thing with small changes even though the original was just fine. Then they throw it away, or find some other way to discard it, which is frustrating because the types of batteries they use are very environmentally unfriendly, not to mention the damage mining for the necessary materials can cause."

Reeve reached up to rub at his temples.

"The world is a beautiful place, and large companies don't care about that, Tony."

The lecture all came out of Reeve's mouth with such confidence that Tony got the impression that he genuinely thought Tony had never heard any of that before in his completely detached position as owner of a tech company. That was almost better than attributing any of the stopgap developments like high turnover luxury electronics to pure malice, but it did fully realize Reeve for Tony as someone who came into this situation with open contempt for the ignorance he presumed he was seeing around him, and for a moment considered offering him Sims' phone number. Maybe he would just set up a nice blind date for the two of them, and the next time Tony had to deal with either of them they would be more relaxed.

By the time Tony had come around to this and Reeve seemed to be about done informing him of the ills that he personally plagued upon the gentle earth, Tony had removed the box and was back to stand by the table with a hand on his cocked hip, lips pursed and not at all further endeared to Reeve after the 'sit' thing. "Okay, well, when I'm in need of a barn raised out of reclaimed wood, I'll send a pigeon," he said. "Or a singing telegram, or whatever the acceptable Luddite communication is in your utopia." He didn't have defences for any of those problems, Reeve wasn't wrong, but he wasn't about to walk anyone through the solutions that Reeve certainly wasn't in the position to be applying. He could join the picket line if he wanted to fixate on it.

There was a chance that Tony, so far up the ladder of the company, was detached from the fallout of his work. Reeve doubted it. What he did know is that Tony didn't understand him and he tried to explain the best he could.

"I use a phone," Reeve said, pulling his out. It's clearly an older model, but it would get e-mails. "Would it kill your company, though, to put more money toward figuring out safe disposal or reuse of your lost products? It would be a good marketing push too. 'Save the World, Buy StarkIndustries.'"

What? He was an idealist, but he tried to be reasonable with it.

"In the mean time, I really do want the project I'm working on. It's a puzzle, it's a chance for me to do my best on the land. And more than that, I don't betray a contract. But I would want to be treated with respect in the process of the work you asked me to do."

"Maybe," Tony readily accepted, because he clearly had never explored the concept of recycling without Reeve to introduce it to him so he would have to read up on the finer points before he was convinced it wouldn't crash his stock prices. Hopefully, that acceptance brought Reeve around to Tony's position that this wasn't a debate in the first place, because he seemed to still be trying for one when neither of them were playing for the other team.

Even without the phantom debate, though, the architect still managed to be exhausting enough to make Tony drop his shoulders in defeat, blowing out a noisy exhale. "Great, so we'll get you that new contact and--...all that other stuff I said before. Done deal," he tried to skip through as much as possible.

"I see," Reeve said, standing abruptly. Which only earned a rather loud pained noise that Reeve clearly tried to hold back. "I shall have a representative of my firm meet with that new contact. I see no reason to meet with someone not authorized to make decisions."

A game of go betweens. He can manage that much

Tony hadn't intended to rush Reeve out quite like that, the noise he made bringing a grimace to Tony's face as he stepped compulsively closer, then offered a more measured hand out before it actually landed on Reeve's arm to steady him, the other up to offer a handshake should Reeve want to pretend that was the intention of the gesture. "Has anyone ever told you you're incredibly high maintenance?" Tony asked, mumbled out without any lightness of teasing nor genuine venom.

Reeve put a hand on Tony's arm, trying not to fall over. It hurt so bad.

"Yes," Reeve answered, because it was very honest. He had been told that a lot. "Most of my ex-boyfriends. The ex-girlfriends said I was too caught up in my work."

That they likely had more in common than not made Reeve's sourness all the more irritating, but that was for Tony to completely forget about when the next person walked in already hating him, too. For now, Tony adjusted their hold to gently coax the architect back down at a reasonable pace, advising, "You stay here, I'll get your stuff back to you. Take as long as you need, and remember to keep taking deep breaths--it hurts, I know, but it's worse if you don't. And, uh, don't take anything. Security will not hesitate."

Down. Down was horrible. Reeve groaned in pain.

"I know it's worse. They aren't my first broken ribs."

Reeve was handling it pretty well, so this wasn't entirely a surprise, but the revelation still really highlighted what a problem it was that Reeve was clearly used to getting battered and not getting treated. "Architect is not supposed to be a high risk job," was the way Tony carefully inquired, head tilted slightly with a frown of concern.

"Says the man who has a metal clad bodyguard," Reeve countered, his voice strained. "What exactly is so risky about your job?"

"You're the one who walked in here looking for a fight," Tony smirked, head cocked as if in invitation; Reeve was not a unique encounter. "And I'd hazard a guess and say you're a man of incredible restraint. So, I don't know, you tell me. Is it my face?" They both knew there we plenty of facets of Tony's job that painted liberal targets on him, and Tony was pretty sure the vocational hazards of war profiteering didn't cross over much with pouring concrete.

"I did not walk in here looking for a fight," Reeve countered. He had just ended up in one.

But he had already explained, so his patience was wearing on him. Thus the next thing he said was very flippant.

"Yes, you're so pretty I have no choice but to hate you."

Tony rolled his eyes, unconvinced that Reeve's attitude was meant to charm anyone, and doubly irritated that Reeve was choosing ignorance now when he was so ready to accuse everyone around him of being harmfully so only a minute ago. "This has been an incredibly enlightening meeting," he said, drawing himself up again and tugging at his cuffs this time. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Tuesti. And try not to belittle the rest of the team. They just work here."

Charming was hardly what he was looking to do.

"Good day, Mister Stark," Reeve agreed, rising once more. He didn't wish to remain.

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Well Reeve is going to apologize and explain later.