LOG | OPEN ⌬ am I sitting in a tin can far above the world

[fightinginfinity]

Who: Tony Stark and, regrettably, you. Second prompt open to roommates Andrew Jaeger bloodalwaystells and Romelle romelle, a starter for Stephen Strange sorser in the comments, but otherwise OPEN.
When: Throughout Tony’s arrival process and acclimation to his new surroundings. So backdated slightly? I’m fine with acting like he came in this round instead of the last one, since this log took so long to put up. ): Super flexible that way.
Where: Medical, Apartment A2, Technology Development at ADI Headquarters
Summary: A man dies in the void of space then wakes up in a haunted-ass town in bumfuck Massachusetts, and reacts accordingly. I mean, how would you feel? (AKA Tony Stark is an Anxious Wreck: The Log)
Warnings: Covering my bases here! At his canon point Tony just got absolutely fucking murked by the Final Boss and was subsequently stranded in space for two weeks with nary enough food or oxygen to last him even that long. He's bruised up badly, with a partially healed stab wound straight through his side, dying of starvation and highly traumatized after coming face-to-face with the literal reason he has PTSD. So, warning for all that nasty medical stuff, plus me writing about his anxiety symptoms in detail which you can read more about here if you're so inclined.

((ooc; I am SO sorry that this took so dang long for me to post! I have a chronic illness and it flares up terribly in the winter, and I’m not kidding when I say I’ve been spending most of my entire freakin’ days passed out in bed for the past few weeks. Very unproductive! ): It doesn’t help that Tony’s inner monologues are whole ass novels either! I’m so so so sorry to castmates, roommates and anyone who has been looking forward to RPing with Tony.

But here’s his starter log at last! With prompts for roommates and Open. If you'd like to continue a thread we had going over at the TDM, start something new, or request a starter from me, have at it! I'll be posting a couple prompts but I'd be happy to do whatever Wildcard your little heart desires. Shoot a PM to this journal or catch me on plurk as DontAskAlice if you’re so inclined. ))


➥ A FEW DAYS POST-ARRIVAL; IN THE VICINITY OF MEDICAL

[ Well, someone had better buy the Devil a nice pair of Uggs, because Hell just froze over; Tony's brain seems to be, for the moment, actually cooperating with him. At the very least it's choosing not to short-circuit and instead to compartmentalize the overwhelming amount of alarming revelations he has received in an unfairly short amount of time (namely, that he's on Earth instead of space in a Massachusetts-that's-not-actually-Massachusetts and that it's still the Apocalypse but it's a different Apocalypse and that he's supposed to fucking try and stop this one too) snugly in the back of his mind while he recovers, which is great, really, because Tony is 99.8% certain that if he has a full ass panic attack right now, he'll literally, physically snap in half. And what a cleanup that would be.

So after that first freak-out in the ER unit lands poor Dr. Strange with a chestful of Anthony ‘Tiny Ball of Pure Concentrated Organic Free-Range Anxiety’ Stark as that winning combo of exhaustion + sedatives kick in, Tony rides out the medically-induced slumber as long as it lasts. Not like he has much of a choice, seeing that the medics need to finish dealing with whatever bit of that wound in his side that Nebula couldn’t patch up in a pinch. So for those first 12 or so hours it’s rest, rest, rest until he reaches the level of sentience required to thank someone-or-other that Thanos had (intentionally? don’t know don’t care) missed his vital organs when skewering him like a lamb kabob. Easy enough.

But once Tony is awake, he is awake. He hasn't been a sound sleeper since New York (or ever, actually; one of the not-oft-talked-about drawbacks of having a genius brain is that it never shuts the fuck up), and he hates being stationary even at the best of times. So, you know, fuck this resting shit. Once he gets his bearings Tony pushes himself to his feet, wobbles a bit, nearly trips over his IV, and makes it out the door to his room unassisted...

until his knees buckle and fold like wet cardboard and, well, that's the end of that. Medics usher him back to his room--but ever the stubborn fucking child, their fussing and scolding just makes Tony want to get out of bed more.

His body has other plans at first, though, so for a while he has no choice but to let Dr. McScowly and company do their thing--which apparently involves pumping him full of electrolytes intravenously, making him take vitamins for what's probably the first time since he was in preschool, and running a fucking excess of tests that leaves Tony wondering if he'll have any piss or blood left after all of this is said and done. All in the name of preventing 'refeeding syndrome', he's told, which he's particularly susceptible to because he'd starved in such a rapid period of time, has a history of heart issues, and has been known to sport a tendency to replace at least one meal a day with non-negligible amounts of booze. Or something. Blah, blah, he's not the kind of scientist that deals in human-gooey-bits, whatever.

But he has to get out of here. Just out of this goddamn room. Just for a little while. Mostly because he hasn't been allowed coffee yet and he's dying. Death by lack of coffee, it's serious shit. So Tony uses that genius brain of his and memorizes every medic's routine and their habits and tics and how much goddamn coffee they drink before they need to go punish a nearby toilet--until he finds the perfect window of time to sneak out and go for a caffeine hunt.

If anyone's around the Medical area or anywhere in the Headquarters nearby for any reason, you'd better not snitch on the haggard-looking little guy dropping into the nearest wheelchair and making a beeline for the nearest vending machine, or break room, or wherever he can score some of the Happy Chemical in one form or another. It's also a great opportunity to look around and case the joint, you know, in the event that he needs to make a grand escape from the building altogether-- but no, nope, all that shit about this being Alternate Universe Massachusetts with Ghosts and Shit? Not thinking about it. Denied. That'll stay in a little box in the back of the Brain Closet, thank you very much.

A-HA. Vending machine. Vending machine that might have coffee or at least an energy drink or fuck it he'd even drink goddamn Mountain ‘Radioactive Piss’ Dew at this point, and Tony zips towards it until--oh, fuck. Fuck. Money. Yes. Things cost money, Tony. You know, that thing you have so much of back home that you never even think about it. Sigh.

But, focus. We’re not thinking about home; we’re thinking about caffeine. Swallowing his pride, Tony wheels over to whoever is currently perusing the vending machine's selection and nudges them in the shin with one of the chair's foot rests, and hisses at them through his teeth: ]

Hey. Hey. Look, you gotta help me out here. Get me a coffee, or a Red Bull, or something. Look at me, I'm decrepit as hell, I'm dying. You wouldn't say no to a dying man, would you?

➥ LATER; APARTMENT A2, OPEN TO ROOMMATES

[ It's been a rough few days, to put it lightly. Like, really really lightly. Tony has gone from dying in space to dying slightly less in a hospital room to not Dying dying, per se, but doing a great job cosplaying it. But after a whole lot of sturm and drang he is discharged from inpatient, given a set of instructions to follow, and then immediately directed to an impromptu seminar from the Welcoming Committee to learn more about all that Apocalypse nonsense.

Tony is still a bit drugged out during the talks but ultimately agrees to cooperate with ADI --because of course he does, it would be beyond stupid if he didn’t--which means orientation later that week (oh god it’s like he’s in college again) and a housing unit with roommates (oh god it’s really like he’s in college again). So he follows whoever it is leading him to his assigned apartment, listens to their spiel, moves on in and then…that’s it. The nonstop stream of noise and activity is brought to an abrupt halt, and for the first time since his arrival, Tony is finally left truly alone with his brain.

Well, sort of. Roommates, remember?

So apologies extended to Romelle and Andrew, because you’ve got a bit of a basket case on your hands at the moment. Tony is well (read:stubborn) enough at this point to wobble around without a wheelchair or strung up to an IV, but he’s still very much on the mend physically--though to be honest that shouldn’t be too much of a concern for either of you, as he’ll probably bitchily refuse any help even if it’s offered. So. No need to sweat that.

What probably is worthy of concern, though, is how Tony’s doing mentally--which is, as becomes very evident very quickly, Not Great Right Now. It first becomes apparent when Tony speaks nary a word to either of the people he’ll be living with for the foreseeable future, opting instead to immediately stand before the nearest surface that’s reasonably clutter-free, break off the giant glowing button that had been attached to his chest, set it in front of him and tap it twice.

On cue a suit of armor materializes across the table, startlingly impressive in its design if looking quite a bit worse for wear at the moment. It might not have been obvious that anything’s hugely wrong with it, though, if Tony wasn’t wearing the look of intense concern that he’s got on right now as he surveys it and tests out its functions. At some point he switches on something on the side of the helmet and speaks into it, the same way he'd recorded what was supposed to be his final message only days ago. ]

Nanites missing. Others lacking full functionality. Primary defense systems compromised. FRIDAY? FRIDAY, you there? [ A long pause. ] Can’t establish connection.

[ Look it might sound like he’s talking nonsense here, but the panic that’s building in his emaciated frame is universally recognizable. His slight shoulders start to shake as he continues to try and establish communication with this FRIDAY individual and other various parties, often pausing to fiddle with things on the suit that are clearly supposed to be working but aren't. The more his efforts fail the more the poor guy looks like he’s gonna lose his shit, keel over, or both.

Tl;dr: Even if he wasn’t currently on the verge of a panic attack in the immediate moment, your new roomie has very clearly Been Through Some Shit, and it’s difficult to ignore. If nothing else, there’s a huge robotic suit in the middle of your apartment now. Do with all of this as you will. ]


➥ A WEEK OR SO LATER; ADI HEADQUARTERS TECHNOLOGY DEVELOPMENT

[ Since arriving here in Apocalypsetown and failing to die yet Again, Tony has done the following:

1) immediately checked up on his tech, only to find that he can’t reach FRIDAY at all and his nanites have ceased functioning beyond constructing his suit and whatever weaponry he hadn’t unloaded on Thanos, which isn't fucking much. Had a panic attack
2) tried contacting anyone and everyone, both on Earth and off it, also to no avail. Panicked again
3) tried breaking into ADI’s computers and communications network and had a shocking lack of success due to code he’d never seen before in his life and a completely impassable firewall (a three-word phrase that would have been a complete oxymoron to him if he had ever thought of it before now). Panic times three
4) eventually got his bearings a little, remembered that he’s supposed to be taking care of his health, and did that for a little while. It kinda works!

Tony decides to take that small victory and run with it. Time to be proactive! He immediately joins up with the Information Technology department (because duh) and tries with all his might to keep his expectations on the floor when entering the lab area--since every piece of tech he’s seen in this place so far has been, in a word, sad, and it’s like the iceberg to the Titanic that is his ego that thus far he hasn’t been able to hack into tech the likes of which he hasn’t messed around with since, like, the 90s. Ugh. ]

Ugh. [ Oh, he said that out loud. Oops. ] How do you people function? Honestly. You ask me for help and this-- [ he hops on one of the machines, acclimating to it so easily it’s like it instantly becomes an extension of his body ] what's the OS? Is it Linux? Please don’t tell me it’s Linux.

[ And he just kinda keeps doing that, strutting about the room and fiddling with everything he finds. It’s a lot like that time (ages ago, or at least it feels that way) when he’d strolled onto the Helicarrier for the first time and ate the room up like he’d owned the place. Except this time his confidence and swagger are entirely contrived, and obviously so, since he’s about half the size he used to be in both the literal and figurative sense. ]

If you folks want my help, you’re gonna have to let me overhaul all of this. [ And by this, he means everything. He wants to overhaul everything. Upgrades on upgrades, and perhaps a few tweaks that’ll get him closer to hacking into this place and figuring out what all this is really about. ] Trust me, if you got limitations, I’ll push ‘em. We can start with your communications interface, it’s in the dark ages.

You-- [Yes you. ] whaddya working on? Tell me they’re paying you well enough to work in these conditions.

[ End rant. Now he’ll mosey on over to you, suddenly looking as though he’s gonna keel over from all that nervous energy he just let off, and sort of slumps into the seat near you. He rubs his temple, looking like the literal weight of the world is on those bony ass shoulders of his. ]

Sorry, little allergy attack there; obsolete technology makes me itchy. Tony.

➥ WILDCARD; ANYWHERE

(( ooc; Hit me! This will serve as Tony’s catch-all for the rest of the month, and he’ll definitely want to get out and about eventually. So if you wanna bump into this scrawny unshaven mess of a man moseying around town in an oversized hoodie trying to find the nearest sources of caffeine or any technology that isn’t dated Ancient in Tony Stark years, feel free to throw yourselves in his direction! Gently please. ))

Comments

Roommates

[romelle]

[ Romelle's become pretty used to rolling with the punches since she came here. Her home colony was quiet and static, Gloucester's ADI headquarters is ever-changing and the most bizarre people and phenomena pass through. The suit of armor does thus not register as particularly alarming - but certainly as interesting.

Since Tony doesn't seem inclined to answer her 'hello' or otherwise acknowledge her existence, Romelle just watches him tinker with the suit for a little bit. She never tires of watching all the different ways technology and magic are used in the various dimensions everyone hails from. But this does not... seem to be a normal functionality test, if the expression Tony is making is anything to go by.

For a moment, Romelle is unsure of what to do. She remains leaning in the doorway, observing, but... No, he really does seem unwell. She can't just leave it be. ]

... nobody has managed to reach their homeworld yet. Believe me, we all want to.

[ Hey Tony, here's an elf-eared young woman approaching the table and placing herself decidedly in your field of vision. ]

Would you like a hot tea?

[fightinginfinity]

[ Tony still doesn't seem to notice Romelle is there until, certainly unintentionally, she utters the magic words that are all but guaranteed to pique his interest in the vast majority of circumstances; even if it isn't Tony's beverage of choice, per se, offering him caffeine (especially when he's been deprived of it for so long) is a pretty sure bet that you'll snag at least a fragment of his attention. So finally he looks up from what he's doing and regards her, looking like the tiredest living organism that has roamed the planet since Pangea was a thing, hope flickering in his eyes. ]

You got coffee? I'll take tea, love tea, but. [ The sentence just flops there. Exhausted. ]

[romelle]

... oh. Coffee is fine, I can make that. We've had a sleeping spell problem recently, so it was one of the first things I learned about Earth.

[ The coffee did not, in fact, help with the whole falling-asleep-anywhere-anytime problem and since then Romelle has felt irrationally betrayed by the beverage, but that is neither here not there. There must be something to it under normal circumstances or humans wouldn't love it so much.

She's about to slip into the kitchen to boil some water when she realizes that having caught his attention means she can actually introduce herself now. ]

My name is Romelle. I assume you are the new roommate, so make yourself comfortable!

[ He does not look like he will be comfortable anytime soon though. ]

[marmoron]

[ as much as keith tends to make a habit of minding his own business, there's not a whole lot of stealth that a wheelchair can provide. which is to say, he watches as tony wheels himself from the door to the vending machine looking like a sickly man on a mission. he doesn't mean to stare exactly, but he can't help how his eyebrow starts going all the way up into his hairline either. ]

Uh... not that I can't understand wanting to get the hell out of medical, but are you sure you don't need to be wheeled back instead?

[ if he's really dying that is, anyway. what keith isn't saying here is that for a dying man, the dude sure is talkative. ]

Keeeef I love his face

[fightinginfinity]

[ Okay was dying, past tense. But very very recent past tense, so. Point still stands. Tony wheels closer, speaking urgently, certain that his absence will be noted by medical staff sooner rather than later. ]

You think I hauled my scraggly ass all the way out here just to be dumped back in bed again? [ Young man do not try him right now. He'll run over your foot. ] What do they got in there? I'll settle for Coke of the non-Diet variety, I'm that desperate.

he makes some good faces sometimes haha. this cr's just already off to a good start

[marmoron]

[ that eyebrow is remaining arched up high throughout tony's rebuttal, btw. keith can more than relate to this guy's predicament here, having recently spent a few weeks in medical himself following an injury, but between being kept on the good stuff for pain management and having shiro around as company the experience probably wasn't as awful as it could have been.

... which leads right back to this guy who apparently either doesn't have any friends to do caffeine runs for him or just needed a breather from the clinic milieu. one way or another, keith supposes it isn't any of his business, so long as the guy isn't actively in acute need of medical assistance.

he folds his arms, only partly turning his attention towards the vending machine's offerings as he speaks. ]

Uh-huh. You're real threatening sitting there in a wheelchair. [ a beat, brow furrowing. ] There's Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Sprite, Ginger Ale and Red Bull.

[ then looking directly at sassy wheelchair man: ]

You gonna tell me your name before you shake me down for money or what.

Apartment A2

[bloodalwaystells]

[For a big man, Jaeger moves very quietly, light on his feet in spite of his huge frame. He's dressed in a plain green turtleneck and jeans, simple and basic, his short-trimmed hair a curiously metallic shade of silver-black.

Tony's reticence to speak doesn't appear to bother him, but he does watch the growing disaster with solemn eyes. He's doing his best not to loom or lurk, as he heads for the kitchen nook to put on a pot of coffee, but the suit gets raised eyebrows, enough to make him pause from his normal business.

When he speaks, it's in a quiet, whispery, rough-worn voice. Not that he's a man who raises his voice often, but in his case? He actually can't.]

Step back for a moment and just breathe.

cw: anxiety attack

[fightinginfinity]

[ Tony has been pretty hyper-focused on his task for a while now, blocking out everything else, but it's impossible to miss the considerable mass of (assumedly) human male as it moves into his line of sight without so much as a whisper. Tony finds himself breaking his almost manic concentration at last, just enough to faintly wonder how a guy who is literally twice his size (probably more, actually) has just managed to barge into Tony's peripheral without making him hit the ceiling and leave his skin behind.

In another bit of unexpected news, the big dude opens his mouth and actually speaks in a whisper too. He tells Tony to calm down in that whisper-voice of his, actually, which is weird, because Tony's just fine. He's always fine. See? Look at him. Look how fine he--

oh.

Tony checks on his hands just to confirm that he's fine (and prove it to everyone else in the room, just in case they wanna get smart) and sees that they're shaking violently, and so white and clammy and skeletal they don't look like they're part of his body or ever have been. Fuck. What's that fancy psych term again? 'Depersonalization'. So that's happening.

How is he supposed to deal with this again? He'd only lasted a week in therapy. Something about using his senses and identifying things in the room. Okay, stupid, but worth a shot. The first thing he does is smell coffee, because of course he fucking does. ]

You're making-- could I get a cup of that? I mean, is it okay. If I have it. The coffee. That you made. Some of it-- a cup. [ He hasn't stopped staring at his hands, still in the process of trying to convince his brain that they're his. ] Please.

cw: anxiety attack

[bloodalwaystells]

[Okay, so Jaeger might not be the most reassuring presence, but he is quick to pick up on little things. Or in this case, not so little things, because it's clear that Tony is struggling. Jaeger's expression softens and his body language eases down to something less intrusive, his shoulders shifting and his head slightly ducked to minimize his towering presence. Tony is over there and the kitchen nook is over here, see? Everything is good, everything is safe.

He still speaks in that rough low tone, but there's not much he can do about that- An old injury, perhaps.]

Of course, it's here to share. I drink it black, but there's cream and sugar too if you like.

[It's a small thing, trivial details of an everyday routine, but it's something for Tony to focus on, a conversation that they can have without inflicting further stress. The Hunt might be in Jaeger's blood, but Tony is not an enemy or prey, and he glances over at the other man with thoughtful blue-gray eyes. He'll do his best to be calm, steady company.]

We haven't been really introduced yet. Andrew Jaeger. Investigations.

I may be choosing the option where Tony's particularly helpless on purpose...

[worthallthis]

[This version of Bucky Barnes doesn't know Tony Stark. Not yet, anyway. Winter twitches aside the instant before Tony's wheelchair actually hits him, giving him a wary kind of look which Tony may or may not interpret as recognizing him and expecting anger.

Mostly he just isn't sure why he was being "attacked" with a wheelchair.

He says, after a pause, voice oddly uninflected:]

I don't think you're dying.

You son of a bitch, I'm in

[fightinginfinity]

[ If for whatever reason someone ever tasks Tony with describing his life to them as succinctly yet meaningfully as possible, he'll either go with 'a series of elaborate cosmic jokes told in an incredibly tasteless manner with deeply unsatisfying punchlines' or just scream at the top of his lungs for, like, five minutes straight. Because it just has to be now, right the fuck now, when Tony has just barely crawled up from the lowest fucking low he has ever been in a lifetime of very low fucking lows, that he just so happens to quite literally run into--by sheer unbiased coincidence--the man who'd murdered both of his parents, standing there at the vending machine like the world's most normal dude.

And talking to him. Like the world's most normal dude.

Is Tony just going crazy? Like, is that really what's happening here? After all, the last time Tony saw Barnes was when he'd been red-blind with fury and firing fucking tank missles at the guy's face at point blank range; there's no way he's looking at Tony right now cool as a cucumber like he's a just some particularly odd-looking passerby at the subway station. Does Tony really look all that different? It's a distinct possibility that the guy just doesn't recognize Tony's current visage, corpselike as it is.

But hang on. There's another possibility, isn't there? The same one that explains how he and Strange are both here after having been plucked from different points in time. Barnes could be from the past or future or even some other reality if all this magic shit is to be believed, but (surprising exactly no one) that doesn't make Tony feel any better. If anything, it's all an even bigger cumulative clusterfuck now.

All of this whirrs through Tony's brain in the scant few seconds that it takes for Barnes to start and then finish speaking, screeching to a halt when the man finishes his sentence and Tony is presented with a series of conundrums: Does he still ask the guy for caffeine? Does he try and mow him down with his wheelchair? Does he spin around on the spot and speed the fuck out of there like a bat who just passed by Ozzy on its way out of hell? Decisions, decisions. ]

I was. A very short time ago. Semantics.

[ Oh. Apparently he's just. Replying. Okay. ]

[worthallthis]

[Don't worry, Tony, this Bucky Barnes is very much not normal in the way you understand the word. And he's trying to parse Tony's expression and coming up with lots of reasons to bolt, on his own end.

Still, Winter only eyes Tony a moment in tense silence, then turns back to the vending machine, feeds it a few dollar bills, and punches for one of the Red Bulls, since this one doesn't dispense coffee, sadly. He also punches for a package of peanut butter sandwich cookies.

He offers both to Tony.]

You should have protein with this. If you were dying recently.

[Peanut butter is protein even if it's in a cookie. Technically. Look, his understanding of healthy foods is shaky at best, but he definitely knows you shouldn't have a ton of caffeine on an empty stomach when you were just injured.]

Dr. Strange - Medical (cont. from TDM)

[fightinginfinity]

[ See, that's the thing here, Doc; Tony knows you wouldn't give up the Time Stone easily. Swiss-cheese-like as Tony's short-term memory might be, even he would be hard-pressed to forget the oh-so-tactful manner in which Strange had informed him and Peter he'd let them both die horrible deaths in an instant if his Sacred Quest to protect that sparkly space rock demanded it for whatever reason. So the sparse explanation that the doctor offers for his actions on Titan falls on the same highly frustrated ears that his threat on the space donut had (though this time Tony is slightly less inclined to take a repulsor blast to the dude's teeth for even insinuating he'd harm a hair on Peter Parker's head, passively or otherwise, on account of his current medical goings-on).

But before Tony can shoot another barb from the only weapon he can currently operate, Strange chooses to immediately follow that first helping of half-assery with a palate cleanser that Tony's innate pessimism had chalked up before to auditory hallucinations somehow brought on by the whole almost-kicking-the-bucket thing. It's like a switch is flipped. 'How could you give up the Stone to save my hopeless ass did you fail your fucking D20 roll Wizard' backs up just a step because right now Tony wants, needs, starves for one glimmer of a good fucking thing and even his natural bitchiness can't override that hunger. ]

Did you seriously just say insofar? [ Okay he had to get one in. Biting his lip, Tony shifts closer, fingers opening slightly as if physically grasping for reassurance. ]

You said they're all back. This ain't just a fluke, just you being here with me, everyone came back? Because you gave it away? How-- no, scratch that, don't give me the logic, I don't need it right now, just tell me again. Everyone. Tell me you're sure.

[sorser]

[Yes, he did say insofar, Tony — get a grip, it’s not even that big of a word!!

But he’ll take a respite from the anger and irritation he knows is simmering under the surface. Because Stark, despite himself, cannot argue this point; to return half of the universe’s population back to the land of the living, sacrifices had to be made, and they were worth it.

Even if they had been difficult ones to make. Even if, standing here and talking to this man, pries needles of guilt somewhere into his chest.]

I’m sure of it.

[He doesn’t waver, he doesn’t look away. Stephen is as confident as he can be, stating that. He’s sure. He’s lived in a world, since, trying to recover, trying to parse how to rearrange itself again with the sudden return of so many people.]

Wanda Maximoff. She’s here, too. She can verify it, if you don’t believe me.

I LOST THIS TAG AND IT CRUSHED ME SORRY FOR THE WAIT (cw: anxiety described in detail)

[fightinginfinity]

[ It's not that it's a big word, it's that it's a nerdy word, Stephen. You're a big fucking nerd.

Anyway... Look, Strange isn't a liar. Tony hasn't known him for very long, but he can glean that much already; there's only so long a man would be able to keep a straight face for the 'Master of the Mystic Arts' schtick if it were some elaborate attempt to take the piss. Besides, only a psychopathic fuck would lie about something like this.

So...it's true. Everyone is back. The Kid--Peter. And Pepper, if she--no, she hadn't suffered like that, Tony can't even entertain that thought, but if she had...

It all finally sinks in and for one second, one wildly blissful and incredibly short second, Tony allows himself to feel relieved. It's almost like that stubborn weight that constantly sits on these now-emaciated shoulders of his lifts up for just one moment, and Tony almost gasps from the shock of a sensation that distantly reminds him of stepping out of the Cave into the blazing desert son. But this is a good shock, right? Unlike then. It's a victory, isn't it? They won. So he can breathe a little, just some little breaths. Once. Twice.

Then the weight comes crushing back down.

Strange isn't a head doctor, so he may not be familiar with that cruel bitch called Anxiety and all her tricks, traps and idiosyncrasies. Lucky for us, Tony is something of an expert from experience, and here's a big one: Anxiety won't let you be happy. You can't let yourself be happy, not even for a second, because the moment you do she comes slithering up to your ear and whispers all the ways your happiness will definitely be ripped away from you and how it will definitely be your fault and that you shouldn't have wasted time on warm fuzzy feelings when you instead of preventing whatever terrible thing that's definitely about to happen. Sometimes she yells it, until all of your victories feel like failures and you can never do anything to fix it. Or yourself. Or anyone.

So, yeah. It's a really short second. ]

Fine, I'll ask her over coffee while crossing my fingers she won't fling a car at my face. [ Bitchy!Tony is out in full force, please don't take what he says too seriously. ] But I gotta say, I can't exactly leap for joy here, Doc, for more reasons than the...readily apparent ones. [ He just kinda gestures to himself and all the medical apparatuses around him in lieu of stating the obvious. ]

I'm gonna need more outta you. Because I can't-- Look, I know you've had your third eye opened and all that, but you're still a doctor. A science guy, like me. We're all about problems, formulas, equations, diagnoses...connecting the dots. And I'm thrilled that we won, I really am, but I'm gonna need to know how we got from Point A to Point B.

[ Because it can't be that easy, and it can't be just...over. Not without losing something. That's just how this shit works. ]

wildcard with tdm-continuation flavor :>

[carmesi]

Made many friends, Tony Stark?

[—this question is meant to work as a joke, as wanda approaches an empty table (sans one tony stark) in the canteen. it is not any time remotely close to any meal, but it is not surprising to find tony having something to eat. it's been a few days now (perhaps a week or two? wanda is terrible at keeping track) since she ran into tony at the coffeeshop. demanded questions about his arrival, why he looked the way he did, had an overall emotional blockage because she is still not a fan of tony stark.

wanda isn't a hater either, at least. she is past that.

she grabs at a chair opposite tony and pulls it from under the table in the same motion that she places a red bull can in front of him.]

Have you been looking after yourself?

[much as she is loathe to notice, he doesn't look too well. has he slept? been eating well? resting? wanda sits herself down and tilts her head.]

:D! also thank you for the compliment from the TDM, your Wanda is a delight too!

[fightinginfinity]

[ No worries Wanda, the not-a-fan thing is relatively mutual, though in Tony's case it's coming far less from a place of residual anger or resentment and more from a place of just...awkward discomfort and guilt? It's just kind of a weird vibe at this point, and as soon as she approaches him he impulsively wishes she hadn't.

Then again, this kind of reads like the extension of an olive branch if Tony squints hard enough--especially after Wanda had deigned to exchange words with him at the coffee shop a little while ago, as brusque as those had words ended up being. This is the second time she's inquired about his well-being, even! Half the time Tony doesn't even get that from people who actually like him, so, mark that down as a tentative win in a game neither of them are really playing.

She brought him Red Bull, too. That's a nice gesture. He still isn't supposed to be drinking caffeine (Wiz-Doctor's orders), but he's probably not supposed to be eating a somewhat stale airport-concession-style hoagie stuffed with three different varieties of unidentifiable lunchmeat either, so. Bottoms up.

After muttering a soft word of thanks Tony pops the can open and gulps a little longer than necessary, a stalling tactic until the resulting silence necessitates a break. Then he shrugs his frail shoulders, staunchly avoiding eye contact. ]

Still kickin', aren't I? Must be doing something right. [ No, Wanda. He hasn't really been looking after himself. He doesn't even do that when he's healthy. ] And friends, huh? Not really. Can't say I'm actively cruising right now, but you kind of stop doing that once you're my age anyway.

[ And he just got here, come on! That, and people generally need a second or third encounter with Tony before they can make peace with his rather acerbic nature. Still, awkward. Tony takes another lengthy sip from the can, then raises his eyebrows and finally makes eye contact with Wanda through his tinted glasses. ]

Yourself? This place has got to be doing wonders for your social life, it's that warm communal atmosphere, isn't it? [ He's insulting the town, Wanda, not you, though his sarcasm is acidic enough to sting anyway. ]

we're all in good company here hehe

[carmesi]

[she figures that the can is bound to run empty at some point, and then it'll be harder to excuse the lengthy, awkward pauses. she's not any better—all she's got on her are some books from the library that she, tentatively, places somewhere beside her on the table. she had no intention to eat the cardboard-tasting food from the canteen, anyway.

wanda scrunches her nose and shrugs her shoulders a bit.]

I can't say I ever was the 'actively cruising' kind, so perhaps it is not an age thing.

[look, she's trying to... sympathize, in some way. despite how rough her words may sound and how awkward her stilted pronunciation of words may be, wanda is much better than what tony might be imagining.]

You knew all my friends, anyway. [back in the avengers compound. it's not like she had a social life outside of it.] Something about the end of the world and having to work together forces these kinds of interactions.

[pointedly...... this one, too.

admittedly, wanda is trying. she sighs and turns her head to the side, leaning back against the chair, back straight, and looking off towards the windows and out into the cold, gray weather awaiting her should she leave the ADI. her hands on her lap, she can't possibly push herself far away enough from tony if she tried, in the position that she is, but remains otherwise unperturbed by his presence. she's older now, some would say wiser and more emotionally mature. her jaw is tight as she swallows, as if wanting to breach a particular subject—

she turns to look at him again.]

We both know that Vision is dead.

[is this supposed to break the ice? according to wanda: yes.]

ADI TECH DEVELOPMENT

[murderology]

[ When Jerry looks up from what he's working on, despite the bags under his eyes and his hair being a little messy, he still manages a friendly enough greeting with enough energy that should be considered illegal given the circumstances.

There is, quite frankly, a whole mess of crap scattered about the table he's working on, clearly more than one project but nothing too clear yet — aside from a pair of headphones, that is. But that's not as obvious as it appears. ]

Dude. I'm just glad I don't have to take apart every T.V and radio just to get some parts. [ This is heaven as far as Jerry is concerned. You know, minus all the...everything else. Though stripping electronics of all its components has its charm. ] Oh. Jerry.

[ Just in case the plain shirt he's wearing with "My name is Jerry" written in multicolored sharpie isn't a dead giveaway. But hey, manners and shit. ]

[fightinginfinity]

[ Look, no one can deny that Tony's life got very weird very fast about a decade or so ago and hasn't let up for a moment since, so he feels fully entitled now to be proud of how he's managed to come to terms with a lot of it (other than the really brain-breaky stuff, but he's got Xanax-shaped solutions for that now too), thank you very much. That said, there are always surprises, and running into what seems to be the result of an unknown someone's effort to clone Thor whose instructions failed to provide the requisite bodily proportions definitely counts as one of those.

It's jarring as hell. But, gotta play it cool. ]

Couldn't tell. [ There's his trademark initial snide remark, referring to Not-Thor's shirt. Sorry, you're not 'Jerry' to him, at least not yet. ] And I've been there, actually, though it wasn't for long. [ Cave. Box of scraps. You know what he means. ] Ain't nothing wrong with asking for a little more than the bare minimum, you know.

[ Look he can tell himself he's playing it cool all he wants, but it's pretty obvious that there's something about Jerry's appearance that has put him off quite a bit. He keeps sneaking sidelong glances at him, even as he does his best to get the fossil of a computer he's currently dicking around with to perform (what he considers to be) some basic ass rudimentary functions. ]

[murderology]

[ If there's one thing Jerry is — to the surprise of literally anyone who's known him for longer than two minutes — it's observant. But even if he hadn't possessed that particular skill it wouldn't take much to notice that there's something about him that's throwing Tony for a bit of a loop. For now, he chooses not to comment on it, instead opting to see how the rest of this conversation goes first.

Jerry nods his head in agreement, looking back to his work on the table. He's working with some sharp blades, and as he gets some parts together it may become apparent that he's working on some kind of weapon. ]

Totes. Some of the tech is pretty ancient. Think my grandmama had one of those things, [ he quips, nodding towards the computer. Something resembling giddy mischievousness glints in his gaze for a brief moment though, lips curving into a lopsided grin. ] That can totally be fixed though.

[ Why yes he is lowkey highkey considering trying to update and improve literally everything. ]

[the_archivist]

[Jon is having a stare-off with a tape recorder. It had not been his intention, of course. He'd only come to the tech department to check a few details for a file he was working on. He'd sat down while they went to look things up, and there it had been. Sitting there innocuously. Like a fat black spider.

And now he's stuck waiting while it watches him. Or doesn't watch him. He's not actually sure if the tape recorder is one of his (or well, one of the Web's, but it's hard to not feel some claim on them), or if it is, possibly, a completely mundane tape recorder.

He keeps casting it suspicious glances in between reading bits of the file he's in the middle of.

And then there's a person talking, and it takes a moment to realise that they're talking to him.]

Sorry? What?

Oh, Jon.

[fightinginfinity]

[ True to form, Tony had ran his mouth all the way from start to finish just now before he even got a really good look at who he's actually talking to, so he's just gonna go ahead and do that right now. It's...a kid, scrawny and nerdy-looking, not unlike the way Tony himself was in his college years (and probably a little bit now, despite his best efforts to the contrary, no doubt aided by the whole stick-thin-90s-fashion-model-chic thing he's got going on), who keeps casting furtive and mildly agitated glances at a tape recorder as if he'd just walked in on it banging his romantic partner in the bed they share. Okay then. ]

You okay over there? What, that old Panasonic steal your lunch money or something?

post arrival, vending machine with a twist;

[ratjesus]

[ Kugrash is dropping something or other off to someone or other in medical--the details doesn't really matter, just that he happened to be on his way and why not do a good deed for the semi-shady organization that brought you here? He's just delivered the parcel to someone in medical when he sees it: the frantic shuffle of someone who's clearly not supposed to be, like, medically out of bed. It's enough that Kugrash stops what he's doing and is tempted to give him what little healing he's got--at least a spirit totem to strengthen the guy. Maybe if they say more than a few words to each other.

The stranger's looking at the coffee in the vending machine like it's his dearly departed love, and so Kugrash springs to action--or rather, climbs to action.

He'd been delivering things, but he'd been using the vents to do so: just above Tony is a little rattle as Kugrash fiddles with the vent grate, prying it aside and sliding it over before popping his head out. He's well aware he's a Sight, capital S: he's a two foot tall rat man that lives in the garbage, of course he is, and when he speaks, it's with a gravelly, coarse and heavy New York accent. ]

Heya pal. You need a hand with that?

[ It doesn't take long for him to scurry down from the vent, and, making his way to the vending machine, he presses his paws onto the glass. He can reach the red bull, if that's the sort of thing the stranger wants. Who is he to deny someone's potential last meal, given how rough he looks? Who cares if it's an energy drink. ]

You look like shit, by the way.

[ It's Kugrash's way of being concerned as he sticks a scrawny, dirty little rat paw up through the slot at the bottom, looking at the guy for instructions. ]

[fightinginfinity]

(( ooc; God I am so SO sorry for how late this is! January completely kicked my ass. Please feel free to ignore this if you'd like! If you do, though, I'd love to start a new thread elsewhere because these two absolutely do need to meet. ))

[ So there's this little part of Tony's brain that has, for the last ten years or so of his life, consistently suspected that the unprecedented amount of extraordinary and inexplicable shit that keeps happening to him is the result of some traumatic head injury he'd sustained then forgot about and that any day now he'll wake up halfway through building Stark Tower to a nice, normal, alien-free world. With a massive hangover probably, because that's usually how he wakes up after weird shit goes down. It's a very quiet part of his brain, though, because he doesn't tend to hope for things very loudly. But right now?

Right now it's a little louder than usual. Because getting his ass beat by a despotic purple alien in another solar system then drifting in outer space for two weeks before waking up in alternative-universe Massachusetts and having to listen to the veritable conga line of wild explanations for where he is, what has happened and what he's supposed to do is enough without the presence of a goddamn talking rat. Look, he knows it doesn't make sense; aliens and wizards and haunted towns, and talking rats is where he draws the line? But goddamnit, this shit is just insulting at this point.

And that's why Tony just. Stares. For a second. He doesn't blink once as this sleep paralysis demon appears, scurries up to him, starts perusing the vending machine and comments rather brusquely on Tony's appearance for good measure. Said comment doesn't even budge Tony's Windows Error noise of a reaction; that's how thoroughly Done he is at this point.

But as it turns out, it's actually thanks to that comment that this existential crisis ends as quickly as it started, probably before Kugrash can even notice that it happened at all. Because you know what? Fuck it. It's a talking rat that's using its miraculous power of speech to drag Tony for filth. That's actually typical. This is his life now. It's fine. This is fine. ]

You flatter me. [ What did the rat ask again? What's he doing here? What is happening? ] And uh, I need caffeine. Whatever's there, I'm not picky, I just need. Something.