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apocalypsehowcomm2021-12-16 08:44 am
fightinginfinity) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2021-12-16 08:44 am
LOG | OPEN ⌬ am I sitting in a tin can far above the world
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
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. ))
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
➥ 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. ))
cw: anxiety attack
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
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.
no subject
But for now Tony just stares at Jaeger as if sizing him up, and to be honest it's kind of hard not to. The dude is giving Thor a run for his money where sheer height + mass numbers go, and in less unpleasant circumstances Tony would probably be eyeing him up and down right now for a very different reason.
Er. Anyway. Introductions. ]
Tony. I'm working-- I'm in Tech Development. Or will be, starting...soon. I think.
[ As he speaks Tony slowly drifts towards the kitchenette, looking something like a scrawny stray animal trying to inch past people on the street after it's been kicked around one too many times. It's a bit pitiful to watch, but after a few agonizing moments he gets to the coffee at last and sets about pouring himself a cup.
And this is embarrassing too. It takes him entirely too long to pour the stuff and he can barely hold the mug steady in these ghastly spidery things that have got to belong to some midnight creepshow Grim Reaper motherfucker, because surely they can't be his. These aren't the hands that built a miniaturized arc reactor in the filthy sweating depths of an Afghan cave when all they had to work with were a few busted ass missiles, some solder wire and torture as a motivator. These aren’t the hands that made Thanos bleed. They can't even pour a goddamn cup of coffee.
It's all very pathetic and he feels very pathetic in his weak tiny body with his fucked up brain chemistry and Tony can't help it, he makes a frustrated sound and gives up on pouring a whole cup, slamming the pot back down with much more force than necessary. He opts instead to sip on what hadn't ended up on his hands and the countertop and yeah, it burns, but hello. Not his hands. Haven't you been following?]
Thanks.
[ Tony says this so suddenly following his angry outburst that he nearly startles himself, but he just really wants this guy to know that the frustration he's witnessing isn't directed at him. It's a good thing to focus on, just like the senses thing, it's grounding to think about someone else. ]
no subject
And traumatic responses, well, Jaeger has his own bundle of those. He can feel real sympathy for Tony, watching the man have a small fit at the kitchen counter.
He slides aside to give him more room, carefully measured space, though there's the slightest wince when the pot hits the counter with a bang.]
It's okay. Take your time.
[He moves to get another mug, deliberately turning his attention from Tony for a moment. Jaeger doesn't need to stare, just keeps it to the occasional glance. Normal contact, normal gaze. Two guys in the kitchen going about their business, having a conversation. Sort of.]
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Because in Tony's brain, this dude's attitude goes from comforting to patronizing real fast, and it makes him angry. He's angry too at that bitch called Anxiety as she once again reminds him on repeat that no one actually gives a shit about his neuroses (especially not people he has literally just fucking met) while simultaneously giving birth to a very ugly baby with his own unfathomable tendency to push people's buttons as hard as he can right from the get-go.
But more than anything, in the immediate moment Tony is angry with himself for flinching violently when Jaeger gets into his space, because honestly. The dude is just an exceptionally large human, that's all, he isn't huge or purple or overpowering Tony in any way, he isn't a terrorist or dark water closing over Tony's head or the deep cold terrifying void of space and goddamnit everything is fine, Tony's fine, he needs to pull himself together. ]
Time, huh? [ The words are hard around every edge, the kind of cold that stings when you touch it. ] Of course. We got plenty of that, don't we? Nothin' but time, stuck here with our thumbs up our butts. You like it like that, pal? Really dug your roots in, all of you, huh? Making coffee and everything. Was giving up on going back home a unanimous decision, or did everyone have that individual epiphany on their own?
[ It's mean, scathing criticism that isn't warranted at all; Jaeger and the rest of the people who'd been brought to this reality are stuck here same as him, and likely made peace with the futility of escape long before Tony got here. But Tony needs to rage at something. He can't do futility. Can't do helplessness. It shows in the way he shakes and sways on his feet, going blue as if there are hands around his throat slowly squeezing. ]
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He figures he's going to piss Tony off no matter what he does, because Tony wants to be pissed off. Shouting won't accomplish anything more than he already has, so he'll continue to take the high road. Maybe, maybe it will have a calming affect, but more realistically, Jaeger is expecting Tony to just wear himself out.
Possibly falling down flat on his face in the process. Which is unfortunate, but, well, there's only so much that can be done about that if Tony won't sit himself down.]
It's more complicated than that. And we still have to make a living while we're figuring out how to go back...For those of us who can go back.
[He frowns, then sighs quietly.]
You should sit.
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Right. Well, forgive me for having doubts. [ It's rapidly getting more and more difficult for Tony to deflect, which seems to be coinciding with his ability to stand upright. Jaeger's advice to sit down is wise, but pff, like Tony's actually going to listen to it. He takes down some more coffee even though he's like 80% sure he's going to throw it back up soon, just to scald his throat and feel some semblance of a punishment. ]
You're not fighting hard enough. [ With the way his eyes focus suddenly on nothing, it becomes instantly apparent that Tony isn't talking about Jaeger or the others anymore. His next words confirm it:] You didn't fight hard enough. He was right there. He's been in your head for years, you've pictured the fight over and over, a million times, calculated every move down to the wire, and he still made you-- he still--
[ With a sudden frustrated snarl Tony hurls his mug at the wall over Jaeger's shoulder, which shatters on impact and sprays hot coffee all over the kitchen walls and counter. Neither coffee nor ceramic hit either of the men, thankfully, and the ringing silence afterward seems to indicate that the action has had its intended cathartic effect on Tony, at least for a second. Once that second passes, though, the exertion catches up to Tony and has him wobbling on the spot before his knees finally buckle and he pitches forward like a bag of rocks. ]
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That's got to be utterly frustrating to someone like Tony who wants a reaction from the big man.
There's a moment where he wants to respond, because he's not trying hard enough, maybe that's true. But he's also dead in his own world (he thinks), and not having anything to go back to? That kind of makes this the only option he has.
Then Tony continues to babble, and it's not about Jaeger anymore. And that's a relief, even if the other man loses his grip completely.
Though Jaeger does sidestep when the mug goes flying, barely blinking when it crashes and splatters. Someone's going to have to clean that up, and there's a flicker of frown across his face before he puts his attention back on Tony's meltdown.
Well, Jaeger had warned him to sit down before he fell down. Jaeger sighs quietly and watches for a moment, to see if Tony's going to try and take a swing at him, before he takes a careful couple of steps toward the other man.]
Here.
[He could simply scoop Tony up if he was inclined to, but that...might not help, Jaeger thinks. Better to see if he can get his own feet before resorting to that.]