maskormenacelogs | [OPEN] Listen as the crowd would sing

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[OPEN] Listen as the crowd would sing

WHO: Tony Stark and YOU
WHERE: Everywhere
WHEN: Throughout the pullpoint plot
WHAT: Actual piece of shit Tony Stark
WARNINGS: Likely. Will add as they come up.

❮ DAY 1 | ALL LOCATIONS ❯

He'd always thought he was immune to power fluctuations. He'd certainly protected himself against things like EMP blasts. He'd certainly safeguarded his sensitive nanites -- the part of him that made him more than the average human -- he'd made sure that he wouldn't fall victim to something that would hurt him ever again. Ever since the EMP blast back in the City, it was a concern. But that didn't mean the after-effects were so easily wiped away. Or ignored. Slaked off like rain on a tin -- or in this case iron -- roof. Instead, the after-effects were what he had to worry about, but it was so minor, so small, it felt like no change at all. Like a shift in awareness more than anything else.

The suit he was working on -- just another one of his multiples for use -- the shift was enough for him to decide painting it wouldn't be necessary. Bright was better, right? Maybe an adjustment here or there. It wasn't the same -- not the same at all -- without the symbiote attached, but with old and new memories coming into a sharp clarity -- he understood that the porter wouldn't be such a kind benefactor. He was fortunate he had even this low-grade, backwards, old version of the extremis virus. He could have gone with none, couldn't he? No symbiote, but that wasn't really a concern. He wouldn't have the same worry, would he? Nobody knew here -- he didn't have to worry about Murdock investigating, he didn't have to worry about Potts and her interference, or -- himself -- he took a quick mental scan. Something to sift through file after file, looking for backup after backup, but there was nothing. Absolutely clean and clear.

The finishing touches were revealed in the morning -- he'd worked through the night to finish, but it was easy when your lab was built to respond to every thought, every touch, every idle direction -- it was beautiful, how his brain could predict his needs even now. It was how he spent Sunday -- Easter Sunday -- soaring over a good portion of the import cities. All of them. He didn't need one suit -- he had multiples. Three -- in Nonah, Heropa, and Maurtia falls, he unfortunately had to use relics from a past. Red and gold frame that soared over the sky, watching with renewed eyes, transmitting directly into his visual cortex. De Chima, he was in personally, white chrome that reflected the concrete and steel beneath him. In each one, there was little trouble, but that didn't keep him from stopping occasionally, looking around -- each suit would stop periodically -- it was like he was there personally, in each one. He'd look around, before he took off again, eventually finding trouble only later at night, a random mugger or two -- surprisingly quiet, all things considered.

Then again, he wasn't there to stop crimes. He was observing the lay of the land with renewed eyes.

❮ DAY 2 | DE CHIMA [CLOSED TO FREDERICK CHILTON] ❯

The restaurant he'd invited the psychiatrist was on the expensive side. Exceptionally expensive side. With a full bar and some of the priciest food that small plates could hold. The kind of place that screamed "status" in a way Chilton would likely appreciate more than going just anywhere. Inside, the conversation was low, the kind of place where business deals happened, and the upper-crust looked down on the waiters, even if they never said a word.

Stark leaned back in his chair, casual and relaxed, evaluating. He'd read his book -- the one about Walter White -- a quick skim, and then a second and third skim just to be sure. It took him all of 3 minutes. Sometimes he wondered why he'd been pretending at all. There was no point, it held him back. He watched Chilton with sharp eyes, the confident curl of his lips was probably too self-satisfied, too all-knowing, but he couldn't wipe it off his face. He didn't suffer embarrassment easily, for certain.

"Have you decided what you'd like? They have a surprisingly large selection -- normally places like this are restricted, don't you think?"

He knew what he was getting. A thumb brushed against the liquor selection on the menu.

❮ DAY 3 | DE CHIMA TECH CONFERENCE ❯

The plan originally had been to talk about the projected StarkPhone and its peripherals, but... that was so petty, wasn't it? Another consumer electronics when there was capital here to be worked with. Why not do something big? Why not do something outlandish? Different. Something to shock and awe -- to make the world stand up and listen to not just him but the imports as a whole. He'd been twiddling his thumbs, he'd been sitting on his laurels, and doing nothing that would actually achieve. Doing nothing that would make an impact or a difference. Nothing that would change the damn future he so strongly protected.

That had to change, didn't it?

"I'd like to thank you all for coming out here today," he opened, before launching into a long speech about StarkTech's direction. It was a nice one, too. All about improving and changing the future. The direction they could take in that -- pharmaceuticals, human improvement, using technology to make humanity better. To improve and empower -- that was the key. He grinned, when he said that. The logo was only an "E" -- he'd deal with it later. This was a stump speech, a preliminary proposal. Full of hope, teases, and no solid details. He'd have to refine the formula first.

" -- And if you have questions, feel free to ask them. Now, or... one on one during the little soirée I've arranged. No need to have one of these things if we can't enjoy ourselves, am I right?"

Of course he was. He already knew he was right. He always was.

❮ DAY 4-6 | VARIOUS ❯

The rest of the week was almost a blur. Alternated between time spent in StarkTech -- inventing or dealing with investors, storming the hallways and looking like a man on a mission -- or going through meetings, a glass of champagne or a martini in hand like it was normal. Few had dared to even point that out, but one look normally quieted them. If he wasn't at StarkTech, he was out. Either at bars or nightclubs, a gathering readily, he threw his money out like it was water, amassing crowds to dance and drink with -- and follow him home.

Or, during the day, he might be found soaring over the Cities, in white-chrome armor, never painted and polished so it reflected the world back from him, stopping everything from petty crime to just standing around, speaking with the media, citizens, anyone who'd listen -- always magnanimous and pleasant -- the smile on his face was, perhaps, only slightly friendly.

[ Please feel free to tag in with whatever! If you'd like to work something out, you can always find me on plurk @

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Erik has somehow managed to carve out some time in Tony's undoubtedly busy schedule to find him and have a private meeting. Well. Private as in, distracted the others long enough to take a seat next to him by the bar. He hasn't spoken to Tony in what seems like ages, though from how the neighborhoods haven't changed, he can surmise that it hasn't been altogether that long.

Really, he kind of just wants to know what the hell Tony thinks he's doing.

"Mr. Stark," he greets, taking a seat. And he thinks Tony has no idea who he is-- and he probably doesn't. But Erik also resembles what Tony might remember him to be - a lot more than, say, what he looked like last week. "You've been busy."

Dressed in a smart pair of slacks and a button-down -- red, of course -- with no tie, he looks at home at the bar. More at home than any man who'd been sober only days before had the right to be. There was more than one empty glass already on the wood, and another he worked his way through, the person next to him, he had an arm around her waist, and he'd been in the middle of whispering something in her ear, before he'd been approached on the other end.

He told her to go have fun for a bit, before he turned his attention around.

Oh. Now wasn't this interesting. They'd been young, before. He grinned. Too-wide, too pleased. His head tipped, sensors running from the suit hovering somewhere above, doing laps around the area to the security camera pulling footage -- running recognition software. Erik Lensherr. Magneto. Much closer to the man he knew, too.

"Magneto. Fancy seeing you cavorting around with us human mortals. I didn't think you were the type."

Right.

Had everybody lost their minds?

At this point, Charles was beginning to worry about the Russians again, though there had been no noises from the American government so he wasn't sure what to think. But something was not right and it was beginning to give him one hell of a headache.

This meeting, for instance.

Tony was saying all the right things, it was just the emphasis with which he threw out certain words and the look in his eyes as he spoke that left Charles with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It was as if he'd missed a page of the memo, somewhere along the line.

When the meeting (call it what it was, a chance to pontificate) was over, Charles rolled himself along towards Stark. He had to stop a couple of times to speak to people who were unable to get into Tony's sphere of influence but who wished to talk to someone associated with Stark Tech. For the most part their comments were excited and positive, which should have left Charles feeling upbeat but instead, served only to sink him further into a pit of concern.

Eventually, he made his way through the crowd and towards Tony. For the time being, he smiled as he drew the chair to a stop.

"That was quite the stirring, if off the cuff, speech you delivered, my friend."

For all the businessmen and politicians in the world, businessmen are much better liars. But no one is that happy to see Erik, so he smiles back, albeit smaller and tighter. "As I happen to be back in town, I believe we both know that you and I aren't considered mortals." Or human. Mostly the human bit. Which is Erik's way of saying let's put aside our differences for now, we can fight about personal issues in two seconds.

And yet. "You caused quite the stir with your conference," he says, in between ordering them a round of drinks. "I believe everyone was waiting for a hardware update to your phone. Thinner, perhaps, sleeker. Water-resistant, something trivial."

Chilton was to status symbols as a bee was to nectar. The invitation to such an establishment, well, that alone had skipped his heart a beat -- company be damned. As Chilton believed, certain couture restaurants behaved like country clubs, and while superficially they would hold the pretense of an open opportunity environment (provided that you had the right amount of money), the reality was a whole different creature. It wasn't the trust fund those places wanted, it was the trust in blood.

Blue blood, to be precise. Something beyond Chilton's uncanny fake it 'til you make it success story. He didn't have the right stuff within him for such exclusivity.

Well not anymore. Tony Stark offered his coattails.

"Oh -- actually, no. But I was looking at what is best paired with the swordfish."

Was it insensitive to imply a white wine in front of sober Tony Stark? Formally alcoholic Tony Stark? Probably not, rationalized the psychiatrist. Even if the apparent selfishness did irritate Tony, the man could repress a lot; that was something quickly discovered when they were both courting Karla Sofen. Tony Stark was a maestro at ignoring his own feelings, and Chilton had few qualms equally ignoring Tony's feelings.

It was a sign of respect.

"Am I allowed to ask, now? Why we are here? Is it because you've read my book?"

Chilton often assumed that was why people invited him places now.

He was at the center of a crowd, drink in hand. His dialogue was animated, his arms gestured every now and then -- but not a drop was lost -- and in fact, he drank from the glass several times, the alcohol never seemed to go to his head, only to his lips. When Charles approached, he singled in on him, and dismissed the crowd of hangers-on, apparently and obviously interested more in an ally and friend than in anyone else.

Or rather -- he was interested in someone who could do something for him. These people were all consumers, they wanted to be close to him because it was Tony Stark -- not because they had something to offer. So they would be discarded just as readily as he would be to them. He had no delusions about the reality of mankind.

"Charles!" he greeted, reaching out to offer his hand for a shake. The grin on his face was genuine, insofar as it was presented.

The smile never reached his eyes.

"It was a little thrown together, but I thought it would be nice to do something a little different. Talk about our vision for the future this time. Give people an idea of what I'm trying to achieve. Think it worked?"

"You'd be right, they were," he said, although his voice didn't find insult with it. It was true, that they weren't considered mortals. While Tony Stark was human, he was better than that by now. That was not something anyone knew. He knew that much. He remembered the careful preservation of power anonymity here and in the City. So he only gave a smile to the self-proclaimed master of magnetism.

"They'll get it soon enough. It is going to have all those nice little bells and whistles. Maybe a little more than that. We'll see."

Depends on how much he can shove into the design. Would it be in poor taste to repeat with the Extremis 3.0 virus? Probably.

He'd need to do something. He'd find another way to make them irresistible. "I didn't know you had time to follow my exploits, with all the ageing you've been doing lately."

"The funny thing about aging is that it really sneaks up on you, like the past." Like right now. This Tony looks, and sounds, exactly like the one he remembers. Unfortunately.

"But it just happens that I'm very interested in your pet project, and I don't mean whatever new operating system upgrades you've put in." Well, offering to help allowed him a certain level of friendly open doors before, but it seems like Tony's got stuff figured out without him, so... what is a giant magnet to do?

"I was rather hoping you would unveil a prototype at the end of your conference."

"A White?" he said, off the top of his head, almost idly, his finger touched on the mixed drink selections, and then to the wells. Well, he couldn't drink it from the bottle while he was at a restaurant, could he? He thought it would be in poor taste, to do so. Likely the owners would too, but they wouldn't say anything. Simply add it to their repertoire of "eccentric billionaire" stories to share amongst themselves.

"It is because I read your book. I though it was fascinating," he agreed. "He's no longer with us, is he? The subject of your book? I haven't seen his name mentioned on the networks or otherwise, lately."

He'd downloaded the damn network after coming to awareness, after coming to the realization that changed his entire perception. He'd gotten a summary of some names from his memories, from the person he'd been, but new fresh perception meant new, fresh information. He looked up, signaling the waiter.

"Ready? Go ahead and order," a pause, when the man came close. "I'll have the steak and the Lafite-Rothschild, myself."

That skeptical, quizzical look that Chilton had shot Stark (surely advocating a drink from one AA member to someone who Definitely Did Not Have a Drinking Problem was in hazy territory?) soon enough vanished as Tony called Chilton's book fascinating. It tickled Chilton in all the right places and adequately lowered his typically pointed guard. Petyr Baelish had praised the book as well, and Chilton respected Baelish's intelligence. Likewise -- regardless of his other opinions about the entrepreneur -- Chilton also respected Tony Stark's intelligence.

It was quite the positive affirmation.

He ignited with sudden questions to ask, as follow-up in confirming Walter White's exit. He wanted to know what Tony thought about the trauma inflicted upon imPort psychology, and if he agreed that there were better methods of containment. He wanted to know how the man thought they ought to get involved, he wanted to know the ethical assumptions that Tony Stark would make.

Chilton wanted, perhaps, too much in that single moment.

"I'm sorry, did you say the Lafite-Rothschild?"

As in, Château Lafite-Rothschild.

"Have you -- ah." Fallen off the wagon? "Is something... Unusual in your life?"

That was the question that surfaced, that molten new shock.

But the waiter was waiting. And Chilton, ever self-conscious, could not stand to keep the poised man waiting even longer. Frantically he flipped through the wine selection, now all the more heated to impress.

"I -- the swordfish, if you would. And the Tenuta dell'Ornellaia Masseto. Please."

Edited 2016-03-28 03:16 (UTC)

Charles watched Tony shed people with the same ease and grace he'd witnessed Sharon employ from time to time during the large parties at the mansion. Though Sharon had never done so on Charles' account; if anything he'd been the one she shed the fastest.

Though he was still getting to know Stark, still recognized that the man's mind was much more complex and closed to his own telepathy than Charles was used too, in the time they'd known one another he'd trusted Tony. The man had come through, when the chips had been down and while there were hints of ideological differences between them, more than a few secrets, Charles had felt secure in his choice to have faith in the man.

Now ... there was something.

Perhaps it was in the way the smile didn't reach Tony's eyes. To date, though Tony had obfuscated he hadn't so completely tried to sell something at Charles. It was ... unsettling.

For the moment, however, Charles went with the charm. He smiled, with the same sort of grace he'd learned at Sharon's knee, reaching to take Stark's hand in his own.

"If the congratulations I've heard from the people in this room are anything to go by, I'd say it was a rousing success. Complete buy in."

"Were you?" he asked, his grin sharp.

"It's not quite done yet. I want to make sure I have it done right, you know. I only just... well, I only decided to change it yesterday, you see," he rolled a shoulder, like that was normal to completely change and design a new way to do business for an entire company in one go.

"I was thinking about empowering people. Making them better. More open. Beautiful, what have you. Imagine the lot of them, striving to be something better. They might even learn to like us a little better in the process, don't you think?"

"You are thinking of making them like us. Imports." He raises a brow. That was like, the entire plot of one of the X-Men movies and I can't remember which one. "And have you tested it?" Because um, it didn't really work then and Erik knows because he landed himself in jail for it. Plastic jail. It's the worst.

"Obviously not, if you came up with it yesterday. You know they will still claim they had this land first." You know. That's how they roll, humans. Always looking to differentiate, even among the most minor of details.

"Nothing really, but thanks for asking," he waved a hand, and handed the waiter back the menu. He smiled thinly at the man, and waited for him to leave, before he leaned forward, his fingers steepled together, holding himself up by the chin. He waited a little longer, this time waiting for Chilton to say something. The nature of his shock, honestly, wasn't surprising. He hadn't made a large deal about his sobriety, but even still...

It surprised him, sometimes, who cared and who didn't. Take Frederick Chilton, for example, who Tony Stark didn't like, in the slightest. Chilton didn't like him. After the...mess, the romance with Doctor Sofen, he found that... well, he and Dr. Chilton didn't necessarily get along very well, now did they?

"Did you have a better suggestion for the wine, maybe? I'm not much of a red person, but..." it was better than simply starting out with the hard liquor. That was traditionally for after dinner, not during.

"Nice choice, by the way. On the wine."

"Yes absolutely," he grinned, more than pleased by the situation. Then again, he was pleased whenever any of his business ventures succeeded. That, in of itself, hadn't changed about Tony Stark. hell, he hadn't even changed all that much. Just the years added more memories that compounded and layered on the person he'd been. Things that he hadn't experienced -- things that at one point, he'd been obsessed with changing, and had never been able to.

"Glad to see you here. Drink?" he asked, gesturing to a waiter.

Unfortunately, Tony Stark when he wasn't sober was a bit too fond of his drink, even during the afternoon meetings. That was not different from the man he'd been -- only different from the man he'd become, since he found himself sober.

He'd never been able to restrain himself, and there was no reason to, is what his instinct told him. Why hold back from something when it didn't even effect him? He enjoyed it, what's the reason to hold it back? He wouldn't get drunk.

"What did you think about it all? The change in direction?"

"Yours is already more expensive than mine."

Deadpan and to the cut -- Chilton pulled that maneuver when he began to feel cornered. Drinking? The man was drinking? He sensed an unsettled psyche behind that smooth mustachioed smirk of Mr. Stark, and the doctor knew that something had happened to inspire these small yet (in his professional opinion) bold choices. This wasn't the behavior he had been familiar with, when he had interacted with Stark in more heated circumstances.

He thought that this meeting was more than merely discussion of his book, but he couldn't be sure how that could possibly be. The last major event that they had in common was Karla Sofen.

"Which, I mean to say, that I believe you have paired it well. But you're good at that, aren't you? Pairing... Well." The pause indicated innuendo. "If only your commitment was as apt as your instinct."

Tony Stark already wanted to change his wine.

"Oh no, not in the slightest," he waved a hand. "Just better, but not great."

There was a distinction to him. People only deserved powers when they'd earned them, when they made something of themselves. When they didn't... well, there was a reason there were too many dangerous superhumans out there. He still cared about the world. He wanted to improve it, he wanted to make it better.

The difference was, now he had the faculties to do it.

"I'm aware of what they're going to try, but... I think they'll come around. Particularly if they want to stay perfected."

He wanted to change his wine to liquor.

His mouth turned into a frown. "Funny you should bring that up," he said, his voice a touch chiller, now. Here he was, trying to be pleasant, but the good doctor had to color the entire dinner. He should've guessed, honestly. He couldn't just play along, even for a moment, and indulge in a few compliments, could he? Of course not. He supposed it was about what he would have expected from Chilton -- disappointment.

He held a hand to his chin, thoughtful.

"Funny you should bring that up. Do you make a habit of trying to annoy everyone who offers to buy you dinner?"

"Not everyone, no. Some of my patrons aren't skittish of insightful truths," said Chilton with a quirk of his lips.

Funny you should bring that up, those were Stark's words. If it was funny, then he was withholding the punchline from Chilton; the psychiatrist hardly considered it a revelation that Stark had commitment issues. If anything, Stark's roving interests were popularly known.

Chilton speculated that Stark's aversion to decisive routine was more than the risk of boredom that his ENTP personality type could be so averse to; he suspected that any addict would be wary of dedicating himself to anything -- be it substance or Sofen. But then perhaps that theory required remodeling, given that Stark wasn't so disengaged with alcohol anymore. Chilton figured if he pressed the issue then Stark would only divert from the desired topic, so perhaps an auxiliary line of questioning would better provide.

"Did you relate to Walt at all, I wonder? I'm not trying to accuse, I mean, I'm sure you understood the tragedy as well as the horror."

With an anniversary between herself and Chilton fast approaching, Raina had an idea of the gift she wanted to get him. She racked her mind when it came to the technological savvy imPorts and found that Tony Stark was the imPort who came to the forefront of her thoughts. She had yet to meet the man -- choosing to admire him from afar. He was an Avenger, a dangerous man and one who associated with Skye. And Raina certainly didn't want to give Skye any power to turn such a big name against her.

But considering this conference was happening in the city she worked in, Raina found this to be the perfect opportunity to approach Mr. Stark. It was a simple project. One that wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things. One she could pay for and one she knew was in the scope of his capabilities. There would be no harm in talking to him. A simple request would not make her seem like the terrible person Skye had no doubt implied she was.

Yet as she blended into the crowd and listened to his impassioned speech -- she found his words odd yet empowering. What exactly did he mean? What direction did he wish to go in? What was this talk about technology improving or empowering? Raina watched as people bombarded him with questions, keeping to herself until she had the opportunity to approach him (perhaps working up the nerve to do so at the same time). And when she finally stood before him, it was with near reverie. This was Tony Stark, after all.

"Mr. Stark. I'm not certain if you know who I am..." She was only just a drop in this imPort collection. But she certainly knew him -- was her implication. "My name is Raina. I couldn't help but be fascinated by the speech you gave."

"Raina," he paused, head tipped. A quick scan of the databases, and -- ah yes. Slim, in terms of who and what she was, he could see she was familiar with some of his associates, but beyond that... well. He hadn't kept as good of a track as he should have, in the past. That would have to change, of course, but that's why he had time now, right? All the time in the world, as far as he was concerned.

He grinned, and took a sip of the drink he had in hand -- a scotch -- and held out a hand. "I think I've seen your name around here and there, import right?"

He held out a hand, pleasant. His grip was firm, if she took it, and didn't shy away from the touch. "I'm surprised to see a new face around here. See anything you like?"

"Oh, I certainly understood it," he said, his voice smooth while he spoke. He kept himself back, half-disengaged, half his brain elsewhere, running through the threads and strains of the network while it flowed around him, like he was the only constant in an electric current that arced and ran over him -- and he just picked up everything that actually mattered. The real surges of energy and thought.

"I wouldn't say I related, but I can understand anything."

Boldly, perhaps, but he thought quite a bit of himself these days. There was no trace of doubt in his mind that it made sense, and that he was correct.

"But I also understand that these sorts of things don't happen without the right kind of influence. We're not in a vacuum here, as imports. We're the sum of our parts, aren't we?"

"A little Aristotelian for my taste."

Chilton leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused on Stark's expression. Sum of our parts? That seemed to imply something rather unfavorable, given the public opinion of Walter White's downward spiral. But the preamble to what surely was an accusation of his own paled before Stark's unblemished ego. I can understand anything was quite the boast. Not that Chilton was angling to argue otherwise (or argue, period, at least not before his wine arrived) but still.

"So what's your point, precisely?" Because there was no denying that Tony had a point to pick at. "What influence could you possibly be speaking of?"

"You were his therapist, weren't you?" he asked, his voice conversational. Oh, it didn't botherhim. Not really. He didn't like Chilton, certainly, but he didn't see this as a problem, either. No, it was fascinating, the danger that Chilton had taken, to get a study this in-depth, this deep into a psyche that likely people would otherwise want to avoid.

It was a good thing, even if the author himself was a particularly vile person, in Tony Stark's completely unbiased opinion that had no influence from past romantic triangles.

"I can't imagine you didn't see the signs early on."

"I didn't know this was a trial," he said, his back muscles tensing. Chilton took to defense quickly, his own implicit pleading of the Fifth obscuring any more outright answer. Of course he saw the signs early on, he had provoked those signs early on, but he had publicly presented Walt as psychological sleeper agent; White had fooled even his closest associated and friends, claimed Chilton.

The man had been a chameleon.

"Are you presuming to play both judge and jury?"

A dramatic turn of questioning to Tony's far more conversational tone, but Chilton saw where this could be headed, and he wasn't keen to be cornered.

"You couldn't just make this simply a drink and a dinner between friends?"

Friends. He used that word, loaded like a gun.

Edited 2016-03-30 05:46 (UTC)

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[OPEN] Listen as the crowd would sing

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