Feelin good cause the City's alive

[liverletdie]

WHO: Tony Stark and YOU
WHERE: Mostly around De Chima (negotiable!)
WHEN: Throughout the month of August
WHAT: King Dick reigns supreme
WARNINGS: Will update as appropriate



❰ A - STARKTECH ❱

Starktech was the place where things happened, and right now? Things were happening. The main offices, where most of the business was conducted, were as posh and sterile as ever, personal assistants and secretaries clicked in heels with tablets and escorted guests and business partners around the facility, disappearing into doors with frosted glass that opened and closed automatically. There was a fountain, which often seemed to sell the wealth. This one, of course, had a fantastic light display that projected the company logo from somewhere into the waterfall. Because Tony Stark was nothing if not ostentatious.

And there were panels everywhere in the white lobby, that logo -- 4 -- stylized and sharp, internal advertising what was going to be the "biggest hit of the century", if you would believe the man behind it all. Personally programmed and designed by Tony Stark himself, although the rollout was a surprise.

But hey, at least there's a slew of reporters, tech people, and contractors constantly coming into the building -- and hey, with business like this? Getting a job should be a breeze.

❰ B - IMPORT CITIES ❱

The man himself -- Tony Stark, for those who were unacquainted -- wasn't always at the office, for how busy it was. Much of the time, he was out, either on the streets, drinking coffee, holding a lunch or dinner meeting, posh suit and tie, or if it was late, well... A man had to get out and have some fun, didn't he? The club scene wasn't his thing, but... there was a certain aspect that was the draw.

But most of the time? Day or night? He was flying. Either to somewhere, from somewhere, or just for the sheer enjoyment. And well, it was nice when you were as fast as he was, rocketing over the sky in a suit of shining silver -- he still hadn't decided on a color -- the lights a dead giveaway for the tech suit. Sometimes he slowed down, when it as appropriate -- either a criminal, or just to sign a few autographs, take a few selfies... make a pass at the blonde on the corner. Normal things that superheroes did.

Why have a suit like this if you weren't going to use it?

[ Starters will be dropped below, but feel free to tag into this with whatever! I'm pretty flexible! If you'd like a starter, or maybe something specific, feel free to PM this journal, or contact me on plurk at hundreds! ]

Comments

Closed to MAGNETO

[liverletdie]

He honestly couldn't think of a single time that he'd actually considered working with, of all people, Eric Lensherr. Magneto. Then again, the guy hadn't tried to destroy -- or control -- his suit yet. That was at least something. Enough that he'd agreed to meet with him, despite... the problems. A man who was a living cyborg had that kind of natural concern -- and how could he be blamed for it?

But here he was, having an afternoon lunch at StarkTech, talking shop about the Foundation.

He'd never expected that, either. That he'd be so willing to help.

"Drink?" he asked, a grin on his face. "I don't indulge, but... I've found a lot of people feel more comfortable if they have a little something," he paused, and looked over his shoulder. "I think I have... whiskey, wine..." a head tilt. "Yeah, I think that's it. I try to keep stuff I'm not likely to drink."

But oh, he'd loved whiskey, when he'd been drinking.

Re: Closed to MAGNETO

[incogneto]

Erik was going to call him out on that, really, because he'd pegged Tony as a whiskey drinking man. But he thinks, better not, and takes him up on his offer. "Sure. Whatever you're not having," he answers, as he brings their lunch out to the roof. He cooked, as he often does, easing himself into the culture of this new world but finding it difficult to adjust to this eating takeout everyday thing.

He lays out open-faced sandwiches, various warm salads, and chilled fruits. The view up here is beautiful, and Stark Tech is easily one of the tallest buildings in De Chima, which means Erik can see everything, including the construction site. He keeps it in the corner of his vision as he sets the table.

[liverletdie]

"Right," he said, turning to prepare the drinks -- a whiskey for Eric from the bottle before it's locked away, and water from the chilled carafe -- he turned, both in hand, highball glass in one -- normal glass in the other. "I always drank neat, so if you like ice, you'll have to get that yourself," he said, before he set it down, looking over the whole affair with raised eyebrows.

"Didn't realize you were a chef," he said, mildly. "If you cook like this every day, I'd have hired you ages ago."

Well, Tony Stark was definitely of the "eat takeout every day" camp -- but that might be because he spent 90% of his day out, and the last 10% sleeping. It's'a miracle he owned more than a bed in his penthouse -- but then again, how else was he supposed to impress on the rare occasion he brought someone home?

[incogneto]

Well, alright, technically he is on Tony's payroll, but he doesn't think of himself as an employee. Even a contractor, really. "I cook like this every day because I can't sustain myself on coffee," he responds, as a matter of fact, like it's a ludicrous idea to go out every night. Honestly, he doesn't see the appeal, and he also doesn't see the appeal in Charles's plan, heat up instant ramen and burn the side of the pot while you're at it.

Anyway, that's not what he came here to talk about. Tony is actually one of his employers now, so he has reports for him. How the construction is going, any unplanned extra costs, tracking the project. He does this once a week and never misses a single nail. But at least he's stopped reciting the information and treating it like a working lunch. Instead, he slides a manila envelope onto the table and takes a seat, sips his whiskey. "We're ahead of schedule and budget," is what he says in summary.

"How are things here?"

[liverletdie]

"Now that is what I like to hear," he said, the grin on his face clear. He picked up his cup, and drank -- a long, long pull of it, his other hand working open the flap of the envelope before he pulled the documents out.

"You know how to make a man happy, Erik," he admitted, and started to skim. The thing about recitation was, Tony Stark got bored. If it's in paper, or email and digital, he can run the numbers, calculate it, and see the pieces in his head before someone has finished with the first one.

He does that now, running his head through the numbers, scanning it all, before he nodded, and set it on the table.

"Exciting," he paused. "Things are great, here, as usual. The 4 launch is gearing up -- I'm thinking the first week of September," he said mildly, as if it were vaguely interesting. "So the goal is to have a bit more money in the coffers to go toward the foundation."

Closed to XAVIER

[liverletdie]

StarkTech at night was so, so drastically different from StarkTech in the day. During the day, pristine halls and offices were bright from both the sun filtering through the windows combined with the artificial light. It was bright, cheery, full of life. Bustling with a thousand different projects and a thousand different strands of information, data, projects, everything.

At night, it was cold, and desolate. It was a large building, and when night fell, most of the staff left. All that was left were the people looking for the next discovery, the latest new thing, and even they turned in around ten or so. There was only so much work the human brain could do before it stopped.

Except for some. They were perfectly content to work in the eerily sterile, cold building. The high, artificial lights were no different, but silvered, metal walls in the underground labs weren't inviting like the higher levels. The people who worked here were purely for information, for discovery, for finding the best.

Tony Stark worked long into the night, hands buried in a large piece of tech -- tonight it was a piece of the new suit, the chest piece open, two screwdrivers perched over either ear, a headset with a magnifying glass, and two different cameras with high-focus cameras on the tech. His fingers were placed on the metal, a cavern in the seamless silver, while he dug into the insides, looking for...likely, only he would know. Occasionally, he reached down to sip from a waterbottle at his side, a sharp inhale, and back to work. The

It'd be terrible if he were interrupted right about now.

[excessivehubris]

There was a part of Charles that liked these silent hours. As much as he loved the crowds, worked well with his co-workers and any of the business people Tony dragged past his office for a quick introduction, the quiet stillness of the building at night was a relief to his shields.

While there might always be one or two people bumping about, Charles could relax his hold on his shields in place and focus that subconscious energy towards his own R&D projects. The first had been written up, published and at last check was forecast to bring StarkTech a pretty penny when it went into production. Charles had left it in the hands of Tony’s competent staff members as he moved on to the next project.

Tonight, he picked up barely any other minds in the building with him, though he did brush across the rapid fire numbers and data stream that said Stark. The numbers kept Charles at a firm distance from the man’s thoughts, though Xavier had never tested if he could push past them. Tony was his friend; he didn’t need to be snooping.

However, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to return the coffee favor from a month ago!

Charles kept his motorized wheelchair at StarkTech. His home with Erik was small enough that the manual chair was a good fit and when Charles traveled to other cities he needed the manual because it would collapse when traveling by taxi. But the StarkTech building was so vast and often Charles needed to move a little faster than his arms could manage (and he needed to carry a certain air of dignity that shoveling a chair around tended to ruin) that it made sense to have the motorized chair in residence.

This also meant he could balance two cups of coffee as he navigated the chair along the silent hallway towards Tony’s lab. The chair was very quiet but Charles did not stop to consider he would be, in anyway, sneaking up on Stark or trying to catch him unawares. Still he was well through the doorway to the lab before he called out.

“Coffee break?”

[liverletdie]

So absorbed was he in his work that he didn't pay attention to the cameras outside his own private lab. He was so into the work he was doing, that he hadn't even noticed that Charles Xavier was right outside his door. When he opened it and slid in, motorized chair a faint and distant hum on his senses, the struggle and need for digital connection so strong that he barely realized how many of the suits looked right at Xavier when Tony Stark did.

The answer, of course, was all of them. The line of suits that he'd been connected to all looked right at the mutant, as did Tony -- as did the silvery head of the suit he was working on, looking every bit like a patient with open-heart surgery, lifting it's head to look up at the new intruder.

After a moment, he looked back down.

"Evening, Charles," he said, and slipped one hand out, and then another, before he dusted them off, and stood. "Coffee sounds just about perfect right now," he admitted, and strode over to take it, before leaving the metal suit, to move to one of the computer panels, already running through a programmed simulation, all data and numbers instead of images. He didn't need pictures, he could see it in the data that streamed in front of him.

"What's got you here so late?"

[excessivehubris]

Right.

That was perhaps one of the most disquieting moments he'd ever experienced in his entire life; including having En Sabah Nur trying to take over his consciousness. There was a doll like quality to the suits, from Charles' perspective, a stillness in the eyes that seemed to cut right through them.

His telepathy, even as powerful as he was, found them to be little more than black holes and yet they moved and focused upon him as if about to speak. As a rule, Charles controlled his telepathy with a tight leash but in this instances ( in a calculation of speed the human consciousness was too slow to track ) his powers slipped their leash.

Any other time, he would have retreated in the face of this disquiet but not now. Now he charged it, head on, his telepathy jumping past the doll like blankness of those eyes and chasing the scent of consciousness back towards Stark.

Though a part of Charles expected to find Tony at the nucleus of all the suits, it was still startling to discover the connection across them all. For the first time, he felt a tingle of unease race down his spine; a feeling he hadn't experienced since he'd met Tony's future self that one time.

Then Stark was across the room and in his personal space, taking the coffee and moving towards a computer console.

"Uhm," it took him a moment to draw back the internal HUD his telepathy tried to establish, took him another moment to force himself to turn his back on those suits. "I got caught up in that new project I'm working on," he gave a shaky chuckle before he continued. "You know, the ones that are meant to actually help you make money?"

To help offset all the StarkTech money Charles cheerfully spent on humanitarian projects.

"That reminds me though. The situation in Philadelphia. Did you happen to bring back any samples?"

[liverletdie]

"Of the monsters?" he asked, and sipped at his coffee -- stopping the stream of numbers and calculations to input one or two, before it started again. His mind was always a stream of numbers and calculations, equations, and code. His suits were connected to him, moreso now, as he ran simulations between his different technological marvels. A glimpse in his mind's eye -- a loosening of his tightly wound control -- would warrant one of the suits: the biggest red and gold one, against one of said monsters. Like watching a play-by-play fight.

I didn't get any internal tech, sadly. But I did take some recordings, for use in data," he paused. "They're great for internal simulations," he paused, and considered. "Why? Are you thinking we could use them for something?"

He paused again, then, and considered. He'd dismissed the tech outright, due to the volatile nature of it. If he wanted a weapon that would explode, he had plenty of ways to make that happen that wouldn't level half a city block. What they'd released was messy and uncoordinated. Something that wasn't going to do more than attract a fight.

and the way he felt about weapons these days was: small, silent, coordinated.

If you were going to go big, you should hit a lot more than one city, that's for certain. Weapons 101, but he wasn't designing weapons like that. Certainly not for people who would use it for something other than making the world a better place, like Russia and the US these days.

For KAREN STARR

[liverletdie]

After the disaster a few months ago -- a recent change that had complicated things -- the fact that Karen was willing to give him another chance said a lot. Hell, maybe the fact that she'd been this willing to work together was more promising than he initially thought. Better than he could have hoped for, really. And if it was better than he could have possibly hoped for, well...he had to impress, didn't he?

Saturday morning ended up being brunch in the workshop. Maybe not the most sanitary, but he'd ate down here often enough without getting sick even before the extremis, let alone now. So he'd catered something nice, all the usuals, coffee, orange juice, food. Add a few tables filled with parts, keyboards, screens -- his personal workshop was devoid of almost everything from his own personal projects --

Save, of course, for the Iron Man suits at the walls, empty eyes staring out. Most dented or scratched, but whole -- and most were the classic red and gold, save for the one in the middle, smaller, leaner -- unpainted, but instead polished. It was something, at least.

When Karen showed up, one of the staff escorted her down, where Stark was already typing away at a console, coffee in one hand, a monitor showing detailed shots of solar panels.

[boobwindow]

"Hard at work, I see."

Karen's never actually seen Tony working in this sort of setting before, so her perception of him has always been a little skewed in that respect. She eyes the Iron Man suits lining the walls curiously, thinking to herself it's still a privilege he has to be able to tell the world he's both Tony Stark and the superhero Iron Man. She doesn't have that herself back home, and maybe things could be different here, but she won't be taking a chance on that any time soon.

"How long have you been at it?" she adds, pulling back her hair so she can tie it in a small ponytail, away from her face.

[liverletdie]

"'bout an hour or so," he said, turning to stand, drinking from a water bottle, when he peeled away from the little piece of technology on his table.

He loved working. He loved tech, and it was obvious, the way he hadn't been able to stay idle, or rest, but instead immediately moved for working. The screens flashed and died, changing gears from streams of equations and numbers -- simulations that only he could read, buried deep in the math -- to look at Karen.

"Want to eat first, or last? Everything should stay pretty warm all day."

[boobwindow]

Karen herself didn't mind staying occupied, mentally or physically — they both often required one or the other anyway, but there was only so much she could or wanted to do before she required a couch to sink into and a re-watch of The Wire or something horror-related. She enjoyed and appreciated work, however, she also enjoyed personal space a great deal.

"I'm not going to say no to the food," she smirked and made her way over to the food, pouring herself a glass of orange juice first. "Does anyone else ever come down here or is it just you?"

[liverletdie]

"Mostly just me," he shrugged, and kept his hands busy, still working his way through whatever small, minuscule little thing he had, to keep himself going.

He couldn't help it, of course, staying active, thinking, moving. Work wasn't so much a way to pay the bills as it was a way of life. Then again... he didn't have much else, now did he? He grinned at her. "Sometimes people stop buy, when they've given up trying to call me -- or if it's late, Charles stops in," he rolled his shoulders. "But generally?"

He grinned. "You're the first one I've invited in to work."

B - NEAR HEROPA, OFF A FLORIDIAN COASTLINE

[slightlyoffchilt]

Chilton had wanted to take his yacht out for a sailing at least once more before he left Heropa. While the move was still weeks away, at the very least, the fact of the matter was a foregone conclusion: Frederick Chilton and Raina would be leaving Heropa. Waters were changing, temperatures were cooling. Chilton would put distance between old wounds and step forward towards fresh opportunities -- Ambassador Baelish and the new hospital first among them.

It was a thrilling moment to stand on the sparkling white deck of his ship, the wheel currently manned by hired help, and gaze out into those aquamarine currents with intent to savor.

[liverletdie]

Savoring the calm lap of water on a boat, the clear sky, the smell of salt -- that really only works when the day isn't interrupted by a loud boom, boom, boom in the sky. The sound of a jet rocketing through the sky.

But it wasn't a jet, of course. It was a man. A particular man who passed by, human shaped chrome and blue-lit suit passing the little yacht.

Well, at least it was a momentary interruption.

Until the suit turned around, a wide arc in the air, and headed straight for the small boat at a breakneck speed, slowing only at the last moment, to land lightly on the surface. The ship still dipped from the near-400 pound weight that landed lightly on it, and the metal head looked straight at the good Doctor.

"Looks like we're both enjoying a nice day out. Afternoon, Doctor."

[slightlyoffchilt]

He almost couldn't believe it. The audacity. The spectacle. The sheer arrogance -- if only the aforementioned were practically trademarked by Tony Stark. What stirred the sharper affront was that Chilton's cloudless day now humored the overcast of Stark's unbearable shadow; he couldn't even demand a retreat, given how simply overpowered Iron Man was.

Chilton knew he had to play host to this chrome king.

"What the ever-loving hell?"

Drink in hand, with furious fingers gripping the glass, Chilton glared at the iron intruder.

Fucking.

"Stark!"

Fucking Stark.

[liverletdie]

"Nice to see you too," he said, and the chrome plating practically melted away from his head, leaving the rest of him still bathed in that glittering chrome, practically blinding in the direct sun, some of the reflections hitting the water, which would likely send up small jets of steam, if it weren't for the water in constant motion around the boat.

"Have anything to drink?" he asked, and his lip twitched.

"I saw you down here and thought I'd stop by and say hi," he grinned, then. Not a nice grin, but a shark's grin, all teeth and thin lips, looking at the doctor like he knew precisely why he didn't want him here. And that was precisely why he would be here. "We haven't spoken in a while."

[slightlyoffchilt]

A sharp look shot Tony's way, and Chilton's mouth twitched into a more severe frown -- the mirrored opposite of Stark's own. It was evident that he rolled that detail over in his mind, sinking into a quiet breed of suspicion. A furtive glance, a look away. A deepened frown.

"How long ago did you fall off the wagon?"

No recently fallen hedonist is so bold in their request, Chilton had encountered enough addicts to know the tenor of desperation that always came before acceptance. Curious, curious, and perhaps a bit tragic.

But he didn't deny Tony Stark that drink.

"Moscow mule?"

Chilton wasn't going to give many options.

"What is it that you want to talk about? Since you're obviously not leaving at my request."

A

[catalysmic]

Tony Stark wasn't in the office very much, which was... good. It was good. Since she'd probably thrown a car at him at some point. There wasn't much memory to agonize over, but what there was was mortifying. For all she liked and respected him, for all Bruce reassured her, if she could have thought of a way to never interact with Tony ever again she would have taken that option in a heartbeat. Continent-skipping made so much more sense now.

Somehow, she was pulling through. He still responded to her emails preternaturally quickly, and their few encounters since June had been anticlimactically straightforward. Superhero, she supposed. And the Hulk had been done before. It was totally cool that he had dropped by her bench.

"Good point. I'll still check the library for it and submit a request to the USPTO," she finished, trying not to look like she was actively wishing her boss was a digital interface. Especially since his check-in had actually been really timely and she was much less stuck than she'd been half an hour ago. "There's enough literature referencing the set-up, there have to be copies of the original data out there. It's promising but it's just so old. "

She shrugged, gesture made sharp with tension. "No one here uses this stuff anymore. It's nanobots for everything."

[liverletdie]

"That's because nanobots are pretty good ways to take care of everything," he said, simply. Never mind that he had injected himself with the extremis nano-chain, or that he'd taken to using nanobots as methods for control or to uplift people when needed. He'd... always liked nanobots. Then again, with the way he used them, that would come as a surprise to nobody.

"Not that there's anything wrong with the lower-grade tech, but... nanobots work so smoothly, it's hard to dislike working with them."

Said the technopathic control freak who could probably control them with his brain, if he wanted to.

"Did you... see a project that stuck in your head, about them?"

[catalysmic]

Meanwhile, guess who subconsciously inherited a bias toward serum-technology? That's so 2005 1940s of you, Betty.

"Oh, I don't dislike working with them. It's just... opportunity cost, you know? On a historical level. Sometimes techniques I'm familiar with are relatively obscure here, which means lost references, which means a lot of reinventing the wheel." Since she spends a lot of her time trying to mesh branching practices.

Confessing, "Plus they sort of," creep me out, "worry me. I have some reasons not to be thrilled with my upgrade. If you're asking about a project, how about the entire imPort community?"

[liverletdie]

"Ah --" he paused, and scratched at his wrist. "Yes, I suppose those are awkward, aren't they?" he added, before he looked at the ceiling.

It wasn't surprising, coming from the guy who used them pretty frequently, that he'd actually prefer them. If anything, he would opt for mechanics over chemistry any day. Then again, considering the kind of person he was, he felt he had more control over machines than he did over substances. He looked to Betty, and he grinned.

"You get used to those. They're...overall, they're innocuous. It could be a lot worse," he admitted, with a roll of his shoulders. "I've made nanites to control supervillains, so... we could be injected with something like that, but we weren't."

[catalysmic]

That was some of the problem, really. You serum a dude and he was pretty much set with whatever was in the mix, and effects were - apparently - cumulative. But the effects of the government's nanites could change suddenly. It was the difference between a hardware update and a software one, and Betty wasn't convinced that that sort of thing should be easy, not when they didn't understand every last little thing about it first.

"Awkward is one word for it. You know, it wasn't that long ago for us back home that Bruce could have been considered a supervillain." She paused, considering, thoughts rerouting. "So could I, here. Actually, would something like that work on me?"

Formally requesting a power suppressor for testing would involve having to formally do anything. Not ideal. There wasn't really an ideal for this situation, though.