open | april/may catch-all

[industries]

WHO: Tony Stark & you
WHAT: April catch-all for open, planned, & future threads
WHERE: Free Cities - Cadens & Desert Outpost
WHEN: 4/05 - 4/30
WARNINGS: None yet.

NOTES: Although he left his world emaciated and malnourished from months adrift in space, Tony's body was rejuvenated to its normal state by the healing powers of being pulled to Abraxas. TL;DR he looks like his normal self, except more depressed.

▶ i. we are not soldiers
    Cadens Desert Outpost 003 - Wagon | Apr. 6
    [ open ]

[ The last wagon to Cadens only has a couple of seats left when its wheels finally roll and crunch against the sandy road. ]

Hey! [ The shout comes from the right side of the departure area, in the general direction of the barracks. The driver reins in the horses and a middle-aged man jogs up to the wagon, a standard issue knapsack slung over his shoulder. ] One more for – yeah, okay. [ He squeezes in, past a particularly miffed soldier. ] Uh, Private Pyle? 'Scuse me? Thanks.

[ The man drops into the empty seat across from you and sinks into it with a long, slow breath. Judging from his plain fatigues and lack of epaulets, he looks to be a newly-arrived Summoned, though he at least appears to have taken the time to trim his facial hair into a neat goatee. Although his eyes roam cooly across the passenger area, the white-knuckled grip on his knapsack's strap betrays the kind of sharp anxiety common to Abraxas' newcomers – and perhaps something more.

His eyes flit up to you as the horses whinny and the wagon rolls forward again. He frowns. ]

What. Not a Kubrick fan? [He rolls his eyes.] What am I talking about, "Arrival of a Train" is probably peak entertainment here.

▶ ii. we won, mr. stark
    Cadens - Mag's Inn | Apr. 7
    [ open + planned: peter, nadine ]

[ It's only when he sits down at the inn table that he lets himself breathe.

Okay. Okay.

Step completed, box checked off. He drags a hand down his chin, then splays that hand on the table, feels the wood-grain of its surface, old and polished from years of use. It feels real. Has heft, and tactility, enough to tell the mechanoreceptors in his fingertips and the neurons in his thalamus that he's here. This is real. But that doesn't mean they couldn't be lying to him, because how-

Last thing he remembers, with relative clarity, is Steve Rogers' face. The rage rising up his throat, boiling over, barely standing, shaking. The arc reactor in his hand. Liar.

The last thing he remembers, with more bleary haze, is light streaming through glass windows, Pepper's hand over his. Slowly blinking at her face, her creased brow. The answer to a dozen sleepless nights on the Benatar: Alive.

Then – floating in water. And he was here – healthy again, and away from home... again. In... what? A glorified steampunk convention? Las Vegas' most dedicated LARPer club? He'd kind of hoped so, until the outpost wagon neared a city out of some YA fantasy and kicked him to the curb.

He closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. Footsteps approach the table.]

Not hungry – starved for a month on a spaceship, you know how it goes – hey, [ he presses the back of his thumb against his eye, ] so I heard you guys do a care package?

▶ iii. wildcard
    [ open + planned: sam ]

Keeping to two prompts for now since I'm not sure if Tony's going to find out... certain information.

Regardless! If you're jonesing to thread something in particular with Tony, please don't hesitate to drop it here! Also feel free to hit me up at LaCidiana, DM me, or PM this journal if you want to ask about anything. ♥

Comments

ii

[nadine_he_loves]

[It shouldn't surprise Nadine at all that yet again, more Summoned were brought here. How the hell many of them did these people need? But at least now she's in a position to help. Those months in Nott meant she'd had no idea about most new arrivals, but it's different now. There's a thriving population of Summoned in the Free Cities, and Cadens in particular. It's still amazing to think that there's nothing stopping any of them from just moving between cities.

Thorne takes a much different approach.

Speaking of being able to help, that's why she's down here.]

Something like that.

[It's easy to spot the newly Summoned, even without knowing beforehand. Nadine stands at the edge of the table, her little apothecary satchel slung over her shoulder. She's dressed in her plain white skirts and practical leather vest, white hair pinned up on top of her head and currently covering her little horns.]

I'm Nadine, resident Summoned healer and herbalist. I live upstairs. But I do have some goodies for you.

[industries]

'Summoned' – right. [ Tony's hands drop from his face and he squints up at the woman. Young-ish, platinum hair – oh, she's talking about being an herbalist, yeah, that. Checks out.

He squares his shoulders and blows out air through his mouth. Like a lamaze breath, like steeling himself for the next step of this new, awful journey back home – or the half of home that's left. Pep's okay, he tells himself, for the thousandth time since he got here. Rhodey too. Which means that whatever this is, it can't be worse than the weeks he spent out there, not knowing. ]

Listen, Herbalife, you seem... nice, you seem sweet, but you gotta understand, I have had a bad, bad, bad few weeks, and I'm just...

[ Done. Failed. Lost. ]

...I'm just still a little confused as to what – [ he waves his hand in a loose circle, ] – the hell I'm doing here?

[nadine_he_loves]

Yeah, that doesn't go away. I've been here half a year and I still couldn't tell you.

[Aside from the vague 'we need you' speech, Nadine isn't any clearer on the why, either. Why in general, why them specifically...beyond their connection to the Singularity, she has no idea what anyone here expects them to do. His overall demeanor is understandable.

She snorts a little at the 'Herbalife' thing and shakes her head.]

And I'm not that kind of herbalist. I've got something to help with headaches and other aches and pains, something to help with sleep, and something to help settle the agitated mind. Sort of a 'you just went through a weird trauma' care pack. I'm a medical student, I promise this isn't weird black market stuff.

[There's plenty of that around, she's sure, but it's nothing she has anything to do with.]

ii hi dad I mean mister stARK

[piqure]

[ peter comes back through mag’s in the early afternoon. intent on taking a break, on practicing in his horizon, on working through whatever it is he can to keep his mind from wondering to the disquieting truths he can’t shake free from.

he isn’t alone here, he would remind himself, and it’s gotten a little easier to remember, and the loneliness doesn’t feel so suffocating. it does less for the grief, but there is simplicity in being so far displaced from anything familiar — who knew being torn from your multiverse would help? it is no panacea, but the only familiarity afforded is that which he creates in his own Horizon.

peter is intent on making a beeline upstairs, with gaze raised to give mag a nod until something skates along his senses and sticks and he falters, hand tensing along the strap of his shoulder bag.

brows crease, and he looks around him, tries to gauge what exactly it is that’s caught his attention, something scraping along the the periphery.

until his eyes land on him and his breath stammers out of constricting lungs.

Tony? but he disappeared, not too long ago, hadn’t he? he barely realizes how he’s making his way to the table, mind instead already sprinting through the possibility.

did he come back? what did he remember? was he like peter and remembered everything? did he forget, like Stephen? when was he —

the latter seems to find its answer in Tony’s words.

starved for a month on a spaceship and peter’s frown deepens. the last battle didn’t have a spaceship, his mind supplies. was he from - before? during the snap??

the list of possibilities is endless and disquieting and makes his stomach flip and instead, peter does what he does best as he opens his mouth and takes a leap of faith. ] — They probably could get you something, I’m sure.

Hi, Mister Stark. [ he thought the third time would be easier but it’s as new as the very first, heartbeat in his throat, an ache under his ribs. it takes considerable willpower to remain in one spot, to not reach out immediately. it will not last. he wonders if he looks all that much older than the last time tony saw him. the bags under his eyes had certainly grown. he can’t help thinking how tony looks healthy, albeit just as tired. ]

[industries]

[ His eyes snap open.

They travel along the length of the table to where the kid stands a few feet away.

Tony's had dreams like this, on the cold metal floor of a ship far from home. The kid grinning, and joking, then crying, and pleading, until he turns to ash in his arms. Nebula would wake him up, tell him he was making noise in his sleep. She'd be kind – wouldn't tell him the noise was him saying "sorry," over and over again. He knows because he could hear himself, on the knife's edge of waking up.

He's not waking up now.

Tony stands up, slow, as if he's back to the body he had back home, weak and wasted away. He grips the back of the chair for support. The kid's smile is strained, his eyes worn and tired. Tony's brow creases. ]

Oh my god. [ He marches over, wraps his arms around him tight enough to suffocate. But Peter stays there. Breathing. ]

[piqure]

[ he knows that look.

he's seen it before, so wretchedly familiar peter's eyes sting at the recollection. he remembers coming back, from life to dust to life again, in the midst of a space, in that red landscape and back into the thick of battle, careening through one of stephen strange's portals and straight into the path of iron man, ready to keep on fighting against thanos, but never ready to lose in victory.

it's been a few years since then, impossibly lived in a world without tony stark, and far more losses endured and in his mind's sprint to fill in the blanks of too many questions, it momentarily goes treacherously blank.

it's funny, how much one can learn to live with. or without.

but seeing that look rips against whatever bandaid time had barely soothed over, hairline fractures spindling out against a composure that leaves much to be desired in the first place. what is grief if not love persevering?

his breath is shallow as he watches tony stand up. there's an unsure step out towards him as he wobbles, brows pinched in concern but the distance in closed in hazy disbelief.

a small sound escapes the back of his throat when tony pulls him in, choked surprise, as peter's own arms are thrown around him in return, hold on nearly as tight. ] Yeah, [ he says lamely, muffled as his cheek is pressed against a shoulder. ] It's — it's really good to see you, Tony. [ oh my god, he thinks too, again, he thinks, and dreads whatever may come next, heart hammering in suddenly brittle ribs. do you know we won?, do you know you die?] Did you just get here?

iii.

[falcony]

[ sam gets very little, if anything, in terms of a warning. part of him has come to expect as much from peter, if only because he's started to piece together the tidbits of personality, of anxiety, and of sheer energy that manifest off the kid. still, sam has no idea what we're on our way is supposed to mean. no idea how to prepare for it. he narrows it down well enough that he's not running down the stairs expecting to find some other ghost attack on the city, but the list of things is still a list.

thankfully peter at least gives him some kind of heads up. enough of one that sam can tidy up, slide his conspiracy theory board in its hiding spot between the cabinet and the wall, and he even has enough time to turn to the kitchen - to start picking away at whatever leftovers he has stashed around. he's back doesn't exactly narrow it down too too much, but it's enough to know that sam can just find things to keep busy, to keep his hands moving, all until he hears the door open across the room. sam, finishing up something (cleaning a dish? putting away some supplies? who knows, but his eyes haven't lifted to the door quite yet) ]

Kid, I swear to god, he's back is not enough- [ and when they do finally glance over to see tony stark standing in the doorway, sam's stomach kind of drops. just kind of, just enough that any casual familiarity shifts into something more...serious, in a way. more controlled. ]

Ah- Stark. Hey. [ because he...isn't sure, exactly, what the situation is here. but if tony is here, sam would put quite a bit of money on it being something of this multiverse shit. something about this not being the same tony who was in solvunn, who had disappeared not even weeks prior.

it's complicated, for starters, but before sam can really even let himself get into it he thinks of peter. peter parker, who just went through all this, who ran into tony downstairs. sam takes a breath, seeming to push himself right through whatever moment's pause might have been happening, and gestures for the table. ] Take a seat. Guessing you ran into the kid downstairs. [ and then sam's turning back to the cabinets and definitely pulling out that bottle of whiskey he has stashed back there. ] You eat yet?

[industries]

Wilson. [ Tony glances over his shoulder, toward the door behind him and the hallway beyond it. Peter already excused himself, with a little gesture as they parted ways at the top of the stairs, but it's – nerve-wracking, to see him go. To feel like he won't come back.

He wrenches his attention back to Wilson. God, he hasn't seem him since... what? The Raft? That's awkward as hell, but Tony ignores that particular stream of memories to focus on the room instead. Tidy, but lived-in, just like Wilson's cotton tunic and ye olde leather belt.

He's been here a while too. ]

Yeah, he... snatched me up pretty quick. [ Tony sits down at the table. His eyes wander along the length of the room – papers, tools, random odds-and-ends. ] And uh, no. Haven't eaten – although, like, four people I've never met before said 'hi' to me, so. Friendly crowd you've got here.

[ He raps his fingers on the table. Before he can breathe– ]

Okay, so what is all this – an interdimensional space pocket? Some kind of quantum tear? There's you and the kid, but no one else I recognize, some of these guys are from places I've – I've – never heard of, and you–

[ You got dusted. I saw you in the images, with Peter. Annihilated. Gone.

He breathes out. Leans back. One item stands out above all others, one variable more potent than the rest. ]

What did you mean, "he's back"?

[falcony]

[ sam tries to catch on to anything where it concerns tony’s expression. what he knows, what he doesn’t, how long he’s been around. sam’s done this whole welcome to abraxas chat enough time to pick up on a few key clues, but he has to remind himself it’s all off the table where it concerns….what? tony stark? a man who could be from anywhere, from any time, who is standing in sam’s doorway and looking back down the hallway like he’ll never see peter again and-

ah. well. that might explain some things.

sam nods, watching as tony takes a seat and runs his eyes across the entirety of the room. it’s not much, and sam supposes some part of him could be embarrassed by it - the single space, kitchen and dining room and living room all in one, outside of two doors, two bedrooms. it’s not much, but it’s been home for long enough. ]

You hungry? I don’t have much up here, but I can ask Mag to send something up. [ sam is pretty sure he’s deflecting - pretty sure. but even with the couple of months of tony stark under his belt, sam still feels holy unprepared for whatever this conversation is going to be. he takes his own seat with the bottle and two mugs and is about to say something - anything - about how nice people are, how there’s a reason they might recognize him, but before a word even gets out tony is moving on. asking about space pockets and quantum tests and sam…reaches for the bottle. pours himself and tony and glass, if he wants it. ]

Multiverse, from what we can tell. Singularity, aka the big source of power around here, pulls us from literally anywhere and- well. [ sam slides the glass over in an offer before picking up his own, looking down at the dark liquor before back to tony. ] There’s more of us around, too, but not everyone, and it’s…complicated. Doctor Strange- [ sam winces a little, remembering how not well the last introduction of the two had gone, but he’s also not looking to hide that either. he takes a long sip from his glass before setting it down. ] He’s tried to explain it to me but at a point it just goes over my head.

[ when he looks up, he catches just enough of that look - the same thing he saw in steve’s face, in sarah’s. the look of someone seeing dust, back together again. sam let’s put a breath of his own, something fairly close to a sigh. because of course tony heard it. clocked it.

( once again, sam finds himself asking how steve did this. any of it. ) ]

I’ll…get to that. All of it. I swear. But- [ sam made that decision already - that he won’t lie to anyone go finds, that it’s not worth it, that no secret about any of their (potential, possible- who even knows) futures are worth the stress of it.

but before he gets there, sam looks back to tony, his brow a bit furrowed. jaw a little tight. sam can count the number of conversations he and tony stark had before this place on one hand (seeing as it’d always been steve’s job), but there’s a seriousness to sam’s expression tony might recognize from the raft. a kind of acceptance of what’s going to happen, if what they’re both trying to do at this point. ]

What all do you remember?

ii;

[shadowthief]

Inej is cleaning up tables, a piece of her work-for-a-room deal with Mags, when she spots a familiar face at a table nearby. She smiles when she sees him and doesn't hesitate in approaching him.

"Mister Stark, did you miss me so much you decided to follow me?" She'd only begun getting to know him before she made the change from Solvunn to Cadens, but she had mentioned the move to him before she left, and perhaps it was possible he'd reconsidered the farm life for something a little more technology-focused, particularly since it seemed like the sort of thing that was more his style.

[industries]

Tony startles a little at the newest visitor to his table – young girl, well put-together, and... weird, he didn't hear her coming, even with the load of dishes in her arms. Weirder still is the casual tone she uses when she calls him by name.

"Don't... think so, and I'm also pretty sure that'd be, like. A felony – hey," he narrows his eyes and presses his index finger against the table, "not that I'm not used to people pretending I'm their buddy? But I haven't exactly gotten a hero's welcome here in... wherever we are, so you know me... how, exactly...?"

[shadowthief]

Inej's job for the last few years has been to notice things. To overhear what wasn't meant to be heard. To see what was not meant to be known. There's no mistaking the surprise in him, and more still, the absolute lack of recognition of her when his eyes land on her. It squeezes in her chest, and then it's pushed out of the way, tucked into a box she may choose to open later, or not.

"Apologies, I didn't realize you were... not him." The words are awkward on her tongue, the whims of the Singularity not being something she has been faced with enough to be prepared to deal with the brunt of it laid at her feet so plainly. She never knew Tony left, and she supposes, he didn't either, nor did he know he was ever here.

A beat.

"Cadens," she offers. "The city, it's called Cadens." She holds up a finger with her free hand, the stack of dishes balanced perfectly in her other. "One second," she disappears into the back to deposit the dishes.

It gives her a few seconds to pull her composure before she returns to his table in that same, too-quiet way she has about her that makes her seem to materialize from nothing in the space of a blink. "Can I–" she gestures at the table, a not-quite asked question to join him and once she has the permission, she slides into the seat across from him. "How much have you been told, and how mad is the concept of multiple selves to you?"

i.

[earthborn]

"Kubrick's a little historical for me, I'm a Blasto girl," Shepard replies, because she is never, literally never, one to back down from a challenge, "But hey grandpa, you can watch whatever old man vids you want. Assuming you can watch anything."

He's got a panicked, hunted look about him. Shepard can't blame the guy, it's not as if this were normal, but compared to her easygoing, almost unconcerned affect... Shit, if ever there was a target to paint, it'd go on this guy's back.

"Summoned, right? Me too. I'm Shepard— ease up, you'll live longer."

[industries]

"Blasto." Tony gazes past the woman's shoulder, as if in deep, personal contemplation. "She's calling me 'grandpa'... when her favorite pastime is named 'Blasto'. Okay. Mmhm."

After a second, he straightens up in his seat. "If you're 'summoned,' that means you're saying we should ease up when we just, like, got kidnapped and dumped here by the interdimensional gestapo – you cool with that? You, like–" he motions his hand in a loose circle, "–chill, on that front?"

[earthborn]

"Look, if you're gonna get your panties in a twist about Hanar-exploitation vids, we're not gonna be friends," Shepard informs him, nonplussed. Of course she is chill, Tony, don't you see how chill she is? She is so calm. Super calm. Definitely fine with the situation, in every facet, "But you are into silent media, so maybe you're not the best judge."

See, she knows the train thing! Would a not-calm person know that? Never. So chill.

"Look. You walking around with that please kick my ass and leave me for dead sign written on your back isn't going to help you, and neither is picking a fight with me. So how about you try again, and I'll let it slide."

iv. we need to reverse the polarity | viktor

[industries]

[ A week into Tony's arrival, he decides to explore.

Or – snoop. He's snooping. In fact, he's spent the past seven days exploring the immediate area around Mag's, getting a lay of the land. Hands in his pockets, strolling down the thoroughfare, leaning over market stalls, glancing from the gas lanterns in the street to the smoke-belching factories past the curb. 1840's – maybe up to 70's is about where he'd pin the standard of living, plus the occasional puff of magic, mostly relegated to busker performances on street corners. (Strange, he thinks, would love that.)

He takes it in. One of the most important stages of scientific development – the observation part. Asking questions, analyzing the results – from one, two, then a dozen perspectives. Mulling it over while laying in bed – specifically the inn bed that Sam and his buddy Mag lent him out of kindness. (Or guilt. Whatever.) Twisting his back against the straw-and-feather mattress – worse than his customizable tempur-pedic, better than the steel floor of a ship. Tossing a little metal ball bearing he'd nabbed from a scrap pile up in the air, one, two, then a dozen times. Perspectives.

He hits the workshop district the next day. A couple blocks past museums, on the opposite side of the manicured school campuses that probably definitely teach twenty-somethings that flies spontaneously spawn from meat and miasma gives you cholera. Familiar scents hit him – not from his own work, but from his childhood. Cigar smoke and tin solder as Dad tinkered in the middle of the night. Tony hiding by the workshop stairs. Watching.

He ducks into them one-by-one – open-air warehouses, garages, chemist's labs, rudimentary press-forges. Each one more underwhelming than the next – "new" minerals? Cute. Alloy metals? Tabulated. He leans over the shoulders of a couple of workers in bifocals, points out if they just adjusted for autoionization, it'd elevate the boiling point constant enough to offset their excess electronegativity.

They startle, then blink at him. He waves and leaves. Boring. Boring, boring –

Oh.

The room is smaller and less impressively equipped than the others. Instead of behemoth industrial-era machinery huffing-and-puffing under its own weight, the room's relatively empty – a couple of tables and blackboards, a few crucibles and beakers bubbling away with an open notebook beside them. Quiet enough he can hear someone coughing in the back room.

Tony steps toward the blackboard. He scratches the side of his chin. Motions with a hand a few inches from numbers twenty decimals deep, loosely points from one exponential variable, to the intermediate factor, to the resulting enthalpy sublimation and bullet-pointed conclusions, each one cogent and correct. He twists his mouth, then turns to shout directly toward the back room. ]

Hey – this... star-cross symbol, what is that? An algorithmic factor? [ He waves at the board. ] You're using it to ignore any rate constant you don't like.

[ He hopes to god it isn't miasma. ]

[techmaturgy]

[Noise from the other room generally means that Jayce is back, so Viktor doesn't make an appearance right away--it gives Tony plenty of time to go through the notes and blackboard scrawlings and all the various Advanced Mathematics™ happening in the general vicinity. He lets all of this continue on, uninterrupted, until a voice calls out that is decidedly not Jayce's.

Well, that's. Okay. Hang on. After a moment, a voice from the back room--]

No, it's meant to do that.

[He pokes his head out. Viktor does not appear to be prepared for company and gives Tony a good once-over, recognizing that he's a stranger (and, perhaps, a fellow Summoned, if his understanding of the work here is any indication). Having assessed the situation, he steps out of the doorway with a clank.

This guy, frankly, looks terrible--gaunt, exhausted, stray curls plastered to his temples in the desert heat. If he's aware of the overall effect, however, he doesn't show it, and seems to be making some effort to downplay his general condition, dressing neatly in a collared shirt, tie, and vest. The effect is overwhelmingly academic, if Tony had any uncertainty about just what kind of nerd he may or may not be dealing with.

(A huge nerd. Just, a gigantic one.)]

The symbol you're referring to represents an adaptive matrix. I'm not ignoring the rate constants, rather, the matrix in question changes its properties based on the variables presented to it. [And then, another protracted pause, as if Viktor is both processing the fact that Tony has accurately assessed (most of) what's going on in here, and realizing that he just kind of busted his way in and started poking around all his proprietary math. His expression is one equally bewildered and suspicious.] Can I help you with something?

[industries]

[ Tony blinks as someone emerges from the doorway – the coughing guy, presumably – and he's... well, he's not not what Tony expected. His eyes dart from the guy's neat-as-a-pin professor digs, to his scrawny shoulders, to the crutch and brace at his right. For a sharp moment, memories of Rhodey rush back – Leipzig-Halle and the months after, rounds of frustrated PT, of long nights in the lab rigging spinal braces to neuro-controlled joints. Rhodey smiling at him, sideways, the way he does when he actually means it – like it's cute Tony thinks it's all his fault, like it's just his big stupid ego acting up again.

There's probably a lesson there. Tony files it away, shoves it closed, and–

The guy approaches. He steps into the beam of daylight cast by the room's one window and – jesus. Tony takes in his hollowed cheeks, his sunken eyes, the tiny smudge of blood at the corner of his mouth. Tony thinks of his first day back on Earth, looking back at the husk in the mirror, ashen skin stretched over sharp angles of bone. It was just a couple weeks ago, in Tony's mind, raw enough that he'd be distracted by the guy's features if it weren't for...

Huh. ]

Don't worry, you're helping plenty. So– [ Tony whips back to the chalkboard and taps an equation with his nail. ] If it can change properties, then I'm assuming this "adaptive matrix" is composed of nuclides that violate common laws of physics, which is an idea I'd normally laugh out of the building, except... your calculus reflects an otherwise advanced handle on relativistic mechanics, and the computations on your frontier molecular orbitals check out, and there's even an implied awareness of quantum electrodynamics, which– [ he turns back toward him, ] leaves me with two questions.

[ There's a glint in his eyes. ]

One, did you... just invent a framework for programmable nanotechnology based on Abraxan magic? And two... [ Pause. ] Are you dying? Because you, like. Literally look like you're dying.

v. the magician & the wizard | may 8 | stephen

[industries]

[ It's not the building that's familiar, but the sidewalk alongside it.

The crunch of gravel under his feet turns to a quiet thump as the Nepalese training grounds give way to New York concrete. His eyes drift upward, along the sharp angles of Victorian architecture to the skylight, all curved lines and convex. A little anachronistic, he guesses, but so is he compared to much of what he's strolled by today – with his jeans, his sneakers, his graphic tee. It's been... nice, taking in the sights, ambling, idling. Relaxing. It's strange, the way his arms hang loosely, how his breaths come easy. Like he's not used to it – the absence on his shoulders where weight should be.

He rubs the circle of metal under his shirt, glowing blue through the fabric. Its presence feels odd too, but it's also... familiar. Comforting, like an old friend.

He turns to face the building's imposing doors. He could knock, but he feels like he shouldn't have to – so he pushes inward on the handle and strides right in, because that's what he wants to do. It's an impressive entry hall, or... at least, it should be, given the massive oak panels and the antique furniture. But he feels like he's seen better, bigger, more extravagant, and so starts straight up the giant staircase in its middle without paying attention to much else.

Which is how he finds himself – where is he, again? He turns, frowns, sees a wall where the bannister used to be. Weird. Should be concerning, but mostly just – like, curiouser and curiouser, Alice in Wonderland, et cetera. What is this, some kind of interdimensional flux? He's already seen how things can shift in this "Horizon," but this feels different – automated, almost. He turns to approach the space where the stairs used to be, when he sees– ]

Oh, hello. [ He strides toward the kind of glass case you'd find in the British Museum circa 1905, and leans over to peer at the object inside it. Some kind of ceremony mask? Cast in gold, exaggerated expression, with two rubies inset in the eye sockets, glowing bright, angry red. He reaches forward to tap the glass– ]

Wildcard: As discussed, post Viktor chat!

[hextechhead]

[ When Tony returns as Viktor requests, he'll find the workspace filled with someone drastically different from his partner. Jayce is 6'4 and broad, trading his long-sleeved collared shirt normal look here with short-sleeves that leave little to the imagination with his biceps. But he has a similar style to Viktor with a vest over it and a tie even in this heat. He is staring at the same blackboard from before although there are a few new notes and additional equations on it now from a different hand.

Jayce's part of the workshop is filled with tools, he leaves some when he goes to work, but he returns with a whole bag of them now scattered on his desk. There is a varied set of tools (screwdrivers, wrenches, a hammer) in a designed belt underneath an open sketchpad filled with advanced designs of multi-tools and what appears to be a design for a set of retractable blades and something early in the process of invention sketched like a tent. The artist is good at what they're doing, and there is a stack of books on New Magic and Academic Magic to the side of the chair and on the edge of the desk.

Meet the other side of the steampunk nerd package! Although it wouldn't be rare to assume this is not where he is supposed to be; a lot of people have asked whether he's lost. And doubted he 'looks like a scientist.' Jayce probably looks like more what Piltover saw, a face for a blimp, but he's comfortable in this space and clearly at ease there.

Jayce is tapping his chin in thought, the chalk already set back down, when he hears someone arrive. Since he knows the sound of Viktor's cane instinctively, he assumes it's either a customer or another Summoned, glancing over his shoulder. Viktor did tell him someone might be coming by who wanted to partner up, but his partner is very bad at giving him details, so that could be anyone. Still, he's good with people, so he turns to face the newcomer and smiles with warmth and ease.]

Hello. If you're looking for Viktor, he's out.

[ There have been so many Viktor visitors that he's used to it now, and it's great overall. The space is smaller than what they're used to but it's temporary. ]

[industries]

[ Tony sticks to his word and heads back to the lab later on in the day, when most of the workshops in the district have closed up shop for the night. The few blacksmiths still pounding iron under their open garage doors send little sparks into the street as he ambles along, toward one of the few lit-up entrances at the far end of the row of brick buildings.

Once again, he doesn't bother to knock, though this time the makeshift lab looks a little more alive as he strides in. He briefly scans over the tools scattered on the nearby tabletop – standard handyman items, along with metallurgist's equipment, and a few sketched schematics – not unlike what Tony's own garage would've looked like had he been born circa 1875.

The next thing he catches is what most people would've noticed immediately – i.e. the imposing man making annotations to the chalkboard that had originally sparked Tony's interest just hours earlier. The guy turns, and the five o'clock shadow and weightlifter's jawline completes the whole picture. Yeah, he'd look right at home with the squad back in New York, minus the, uh. Current gutwrenching depression. ]

Jayce, actually – who I assume is you? [ He squints. If he'd conjured up some kind of Laurel-and-Hardy-esque opposite to Tiny Tim, then it'd probably look a lot like... this guy. Though there's also a slight tug of familiarity at the back of his mind – like he's seen him in passing, but can't quite place where. ] So – do those delts help with thermodynamic calculations, or is there a club scene in this town I don't know about?

[hextechhead]

Yes, that's me, you must be the engineer who spoke with Viktor earlier.

[ Viktor gave him a general rundown of the stranger who popped into their space and started to comment on everything, and that he was full of himself, used to sell weapons, but was clearly very knowledgeable. He would have to be for Viktor to be open to working with him despite the weapon part, but Jayce is hardly one to judge on that front. Even if he only did it the once. He knows from personal experience people can learn lessons on that front; Jayce is not a judgmental man.

He raises an eyebrow at the comment and smiles. ]

No, but they do help when physically building our technology. I'm a blacksmith too, which is more lucrative around here than scientist, right now.

[ Once they start selling their designs more, that might change, but it's what he did right off the bat to start making money so he and Viktor could move to a new apartment. Making money is something he actually is very good at, if not by schmoozing, by working hard as part of long-going family traditions.

Jayce is as open and easy-going as Viktor is closed and skeptical, so the opposites attract qualities really keep going. What they have in common outweighs all their differences, most of the time, but it can come off as stark. Blacksmith explains the body, something Tony knows from personal experience too! Jayce offers his hand to shake. ]

Tony, right? I'm Jayce Talis.

vi. the magician & the witch | may 8 | wanda

[industries]

[ His last encounter has already faded to the edges of his memory by the time he heads toward the lake. In fact, it's hard to place how he got here in the first place, as crisp leaves crunch under his soles and mountains rise up beyond the tree line. He glances over his shoulder and sees a winding path behind him, growing darker with each yard, as if the trees slid into place behind him to block his only exit. A part of his brain tugs at the rest of him with that, tells him there's no way out, but that's – silly. Illogical. Why would he have anything to fear?

So he strolls along the dirt path to where it meets a small, pebbled beach at the edge of the lake. He pulls one of his hands from his jacket pockets (when did he put on a jacket?) and leans down to touch the water – cold. Icy. When he stands again, his ears take in the lapping waves, the faint whistle of wind. In this moment, it dawns on him – while this place is beautiful, whoever spends time here would feel very, very alone.

A twig snaps behind him. He doesn't turn – doesn't feel like he should have to. A part of him felt the power that surrounded him from the moment he entered this place, that followed and examined his every move. He recalls the man he met hours ago, his piercing, analytic eyes. This is different. This is rawer – stronger, an electricity that fills the air, that stings his lungs as he breathes. He exhales, and motions loosely toward a patch of shoreline in the distance. ]

I feel like... like that's where I'd build a cabin. Right there, so you can see the snowcaps. Space for a nice workshed too.

[carmesi]

[this is... an odd presence, is what wanda initially thinks, as she sits up on her bed.

the time she spends in her domain, inside the cabin that resembles the one from her world, allows her room for wallowing—perhaps of the kind that tends to spiral into contempt and longing, as she lies about in contemplation for those that keep her thoughts busy (her kids; it's always her kids). usually it's quiet, the world moving about with the weather she's allowed to progress at will through her magic, the crows that blend into the shadows of the forest her eyes and ears for anything unusual.

and it is unusual, because this person in particular would usually be uninvited to her space. but she's seen him through the eyes of another, of someone who saw him as a father figure; wanda got to see the kindness in the man she refused to believe could ever be that.

(sometimes she wonders, had thanos never arrived on earth, if he would have shown her that kindness some time, if vision's plans had gone smoothly and if tony had not died.)

as she steps out of the cabin, she steps on a twig and holds her breath—not really sure what to expect. but in similar fashion to how she always sees tony, his back remains to her, and she swallows hard. with a twirl of her hand, wanda pushes away incoming dark clouds that befit her thoughts on the man, allowing for blue skies and sunshine and fluffy clouds to run parallel to the lake he motions to instead.

perhaps she can talk to him. perhaps this can be easy.

wanda stops a few feet from him before she speaks.]

It would be very different from your towers and cities, but that is not always so bad.

[industries]

[ He frowns. "Your towers and cities"? He thinks of concrete roads and towering glass, of smoke and smelted iron. It all sounds familiar, like home, so – yeah, he guesses, that's probably right. His. Mine. He feels like a lot of things fall under that category.

But still, the beauty around them, the green leaves and cold water – he feels drawn to it, like it's something he's dreamt of before. Though maybe not as lonely as this, or as quiet. He imagines a woman standing next to him, her hand warm against his palm. He thinks of a child, laughing, as they run through knee-high grass.

The clouds part. Sun streams across the snow-topped peaks in the distance. The ice floes glitter, and they should be breathtaking – but they look so, so cold.

He turns to look at the woman a few yards behind him. That same electricity charges the air around him, but it's hard to feel afraid – with that sadness in her eyes. ]

Sorry, I got. Kinda lost. [ He gestures loosely around them. ] This your place?