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

[earthborn]

"Like I said," Shepard agrees; her lack of anger management therapy is literally written all over her face. She had said as much.

Inhale through your nose. Hold it. Let it all go, slow as you can. Oldest trick in the book; conserves oxygen, for a bonus. Shepard is about as calm now, as she ever is.

"Look, I don't know what you think you know," Shepard says, leaning back with crossed arms, the straps of her own rucksack wrapped around the knuckles of one fist, "But here in 2186 where my part of the world lives, the Reapers are more than just big and scary aliens. And they're not going to just stop when half of us are dead; they're coming for everyone. Every member of every sentient species that's made it into space. And since Earth has had extrasolar colonies for the last thirty years, the human race finds itself just over the line of screwed. But if we go the way of the Protheans, it won't be because I didn't do anything. You wanna lay down and die, keep it to yourself."

[industries]

2186? Tony's brows shoot up. Zuul's familiarity with his film references paired with her talk about "saving the galaxy" hadn't escaped his notice, but he'd assumed they were talking about the same thing the same way he and Quill's gang had been when they ran into each other – the thing in question being Thanos. And horrific, universe-spanning genocide, which seemed, y'know, weirdly on-the-nose to be a coincidence. But assuming her date refers to the Anno Domini calendar...

Tony shuts his eyes and raises his hands on the tail end of her rant. "Okay – Zuul?"

He exhales, raises his chin. "Listen. I know you probably rehearsed that whole thing in the mirror, but like – PR tip? Real quick? You generally want to tailor speeches for your audience. So like. Me, for example. Who's never heard of "Protheans", or any extrasolar Earth colonies, and generally pictures "Reapers" as, like, weird little skeletons on biker arms – you might want to rewind and listen to the other guy before you lecture. You feel me?" He motions between them, a tight line between his neck and jaw, a fierce edge to his voice. "Or are you just going to tell me to lay down and die again? Because – spoiler alert, jackass, I've been where you are and that's not how I roll."