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

[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?

[carmesi]

[how funny that he wouldn't recognize her. it takes her a few seconds—one, two—to grasp onto the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, this is his first time traversing through the horizon, bearing through the flux of amnesia that comes from it. it's good that she knows this, because she wouldn't put it past tony stark to pretend to forget who she is.

(or worse, perhaps he is from a time before he knew of the anger that has festered inside her for so, so long.)

wanda swallows.]

Yes. I... I borrowed the land for my cabin. [she points, feeling a little helpless, then crosses her arms. she feels uncertain, a catch in her breath.] It's far away from everything.

[why do her eyes sting with tears, and why does her throat constrict? she has never had a proper conversation with him—never saw herself deserving of one, always dismissed with a wave of his hand. now it's like he finally sees her, finally notices her.

there is so much pain and anger since she was ten that she's coming to find she's been unable to let go of, despite everything that's happened. abraxas has given her time to think, a lot, about these things she wished she didn't need to think much about anymore. she bolsters herself, hangs on to the anger she always clung to when talking to him.

if she sounds a little exasperated, it's because she's trying her hardest to hide the emotions she feels:]

Are you trying to find your own place to build?

[industries]

Yeah. [ He's looked away again, to admire the landscape – the way the light plays through the trees. There's half a chuckle in his voice when he gestures. ] Lots of people borrowing land, I think – someone else had this whole, like, ren-fair village, and then there was this place in the Himalayas, and then this other guy, he–

[ He glances back to her face and – oh. His expression falls, at the reflective quality of her eyes, the red edges to them. A weirdly specific panic lights up in his chest, in his sternum. He swallows. ]

Yeah – ah, shit – sorry, I. Um. [ He digs around his pockets, looks for – what? A handkerchief, like a proper Jane Austen gentleman? Or just – something to... make her feel better, he guesses. Fix the problem he's been presented with.

He yanks one hand out of his pants pocket and finds a couple of brown napkins in his palm. One of them has a little grease stain near the corner, like it was at the bottom of a paper fast food bag.

It's – inadequate. Offensively so. But it's all he has. ]

Hey, um – sorry. [ He walks up to her. Raises the napkins by one corner and offers them, lamely. ] You okay?

[carmesi]

[it feels almost cruel, the way tony reacts to her—sees her vulnerability and tries to make it better, seemingly out of the goodness of his heart. goodness that she knows exists, because the man married and had a child who loved her father to bits; because peter feels so much for him, enough to still miss not iron man, but the man tony stark was in his life.

everyone loves tony stark except for his enemies, and then there's wanda, the result of his failings. one that he's never been able to look in the eye, every ounce of meaningful eye contact kept behind the mask of the iron man suit.

she stares down at the brown napkins, but she doesn't take them. it's not because they're stained, or because it's him. rather, this kindness is so bizarre that she's afraid to touch it.]

This is the nicest you've ever been to me, and you don't remember who I am.

[her arms remain crossed tightly at her middle.]

You've never cared to ask if I was ever okay. You don't even know who you are, do you?