abraxaslogs | open | april/may catch-all

Entry tags:

open | april/may catch-all

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. ♥

Threaded | Flat

[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.

[ 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. ]

[ 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?

Edited (adds just a little bit here) 2022-04-13 21:05 (UTC)

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.

"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."

[ 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. ]

[ 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– ]

Edited 2022-05-14 21:35 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

[ 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.

Edited 2022-05-15 23:28 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

ii

ii hi dad I mean mister stARK

iii.

ii;

i.

iv. we need to reverse the polarity | viktor

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

Wildcard: As discussed, post Viktor chat!

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