[ the outside light is enough to make out tony's form with the white-blue beaming from his chest. he's standing amidst pieces of the armor removed from his person; only the torso and arms really remain. underneath he wears tight, black neoprene like a diver's. ]
Getting ready, [ tony says, distracted as he removes the second pauldron. he drops it without looking (clonk) and digs his bare fingers under the edge of the cuirass at his collarbone, wincing. ] Gonna need you for this part, [ he hisses. ]
[His pupils are wide in the darker area of the cave, and his eyes shine in the small amount of light emitted from Tony's chest. Unsurprisingly, sight isn't much of an issue for him right now.]
All right. [He steps closer, right up into Tony's personal bubble, but doesn't reach out to touch just yet.]
[ tony doesn't seem bothered, despite barely reaching the curve of the gion's shoulder while out of the armor. ] See the flaps on my back? [ still feeling inside the cuirass, he twists around. four in total, the panels are partly lifted from tony's shoulder blades. ] Four of 'em. There're switches inside. Push each of 'em up; order doesn't matter. And... mmh–ow! Got it, [ tony says triumphantly, shaking his hand after he frees it and then sucking on his pointer and middle fingers. ] One side down, [ he mutters and repeats the process above his right breast. ]
Obviously you have not heard of me, [ tony smoothly returns; he's not really known for not getting naked. with a final twist of his fingers under the cuirass, the upper torso pops open at the seams to reveal the various latches and locks that seal it together, still hanging onto him like an overlarge shirt. ] Hold onto the back half while I jimmy this thing off, [ tony says. ]
Ayup, [ tony says, clearly distracted once more as he feels inside the seams on both sides. he bumps his fingers into simba's, telling him to "scooch" them when they get in his way (in the dark tony is operating mainly on touch), until finally every lock releases and he catches the breastplate before it falls. the back half comes loose in simba's paws, allowing him to pull off the plating. underneath is an intricate silver mesh of metal built to form around the ribs and back with elegant grooves and complex, interlocking parts; the front is similar, too, except more solid and centered around the reactor. ]
All right, I got it from here, [ tony grunts, despite removing everything normally being the task of a large automated machine. he begins manually loosening the plackart around his stomach and waist. ]
[He pulls the plating off once it's loose and gently sets it down with the other parts of the suit. He's sure it's durable - it's armor, after all - but he's still careful with it because he knows that's what Tony would want.]
You decide to go all King Arthur or something when you built this?
[He remembers fiction more easily than he does his own life - in this case, books read when he was younger, one of the few things that could keep him occupied when he was stuck in bed.]
No, but he was an inspiration, [ tony answers idly. he wasn't going to say more, not at first, but his own guilt trips him up. he might not talk about the cave or what happened there ever, but he can talk about this. sure simba can just look him up online once he learns how, but he deserves to hear it from tony's own mouth.
tony sighs, pausing the removal. ] I used to make weapons, [ he admits. ] Decided I didn't want to anymore, so ... I made armor. [ silence settles in. to busy his hands he twists one last thing. with a loud clunk the plackart comes free. the lower back of the armor shifts, too, the bits that are modeled like vertebrae whirring and lifting out. tony flips the plackart around so that the red gleams back at him, his reflection vague and shadowy. nothing interrupts him, and he can't bring himself to look back at simba yet, so he continues, his voice lifting with pride, ] And now I protect people. Best decision I've ever made. [ finally, he cranes his head around and catches simba in the dark. his smile looks genuine. ] Not that the bar was ever that high.
[As Tony drops each piece to the floor, he picks it up with more care, adds it to the collection.]
Armor's a better choice, [he agrees softly. He thinks of the shield tucked away in the pack. He'd protected people once, before they'd turned him into a killing machine. Now the best he can manage is keeping people safe passively, by staying away from them.] Anyone can kill people. The real work is in protecting them.
[ tony fiddles with the silver casing next. one of the heavier parts, it houses a lot of the circuity and mechanical guts. ] I dunno, been kinda a breeze so far. A blast, even. [ ha. ] You know we're in talks to make an action figure of me? [ his grin is filled with a childish awe and glee. ]
An action figure. It's a toy. A lil' Iron Man. Yea big. [ tony demonstrates with the space between his thumb and pointer finger. ] We're thinkin' light-up eyes and reactor right now. Maybe a mini-missile launcher. Although, don't little kids swallow those?
[He just looks a little baffled in the dim light.]
Like a doll?
[l o l]
I don't see a rocket launcher.
[He doesn't even try to look at the suit again. He's familiar with the concept of shoulder-fired missiles - barely - but as a separate entity, not anything that could be contained in the suit.]
[Drawled sarcastically in that Brooklyn accent again. Something in the sound of his own voice sparks a memory, a man with a quick smile and dark hair slicked back with pomade, wearing a crisp military uniform. The memory bursts like a bubble, like they always do, and he's left with nothing. He huffs, exasperated by his own fickle mind.]
Should I be making this a striptease? [ tony looks down to his hands on the silver casing as if honestly pondering it. simba's certainly joked like that enough to warrant some gay chicken. ]
[A slow blink, like it's taking him a moment to get it. Some concepts are easier to remember than others.]
This sure ain't a joint in Harlem. Or maybe the Village.
[He isn't sure where these things come from - the vague knowledge from a life lived before he was transformed into a monster. It's not quite on a conscious level - if he tries to force it, it slips through his fingers like sand. But the person he used to be is there, deep down inside.]
[ god, talking with the gion gives tony whiplash. simba knows specific boroughs in new york (that's definitely a new york accent) but not action figures? trying to make sense of it spins tony's head around, but he's learned to just go with it.
he's letting himself get distracted. they're on a schedule. tony refocuses on removing the casing. ] And yet, it's probably the best you'll ever get, [ he mumbles, falsely sympathetic. he doesn't think any said joints allow pets inside. ]
Probably, [he agrees with faux cheer. He hasn't even thought about sex in god knows how long. Not like anyone's going to be interested in him like this, and frankly, his brain's so scrambled that he doesn't know what he wants anyway. He tries not to think about it, lest he fall into an endless swamp of self-pity.]
Just let me know if you need more help.
[Because it's better than having more time to dwell on his thoughts, that's for sure.]
[ tony hums, dismissing him with occupied disinterest. eventually the front casing comes off; he sets it down rather than drop it. after that tony walks simba through removing the back, because it's easier with a second person (and also he might feel a little bad for ignoring him). the vambraces and rerebraces tony squeezes his hands through. ]
All right, that's done, [ he says, satisfied at his pile ( which would've been more strewn if not for simba). he looks to the gion. ] I'm gonna wait by the entrance for our guests. You, hide back here. I'll bring the crate back.
[He's used to being disregarded - and, honestly, even more used to being alone - so Tony's silence doesn't bother him. He shows genuine interest when Tony walks him through removing the back casing, though, and he even gives the vertebra-like section an intrigued sort of caress. Apparently, not even lion men are immune to armor porn.]
Can do, [he agrees easily, collecting his pack and sitting down next to the pile of armor.] I won't make a peep.
Good boy. [ tony beams and pats simba on top of his head as he passes by. even in a neoprene one-piece, he swaggers. he prefers handsome or sexy, but he'll accept "pretty" well enough. either way he's attractive and he knows it.
about twenty minutes later, the whipping of helicopter blades sound closer and closer until it fills the cave. simba can't see around the bend, but he can hear tony shouting in greeting over the noise as the blades wind down. there's two other voices, both men, who call him "mr. stark." more noise and conversation, throughout which tony remains charming and smooth, and then the men offer their assistance. tony refuses it.
"as eager as i usually am to get naked," he tells them, purposely loud, "neither of you are my type." a pause. "any sisters, though?"
one of the men laughs (no sisters) while the other becomes protective in a joking-but-not way (one little sister). they allow them to leave and tony yells he'll be a bit as he reenters the cave. he turns the corner, pushing a trolley cart with. on the cart is a large wooden crate, more long than tall, like a coffin, with currently-undone buckles and straps to fasten it down. on top of that rests a neatly folded air force combat uniform.
tony holds a finger over his lips to tell simba to stay quiet. then, he contorts to unzip the neoprene and peel it all the way off, flinging it from his foot, leaving himself in nothing but a red thong. only then does tony slip into the spare fatigues and boots. ]
[He just raises his eyebrows - or what passes for that gesture on a feline face - at Tony's underwear. It seems like the sort of thing that would be more appropriate for burlesque (not that he's seen much of that, he's fairly certain of that) than any man wearing a suit of armor.
But it's not like he hasn't seen entirely naked men before, either, so he's not too concerned by the blatant display of skin in front of him. Instead, while Tony slips into the fatigues, he busies himself with fitting into the crate, holding his bundle close to his chest. He'd prefer to be able to curl up - it's a more reassuring position - but like any cat in a box, in the end, he'll settle for whatever contortion is necessary to make himself fit.]
[ dressed, tony leans over the opened crate with the gion stashed inside. a beat passes where he mentally scans the negative space to fit the armor into. juuust like playing tetris, he muses and lifts his brow. ] Comfy? [ he whispers, then disappears briefly. ] Time to change that.
[ he begins slotting the pieces of the armor into the open spaces around simba, shoving them into the straw. the larger sections he lays more on top, across the legs and body, and the helmet he sets with a grin next to simba's head so that they face each other. lastly, he whispers, ] There ya go, breathe that in, [ and drops in the undersuit. tony heaves the cover back over the crate. ] Hope you don't have to pee, [ he grunts, then pauses and peeks at his charge through the crack. ] I'll try to open it as much as I can, okay? [ he says, sincerely compassionate for all his joking. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Getting ready, [ tony says, distracted as he removes the second pauldron. he drops it without looking (clonk) and digs his bare fingers under the edge of the cuirass at his collarbone, wincing. ] Gonna need you for this part, [ he hisses. ]
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All right. [He steps closer, right up into Tony's personal bubble, but doesn't reach out to touch just yet.]
What am I supposed to do?
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You didn't have to get naked at the first opportunity, you know. You could wait for the honeymoon.
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[But, obediently, he holds onto the back of the cuirass.]
Let me know if you need me to pull anything, [he offers helpfully. He's good at pulling!]
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All right, I got it from here, [ tony grunts, despite removing everything normally being the task of a large automated machine. he begins manually loosening the plackart around his stomach and waist. ]
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You decide to go all King Arthur or something when you built this?
[He remembers fiction more easily than he does his own life - in this case, books read when he was younger, one of the few things that could keep him occupied when he was stuck in bed.]
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tony sighs, pausing the removal. ] I used to make weapons, [ he admits. ] Decided I didn't want to anymore, so ... I made armor. [ silence settles in. to busy his hands he twists one last thing. with a loud clunk the plackart comes free. the lower back of the armor shifts, too, the bits that are modeled like vertebrae whirring and lifting out. tony flips the plackart around so that the red gleams back at him, his reflection vague and shadowy. nothing interrupts him, and he can't bring himself to look back at simba yet, so he continues, his voice lifting with pride, ] And now I protect people. Best decision I've ever made. [ finally, he cranes his head around and catches simba in the dark. his smile looks genuine. ] Not that the bar was ever that high.
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Armor's a better choice, [he agrees softly. He thinks of the shield tucked away in the pack. He'd protected people once, before they'd turned him into a killing machine. Now the best he can manage is keeping people safe passively, by staying away from them.] Anyone can kill people. The real work is in protecting them.
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[Sorry, all of his human-specific concepts are extremely dated.]
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Like a doll?
[l o l]
I don't see a rocket launcher.
[He doesn't even try to look at the suit again. He's familiar with the concept of shoulder-fired missiles - barely - but as a separate entity, not anything that could be contained in the suit.]
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[ :| ]
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[Drawled sarcastically in that Brooklyn accent again. Something in the sound of his own voice sparks a memory, a man with a quick smile and dark hair slicked back with pomade, wearing a crisp military uniform. The memory bursts like a bubble, like they always do, and he's left with nothing. He huffs, exasperated by his own fickle mind.]
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This sure ain't a joint in Harlem. Or maybe the Village.
[He isn't sure where these things come from - the vague knowledge from a life lived before he was transformed into a monster. It's not quite on a conscious level - if he tries to force it, it slips through his fingers like sand. But the person he used to be is there, deep down inside.]
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he's letting himself get distracted. they're on a schedule. tony refocuses on removing the casing. ] And yet, it's probably the best you'll ever get, [ he mumbles, falsely sympathetic. he doesn't think any said joints allow pets inside. ]
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Just let me know if you need more help.
[Because it's better than having more time to dwell on his thoughts, that's for sure.]
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All right, that's done, [ he says, satisfied at his pile ( which would've been more strewn if not for simba). he looks to the gion. ] I'm gonna wait by the entrance for our guests. You, hide back here. I'll bring the crate back.
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Can do, [he agrees easily, collecting his pack and sitting down next to the pile of armor.] I won't make a peep.
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about twenty minutes later, the whipping of helicopter blades sound closer and closer until it fills the cave. simba can't see around the bend, but he can hear tony shouting in greeting over the noise as the blades wind down. there's two other voices, both men, who call him "mr. stark." more noise and conversation, throughout which tony remains charming and smooth, and then the men offer their assistance. tony refuses it.
"as eager as i usually am to get naked," he tells them, purposely loud, "neither of you are my type." a pause. "any sisters, though?"
one of the men laughs (no sisters) while the other becomes protective in a joking-but-not way (one little sister). they allow them to leave and tony yells he'll be a bit as he reenters the cave. he turns the corner, pushing a trolley cart with. on the cart is a large wooden crate, more long than tall, like a coffin, with currently-undone buckles and straps to fasten it down. on top of that rests a neatly folded air force combat uniform.
tony holds a finger over his lips to tell simba to stay quiet. then, he contorts to unzip the neoprene and peel it all the way off, flinging it from his foot, leaving himself in nothing but a red thong. only then does tony slip into the spare fatigues and boots. ]
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But it's not like he hasn't seen entirely naked men before, either, so he's not too concerned by the blatant display of skin in front of him. Instead, while Tony slips into the fatigues, he busies himself with fitting into the crate, holding his bundle close to his chest. He'd prefer to be able to curl up - it's a more reassuring position - but like any cat in a box, in the end, he'll settle for whatever contortion is necessary to make himself fit.]
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[ he begins slotting the pieces of the armor into the open spaces around simba, shoving them into the straw. the larger sections he lays more on top, across the legs and body, and the helmet he sets with a grin next to simba's head so that they face each other. lastly, he whispers, ] There ya go, breathe that in, [ and drops in the undersuit. tony heaves the cover back over the crate. ] Hope you don't have to pee, [ he grunts, then pauses and peeks at his charge through the crack. ] I'll try to open it as much as I can, okay? [ he says, sincerely compassionate for all his joking. ]
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