[ tony has lead him to the bedroom opposite of the one whose windows overlook the pool. people (pepper) are less likely to try to enter it. he lingers in the door frame and sips more coffee. ] Lie down and find out.
[ better than a rock and grass, at any rate, tony drawls mentally, remembering the bed in simba's den. from here he should check if simba's comfortable, and then, provided that, head down to the workshop and finish his checklist. he should, but ... that look in simba's eyes, the one from the poolside and again in the kitchen. that look has imprinted onto his memory. tony wants to attribute some deeper meaning or emotion to it than plain kindness, some reason or–or ulterior motive, maybe, and if he watches simba closely enough he could catch a slip-up, an indication before it's too late and he's left with even more holes in his chest–
no, that's ... that's not true. simba doesn't play things that way. he'd probably be a terrible liar like pepper, too. tony's just tired. letting his eyes shut, he tips back the mug and swallows like he's emptying a glass of alcohol. ]
I still think you look like you need this more than I do, [he quips, gesturing to the bed. It's true, though; Tony looks exhausted, like he's running on fumes, and he feels the instinctive need to take care of him.]
[ tony allows himself a second more of eyes closed after he polishes off his coffee. then, whatever needy trance that held him broken, he says, ] That one's yours. I'll get in mine soon enough. You good here?
[ of course he does. tony opens his mouth, but he can't muster up the energy to wisecrack or even his curiosity about what's in the pack, so he just mutters, "okay," turns to the hallway, back the way they came, and walks. the trek there he gives succinct, blunt answers to anything simba says, and if simba runs ahead, he'll find he's locked out of the workshop; the sealed glass-paneled door won't budge. it's the one area in the house he doesn't have free access to.
once tony arrives, he easily opens it. he seems to stand a little taller inside, like he's finally found fresh air despite the faint smell of metal and oil. he leaves the empty mug on a table. ] Okay, grab it and go. Daddy's got work.
[He stops in the middle of stooping to pick up his pack to give Tony a strange look, then shakes his head. Never mind, he doesn't want to know.]
Tell me you're going to go to bed soon. [He cradles the pack in his arms as he turns to look at Tony, and there's concern in his eyes. Tony might be more energetic now, but he still needs sleep.]
[ tony's already at the table where the armor has been laid out in pieces, the larger sections leaning against the legs. he picks up the cuirass and inspects it. ] Uh-huh. [ muttered: ] Back to fabrication with you.
[He's pretty sure he doesn't believe that, but there's not much he can do about it short of pinning Tony down and sleeping on top of him. So instead, he shrugs and heads back up to his room.
First, he tucks the pack away in a corner of the closet, then swaps his towel for the sheet Tony gave him. With everything in order, he squeezes onto the bed in a curled up ball, but he can't get comfortable; first he pushes the entire bed up against the wall so he has the feeling of being surrounded on one side, like he's used to. It's better, but still not enough, and it takes him far too long to realize that the bed is too soft. He feels like he's sinking into the mattress, like it's quicksand - and while he can see where it would be considered comfortable, for someone who's not used to sleeping in a bed at all, it's smothering.
With a sigh, he moves the bed back into place and pulls the blankets and pillows off. A closet in the room yields a couple more blankets, and while it's not as thick as his nest of grass, it's a damn sight better than the bare concrete in Siberia. He nestles into the soft bedding, marveling at the feeling of an actual pillow under his head (well, part of his head), and finally drifts off to sleep.]
[ "good morning," jarvis's pleasant british voice sounds out hours later once sunlight has brightened the house. "it's 7am. the weather in malibu is..." he continues factually on about the temperature, the high and low, the cloud cover and surfing conditions. after that, his morning report to the two waking occupants in the house differs: downstairs, simba gets notified of jarvis's assistance in navigating around visitors, and also that he has yet to set his home preferences (alarms, room temperatures, lighting, preferred tv channels and websites, etc). meanwhile upstairs, tony, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, is told that miss potts is preparing breakfast.
so the day begins. the gion hears from tony only through jarvis. he'll be back tonight, jarvis says. the woman named pepper potts stays around the house, mostly in the eastern wings. at one point, outside simba's closed door, he can hear her and another man passing through the opposite bedroom. "–bits of straw and hair floating all over the pool," he's saying. her response is a steadfastly professional, "i find it best not to ask," before their voices and footsteps fade away again. finally in the late afternoon jarvis tells simba of her leaving and that there's a delivery of meat stocked in the now-crowded fridge: cuts of steak, a ham, and a turkey.
night rolls around. tony returns alone dressed in a full suit and tie, which he pulls loose the moment he's inside. ] Honey, I'm home! [ he calls out. "welcome home, sir," jarvis answers, but for once he isn't the honey tony meant. ]
[He blinks awake at the smooth British voice, reminds himself of Tony's...whatever. Invisible butler. "Too goddamn early," is the only preference he offers. "In fact, don't give me any alarms unless I ask for them." He hesitates, and then adds a "Please," because he doesn't want to come across as too brusque. But that doesn't keep him from rolling over and going back to sleep until Jarvis tells him it's safe to come out. He makes a few steaks and wolfs them down, then eyes the turkey. It looks complicated. Maybe Tony will have a better idea of what to do with it.
After that, he paces around the house, as much for something to do as anything else. At one point, he sprawls out on the faux fur rug in the living room and takes a nap in the late afternoon sunlight that slants across the floor.
When Tony comes home, he's cutting slices off the ham - still cold - and eating them. As big as the ham is, he's already demolished over half of it, and he doesn't show any signs of stopping.]
[ tony enters the kitchen stripped down to his slacks and shirt, cuffs and top button undone, and his dress shoes replaced with sneakers. some rogue bangs have loosened from his hairstyle and his face is flushed from a wash. ] I know that it takes too long, [ he answers easily, making for the fridge. he pauses, the door opened, then holds out a grabby hand at a slice of the smoked ham. he looks expectant. ]
[He takes Tony's look in and, for a second, forgets all about turkeys, and nearly forgets about the ham. Then he remembers what he's doing and neatly cuts a slice off, proffering it briefly on the point of the knife before he pulls it back.]
Where are your manners? Say please.
[Yes, Tony's being lectured about manners by a guy who spent decades living in a cave.]
[ tony narrows his eyes when teased, more assessing than angry. when that passes he tilts his head, looking at simba from the corner of his eyes, too prideful to bend. ] I'm not begging for table scraps. Gimme.
[He just snorts and extends the slice again. At least he's asking - sort of - instead of wordlessly demanding. That's probably about as good as he's going to get (and, to be fair, he's a guest in Tony's home, he shouldn't expect anything). But also-]
You this nice to all your guests?
[Also, he can't help being sassy, even though he knows damn well Tony's gone above and beyond to accommodate his needs.]
[ tony snatches the slice with a triumphant "thank you" and folds it whole into his mouth. even chewing and his mouth full, he shoots simba a closed, smug grin. sorry, can't answer, enjoying his victory ham. ]
[ tony's smile softens at the second offering. he takes it, but also signals a time-out while he chews and prepares a sandwich using the second slice. as he rummages in the fridge, the day's tension seeps out of him. there's no board member to argue with, no marketing plan to approve, no ten rings encampment to blast apart (wouldn't mind one, though). just the world's weirdest, most platonic roommate/sugar baby ever–which reminds him, he really needs to get that girlfriend. he should call up lina again. she's cute. he likes her.
tony swallows, finally. ] Whaz the... oh, yeah. Every couple days? Just until I find a supplier. Then we'll see about the long-term. [ he presses his finished ham sandwich together. ]
[Also, he's definitely finishing the ham right now. He takes his dirty dishes to the sink and starts running water to wash them, making a slight face at the prospect of having to dry his fur yet again. Washing dishes, as it turns out, is kind of annoying when you have paws.]
Gotta admit, it's a lot easier having the whole thing cut up and ready to cook. [He turns his head and gives Tony a wry smile.] I'm not much of a butcher, I'm afraid.
[ tony starts when he finds the platter empty and the ham gone. he estimated the amount to buy based on quick research, even ordered a bit more to be safe, but all that's really left after just a few hours is the turkey. okay, so simba's got calories to catch up on. tony'll order more in the next batch, and order it tonight, too. pepper will look at him funny (and also with the silent judgment of a healthy eater) for this "new diet" he's trying, especially when the meat vanishes faster than humanly possible, but she's a good girl. she won't pry.
he collects himself quickly. ] Hn. Well, [ tony claps simba on the shoulder, ] welcome back to human comforts. Speaking of which, what're you doing? Just leave that in the washer. It'll take care of it. [ to the room: ] JARVIS? Gimme news, [ he orders and bites into his sandwich. across the kitchen, on the windows, a screen like a TV pops up with a reporter talking about president-elect matthew ellis's cabinet choices, the volume mostly used as background noise. ]
[He looks a little bewildered by Tony's instructions, but opens the dishwasher - which he can only identify because Tony pointed it out last night - and puts the dishes inside. That's how it works, right? As he stands up, he catches a glimpse of the projection on the window. He's seen movies in color before, obviously, but newsreels? Not so much.]
No projector. JARVIS can display T.V. on all applicable surfaces, which are chiefly the windows, [ tony explains idly as he munches and watches. the news story switches then to the continuing piracy off the coast of somalia threatening fishers and international shipping alike. tony stands up straighter, his eyes sharpening. ]
Yup. Volume up ten notches. [ the sound grows louder, enough to fill the room. tony takes a slow bite of his sandwich, eyes glued to the news story with the quiet intensity of a man planning to Do Something. ]
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Fancy.
[And when he pulls it away, there's still a pawprint on the mattress before it slooooowly regains its shape.]
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no, that's ... that's not true. simba doesn't play things that way. he'd probably be a terrible liar like pepper, too. tony's just tired. letting his eyes shut, he tips back the mug and swallows like he's emptying a glass of alcohol. ]
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I need to get my pack from the basement.
[He looks like he's going to dash out of the room right now, except Tony's in the way.]
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once tony arrives, he easily opens it. he seems to stand a little taller inside, like he's finally found fresh air despite the faint smell of metal and oil. he leaves the empty mug on a table. ] Okay, grab it and go. Daddy's got work.
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[He stops in the middle of stooping to pick up his pack to give Tony a strange look, then shakes his head. Never mind, he doesn't want to know.]
Tell me you're going to go to bed soon. [He cradles the pack in his arms as he turns to look at Tony, and there's concern in his eyes. Tony might be more energetic now, but he still needs sleep.]
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First, he tucks the pack away in a corner of the closet, then swaps his towel for the sheet Tony gave him. With everything in order, he squeezes onto the bed in a curled up ball, but he can't get comfortable; first he pushes the entire bed up against the wall so he has the feeling of being surrounded on one side, like he's used to. It's better, but still not enough, and it takes him far too long to realize that the bed is too soft. He feels like he's sinking into the mattress, like it's quicksand - and while he can see where it would be considered comfortable, for someone who's not used to sleeping in a bed at all, it's smothering.
With a sigh, he moves the bed back into place and pulls the blankets and pillows off. A closet in the room yields a couple more blankets, and while it's not as thick as his nest of grass, it's a damn sight better than the bare concrete in Siberia. He nestles into the soft bedding, marveling at the feeling of an actual pillow under his head (well, part of his head), and finally drifts off to sleep.]
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so the day begins. the gion hears from tony only through jarvis. he'll be back tonight, jarvis says. the woman named pepper potts stays around the house, mostly in the eastern wings. at one point, outside simba's closed door, he can hear her and another man passing through the opposite bedroom. "–bits of straw and hair floating all over the pool," he's saying. her response is a steadfastly professional, "i find it best not to ask," before their voices and footsteps fade away again. finally in the late afternoon jarvis tells simba of her leaving and that there's a delivery of meat stocked in the now-crowded fridge: cuts of steak, a ham, and a turkey.
night rolls around. tony returns alone dressed in a full suit and tie, which he pulls loose the moment he's inside. ] Honey, I'm home! [ he calls out. "welcome home, sir," jarvis answers, but for once he isn't the honey tony meant. ]
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After that, he paces around the house, as much for something to do as anything else. At one point, he sprawls out on the faux fur rug in the living room and takes a nap in the late afternoon sunlight that slants across the floor.
When Tony comes home, he's cutting slices off the ham - still cold - and eating them. As big as the ham is, he's already demolished over half of it, and he doesn't show any signs of stopping.]
What do you know about cooking turkey?
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Where are your manners? Say please.
[Yes, Tony's being lectured about manners by a guy who spent decades living in a cave.]
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You this nice to all your guests?
[Also, he can't help being sassy, even though he knows damn well Tony's gone above and beyond to accommodate his needs.]
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How often are you planning on getting meat delivered? Just so I know.
[Because he's already worked his way through a decent amount of this delivery, barring the turkey.]
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tony swallows, finally. ] Whaz the... oh, yeah. Every couple days? Just until I find a supplier. Then we'll see about the long-term. [ he presses his finished ham sandwich together. ]
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[Also, he's definitely finishing the ham right now. He takes his dirty dishes to the sink and starts running water to wash them, making a slight face at the prospect of having to dry his fur yet again. Washing dishes, as it turns out, is kind of annoying when you have paws.]
Gotta admit, it's a lot easier having the whole thing cut up and ready to cook. [He turns his head and gives Tony a wry smile.] I'm not much of a butcher, I'm afraid.
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he collects himself quickly. ] Hn. Well, [ tony claps simba on the shoulder, ] welcome back to human comforts. Speaking of which, what're you doing? Just leave that in the washer. It'll take care of it. [ to the room: ] JARVIS? Gimme news, [ he orders and bites into his sandwich. across the kitchen, on the windows, a screen like a TV pops up with a reporter talking about president-elect matthew ellis's cabinet choices, the volume mostly used as background noise. ]
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[He looks a little bewildered by Tony's instructions, but opens the dishwasher - which he can only identify because Tony pointed it out last night - and puts the dishes inside. That's how it works, right? As he stands up, he catches a glimpse of the projection on the window. He's seen movies in color before, obviously, but newsreels? Not so much.]
Where's the screen? And the projector?
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[Although he's not sure he's going to get an answer, judging by the way Tony's paying attention to what's happening on the screen.]
That's happening now? It's not like a newsreel or something?
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