[ tony frowns and follows after him, leaning into simba's space like a bloodhound who caught the scent, while belle and the restored prince twirl around the ballroom floor. ] I thought you said you didn't remember.
[His memory is like one of the shirts he'd had, more hole than fabric, but there are a few things he's sure of, and his humanity is one of them. His mother - the knowledge that he'd had a mother who loved him more than anything - is another. He can't remember her name or her face, can't remember any moments with her, but her love for him is a certainty that can't be erased.
He remembers the war - it's impossible to forget something like that - but in bits and pieces, flashes of fights, moments of unearthly quiet on empty battlefields, those fleeting feelings of camaraderie and surprising happiness in between going through hell. He remembers her, olive drab and red lips and soft brown curls.
And there are a thousand things that are simply subconscious - like knowing Rosebud was the sled, like the taste of New York pizza, the drawl of his accent. The knowledge from his life, but curiously unchained from the experiences he's had. He can't explain that.]
[ tony's on simba's heels all the way into the kitchen, where he slips around to the gion's front and leans his hands on the counter to peer straight up into simba's face, scrutinizing his expression. there are answers here. tony can practically taste them, though that might be the pizza and beer. ] The whole, [ he loosely circles a hand around his own temple, ] just outta-reach thing?
[Or something like it, with a healthy dose of denial, the knowledge that his guilt will weigh even heavier when he remembers more about who he used to be.]
Incidentally, if your pizza's gone tomorrow, I had nothing to do with it.
[ tony squints once more and backs off. fine. keep your secrets. he knows a subject change when he hears one. ] Oh, good. I'd hate to experience that kind of betrayal from my housemate.
Thanks for the pizza and the movie. Good luck on your date tomorrow night. Don't forget to use protection.
[The caution comes to his lips automatically, his tone somewhere between affection and exasperation, and he blinks for a moment at the familiarity. It feels like there's something missing, some smart-ass rejoinder on the other end, and for reasons he doesn't quite understand, his heart aches with loss. He closes his eyes briefly, long lashes brushing against furred cheeks.]
And wish me luck with that turkey. Jarvis said he'd help, so I assume he'll keep me from setting the place on fire.
[ having his most plausible theory of simba's origins shot down means tony's back to square one, but he also recognizes when he's being shooed away, which is ... fine. created by humans still makes the most sense. there's also the idea that simba was born human, lived as a human, and was altered at some point, but live splicing of that nature is so scientifically ahead of their time it might as well be impossible. tony would sooner believe in a secret society of gions that simba was spirited away from. yet his dad's quote nags at him. what if that infinitesimal degree of probability with more zeroes than anything else actually happened?
simba doesn't seem open to playing twenty questions. the suit needs some maintenance, anyway. ] He tries his best, bless his code, [ tony mumbles about jarvis, pushing off the counter. ] I'll catch you later. [ he leaves for the hallway, but exclaims, ] Oh! [ in it and spins back around. ] Toilet ETA two to three days. Pants two weeks. Keep rockin' the white skirt, Marilyn.
[As Tony heads off to his workshop, he goes back to his room and returns to his makeshift nest. He's raided a couple other guest bedrooms to add some more padding to it, but otherwise seems content to sleep on the floor, if only because it doesn't have the weird quicksand feeling of the bed.
For a moment, he glances at the closet where he has the shield hidden away, but he pushes it from his mind and resolutely settles in to sleep.]
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[His memory is like one of the shirts he'd had, more hole than fabric, but there are a few things he's sure of, and his humanity is one of them. His mother - the knowledge that he'd had a mother who loved him more than anything - is another. He can't remember her name or her face, can't remember any moments with her, but her love for him is a certainty that can't be erased.
He remembers the war - it's impossible to forget something like that - but in bits and pieces, flashes of fights, moments of unearthly quiet on empty battlefields, those fleeting feelings of camaraderie and surprising happiness in between going through hell. He remembers her, olive drab and red lips and soft brown curls.
And there are a thousand things that are simply subconscious - like knowing Rosebud was the sled, like the taste of New York pizza, the drawl of his accent. The knowledge from his life, but curiously unchained from the experiences he's had. He can't explain that.]
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[Or something like it, with a healthy dose of denial, the knowledge that his guilt will weigh even heavier when he remembers more about who he used to be.]
Incidentally, if your pizza's gone tomorrow, I had nothing to do with it.
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[A sage nod, and he clasps Tony's shoulder.]
Thanks for the pizza and the movie. Good luck on your date tomorrow night. Don't forget to use protection.
[The caution comes to his lips automatically, his tone somewhere between affection and exasperation, and he blinks for a moment at the familiarity. It feels like there's something missing, some smart-ass rejoinder on the other end, and for reasons he doesn't quite understand, his heart aches with loss. He closes his eyes briefly, long lashes brushing against furred cheeks.]
And wish me luck with that turkey. Jarvis said he'd help, so I assume he'll keep me from setting the place on fire.
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simba doesn't seem open to playing twenty questions. the suit needs some maintenance, anyway. ] He tries his best, bless his code, [ tony mumbles about jarvis, pushing off the counter. ] I'll catch you later. [ he leaves for the hallway, but exclaims, ] Oh! [ in it and spins back around. ] Toilet ETA two to three days. Pants two weeks. Keep rockin' the white skirt, Marilyn.
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[As Tony heads off to his workshop, he goes back to his room and returns to his makeshift nest. He's raided a couple other guest bedrooms to add some more padding to it, but otherwise seems content to sleep on the floor, if only because it doesn't have the weird quicksand feeling of the bed.
For a moment, he glances at the closet where he has the shield hidden away, but he pushes it from his mind and resolutely settles in to sleep.]