I beat up terrorists, too. [ tony carries a glass of whiskey in each hand to the bed. he sits down sidesaddle and offers one glass. ] One time I even picked up a stray cat.
And now you have fur everywhere and more meat than you can handle.
[He takes the glass and drinks it in a couple of swallows - which is probably a shame, because he's sure the alcohol is more expensive than anything he's ever had. There's a scrap of memory, a dark night, the wreckage of a building.]
I can't get drunk.
[Not that he thinks that's what Tony is trying to do, it's just a piece of information that's bubbled to the surface of his mind. He remembers drinking before, when one beer would leave him dizzy and puking everywhere. Now it just...doesn't do anything.]
[ getting drunk isn't the goal, no; this is just to wet his whistle. tony swallows the sip sitting on his tongue to frown and tilt his head at simba properly. ] Like, physically or ... morally?
[ after a speculative gaze, tony leans back on one hand, settling in and sipping as they speak. ] There goes my dream of seeing you become a wild party animal, I guess.
[ tony's eyes chance over. they catch on simba's exposed chest and stomach and arms and–they dart away to somewhere safe out the windows. ] Is that a suggestion for right now, because it's a great one, [ tony says. he nods. ] Let's do it. [ suddenly, he drains his glass, tilting his head farther and farther back, his adam's apple lurching with every consecutive swallow. ]
[Maybe he should say something - but Tony's an adult, and it's not his place to lecture him on his choices. Besides, his gaze is drawn to the line of Tony's neck when he tilts his head back, the shadow of stubble under his chin where the edges of the goatee blur.]
I don't think it counts if you're the only one partying, [is all he offers.]
Good thing I won't be, then, [ tony gasps around the burn. clearing his throat, he stands and pops an ice cube from his glass into his mouth. he sucks on it in one cheek. ] You're comin' with.
No, no, I think we've established that I'm not a partier. [He holds a hand up in protest, tries to ignore the distracting way the ice cube bulges in Tony's cheek.]
[ tony returns both glasses to the counter, but refills his and answers, ] Party Town. Population, you 'n me. [ he stops at the door, still sucking on his cube-filled cheek. ] C'mon, I'll make you deputy mayor.
Only if I end up incapacitated, [ tony says, smirking, and heads for the nearby spiral staircase, assuming simba will follow. he crunches the ice cube into nothing as he trots downstairs. ]
[He waits at the top of the staircase for a moment, till Tony's nearly at the bottom, then jumps and lands gracefully in front of him. Is he a troll? Just a little bit.]
So holding your head up while you puke. Duly noted.
[ tony startles soundlessly and then closes his eyes, sighing. first at the pool, and now here. ] Could you maybe reel in the jump scares? I already got a heart condition.
Good man. Now scooch, I'm comin' through. [ tony expects simba to be the one to move, so he steps right on down and breezes past him the moment he does, retaking the lead and talking while they walk. ] So, what do you find fun, besides giving the world's only living superhero heart attacks?
[And he does move aside, falling in with Tony as he starts walking again.]
Reading and watching movies, mostly. I like art. Baseball. [Neither of which are feasible these days, and he doesn't expect Tony to go out back and toss a ball to him. He's always watched - or listened, actually - more than he's played, though.]
[ pepper likes art, too, on a deeper level than tony, who collects it more like a crow collects shiny trinkets. (he has the money, so why not?) he can use that common thread to humanize simba once he ... eventually ... reveals the gion to her. ] Eh, I prefer sports where no one can call "safe." Safe tends to get boring. This room, on the other hand... [ tony swerves to a closed door and its access panel, which flashes green at his touch.
groupings of pendant lamps turn on, courtesy of jarvis, when they enter, spotlighting the billiards, foosball, and ping-pong tables lined up in the center. a full bar with black countertop, matching stools, and stocked glass shelves is to the right; and against the far wall, on a lower split level, surrounded by speakers disguised as modern art statues, is the largest TV in the whole house, a long beige couch in front of it. the room is decorated similar to the rest of the mansion–an abstract painting hanging on the bar wall, a potted plant here and there–and in an alcove around a column, hidden from sight, stand three colorful arcade machines.
tony, naturally, walks to the bar first while proudly pointing at the TV. ] Imagine watching a game on that monster. You'll be able to see the gradient on each players' pit stains.
[He feels a little silly. For some reason, his mind had gone to seeing games in person, crowded into the cheap seats and squinting at the field, the electrifying sensation of being part of something bigger than yourself. He used to tune into games on the radio more often than he watched them, of course, but he still remembers shelling peanuts and dropping the hulls on the concrete. It's strange how vivid his memories can be when he still can't picture the people in the stands with him, can't remember details.
He's drawn to the painting above the bar, and he steps closer to examine it. He can't remember the artist's name - goddamn details slipping through his fingers again - but he remembers the style, even if he's never personally done much abstract work.]
I like this. [He gestures to the painting.] The brush strokes are different in each part, did you notice?
[ behind the bar counter, tony gulps down the remainder of his scotch (waste not) and grabs a martini glass from the shelves. he's hankering for something sweet. ] Oh, totally. Brush strokes, yeah, [ he says without looking. ]
[Even someone who's been living in a cave for decades can tell when Tony's not interested in what he's talking about. Maybe he'll get Jarvis to bring him up to speed on art later; at least the AI is better at politely listening.]
I used to listen to games on the radio. Couldn't hear the sweat stains then.
[ tony takes one of the chilled mixers from the beverage cooler and then peruses the many bottles filling it. where's his favorite sweet vermouth? ] I thought we were talking about brush strokes.
[ tony tosses him one of the plastic bottles and returns to shuffling through the cooler. ] Sure you don't want something with a little more kick? I make a mean martini, [ he cajoles lightly. discovering his prize, tony sets his gathered supplies, plus the vodka he pulls from beneath the counter, down in front of simba like a magician readying his card trick. ]
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[He takes the glass and drinks it in a couple of swallows - which is probably a shame, because he's sure the alcohol is more expensive than anything he's ever had. There's a scrap of memory, a dark night, the wreckage of a building.]
I can't get drunk.
[Not that he thinks that's what Tony is trying to do, it's just a piece of information that's bubbled to the surface of his mind. He remembers drinking before, when one beer would leave him dizzy and puking everywhere. Now it just...doesn't do anything.]
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[It's something to do with science, but pretty much everything in his life has something to do with science somehow. That's not really saying much.]
I'm sure it's good alcohol, though.
[Even if he doesn't really know what kind it is.]
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[He pushes himself up enough to put the glass down on the nightstand, then settles back on his side instead of loafing again.]
You'll just have to party enough for the both of us.
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I don't think it counts if you're the only one partying, [is all he offers.]
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Where are we going?
[He's starting to look a little concerned here.]
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Hope the position doesn't come with too many responsibilities.
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So holding your head up while you puke. Duly noted.
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[His gaze drifts to the arc reactor in Tony's chest. He doesn't think it's anything to do with his heart, but he'll humor him.]
Sorry. Won't do it again.
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Reading and watching movies, mostly. I like art. Baseball. [Neither of which are feasible these days, and he doesn't expect Tony to go out back and toss a ball to him. He's always watched - or listened, actually - more than he's played, though.]
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groupings of pendant lamps turn on, courtesy of jarvis, when they enter, spotlighting the billiards, foosball, and ping-pong tables lined up in the center. a full bar with black countertop, matching stools, and stocked glass shelves is to the right; and against the far wall, on a lower split level, surrounded by speakers disguised as modern art statues, is the largest TV in the whole house, a long beige couch in front of it. the room is decorated similar to the rest of the mansion–an abstract painting hanging on the bar wall, a potted plant here and there–and in an alcove around a column, hidden from sight, stand three colorful arcade machines.
tony, naturally, walks to the bar first while proudly pointing at the TV. ] Imagine watching a game on that monster. You'll be able to see the gradient on each players' pit stains.
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[He feels a little silly. For some reason, his mind had gone to seeing games in person, crowded into the cheap seats and squinting at the field, the electrifying sensation of being part of something bigger than yourself. He used to tune into games on the radio more often than he watched them, of course, but he still remembers shelling peanuts and dropping the hulls on the concrete. It's strange how vivid his memories can be when he still can't picture the people in the stands with him, can't remember details.
He's drawn to the painting above the bar, and he steps closer to examine it. He can't remember the artist's name - goddamn details slipping through his fingers again - but he remembers the style, even if he's never personally done much abstract work.]
I like this. [He gestures to the painting.] The brush strokes are different in each part, did you notice?
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I used to listen to games on the radio. Couldn't hear the sweat stains then.
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You didn't seem interested, so I went back to sports.
[He doesn't sound offended or irritated - he doesn't expect Tony to be interested in everything he talks about - he's just stating a fact.]
Can I have a bottle of water?
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