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. ]
What if the reason is simple camaraderie? [ tony says with an imploring smile and his big eyes. he upturns his palms in supplication like come onnn, drinking's more enjoyable with a buddy. ]
Attaboy, [ tony says, smirking softly. he mixes the drink with surprisingly little flourish. for all his talk, he's not playing the infamous party host tonight–just a guy making his buddy a drink. ]
[he gestures to the painting again. Come on, Tony, he agreed to a drink.]
The black lines don't have as many brushstrokes as the other parts of the painting - they're left to be simple and boring. The white parts, on the other hand, are constructed of layers of brushstrokes in different directions. It draws the eye and gives the painting a depth you wouldn't imagine from a simple canvas.
Huh, [ tony hums, idly stirring the mixture and ice and watching simba during his critique. he tilts his head toward the painting for a quick glance, because surprise, surprise, he hadn't noticed any of that, but it doesn't last long enough for him to have really taken anything in. instead, tony smiles again at the gion, a little coy. ] I guess I'm just naturally drawn to things with hidden depths. [ finished stirring, he taps the spoon on the rim–ting, ting–and holds simba's gaze for just a beat too long, until tony blinks, clears his throat, and reaches to prepare simba's glass, breaking the connection.
that was harmless. it's completely innocent to be feel drawn to someone you find interesting. simba is a lion-man who saved his life, after all. who wouldn't be drawn to someone like that? ]
[That feeling in the depths of his stomach tightens again for just a moment at Tony's smile - but he's just playing, he tells himself. He has to be.
Though it's not visible, he feels a blush warm his fur-covered cheeks, and when Tony breaks the look between them, he glances down and away shyly. His tail twitches restlessly around his ankles.]
You know what they say, opposites attract, [he quips, perfectly deadpan.]
Ouch. [ tony feigns hurt, wincing as he pours simba's martini and garnishes it with a chilled slice of lemon. ] But fair. I won't argue. [ the hurt look instantly replaced by his normal unmoved confidence, he pushes the glass across. ] Try to savor that, would you?
[He drops it readily enough - he has no intention of cruelly needling Tony - and takes the glass carefully, pinching the stem between thumb and forefinger. Instead of drinking like a human as he normally does, he laps at the glass with only the tip of his bright pink tongue. He's sure he looks ridiculous, but this is the easiest way for him to drink small quantities.]
Hidden depths. [ tony shoots him a cheeky, unapologetic grin. he sucks at the lemon slice, his cheeks hollowing, before he hooks it onto the glass he poured for himself. ]
[His gaze is drawn to the way Tony sucks on the lemon slice, the way his cheeks hollow, and-
He doesn't remember being attracted to men before, but that doesn't mean it isn't possible. Of course, it could just be because he's finding himself with any sort of companionship for the first time in decades, or because he finally has the leisure to focus on something other than surviving in the wilderness. Whatever the case, he just...doesn't want to think about it.]
Hm. [He's careful to keep any alcohol from sloshing over the rim as hs laps.] It's different, that's for sure.
[ glass in hand, tony hops up onto a stool next to simba and leans his elbows back on the counter. ] Sometimes I like it sweet. [ he takes a sip and then waves to the game tables. ] You play?
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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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Never liked the taste. And since it doesn't do anything for me, there's no real reason, I guess.
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All right, fine, make me one of your martinis.
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[he gestures to the painting again. Come on, Tony, he agreed to a drink.]
The black lines don't have as many brushstrokes as the other parts of the painting - they're left to be simple and boring. The white parts, on the other hand, are constructed of layers of brushstrokes in different directions. It draws the eye and gives the painting a depth you wouldn't imagine from a simple canvas.
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that was harmless. it's completely innocent to be feel drawn to someone you find interesting. simba is a lion-man who saved his life, after all. who wouldn't be drawn to someone like that? ]
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Though it's not visible, he feels a blush warm his fur-covered cheeks, and when Tony breaks the look between them, he glances down and away shyly. His tail twitches restlessly around his ankles.]
You know what they say, opposites attract, [he quips, perfectly deadpan.]
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So what am I supposed to be appreciating here?
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He doesn't remember being attracted to men before, but that doesn't mean it isn't possible. Of course, it could just be because he's finding himself with any sort of companionship for the first time in decades, or because he finally has the leisure to focus on something other than surviving in the wilderness. Whatever the case, he just...doesn't want to think about it.]
Hm. [He's careful to keep any alcohol from sloshing over the rim as hs laps.] It's different, that's for sure.
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