[He sits down and starts in on his own plate, which is thankfully vegetable-free. With his fork and knife, he's able to cut his meat into pieces and pick them up - even if bite-size for him is still considerably larger than it would be for a normal human.]
I guess I won't be starting that career as a comedian anytime soon.
[ tony follows suit in cutting his meat, albeit into smaller pieces (though still a mouthful for him). ] Sorry to dash your dreams. But there could yet be other opportunities for you out there. [ sounds encouraging. what's the catch? ] Maybe something about physical prowess, like sports, or just ... being a team mascot. [ and there it is with a soft, teasing smirk. thoughtfully to himself: ] Don't the Kings use a cat?
[ "slamson the lion, sir," jarvis chimes in.
without a beat missed tony happily spreads his arms, knife and fork and all, as if to say, "there ya have it. perfect. social integration achieved." not that he's pushing for that. ]
A mascot, [he echoes, and for a moment, he remembers being on stage, feeling powerless to do anything real to help, like nothing more than a- well, a circus animal.
No, it's not something he wants to revisit.]
I'm fine here.
[There's a finality to his tone like that's the end of the discussion.]
[ simba isn't ribbing him back. must've hit a sore spot. ] Yeah, yeah. Your hermit thing. [ tony returns to his plate, but throws out in a sassy mutter, ] Though you exposed yourself to me–a couple times literally–and that hasn't turned out too bad.
[He's under no illusion that Tony would have taken him in without his altruism paving the way first. It's not any judgement of Tony's kindness, but his own outlook on the world and how he expects them to react to someone who's little better than an animal.]
[ a small, secretive smile. ] See? You're great at first impressions, [ tony says and shovels the first bite of pork into his mouth, breaking eye contact. ]
[The way he rolls his eyes at Tony's remark is completely human - but he does that a lot with Tony around. There's just something about Tony that inspires that kind of behavior.
He has to pinch the stem of his wine glass between his thumb and index finger to hold it, and he's still overly cautious about it - tweezing shards of glass out of his hand isn't anyone's idea of a good time. He's been trying harder to drink like a human, but sipping just isn't something he's built for, so he compromises by tipping the glass in a little at a time.]
JARVIS showed me the news footage from your little race.
[ said race turned dire when the pilot's jetpack malfunctioned and careened toward a billboard. iron man saved the day and the pilot, of course, if not the jetpack or the billboard. now, normally tony respects german engineering, and the race began as friendly competition (that he knew he'd win), but when he safely dropped the pilot off in front of the company's owner and the many cameras, disdain laced through his words. "try again. actually... don't. best for everyone involved," he said, and took off. not-so great for building a partnership, but fantastic for PR in the german market. ]
Yeah? What'd you think? [ tony asks offhandedly, watching for simba's reaction. the gion's become one of the people whose opinion actually kinda matters. ]
[But it's said with amusement, maybe even fondness, and it's not like he doesn't know that by now. (It's nothing that isn't immediately apparent when seeing the armor - red and gold isn't exactly subtle.) He wouldn't expect Tony to do anything other than put on a show.]
You knew you were going to win when you went out there. [Although he knows Tony didn't expect the jetpack to malfunction; he wouldn't risk someone else's life like that.] And you got to be a hero in front of everything, so definite bonus. [For Tony, that is.]
-Have other people tried making a suit like yours?
[ tony smiles through his chewing (closed-mouth, he's not an animal–no offense) and pops his eyebrows from over his wine glass, pleased as punch with simba's answer and himself. hero. that's a damn good thing to be called, and even better to actually feel like one. he's making the most of the time yinsen and simba have given him.
must've been hungrier than he thought because even the unpeeled carrot looks appetizing. tony snaps off another piece. ] Tried and failed, maybe, [ he says. except that's not entirely true, now is it? stane and his team built the iron monger, but they stole from tony's design so it doesn't count. they couldn't even power it. ]
[Better you than him, Tony. Being an obligate carnivore means that carrots don't look appetizing at all - he knows there's a time when he ate and enjoyed fruits and vegetables, but now they do nothing for him. (He doesn't mind bread and grains so much, especially when they've been used to soak up juices from the meat. He needs protein as fuel, but can subsist - though not well - with the carbs added to his diet.)
Anyway, Tony looks pleased with himself at being called a hero, as expected. It makes him feel good, too, although he can't quite place why. He cuts another pork chop in half and neatly forks it into his mouth.]
Seems like the kinda thing folks would be all over, [he offers once he's done chewing.] The perfect soldier. [There's a weird sense of deja vu, but he shakes it off.] I know that's not your intention, but-
[But he's worried someone will successfully copy the design eventually. And he doesn't even know why he's worried, except that he doesn't want to see something like that turned against innocent people, which is the sort of thing that will inevitably happen. He closes his eyes for a moment as images of the war flash before his eyes, clenching his free hand into a fist under the table. When the memories recede, he has a splitting headache, and he frowns at the glass of wine. No more for him.]
But what? [ tony cuts in, sharper than intended. he quickly dials it back to cool confidence, but by then, unknown to him, the gion's enhanced senses may have already picked up on the spike in tony's heart rate. for all his self-assurance that he has his tech on lockdown now, that he's plugged any leaks and just needs to find and clean up all the old spills, the fear of his tech falling into the wrong hands again ... that lingers. it's the only way, after all, that anyone could match the armor.
and just what is he giving to the world with the armor, that same fear asks? tony's stubborn answer is, a hero, that's what. it has to be, no matter what simba worries. ] "Folks" can try all they like. They won't succeed, not in building a suit or making me march to the beat of anyone's drum but mine.
[He rubs at one temple, briefly distracted, and therefore not picking up on Tony's turmoil. His sense of foreboding lurks in the pit of his stomach, and he isn't sure why. Maybe it's just because he doesn't wholly trust science - not Tony's fault, because he trusts Tony and what he's made, but he doesn't trust the rest of mankind, not after what scientists did to him. His thoughts are dark and his head hurts, and he makes a face down at the plate of meat.]
All right, all right. [He waves the topic off. Maybe he'll feel better if they talk about something lighter.] So what kind of vegetables do you like? Besides carrots, that is.
[ tony tilts his head, the skin around his eyes tightening. ] I prefer fruits, but I'm not picky, [ he says disinterestedly before, ] You all right there, Puss in Pants?
'm fine, just a headache, [he says like headaches are a totally normal thing for him (they aren't, but Tony doesn't know that). But the pain is already easing, and a little of the tension slips out of his shoulders.
He rises from the table to fetch a glass of water and fill a pitcher at the faucet; it's possible he just hasn't had enough to drink yet, especially after running outside. He downs an entire glass while standing at the counter, then fills it up again before he returns to the table with his water.]
Hope you don't mind if I leave the rest of the wine for you, though. [As if Tony's going to be bothered by something like that.]
[ "a headache" seems to appease tony, because he jokes, "weird, rhodey says he gets those around me, too," and stuffs his mouth with more pork, eyes on the gion at the sink. he swallows once simba returns, replies, ] I think I can handle it, [ and neatly downs the rest of his glass to pour another. ]
[Even though his headache is unrelated to Tony - or so he thinks - he can absolutely understand what might inspire someone else to make that remark. Tony can be an interesting person to deal with sometimes.]
I know I'm asking you to make a huge sacrifice, [he replies, deadpan. You know, not that he's noticed Tony's drinking habits or anything (he definitely has). He tips another half-glass of water into his mouth in one smooth gulp, and by the time that goes down, he feels well enough to start in on his meat again, though his pace has slowed noticeably.]
You got any plans for the holidays? [A beat, and then he adds:] Something with Lina?
Mmh! [ tony's eyes light up above his mouthful of pork. he chews impatiently, gesturing with a hand, till he can shove it into one cheek and talk around it, ] I'm taking her to the Venice Canals on Saturday, [ and then finally swallow. saturday is still five days from christmas, but he meant to tell simba about this anyway. ] They decorate. Have boat rides. It's very romantic.
[He can't even be bothered to be surprised by this fact. Tony's proven time and time again that he thinks nothing of taking a quick jaunt halfway across the world just for fun - which, to be fair, is more or less the entire reason why he's here right now.
But still, his dim memories of the holidays involve snipping decorations from scrap paper, the bright burst of juice from an orange. Definitely nothing as fancy as a trip to Europe.]
Sounds nice, [he adds, and he means it. He genuinely wants Tony to get out and enjoy himself.]
Uh, no. [ tony smirks, not unkindly. ] California version. About forty-five minute drive away. I mean, I tried to get her to accept the real deal, but something about having to work for a living.
Oh. [He feels a little foolish for making the mistake, but he doesn't know much about California, really.]
Guess you wouldn't know what that's like, [he teases Tony re: having to work for a living. Not that he has any room to talk, considering that he's scarfing down a half a cow a day on Tony's dime.]
Try as Miss Potts might, [ tony readily jokes with him. then he waves a hand. ] So yeah. There's your warning, [ because lina likes coming here after a date, and tony likes bringing her. ]
Right, no caroling that night. I'll make a note of it.
[Really, it just means that he'll stash some food and water in his room and prepare to spend the night chilling with his tablet, or maybe napping. No real hardship.]
[ tony shoots him a smirk, already cutting more pieces of pork, before he refocuses on operation: calorie loading after practically starving himself for the past twenty-four hours. (one day, he thinks, maybe simba won't need to hide. that'd be the ideal solution, instead of having to ship him off to some godforsaken island.) he mostly stuffs his face from thereon, but converses between bites.
when christmas plans come up again, tony winces. he doesn't really do the whole present exchange thing, he explains; pepper does all that for him. probably a party he'll attend somewhere, but he could... he could make time for simba, if he wants. if he doesn't expect much festive fanfare. thanksgiving was fun, after all. (it's not weird to spend part of christmas with someone he met less than a month ago, right?)
tony cleans his plate during any following, simpler topics. afterward, full, he wipes his mouth and hands on a napkin and balls it up. ] Thanks for the chow, [ he says and moves to stand, taking his wine glass with. ]
["I don't need anything," he insists, because he's acutely aware that Tony already gave him everything he has, and is going to continue doing so for the foreseeable future, and even if money is no object for Tony, it still makes him feel guilty and awkward. He doesn't contribute anything - all he does is eat and nap. But having another dinner with Tony would be nice, and maybe they can watch a Christmas movie together or something.]
No problem. [He gathers up their plates and takes them to the sink to rinse off before putting them in the dishwasher. He's still not entirely sure how the dishwasher actually works, but JARVIS controls that part, just like the rest of the house. It's pretty much foolproof, thank god.]
Hey, do you have any...[He glances down at his paws.] Big snippy...things? Not really big, but I need to trim my claws, I think. [And then he pauses - no pun intended - for a moment.] Actually, uh, if you don't mind, I think it would be easier if you trimmed them. If you have the time, that is.
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[He sits down and starts in on his own plate, which is thankfully vegetable-free. With his fork and knife, he's able to cut his meat into pieces and pick them up - even if bite-size for him is still considerably larger than it would be for a normal human.]
I guess I won't be starting that career as a comedian anytime soon.
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[ "slamson the lion, sir," jarvis chimes in.
without a beat missed tony happily spreads his arms, knife and fork and all, as if to say, "there ya have it. perfect. social integration achieved." not that he's pushing for that. ]
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No, it's not something he wants to revisit.]
I'm fine here.
[There's a finality to his tone like that's the end of the discussion.]
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[He's under no illusion that Tony would have taken him in without his altruism paving the way first. It's not any judgement of Tony's kindness, but his own outlook on the world and how he expects them to react to someone who's little better than an animal.]
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He has to pinch the stem of his wine glass between his thumb and index finger to hold it, and he's still overly cautious about it - tweezing shards of glass out of his hand isn't anyone's idea of a good time. He's been trying harder to drink like a human, but sipping just isn't something he's built for, so he compromises by tipping the glass in a little at a time.]
JARVIS showed me the news footage from your little race.
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Yeah? What'd you think? [ tony asks offhandedly, watching for simba's reaction. the gion's become one of the people whose opinion actually kinda matters. ]
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[But it's said with amusement, maybe even fondness, and it's not like he doesn't know that by now. (It's nothing that isn't immediately apparent when seeing the armor - red and gold isn't exactly subtle.) He wouldn't expect Tony to do anything other than put on a show.]
You knew you were going to win when you went out there. [Although he knows Tony didn't expect the jetpack to malfunction; he wouldn't risk someone else's life like that.] And you got to be a hero in front of everything, so definite bonus. [For Tony, that is.]
-Have other people tried making a suit like yours?
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must've been hungrier than he thought because even the unpeeled carrot looks appetizing. tony snaps off another piece. ] Tried and failed, maybe, [ he says. except that's not entirely true, now is it? stane and his team built the iron monger, but they stole from tony's design so it doesn't count. they couldn't even power it. ]
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Anyway, Tony looks pleased with himself at being called a hero, as expected. It makes him feel good, too, although he can't quite place why. He cuts another pork chop in half and neatly forks it into his mouth.]
Seems like the kinda thing folks would be all over, [he offers once he's done chewing.] The perfect soldier. [There's a weird sense of deja vu, but he shakes it off.] I know that's not your intention, but-
[But he's worried someone will successfully copy the design eventually. And he doesn't even know why he's worried, except that he doesn't want to see something like that turned against innocent people, which is the sort of thing that will inevitably happen. He closes his eyes for a moment as images of the war flash before his eyes, clenching his free hand into a fist under the table. When the memories recede, he has a splitting headache, and he frowns at the glass of wine. No more for him.]
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and just what is he giving to the world with the armor, that same fear asks? tony's stubborn answer is, a hero, that's what. it has to be, no matter what simba worries. ] "Folks" can try all they like. They won't succeed, not in building a suit or making me march to the beat of anyone's drum but mine.
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All right, all right. [He waves the topic off. Maybe he'll feel better if they talk about something lighter.] So what kind of vegetables do you like? Besides carrots, that is.
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He rises from the table to fetch a glass of water and fill a pitcher at the faucet; it's possible he just hasn't had enough to drink yet, especially after running outside. He downs an entire glass while standing at the counter, then fills it up again before he returns to the table with his water.]
Hope you don't mind if I leave the rest of the wine for you, though. [As if Tony's going to be bothered by something like that.]
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I know I'm asking you to make a huge sacrifice, [he replies, deadpan. You know, not that he's noticed Tony's drinking habits or anything (he definitely has). He tips another half-glass of water into his mouth in one smooth gulp, and by the time that goes down, he feels well enough to start in on his meat again, though his pace has slowed noticeably.]
You got any plans for the holidays? [A beat, and then he adds:] Something with Lina?
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[He can't even be bothered to be surprised by this fact. Tony's proven time and time again that he thinks nothing of taking a quick jaunt halfway across the world just for fun - which, to be fair, is more or less the entire reason why he's here right now.
But still, his dim memories of the holidays involve snipping decorations from scrap paper, the bright burst of juice from an orange. Definitely nothing as fancy as a trip to Europe.]
Sounds nice, [he adds, and he means it. He genuinely wants Tony to get out and enjoy himself.]
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Guess you wouldn't know what that's like, [he teases Tony re: having to work for a living. Not that he has any room to talk, considering that he's scarfing down a half a cow a day on Tony's dime.]
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[Really, it just means that he'll stash some food and water in his room and prepare to spend the night chilling with his tablet, or maybe napping. No real hardship.]
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when christmas plans come up again, tony winces. he doesn't really do the whole present exchange thing, he explains; pepper does all that for him. probably a party he'll attend somewhere, but he could... he could make time for simba, if he wants. if he doesn't expect much festive fanfare. thanksgiving was fun, after all. (it's not weird to spend part of christmas with someone he met less than a month ago, right?)
tony cleans his plate during any following, simpler topics. afterward, full, he wipes his mouth and hands on a napkin and balls it up. ] Thanks for the chow, [ he says and moves to stand, taking his wine glass with. ]
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No problem. [He gathers up their plates and takes them to the sink to rinse off before putting them in the dishwasher. He's still not entirely sure how the dishwasher actually works, but JARVIS controls that part, just like the rest of the house. It's pretty much foolproof, thank god.]
Hey, do you have any...[He glances down at his paws.] Big snippy...things? Not really big, but I need to trim my claws, I think. [And then he pauses - no pun intended - for a moment.] Actually, uh, if you don't mind, I think it would be easier if you trimmed them. If you have the time, that is.
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