[ 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.
[ tony is halfway out of the kitchen when simba speaks up (after having doubled back to take the wine bottle, too, saying, "actually, since you won't appreciate this..."). he swings back in, the tilt of his head curious, then looks down at simba's paws along with him. nail clippers probably aren't gonna cut it–literally–but one of his cable cutters might. tony's about to say so when simba continues and asks him to do it.
tony slowly shuts his mouth. he could just supersize some clippers for simba to use like he has so much else, but simba asked him to do it. and tony did promise he'd take care of him, didn't he?
he's staring at simba's hands still. tony tears his eyes away. clears his throat. shrugs. ] Less of a time investment than replacing any furniture you'd inadvertently shred otherwise, so ... yeah. I got an idea. [ he stands awkwardly still, then jump-starts himself with a smile. ] To the shop! [ without waiting he rounds the corner to the basement staircase. ]
["I wasn't gonna use the couch as a scratching post," he mutters under his breath with a slight roll of his eyes. He knows Tony doesn't really mean that, though, so he doesn't take offense. Instead, he follows Tony downstairs, waiting for him to unlock the door to the shop.]
They got worn down naturally before, but now I'm not doing the same sort of thing, so... [He spreads his hands and shrugs.] It's just my hands, don't worry, I'm not asking you to trim my toenails.
[ tony only gives one of his noncommittal, distracted "uh-huh"s as he inputs his code and pops open the door. the workshop is already alive and lit from when he returned, DUM-E and U sweeping or pickings things off the floor and the screens at the main workstation displaying readouts on the armor. the wine bottle tony leaves on a cluttered table as he passes by and his glass on top of the metal cabinet he stops in front of, the drawers of which he rummages through, muttering to himself, "now where did i put you..." ]
[He sidetracks briefly to give DUM-E a fond pat (he likes to be nice to the bots, okay?), then takes a seat as he waits for Tony to find whatever tools he's looking for. Curling the fingers of his right hand slightly, he unsheathes the wicked curves of his claws. It's strange to have to actually trim them - or have them trimmed - because he's used to them wearing down naturally. But he doesn't want to go around ruining the furniture (or his tablet), either.]
[ tony finds the cutters in the second drawer he checks and knocks both closed with his hip. ] Got ya, [ he says to the red-handled five-inch cutters. walking to the couch, he holds them up and squeezes the handle twice. ] Time to get snipped. It's for your own good. [ he plops down beside simba, on the edge. ]
[He gives Tony a deeply unimpressed look. While he's been around Tony long enough to become familiar with his sense of humor, that's still a little close to the line. He flexes those claws again so that Tony gets a good look at them before he places his hand on Tony's thigh - and if those claws happen to be not too far from Tony's groin, he's sure it's just a coincidence.]
[ tony stifles a smirk, unbothered by the paw placement. he just grabs it and scoots it to a better spot, measuring the cutters against the claws. (he can barely fit his entire hand around two of simba's fingers, jesus. the paw is so big on his thigh. the gion's size really is something else.) ] How far down you want them cut? [ tony asks with a quick glance up as he fits the blades around one claw. ]
[He wonders if Tony got the point, so to speak, or misconstrued the whole thing for a clumsy seduction attempt. He doesn't think the latter would happen - there is nothing sexy about claws near your dick - but it's possible. Shoving the thought aside, he looks down at his claws.]
Mm. Somewhere between a quarter-inch and a half-inch. [He might not have any experience with trimming claws, but he's snagged them enough to know that they'll bleed if cut too far down. Even with his healing, it's not a fun time.]
Got it. [ tony adjusts the cutters and squeezes. after a quick crunch, the severed claw tip flies off onto the rug somewhere. ] How's that? Clean cut? You good for the rest? [ it's not bad, actually. getting to do this. sure, he can pay for all of simba's luxuries in life, but this feels more personal. as personal as simba tipping his delirious head up to drink, at least. ]
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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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tony slowly shuts his mouth. he could just supersize some clippers for simba to use like he has so much else, but simba asked him to do it. and tony did promise he'd take care of him, didn't he?
he's staring at simba's hands still. tony tears his eyes away. clears his throat. shrugs. ] Less of a time investment than replacing any furniture you'd inadvertently shred otherwise, so ... yeah. I got an idea. [ he stands awkwardly still, then jump-starts himself with a smile. ] To the shop! [ without waiting he rounds the corner to the basement staircase. ]
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They got worn down naturally before, but now I'm not doing the same sort of thing, so... [He spreads his hands and shrugs.] It's just my hands, don't worry, I'm not asking you to trim my toenails.
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Hilarious, [he replies in a flat tone.]
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Mm. Somewhere between a quarter-inch and a half-inch. [He might not have any experience with trimming claws, but he's snagged them enough to know that they'll bleed if cut too far down. Even with his healing, it's not a fun time.]
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