[It's not quite the same music that Tony usually listens to when he's working in the shop - that's loud and discordant and full of electric guitars - and this is...well, not more soothing, but at least easier on his ears. He tosses the blanket on the couch before crossing over to the bar.]
Musclevore? [He looks a little quizzical, but dismisses it after a second. It's late, and Tony definitely isn't sober, even by his normally generous definition of sober. In fact, he should probably try to get him to stop drinking at some point, but these things take some careful maneuvering.]
Happy New Year. [He smiles and picks up the flute of champagne, then studies the bubbles on the sides. He's pretty sure he's never had champagne before, but he knows what it is, in the vague sense of "bubbly alcohol". With careful maneuvering, he manages to stick the tip of his tongue in the glass - as close as he can get to a sip - and his whiskers twitch at the tickle of bubbles on his tongue.]
Huh. Okay. [This time, he holds the flute closer to his eyes and peers at it suspiciously. At least he didn't try to swallow the whole thing at once.]
What're you doing? Toast first, [ tony scolds like his own glass isn't already half-empty and walks over. from the other side of the counter, he raises his drink, a subtle wobble and looseness the only signs of his intoxication–except, perhaps, the brightness in his eyes: whether caused by the alcohol or something else, tony's happy tonight. ] To a new year, [ he cheers. then, he places a hand over his heart; smeared faintly on the back of his wrist is some dark lipstick. ] And to a new me.
[He sees how loose and relaxed Tony is, and for just a moment, he wishes that he could make him feel like that. (Isn't that what friends do?) He blinks slowly in a feline smile, curves his lips in something approximating the same for a human - even if that exposes a few inches of fang, Tony's used to that by now - and clinks the rim of his glass against Tony's.]
To a new year, [he echoes. He doesn't mention the lipstick smudge, though he finds it strange that it's on Tony's hand, that there's no trace around his lips. That's a New Year's thing, right?
He lifts the glass again and tilts veeeeery slowly. Really, champagne flutes are only a gulp for him anyway, but it still seems rude to down it like that. (Like everything else Tony owns, it's probably extremely expensive. Though the price of everything seems absurd to him.)
The bubbles pop on his tongue, and his whiskers bristle with amusement.]
Next you're gonna design me a set of booze glasses, probably.
[The flute especially seems delicate in his fingers, absurdly small compared to the size of his hand.]
Mmh. [ tony swallows his champagne. ] Great idea. But later. For now, we keep the good times rollin'. JARVIS, hit me with some dance lights. Your pick. [ he rounds the counter to the open floor beside the pool table. the lights transition into darkness with beams of color spotted throughout, his form awash with them. ] Oh, yeah, [ tony approves lowly. he lifts his arms up, the flute's neck between his fingers, and sways his hips to the trumpet's beat. ]
[He stares for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the open collar, the swaying hips, and some part of his brain freezes. The display isn't meant for him, but it's undeniably sexual, or at least sensual, and he doesn't know what to do, how to react. The rest of the champagne tingles on his tongue, and he focuses on that so he doesn't do or say something embarrassing.
(He wonders why Tony didn't bring Lina home if he wanted good times, then firmly drags his brain away from that train of thought.)
The pupils of his golden eyes widen in the dark room, flashing eerily whenever the light catches them. The tip of his tail twitches slightly, but other than that, he doesn't move.]
[ the colored beams change, some fading out and others fading in, lighting tony's silhouette from varying angles in turns, the reactor a constant. the music surrounds them. trumpet and other brass blow the tune, the percussion strong and sharp. his eyes shut, tony dances with his torso, his hips and chest, his shoulders and arms. his folded cuffs slip down his forearms, and his shirt twists and wrinkles at his waist from the rolling of his back, the side-to-side snap of his hips. effortlessly physical.
he seems content dancing on his own, the gion's presence an afterthought, but then tony opens his eyes and arms and smirks at him, still moving to the music. ]
[He knows he's seen risque things before, in that strange certainty he has - black and white postcards passed around like old lovers, sharp corners worn to softness; silks and skin in the smoky haze of clubs. The concept isn't foreign to him, except that it absolutely is, like a well-known tune with words in a different language, familiar and exotic blurring together.
It's tempting to turn and flee to the quiet safety of his room, maybe even the corner of his bathroom, where he can be alone with his uncomfortable thoughts and not embarrass himself further (because that's the most likely outcome of this situation, he knows that). But Tony, being Tony, holds him there without even knowing it.]
I don't know how to d-
[dance, he almost says, and the echo of memory throws him off entirely. Pain lances through his head, sharp and sudden and worse than ever before, and he grips the bar with both hands as his eyes squeeze shut and his ears press flat against his skull. He remembers the roar of jet engines, a voice on the radio that's more than half sob. He remembers heartbreak, pure and painful.
He remembers promising her a dance.
Fuck, he thinks vehemently - or maybe it's more the sense of the word, because everything hurts too much for language. It's instinct - who knows what kind of instinct - that sends him jumping over the bar in a single smooth movement, blindly fumbling for a bottle, any bottle, and twisting the cap off before he pours the contents down his throat and huddles behind the bar.]
[ tony slows to a stop and peers at where simba leapt behind the counter. he waits, but that golden-brown mane doesn't pop back up. ] Cut the music, JARVIS, [ he says and approaches the bar. soon enough, he stands in view of the huddled gion, the room silent save for simba's desperate gulping. the lights play over them, but tony, albeit still a little wobbly, calmly assesses the enigma that is his savior.
he's long figured that the gion is withholding information about his past, but it's been none of his business to pry into what is personal, if not outright painful. and he gets it, he thinks. he could never explain to rhodey or pepper exactly what happened in that cave, either; it's a part of him now to be locked deep down and tapped into only for fuel. but damned if tony doesn't want to figure simba out. ]
Dunno what just happened, Snagglepuss, but I'm guessing it's not stage fright, [ he muses. steps closer. stops again, at a distance, his gaze past the alcohol analytical and careful, yet compassionate. ]
[At first, there's no acknowledgment of Tony, just broad shoulders heaving for breath. His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle until the glass cracks and splinters, but he doesn't even notice it, not when it feels like there's a thousand glass splinters piercing his brain. He knows pain in all its forms, but this - this is too much for even him to take. A whimper escapes his throat, incongruously high-pitched for someone so large.]
It hurts, [he grits out eventually, the words barely more than breaths hissed between his teeth.] Memories- they hurt. [He stays hunched in on himself, more like prey than predator. Blood drips from his hand onto the floor, but he doesn't move.]
[ the bottle's neck shattering startles tony into action. he raises his hands, blurting out, "whoa there," like a horse wrangler with a skittish stallion. very slowly, he places his flute on a lower shelf and inches closer. ] Yeah, the past can suck, I agree, [ he rambles right before it clicks that simba means physical pain. something his captors did? whatever, not the time. he kneels down, avoiding the glass shards, and hovers his hand over simba's wrist. ] All right, so shaking what Mufasa gave you is off limits. Got it.
[He lets Tony's voice wash over him, anchoring him in the present. The worst of the pain ebbs, and he sucks in a deeper breath, then lets it out slowly. But that makes him think of the overwhelming wave of emotions, and his chest constricts again, and- fuck.]
Keep talking.
[He clenches his fist tighter, drives the glass into his hand. He needs to distract himself, and Tony, if nothing else, can be counted on to ramble without making any sense (at least, not to someone who's missed out on a half-century of pop culture). He can focus on that. He can focus on the glass shards digging into his palm. Those are real and physical and not the ghosts of his past.]
[ tony snaps his eyes to simba's fist, reluctant to touch and stiff with caution. one swipe can take his head off, after all. but the trust between them wins out. talking, tony can do. ] Not often I hear that outside the bedroom. Usually I'm told to shut up. No takebacks, [ he jokes and leans back, settling one elbow on his raised knee. ] Let's see, what to gab about... Ah. [ he snaps his fingers. ] In contrast to this, I had a lovely night. Lina wore this sparkly black dress. Very form-fitting. God, she really knocked it outta the park. I almost did a Tex Avery, which I ... think is inappropriate by today's standards, but it's different when you're dating, right? Oh, and we are. Dating. In official capacity as boyfriend and girlfriend. [ dreamily, tony smiles, the happiness in his eyes returning as a gentle light. then he clears his throat and shakes the memory off. talking simba out of it. right, right. ] So, yeah, your congratulations, please, [ he requests. demands, really. ] I'm waiting.
[Normally, he really would be happy for Tony, but talking about happy relationships isn't what he needs to hear right now, not when he can almost see lips as red as the blood dripping from his hand. He desperately wants to, but at the same time, he has the feeling that pushing too far will break him entirely.]
Congratulations, [he forces out.] But I really need you to talk about something else.
Jealous? Okay, we'll switch gears. [ tony clicks his tongue, slogging through topics in his mind. something besides "hey, what's rattlin' your noggin?" the goal's away from that, stark, he scolds his curiosity. ] I could talk about jazz if I actually knew much about jazz. I don't even know who played that song, [ he hums, mainly to himself, but jarvis faithfully informs him, "hypnotic brass ensemble, sir," anyway. ] See? I had no idea. But I do have ideas about landmine detection. GPSAR is so last year...
[ from there tony regales simba of the tale of the magna-drone, his invention to not only detect hidden landmines but also safely remove them, including how its origin was about saving mine-sniffing dogs in kubal. works like a charm, naturally, but try convincing the board the virtue of cleaning up third-world provinces and they stick their fingers in their ears. not that that stops tony. ]
[Tony's words wash over him, and he doesn't understand a damn thing he's saying, and it helps. His head still hurts, but it's just echoes of the pain from earlier, a lasting reminder of things he shouldn't do - like a burn from touching a hot stove.
Slowly, he uncurls into a more normal sitting position, his back resting against the wall, and his breathing returns to normal. His eyes are still shut, but his face is relaxed now, the tension gradually ebbing.]
You mind grabbing me some water?
[His voice is still quiet, but now it just sounds tired.]
... Sure. Back with me? I've valiantly hung onto my buzz, but this has done a real number on it. [ tony smirks before he stands–just another of his jokes. kneeling again, he offers a filled glass. ]
[Normally, he might roll his eyes, but he barely has the energy to crack one eye open and take the glass from Tony, draining it in a single gulp.]
Sorry.
[He droops a little. Tony had been having a really good night - something that's rare for him - and he'd gone and ruined it by being him. It's not much of a surprise, but it sure as hell makes him feel bad. All Tony had wanted to do was include him in the celebration.]
Morning-me will thank you, actually. So would Pepper, if she knew you existed. The hangover won't be as vicious. [ tony nods at simba's hand. ] I should look at your paw.
[He opens his hand, and, yeah, it's kind of a mess. He makes a face at it. Good job, dumbass. Most of the glass is too small - relatively speaking - for him to pick out himself, and the smaller wounds have already scabbed over. He has no doubt there's glass splinters in those wounds, too. Even the thick skin of his hands isn't enough to save him from the amount of pressure he'd been able to apply.]
We'll have to go to the shop. Need good light and tweezers.
[Bright light is about the last thing he wants right now, but he knows it's necessary.]
[ "i'm fine. first aid first," tony says, waving off simba's concern about his blood-alcohol level. he commands jarvis to switch the lights back to default and to send dum-e here to clean up the mess. ]
Lemme see, [ tony orders and crooks his fingers for simba to hold his paw out. he's the self-appointed medical professional here. he'll be the judge of how to render the best aid, thank you. ]
[He extends his wounded hand to Tony, palm up. The blood is tacky and drying, dark on the tough skin of his palm. The worst damage is on the furred undersides of the fingers that had been wrapped around the bottle, but the strength of his grip means that there are some glass shards lodged in his palm, too. The pieces vary in size, and some of the smaller wounds seem to have closed already - even with glass still in them.]
I think a thorn is more traditional, but-
[He can't remember what that's from right now, anyway.]
[ tony's already reviewing the damage with a sympathetic wince, simba's paw dwarfing his hand beneath it. his gaze skips on the already-closed wounds, followed by a glance up at the gion, before he says, ] Yup, your verdict's sound. Let's go before any more shards get entombed and I have to cut them out.
[His voice is dry as dust, but entirely serious. He clambers to his feet - not as graceful as he might normally be, between the wounded hand throwing him off and his emotional state being slightly off-kilter. He still feels a little light-headed, a little off.]
I'd offer you a hand up, but under the circumstances- [He waves his uninjured hand vaguely and apologetically.] You're on your own.
[ tony stands faster than simba, actually, with only the slightest wobble. as simba clambers to his feet tony holds out a hand, just in case the big guy stumbles–as if he could withstand the gion's sheer size and weight. whatever. thought that counts. ] Yeah, I seem to be the steadier one at the moment, [ he observes. ] That happen every time you try to visit memory lane?
[ he nods to the door. follow him out; they can walk and talk. tony's gait is as strong as usual, despite the drinking. he sobers quickly when he wants to. after they leave, jarvis shuts off everything behind them. ]
[He follows Tony, holding his hand up and cradling it with his good hand, keeping both close to his chest. If his fur gets bloody, that's still better than dripping it on the floor, he reckons.]
Some things I can remember all right - movies and baseball games and books, stuff like that. A few things about my life. But if I try too hard to dig into things, then my head hurts. So I usually don't.
[Like the shield he still has carefully hidden in his closet. It's important, but he tries not to look at it or think about it.]
Never had it come on me like that before, but when it's just me, it's kinda hard to just stumble across something like that, you know? I- I couldn't even tell you what topics to avoid 'cause I have no idea what could cause that. Usually I have a bit of warning first before it feels like someone's stabbing my brain with a meat cleaver.
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Musclevore? [He looks a little quizzical, but dismisses it after a second. It's late, and Tony definitely isn't sober, even by his normally generous definition of sober. In fact, he should probably try to get him to stop drinking at some point, but these things take some careful maneuvering.]
Happy New Year. [He smiles and picks up the flute of champagne, then studies the bubbles on the sides. He's pretty sure he's never had champagne before, but he knows what it is, in the vague sense of "bubbly alcohol". With careful maneuvering, he manages to stick the tip of his tongue in the glass - as close as he can get to a sip - and his whiskers twitch at the tickle of bubbles on his tongue.]
Huh. Okay. [This time, he holds the flute closer to his eyes and peers at it suspiciously. At least he didn't try to swallow the whole thing at once.]
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To a new year, [he echoes. He doesn't mention the lipstick smudge, though he finds it strange that it's on Tony's hand, that there's no trace around his lips. That's a New Year's thing, right?
He lifts the glass again and tilts veeeeery slowly. Really, champagne flutes are only a gulp for him anyway, but it still seems rude to down it like that. (Like everything else Tony owns, it's probably extremely expensive. Though the price of everything seems absurd to him.)
The bubbles pop on his tongue, and his whiskers bristle with amusement.]
Next you're gonna design me a set of booze glasses, probably.
[The flute especially seems delicate in his fingers, absurdly small compared to the size of his hand.]
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(He wonders why Tony didn't bring Lina home if he wanted good times, then firmly drags his brain away from that train of thought.)
The pupils of his golden eyes widen in the dark room, flashing eerily whenever the light catches them. The tip of his tail twitches slightly, but other than that, he doesn't move.]
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he seems content dancing on his own, the gion's presence an afterthought, but then tony opens his eyes and arms and smirks at him, still moving to the music. ]
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It's tempting to turn and flee to the quiet safety of his room, maybe even the corner of his bathroom, where he can be alone with his uncomfortable thoughts and not embarrass himself further (because that's the most likely outcome of this situation, he knows that). But Tony, being Tony, holds him there without even knowing it.]
I don't know how to d-
[dance, he almost says, and the echo of memory throws him off entirely. Pain lances through his head, sharp and sudden and worse than ever before, and he grips the bar with both hands as his eyes squeeze shut and his ears press flat against his skull. He remembers the roar of jet engines, a voice on the radio that's more than half sob. He remembers heartbreak, pure and painful.
He remembers promising her a dance.
Fuck, he thinks vehemently - or maybe it's more the sense of the word, because everything hurts too much for language. It's instinct - who knows what kind of instinct - that sends him jumping over the bar in a single smooth movement, blindly fumbling for a bottle, any bottle, and twisting the cap off before he pours the contents down his throat and huddles behind the bar.]
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he's long figured that the gion is withholding information about his past, but it's been none of his business to pry into what is personal, if not outright painful. and he gets it, he thinks. he could never explain to rhodey or pepper exactly what happened in that cave, either; it's a part of him now to be locked deep down and tapped into only for fuel. but damned if tony doesn't want to figure simba out. ]
Dunno what just happened, Snagglepuss, but I'm guessing it's not stage fright, [ he muses. steps closer. stops again, at a distance, his gaze past the alcohol analytical and careful, yet compassionate. ]
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It hurts, [he grits out eventually, the words barely more than breaths hissed between his teeth.] Memories- they hurt. [He stays hunched in on himself, more like prey than predator. Blood drips from his hand onto the floor, but he doesn't move.]
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Keep talking.
[He clenches his fist tighter, drives the glass into his hand. He needs to distract himself, and Tony, if nothing else, can be counted on to ramble without making any sense (at least, not to someone who's missed out on a half-century of pop culture). He can focus on that. He can focus on the glass shards digging into his palm. Those are real and physical and not the ghosts of his past.]
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Congratulations, [he forces out.] But I really need you to talk about something else.
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[ from there tony regales simba of the tale of the magna-drone, his invention to not only detect hidden landmines but also safely remove them, including how its origin was about saving mine-sniffing dogs in kubal. works like a charm, naturally, but try convincing the board the virtue of cleaning up third-world provinces and they stick their fingers in their ears. not that that stops tony. ]
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Slowly, he uncurls into a more normal sitting position, his back resting against the wall, and his breathing returns to normal. His eyes are still shut, but his face is relaxed now, the tension gradually ebbing.]
You mind grabbing me some water?
[His voice is still quiet, but now it just sounds tired.]
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Sorry.
[He droops a little. Tony had been having a really good night - something that's rare for him - and he'd gone and ruined it by being him. It's not much of a surprise, but it sure as hell makes him feel bad. All Tony had wanted to do was include him in the celebration.]
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[He opens his hand, and, yeah, it's kind of a mess. He makes a face at it. Good job, dumbass. Most of the glass is too small - relatively speaking - for him to pick out himself, and the smaller wounds have already scabbed over. He has no doubt there's glass splinters in those wounds, too. Even the thick skin of his hands isn't enough to save him from the amount of pressure he'd been able to apply.]
We'll have to go to the shop. Need good light and tweezers.
[Bright light is about the last thing he wants right now, but he knows it's necessary.]
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Lemme see, [ tony orders and crooks his fingers for simba to hold his paw out. he's the self-appointed medical professional here. he'll be the judge of how to render the best aid, thank you. ]
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I think a thorn is more traditional, but-
[He can't remember what that's from right now, anyway.]
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[His voice is dry as dust, but entirely serious. He clambers to his feet - not as graceful as he might normally be, between the wounded hand throwing him off and his emotional state being slightly off-kilter. He still feels a little light-headed, a little off.]
I'd offer you a hand up, but under the circumstances- [He waves his uninjured hand vaguely and apologetically.] You're on your own.
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[ he nods to the door. follow him out; they can walk and talk. tony's gait is as strong as usual, despite the drinking. he sobers quickly when he wants to. after they leave, jarvis shuts off everything behind them. ]
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Some things I can remember all right - movies and baseball games and books, stuff like that. A few things about my life. But if I try too hard to dig into things, then my head hurts. So I usually don't.
[Like the shield he still has carefully hidden in his closet. It's important, but he tries not to look at it or think about it.]
Never had it come on me like that before, but when it's just me, it's kinda hard to just stumble across something like that, you know? I- I couldn't even tell you what topics to avoid 'cause I have no idea what could cause that. Usually I have a bit of warning first before it feels like someone's stabbing my brain with a meat cleaver.