Too Many Feels
Roleplaying Log: Too Many Feels
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Tony comes by to see Warren and Alison, bearing gifts. Which, knowing Tony, will probably accidentally generate several supervillains in the near future.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: September 26, 2019
IC Location: Centerport, New York
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 29 Oct 2019 05:47
Rating & Warnings:
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

It has now been over a week and a half since Warren woke on a hospital table to find his wings sliced from his back. Since then, there has been little to no sight of him in the public — not even when his very company's headquarters was attacked, a few short days ago — and he has made no statements.

To all appearances, he has disappeared from the world, and seems intent to become a recluse.

The media speculates, of course… fueled by whisperings of what's going on at Worthington Industries in the determined absence of its board chairman. They say that Worthington's immediate family has come out of the woodwork to take a more active hand in the business. They say that they're pressuring for a vote to be taken to push Warren out and relieve him of control. They say that Cameron Hodge is resisting, but he can't exactly do anything about a board vote in the end.

Especially not when it's becoming increasingly obvious that pushing Warren out MIGHT be the best for the company… and most people are in favor of it in order to save WI.

There has been no public response from Warren even to this latest development. People searching for him are told he's still out in Centerport, Long Island, sitting around the family estate. The estate would not be an unfamiliar place to Tony Stark, though not one he would have been to much. Warren didn't really go back there all that often, and even less did he bring other people to it.

Its current state is a far cry from what it was when Warren's parents were alive, and his mother played host to soirees for the wealthy families of Gotham and New York. It's not dilapidated, of course, but it's very empty — understaffed and quiet — and there is an air of forgotten dereliction about the grandeur.

There are some signs of recent, fitful life, though. One's a small sailing yacht docked at the private marina, rocking gently in the water (recognizable as Warren's favorite back in the day, though it hasn't been touched in years before now), and the other is a small plane on the airstrip, which looks like it was recently flown, but is a bit messily parked.


"Oh great," Would be the first words of Tony Stark when he notes the various odds and ends of Warren's old family home. "He's reverted to yachting." The mutter comes as he screams to a stop in front of the building, having done a flyby via drone of course, in his oh-so-subtle cherry red Lamborghini Evo, one with so many after-market add ons under the hood that it ceases at some point being a 'car' aand goes into the realm of 'low flying aircraft'.

Subtle the man is not.

But really at least he's being consistent. That isn't a bad thing right? It is when he /is/ being subtle that you have to watch out for really.

So this visit should be fine. Yes. Should be fine.

Smoke wafts from tires and hood as he slips out of the car. There isn't much a trunk or a back seat to speak of, so he walks around the car to pull out a thick metal case and what looks like a clothes bag. The former dangles from his hand, the latter thrown over the shoulder as he strolls up towards the front door.

"I know someone is in there!" He calls out cheerfully as he knocks.

The 'and I'm not leaving unless someone opens the door' is implied but not said.


It's a good thing that Tony didn't fly in. If Warren had seen that, who knows what his reaction would have been.

Tony… doesn't actually have to wait that long at the door, because Someone heard the shriek of his tires, immediately recognized the noise, and was triggered into instant damage control action. That someone happens to be Laurie Page, the housekeeper, an old fixture of the place after thirty-odd years of employment by the family. The door flies open, and Laurie peers up at Tony with vague disapproval… but the disapproval seems to be more out of age-old habit for their rowdy younger days, and not because she's not glad to see him.

She obviously thinks Warren needs more human contact than he's been getting.

"Well, I hope you didn't drive across the lawn again this time, Tony," she starts severely, "because it took us weeks to re-seed it all after the last time it was exploded — "


Another sharp pair of ears also catches that very familiar voice. The ex-Dazzler has always been unnaturally enhanced when it comes to localizing sound —

— not that she, or anyone, needs the ability when same sound comes from Tony Stark, the most unforgettable man in the universe.

Attention stolen from a work call in one of the nearby, front rooms, she quickly promises Kiff a call back ('Tony,' she says. 'Ah,' he answers, knowingly,) and hurries forward.

Laurie's stern, matronly dressing-down is fortunately arrested by a gentle hand on the woman's arm.

"I, ah, got this one, Laurie," says Alison, out of nowhere, with a wan smile. "You've been on your feet all day."

Herding Impending Danger safely away, she turns back — and sights Tony at the threshold. The sight seems to hit Alison in a strange way, because the last time she saw him — the night the Demon Bear tore off Warren's wings.

In these weeks since, Alison looks enduring, but absolutely exhausted. The biggest tell is when she says, "Tony —" ('Stark', she usually calls him, in a long-suffering way,) "It's good to see you. Come on. I'll take you to him. How have you been doing?"

For a man like Tony Stark, walks around sprawling, immaculate estates is old hat, and this one isn't much different, Alison leading him out and down a path framed in manicured greenery. Her small-talk is minimal, and bland, but hopeful: "Warren will be happy to see you…" Maybe. She leads him where the docks of a private marina await. Their path is headed to one place only — to board that very same yacht.


"Laurie! I haven't seen you since you had me thrown out last time!" Stark calls cheerfully towards the ancient housekeeper. As to her question he looks over his shoulder, peers towards the tire tracks that exist there. Turning back there is a brilliant smile. "And not /all/ the lawn!"

Think on the positives!

But Alison shows up to either save Laurie from Tony, or save Tony from her. Or possibly both. It is hard to tell most times.

The use of his first name isn't lost on him. As is the lack of lasers in greeting. As is the 'good to see you'.

My god. Now he /knows/ this is serious.

"Well, he's usually happy to see me. Especially when I come bearing gifts. Though only one is for him, the other little bit is for you actually." A glance towards Ali as he rattles his case towards her. "The other one is for him." A rattle of the bag. "And he'll either throw me out or love them. Or both. Hell I'm not sure but that has never stopped me before."


Laurie's mouth purses into the kind of thin line that suggests she's gearing up for battle — especially at sight of the lawn — but fortunately Alison shows up at just the right time to defuse the situation. "I have been," she says, of 'being on her feet all day,' "and now I'm off to clean up his mess. Again!"

She takes her leave to do just that, leaving Alison to guide Tony down to the marina. Not that Tony would need much direction — but he probably does need supervision.

It's not long before their meandering path down the sloping lawns brings them within sight of the marina and the small yacht docked therein. There is an unfamiliar man on board, golden-haired and beautiful, looking completely a part of this setting, this craft, this lifestyle. Dressed in a fluttering white button-down and salmon shorts, he balances on the aftrail, barefoot for better grip, clinging a hand onto the backstay as he seems to inspect it for any weakness or damage.

He turns slightly in his inspection, and the profile reveals it is Warren, wind-whipped and salt-sprayed, looking alien without the reaching span of his white wings.

And looking alien on a goddamned yacht, when he's repeatedly said that sailing lost all its thrill and appeal after the joy of flying.


"You promised me you'd burn those shorts."

Yes. Tony is starting this off on the right foot.


"I made you a lot of promises, Tony," is Warren's prompt reply.

He turns more fully to face the two, not stepping down from his perch, the exhaustion written in the dark circles under his eyes belying his quips. "You just here to talk about my shorts?"


On the walk down, Alison definitely gives Tony Stark's innocent-looking case a long, pensive look. Her expression twists in a way that's too uncomfortably-reminiscent of Scott Summers. The killjoy look.

"It's not anything explosive, is it?" she asks weakly. "Or that's probably a rhetorical question." A pause of silence. "It might not be the right time… but…"

She exhales, appearing to let that hesitation go — it's not like Alison can stop Tony Stark. And maybe one of his patented surprises might do some good for Warren.

They board the yacht. Catch sight of Warren Worthington. And then the exchange.

Alison is silent in the wake of that. After a beat, she says dryly, unnecessarily: "Tony's here."

With a brief touch at Tony's shoulder — welcome aboard, make yourself at home — Alison gives Warren a quick (probably perpetually worried) once-over, and seems to tame her own fussiness by taking a seat. This visit probably requires supervision.


"Well I was here to give things away for free, but /now/ I'm totally hear to talk about your shorts." Stark replies wryly towards Warren with a shake of his head. "I mean seriously. Salmon? We only learned that color so we could make fun of people who wore that color. Remember that one?"

The inventor chatters on, hauling both the odd suit bag and the strange suitcase.

"I mean I have one for each of you. Because I'm such a nice and upstanding guy. Even for people that make horrible outfit choices. Like you."

There is a slight glance at Ali though before he smirks. "And it /could/ be explosive. I mean I'm pretty sure everything I make /could/ be explosiove. But its not /made/ to be an explosive at least." A beatpause. "Those are in the car still."


"I learned the color salmon because it was my favorite fish. People wearing it was an afterthought," is Warren's easy rejoinder, as he swivels where he perches on the aftrail. Ali's watchful eyes are rewarded with the brief and rare sight of Warren almost like himself again… though the reminder of his missing wings comes again in a sharp jolt when — in stepping down from the rail — he misjudges his balance, misses a step, and almost stumbles.

He catches himself at the last moment. His expression tightens a little, but after a moment he pushes down the frustration.

"This isn't like the last time you gave things away for free, is it?" he inquires, stepping barefooted across the deck towards the others with resumed grace. Perhaps a little too much grace — the grace of someone trying really hard not to slip again. "I mean, once they gained sentience, they were twice as hard to round up…"


It is a rare sight, and all the more brief — between blinks, Warren goes from what-was to what-is-now, and takes Alison's small wellspring of hope with him. The last weeks have schooled her well to keep same off her face, fortunately, as she tries to remain a staid point of strength. Strength that, at the same time, has to brank itself from reacting outwardly to Warren's stumble. He's been doing it a lot, and coddling won't help him.

Instead, Alison remains seated, her tired eyes lingering out over the water. Terminal sleeplessness makes the mind blank out between moments, and such as it is, she misses a bit of the initial small-talk between the two men. Sobering an instant later, she folds her hands.

"Long Island definitely isn't ready for your style of explosions, Tony," Alison chides, though with patient good-humour. "Though if you think you've faced supervillain groups, you haven't seen the HOAs out here. So what did you bring that SHIELD will probably maybe definitely arrest all of us for?"


"Be real. Any fish is your favorite fish." Stark shoots backs as he sets first one item down on a side table and then the bigger bag down on a chair. "Long Island has its own style of explosions. And totally not going to get arrested. Probobably. I mean I'm like eighty percent sure its fine. I didn't use /much/ in the way of special tech. I mean no more than what you crazy X-peoples do." A pause.

"Please tell me you don't really think the whole 'launching a hypersonic jet from a tennis court' is subtle. Please."

Even as he talks though he pulls up the little case. Flipping it open he spins it around towards Ali, but angled so both can see. "First for the lady."

Nestled inside are six strange looking drones. About an inch and a half to 2 inch wingspan, the half dozen little drones are black and yellow and insect like in appearace, though still obviously robotic. Each of them have little digital 'faces' and round little bodies.

Robo-bees.

"Meet the Bifricated Energy Enhanced Speakers. Or…" And he snaps a finger and a pair of them hover up in the air. The little digital faces light up with little happy faces. "…BEES."

There is a smirk again.

"High powered energy based speaker systems. They also can help around the house. If you want them too. I figure for you they might be a bit of help. Also they are adorable."

One of them does a little roll with its :D :D :D face.

Also in the box is a little hexagon shaped item, almost like a purse or a handbag style item. "And the HIVE. Which…is basically just a charging system. It'll shift to match your outfit too, since. You know. I can build stuff like that."

Modest isn't he.

"But I figured I should put these speaker things to work with someone who can get use out of them. I mean. I'm not gonna use em so I just couldn't let them clutter up my place."

Yes. That is the only reason. Its not like he was worried about the pair of them. Or anything like that.


"How dare you, Tony Stark," Warren says. "I do not prefer freshwater fish."

A pause. "And launching the jet from the tennis court was not my idea."

That said, 'no more special tech than what you X-People do' is actually not a very reassuring metric, since the X-Men use quite a lot, so it's with a rather wary but reluctantly curious eye that Warren watches as Tony unveils Alison's toys first.

Even in his state, he has to smile at the sight of the little drone-bees. It's a rusty expression, but count on Tony to be able to make Warren smile even now.

"You're giving her mobile speakers?" Warren surmises. "That's a wonderful thing to do for no particular reason at all other than your boredom and a need for spring cleaning."

The drones are so obviously geared towards Alison's powerset, however, that Warren is… trying not to think about what Tony could have in mind for him.


"Mobile speakers /and/ a shapeshifting box for them." Stark replies with a smirk. "I mean give me /some/ credit. I remember the goddamn hour long lecture I got on what constitutes as 'subtle' from Aunt Peggy."


First for the lady? That catches Alison's attention, which was just about to retreat to the screen of her phone. Business, of course. There's a lot on her plate, these weeks, and she can barely afford an hour away from three different areas that require total, devoted attention.

But this? She wasn't expecting this. Expecting Tony Stark to be here visiting Warren, absolutely, and perhaps try to lift his old friend's spirits in a decidedly very Tony-like way (that might involve two-day hangovers), but even to the horizon of her horrified imaginings of the Capacity of Warren and Tony to Get in Trouble, this? This wasn't ever on the table.

When two of the robotic 'bees' come to life, Alison leans slightly back, startled, but not long to be afraid — especially when one little bumble body barrel-rolls a hello. Curious, she extends a finger, and in a true, unmitigated Disney Princess moment, bites down on her bottom lip, wonderstruck as one of the drones lands obediently.

"Wait," Alison says, "I have my own Stark tech? You're serious?" This is a definite step up from her early days, using her ipod with speakers to blast music, barely loud enough to sustain a charge, and certainly never enough of a charge that it didn't nearly get her killed more than a few times. "Tony. I don't even know what to say."

Her eyes slip over to Warren, as Alison smiles unashamedly, obviously touched. The expression communicates: look, I have bees!

Head tilted, she's busily engaged in carefully petting one of them with a fingertip, curious of its delicate electronic make — when the thought hits her as well. First for the lady. That means he's brought something for Warren —


"You can say I'm awesome, or I'm a genius. Or I'm the bestest friend ever. Or I'm just an all around swell guy. I mean I can keep going." Stark replies with a smirk towards the X-lady then before he just shrugs. "But yes. You have your own Stark tech. That can also supercharge you. And /also/ help make coffee. They are multitalented."

"See though, they like you." He nods towards Ali as one alights on her finger.

I mean they are programed for it but it is good to know the program works.

He leans back against the side of the yacht though, arms folded as he adds nonchalantly. "But yeah. It /was/ a nice thing to do. You know though my boredom knows no bounds."

A pause again though as he glances at Warren then and the other bag, the odd suit bag that he brought. "And now for the other one…" He adds as he pushes off the wall and reaches out for the bag.

This one he lies out on the table itself. Its much longer than a traditional suit bag, and bulkier. "So, you know me. I've done some of the best stuff in the world with prosthetics…" He says as he looks towards Warren. "…so…." He pulls the zipper down to reveal the sleek curved edge of what looks like…a robot wing.

It isn't even in Stark's own colors, or even his own aesthetic. The white and gold coloring is no where near his.

See. Tony /can/ be perceptive. He just chooses not too most of the time.

He also has no idea how this'll go over. But however it goes, it will, as usual, be spectacular.


"You look like a Disney princess," says Warren, because someone has to say it.

The unmitigated pleasure on her face when she looks over at him, though (look, I have bees!) gentles his eyes. He would have been content to forget his own troubles by watching Alison find some brief happiness in her gift — God knows he has not been in any shape to give her any joy lately — but… of course, Tony said he had things for both of them.

There is a certain apprehension to his eyes as he watches Tony glance between him, and then the other bag he has brought. It is a tension that spreads through his stance, as Tony slowly lays the 'gift' out and begins to unveil it.

I've done some of the best stuff in the world with prosthetics…

Warren can objectively recognize what a gesture this is from Tony… and he knows Stark well enough to know what a concession it was for his friend to do the wings in Warren's own colors, rather than Stark's trademark red and gold. He looks long enough to see the long, sleek edge of a wing — the detail of sweeping pinion feathers —

And then he looks away.

"Tony…" His voice is pleading. "It's not the same. I'll never feel a prosthetic like I felt my wings." The way he says it, there is so much more sentiment behind the phrase than what he says aloud. He backs a step away. "You should give it to someone who's never flown."


Eyes turned at Tony Stark's Very Helpful preferred list of compliments, Alison gives him a feigned dry look — skin-deep, really, because there's no confusing her rare moment of delight. 'Awesome,' "Naa," she interjects to that. 'Genius?' "Definitely out of the question." 'Bestest friend ever?' "Worst influence." 'All around swell guy?' "I know you can keep going, Tony. But I might just settle on… an especially compassionate man who loves to pretend he doesn't have a heart — but cares more than anyone realizes."

The perfect retaliation, complimenting Tony's feelings. "Thank you, Tony," she says, and she means it.

Delighted at the little tech-bee balancing on her finger-tip, while another roosts comfortably on her shoulder, Alison — eyes Warren, amused, when he accuses her of Princessdom. "You are accusing me of being fashionably ridiculous," she answers, thrilled at the chance of lovingly sassing him the first time in what feels like years. "As if, Prince Phillip."

But the exchange, like hte moment, is fleeting… brief and temporal, and immediately folded back into the reality of what is. Even though it is not intended to be, Tony's gift for Warren comes as the worst reminder —

And Alison, where she sits, can immediately intuit the worst. Her face pales a little, because it's heartbreaking — it's Tony going out on a last limb to try to fix this the only way he can, but immediately, tellingly, she can see the reproach on Warren.

She places a hand down, half-rising, wanting to go to Warren, but holds with uncertainty, unsure her presence will be of any help — or that it might make things worse. Her lips part, wanting to speak, but she has no idea what even to say.


"You both are fashionably ridiculous, I'm just enabling." Stark replies as he steps back from the table, looking between Warren and Ali for a moment before he just shakes his head. One hand is raised as the conversation takes a shift to the serious. He can see the looks that pass between the couple, the hesitant step backwards from Warren and the palpable worry from Ali.

"Yeah, I know." There is a touch of a smirk before the tinks one knuckle to the center of his chest. Even though the cloth of his shirt the glowing ring of light that keeps him going is visible as the knuckle makes a soft metalic ring against the ARC reactor implanted there.

"It won't be the same. It'll be different. Different isn't always bad…its just…I don't know. Different. Or something. I'm not a philosopher or anything." A pause before he shakes his head. "Look just…I'll leave them here. You can throw them overboard or fire them into the sun or use them of Danger Room practice or whatever you want to do with them but…" He shrugs.

He's Tony Stark. He had to do /something/. Even if it was wrong and messed up the world.

"Anyway. I didn't mean to kill the Disney Princess vibe going on. So I can show myself out and put jets on your Yacht some other day." A longer pause. "And if you let Hank scan any of this I'll /know/ and I'll totally show up in his lab and scan /everything/."

He starts to push off of the Yacht though, angling towards the dock. "So just…" A shrug. "…ah hell. I don't know. Try something." A pause. "Something that /doesn't/ involve salmon shorts. Because /seriously/ you're better than that." A pause. "At least go for mauve or chartruce or something fun to say."

A pause.

There is a glance at Ali for a moment. A 'try to take care of him, alright?' look.

…which is asking a lot because WARREN IS A HOT MESS.

…Tony knows one of those. Cause he is too.

But then he's ambling towards the docks. Because /sometimes/. THERE ARE TOO MANY FEELS IN THE ROOM.

"Seriously though, burn the shorts."

…and that is how Tony deals with them.

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