Nothing Good
Roleplaying Log: Nothing Good
IC Details

Tony and Warren talk about the missing telepaths and agree nothing good can come of it. Nothing good comes of them conspiring together, either, but that's normal.

Other Characters Referenced: Alison Blaire, Emma Frost, Betsy Braddock, Pepper Potts
IC Date: June 11, 2019
IC Location: 902 Fifth Avenue, New York
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 11 Jun 2019 04:20
Rating & Warnings:
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

Tony didn't have to wait long after his missive before he received a reply from Warren, detailing what little Warren himself had been able to dig up about the missing telepaths. Included in the missive was a note that he and Ali were in the city at the moment, so if Tony wanted to stop by to discuss at any point, he should either hit up Worthington Tower or the Fifth Avenue penthouse Warren keeps on the Upper East Side.

Not a lot of people get Warren's personal address. Tony is one — though Warren might have cause to regret letting even his BFF have his address before long.

Tony has two choices of approach: the normal way, entering the building and taking the private elevator up to the top floors, or the privileged way, which Warren allows a very few people to do. The latter is simply to approach from the air, the same way Warren himself usually returns to his apartment, land on the wraparound terrace girdling the top floor of the duplex, and ring the bell from there. Of course, this way might get a bit of a slower response from Warren due to being a little less announced, but the wait wouldn't be long.

Especially not with someone of Tony Stark's personality… and especially given that Warren has been expecting Tony to suddenly turn up for a while now.

Of course a refined and understanding man like Tony Stark would choose the conventional approach of the eleva—

No. No I can't even finish that statement.

Of /course/ he goes by the flashiest entrance possible. Which is of course why the red and gold suit can be seen slicing though the air above the Upper East Side. To Tony's credit he doesn't buzz Warren's tower, if only because someone would complain on loosing a window. Instead the /thump/ of a heavy armor system landing on the wrap around balcony is what heralds the arrival of Tony Stark.

The thump of the suit, the purr of the repulsors and—

"Warren! You awake yet?"

The dulcet tones of Tony Stark himself as he thumps his fist against the door of the balcony. "I know you're here." Pause. "Put on pants!"

…yes. They /are/ friends.

Really, Warren should have expected this. And he did, to be fair, given the fact he didn't even bother telling the front desk to watch out for Tony Stark. But 'expecting Tony Stark to show up' and 'knowing exactly when Tony Stark will show up' are two different things entirely.

There is silence for a few moments after Tony's flashy landing, subsequent banging on the door, and yell. Silence, because Warren might be disentangling himself from the awkward results of an unfortunate startle at precisely the wrong time. Picking himself up off the floor, he asks rhetorically of his companion, "Why did I let Tony have my address? It's been years, and I never learn."

A pause. "Oh right, because then he has to give me his. All right — give me a few moments, darling."

A few moments after that, the intercom lights up in response to Tony's yelling. "Only the pants? Nothing else? I knew you loved me. Let yourself in, it's got your biometric in it."

The balcony opens onto the top floor of the duplex, with clear sight lines to the mezzanine that overlaps the lower floor with all its floor-to-ceiling windows, and the ceiling overhead that seems entirely one big skylight. Bird preferences. Tony isn't alone long before Warren comes sauntering down the darkened hall, in pants and — as promised — nothing else. He likes having his wings free whenever possible.

"Come downstairs," he says, with a flick of one wing. "I just restocked the place." A sharp blue eye turns towards Tony. "How are you holding up? She didn't nuke your brain too hard?"

Tit for tat. Thats how they do things right?

"Yeah," Stark tosses back with a smirk as he fits his thumb to the scanner to let the door in. "I figured I'd at least let you show off. Since you know you would have done that anyway." Stark himself doesn't seem phased by the winged one.

"Hi Ali!" He calls down the hall behind Warren and then before any objects, lasers, or curses can be thrown towards him slides towards the stairs. The suit standing sentry on the outside of the balcony like a mythical suit of armor.

"Yeah," At the question he raises his hand to rub at his temples. "Not the worst psychic download I've had. Only had the migrane for the past day or so." A smirk at that because it is so true. "She didn't really have time to be nice about it."

A pause.

"Someone /was/ going to tell me she was missing at some point right?" He adds as he strolls round the downstairs room. Too agitated to sit down, which is very much like him.

"You're magnanimous as always," is Warren's reply. "Letting me show off and all. I don't know where I'd be without your generosity." A pause. "This is revenge for all the times I drunk-flew into your windows when you were trying to score, isn't it? I'm telling you, windows are really hard to see even at the best of times…"

Leading Tony downstairs before he can get himself (them both) in even more trouble with Ali, Warren sweeps a wing at the sitting area in a tacit invitation for Tony to take a load off — though he knows Tony won't — and turns himself towards the kitchen. "Pick your poison, or I'll pick for you," he says, considering his cabinets. "I assume the migraine's passed enough for it, anyway?" His expression loses a bit of its humor when Tony refers to that lingering pain from the 'psychic download that Emma didn't have time to be nice about,' but he keeps his opinion on the matter to himself for now.

Especially at Tony's follow-up question. The clink of the glasses, as Warren places them on the counter, is a little too loud.

"Tony," Warren finally says, "we didn't know for certain until you rang us. They do say a… bond helps, when it comes to picking up psychic specificity. Our telepaths heard vague calls, but nothing direct until that distress call Betsy followed. Which turned out to be a trap." He frowns. "Frost wasn't at that Hellfire party, but — that's not any kind of surefire indicator. Of course Shaw wasn't talking, and who'd believe him if he did?"

He lifts his wings in a shrug. "You know what we're like with Hellfire. We're… more careful with trails that lead anywhere in that direction. We'll still help them if they truly need it, though, that's what we're about." His wings fold, a little tensely. "Even with what happened with Jean, with Ali… what we're seeing here is unacceptable. Telepaths taken and experimented on… nothing good will come of it."

"Scotch?" Stark replies quickly enough to either convince Warren that he's well enough for the drink or he doesn't /care/ if he's well enough for the drink. "Yeah, you're the reason I had those bird-away stickers slapped all over Avenger's Mansion you know. Just in case." The inventor replies with a smirk. "Besides I know you'll enjoy making it all up to her."

The way Warren sets the glasses down derails Stark's further banter though before he winces just slightly. "Yeah there I go putting my foot in my mouth again. I'm really good at that you know. I mean I learned from the best." A pause before he nods. "I know though, I know. Hellfire bad, Shaw even worse. Not going to even try to convince you otherwise because I don't convince myself."

He pauses for a moment before he nods. "And yes, I know you'd help anyway…" A frown. "…you know I hate waiting and wondering. And the migraine isn't helping. But you're damn right nothing good will come of it. I mean I can't think of a single positive outcome here. Other than finding the missing people and launching whoever is behind this into the sun. That seems pretty positive."

Warren cocks an eye at Tony at the quickness of that reply, but after a moment he just nods and pulls out a bottle of Ardbeg. Where Tony's concerned, trying to convince him he can't do something just makes him even more contrary — Warren knows, because he's the same way himself — and it's probably easier to just control how much Tony gets, then try to argue and wind up with Tony angrily drinking the whole bottle.

"Flattered to know I'm the sole reason for an item of Avengers decor," he says, pouring both himself and Tony a few fingers. "And I will in fact enjoy making it up to her."

There's a slight moment of tension when that question pops out is quick to pass, however, especially with Tony's wince. "You're the best at it," Warren says dryly, "but then, you tend to excel at anything you put your mind to. And I mean anything." There's a pensive moment, before Warren's beautiful features light with a wry smile. "But there I go lecturing. I do know that you know all that already. I sound more and more like Scott by the day. Someone will have to take me out back and put me out of my misery soon."

He passes Tony his glass, keeping one for himself. "I… do still reserve some judgment on Emma Frost, specifically," he admits. "If you think there's something there beyond what we saw of her years ago. Which, to be quite fair — she was young." Clearly Warren just hasn't talked to Emma personally enough, himself — that or he's just trying especially hard to lean into the X-Men credo of forgiveness.

"Yeah," he says, of Tony's inability to sit and wait. "I know. I'm the same way. Scott always had to yell at me for jumping too fast… maybe it's why I don't jump as fast as I used to, these days." A pause. "…Not always." He clasps Tony by the shoulder. "Listen… we're going to keep scanning on the psychic airwaves — if they're getting their psychics by luring them unawares, they're going to have to keep putting calls out, right? — and we're going to see if we can trace who these people are and where they're taking these telepaths by more mundane means, too. Whoever finds something first… put out the call, and the other will bring the cavalry."

"X-dad Warren," A smirk is angled from one billionare to the other. "Be careful. You're going to become positively respectable if you don't watch out. People following you around, asking you questions, saying 'what would Warren do?' in hushed whispers. And then…" He take the glass, tipping head back to down a good bit of it all at once. "…it'll be something…/respectable/ they come up with. Like. Go to sleep early. Or look both ways before crossing the street."

He can't help it.

I mean he could. Be he doesn't.

The glass is lowered though as the other comes to clap him on the shoulder. "Not always, but sometimes you have to jump. Its just how we do." A nod though. "But yeah. I'll keep looking my way and you keep looking yours. Then we meet in the middle and launch anyone behind this into the sun." Stark seems to like this plan.

A violent one but thats the mood Stark is in right now, no matter how much he smiles.

As he finishes the drink though he glances out of the side of his eye towards Warren a moment. "…and…thanks." A pause. "I know anything with Emma has some serious bad blood on all sides, doubly so for the Hellfire idiots. So…thanks." A pause. Stark's never really pried into any of that mess. On either side. Its too personal and not his business. However he /does/ know that it is…business. Bad business.

"But now we've gotten this out of the way…I should likely start to make my escape. Before Ali comes down here and flash fries my insides in a pout."

"People complain, but in the end they need impetuous assholes like us, at least sometimes. Nothing gets done otherwise," Warren says, with a light squeeze for Tony's shoulder before he lets go and paces away with his own glass. "Sounds like a plan, though. The 'launching people into the sun' thing. …I'm sure you actually can do that, by now."

Another thing Tony can do? Tease Warren mercilessly and get away with it.

"Ugh," Warren says, as Tony starts in.

"Ugh," he says again, as Tony keeps going.

Soon enough he's flopped onto his own sectional, completely drained of life by the very idea of the picture Tony's painting, one white wing cast over his face in mock despair. "How did we get to this point?" he wonders, slightly muffled. A pause — and then his wing flicks and sweeps aside with sudden realization, Warren's blue eyes fixing on Tony. That same wing points at Tony. "And I do mean we. You're on the same dangerous path. People are already looking up to you. Watch out or they'll start to do biopics about how your paternal guidance turned around the lives of your young wards into a respectability to match your own."

He sits up, however, sobering a little, as Tony quietly thanks him for getting involved despite all the bad blood. "Well," he says, sitting forward and slinging his elbows across his knees. His wings open briefly, stretching, before settling in a fold at his sloped back. "I happen to be fond of you, you know. Someone out there has to give your judgment a chance at least sometimes. Why not somebody who's been just as scorned as a 'bad ideas' generator in the past? He at least knows what it feels like." He looks briefly pensive. "There's been a lot of bad blood, but… I guess what we were taught by the Professor was to always hope for something better."

He shakes his head. Mood's too serious, now. "Anyway. Yeah, you better get out before Alison gets down here. No telling what she'd be in the mood to laser onto your face. Keep in touch? We'll send anything along if we find it, too."

"To tell ya the compleate truth, Featherbrain. I have /no/ idea how that happened. We've both nearly blown up the world more times that I care to admit. Then saved it. Then nearly blown it up again. I guess it comes with being larger than life? I have /no/ idea." With one final toss he downs the rest of his drink. "Personally, I'd rather go back to trying to make a yacht fly. Which I /have/ figured out. I just haven't done it yet."

A pause.

"That was a /lot/ easier than all this…" He waves a hand. "…mess."

But then he smirks towards Warren for a moment as the other's mood dampens. Out of a pocket comes a USB drive that he flicks towards Warren. "All the info I found out so far. You might can do something with it too."

A deep sigh before he nods. "Now. Get back up there and make up to Ali before she decides I'm more trouble than I'm worth." The man says. "And stop frowning. It makes you look really damn strange."

Then he'll be turning towards the balcony again. Not a word more said about Hopes and Dreams of the masses or of the X-men.

…of course. He can't…you know. Just leave there.

"BYE ALI!" He shouts down the hallway as he makes a beeline for the door. "BE NICE TO HIM I MADE HIS FACE LOOK ALL SERIOUS!"

One day. He is going to die doing this.

A single beat of silence.

…Then a concussive BLAST of light BURNS down the hall and chases Tony Stark right out of the apartment, its photons pluming explosively out into the open air in an exhaust cloud of fireworks.


And as Stark is blased off the balcony and into the night sky Warren can hear one single statement that sums up Tony Stark.

"I regret nothinnngggggggggg…"

Thank goodness for Iron Man suits.

Warren considers all this from his seat. After a pause, he finishes his scotch.

"Some things really never change," he observes, with an air of satisfaction.

At the least, he has stopped frowning.

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