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Homework. Tony Stark hated homework. The spread of files in front of him was dense, too. The videos and collected data extensive. He shot a final forlorn look at the door to his elevator and then turned back to it, picking up the tablet and shuffling through to the first file--the compromised agent. Might as well start with the one he'd be working against.
( Clint Barton. Archer. )
( Clint Barton. Archer. )
As far as battles went, the one that the Avengers handled on Memorial day hadn't really been anything of note. There had been evil scientists (as there so often were), and talk of fear pheromones and taking the city by dusting everyone with an easy-to-disperse air-borne chemical agent similar to pollen, but the team had managed to track the men to their operating labs and contain their experiments there before any harm could be done. Experiments that were, it seemed, rather a ways off from inducing mass-panic as it did little more than coat the outside of the armour and Steve's uniform with a fine coat of a rather bemusing shade of blue powder which was easy enough to clean off with a spray down provided by Dummy when he returned.
He had, from a brief discussion with the good Captain before he settled into his workshop properly, discovered it apparently hadn't even needed to be washed off skin, it simply seemed to fade away. Phil had slated both of them for bio work-ups within the next 24 hours, but as there seemed to be no immediate adverse side effects, they all sort of agreed it was on a 'when you've got a moment have JARVIS do a read out' sort of scale as opposed to a 'your skin is evaporating get to SHIELD' issue, which had, unfortunately, been somewhat of a real concern after the time in Malta.
So, assured in another day of saving the world, hip hip hooray, Tony had settled behind the four screen array and sunk into the mess of upgrading the output of his thrusters. It wasn't until fifteen, thirty minutes later that JARVIS announced he had a visitor, and he looked up with mild surprise as Steve pushed his way into the room. It wasn't as if Steve was a stranger to the workshop--instead, the other Avenger often spent time holed up on a stool in the corner reading a book or drawing while Tony worked, but it was rare that he came down this soon after a mission--preferring to do the by-the-book briefing that Fury and Coulson so desperately desired.
Perhaps his terrible influence was finally taking effect. Or maybe Steve had simply done the reports quickly. Or perhaps he'd forced Natasha to do them instead of scaring everyone else by looking at them. Tony could hope.
"Evenin', Cap," :He greeted with a smile flashed toward Steve, that quickly vanished as he latched on to the exact point where he needed to make changes, "What can I do you for?"
He had, from a brief discussion with the good Captain before he settled into his workshop properly, discovered it apparently hadn't even needed to be washed off skin, it simply seemed to fade away. Phil had slated both of them for bio work-ups within the next 24 hours, but as there seemed to be no immediate adverse side effects, they all sort of agreed it was on a 'when you've got a moment have JARVIS do a read out' sort of scale as opposed to a 'your skin is evaporating get to SHIELD' issue, which had, unfortunately, been somewhat of a real concern after the time in Malta.
So, assured in another day of saving the world, hip hip hooray, Tony had settled behind the four screen array and sunk into the mess of upgrading the output of his thrusters. It wasn't until fifteen, thirty minutes later that JARVIS announced he had a visitor, and he looked up with mild surprise as Steve pushed his way into the room. It wasn't as if Steve was a stranger to the workshop--instead, the other Avenger often spent time holed up on a stool in the corner reading a book or drawing while Tony worked, but it was rare that he came down this soon after a mission--preferring to do the by-the-book briefing that Fury and Coulson so desperately desired.
Perhaps his terrible influence was finally taking effect. Or maybe Steve had simply done the reports quickly. Or perhaps he'd forced Natasha to do them instead of scaring everyone else by looking at them. Tony could hope.
"Evenin', Cap," :He greeted with a smile flashed toward Steve, that quickly vanished as he latched on to the exact point where he needed to make changes, "What can I do you for?"
Yes, this is my life || Closed RP
Apr. 14th, 2012 05:54 pmSomehow, in the few months, Tony Stark had become a proper do-gooder. He hadn't intended it. He was more than happy to remain Iron Man, to be a vigilante with his own cause and he worked best, as he'd often said, alone. But somehow alone had come to mean that he shared his life with two ridiculous assassins, a man who turned green when he tripped onto the other side of the emotional spectrum, a devastatingly handsome man from the 1930s who was hung up on being better than everyone and a demigod. And somehow, likely through a night of too much alcohol and knowing looks from Pepper, they'd all come to reside in his New York home.
His Father's New York home. Which he'd spent a great deal of time completely remodeling so it looked absolutely nothing like the home of his childhood, where so very much disappointment was had.
But all of this do-gooding and revelry that was so very tempered didn't mean that he didn't indulge in previously established terrible habits. Like drinking. To excess. Especially after their very favorite super-villain and brother to the aforementioned Demigod tried to bring the aforementioned Stark mansion to the ground. It had been a hell of a fight, with all sorts of strange spells hitting his house, and he was going to have a hell of a bill for SHIELD to take care of very soon, but the house had held and they had reigned supreme and good had saved the day and yadda yadda he decided it was definitely time to drink.
And now--well, now he was realizing that forty wasn't anywhere near to twenty, and he had small men drilling holes out of his brain. He groaned, and buried his face in his pillow.
"Jarvis, what time is it?" He mumbled, but he knew the AI would be able to understand. He'd said worse with less sense and Jarvis understood. Except, there--well, there wasn't an answer. He let out a growl and turned his head properly, "Jarvis, wake up. What time is it?" No answer and dammit, this headache was the work of the devil. If Loki could harness hangovers they'd all be done for.
"Jarvis? Where the hell are you?"
His Father's New York home. Which he'd spent a great deal of time completely remodeling so it looked absolutely nothing like the home of his childhood, where so very much disappointment was had.
But all of this do-gooding and revelry that was so very tempered didn't mean that he didn't indulge in previously established terrible habits. Like drinking. To excess. Especially after their very favorite super-villain and brother to the aforementioned Demigod tried to bring the aforementioned Stark mansion to the ground. It had been a hell of a fight, with all sorts of strange spells hitting his house, and he was going to have a hell of a bill for SHIELD to take care of very soon, but the house had held and they had reigned supreme and good had saved the day and yadda yadda he decided it was definitely time to drink.
And now--well, now he was realizing that forty wasn't anywhere near to twenty, and he had small men drilling holes out of his brain. He groaned, and buried his face in his pillow.
"Jarvis, what time is it?" He mumbled, but he knew the AI would be able to understand. He'd said worse with less sense and Jarvis understood. Except, there--well, there wasn't an answer. He let out a growl and turned his head properly, "Jarvis, wake up. What time is it?" No answer and dammit, this headache was the work of the devil. If Loki could harness hangovers they'd all be done for.
"Jarvis? Where the hell are you?"
