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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?"
