Logs:King's Gambit

King's Gambit
Dramatis Personae Rift!Matt, Steve, Tony Stark
In Absentia	2020-12-13 "Damn you!"
Location <NYC> Across the Rift - NYPD 121st Precinct - Staten Island
The 121st Precinct station on this side of the rift had been abandoned for some time, before the discovery of the rift made it abruptly relevant again to different interests. Stark's Sentinels have been a steady fixture here for weeks while the rift teams from both sides frantically work together, racing the dimensional tear as it expands in fits and starts. The last such fit tore down the better part of the avant garde monstrosity of a building, but the Sentinels are not much put off as they patrol its ruins instead. Tents and space heaters have been set up near the rift itself and all the various complex equipment that has been brought in or in some cases wholesale constructed for the project. Some of that equipment is quite heavy, and while either Tony Stark could presumably handle that with the technology and underlings at their disposal, why bother when you have a supersoldier handy? Luckily Steve is very eager to be of use, especially since punching interdimensional invaders hasn't been in the cards so far. He's lifting a highly complex looking control terminal for some arcane piece of the array that will hopefully help to mend the rift between worlds and even more hopefully not just swallow up yet more of Staten Island. Dressed in his red, white, and blue tactical uniform with his great star-in-concentric stripes shield slung across his back, he looks every bit the superhero as he settles the unwieldy machinery into the place Tony had indicated. His expression is strained, not with physical effort but incredulity. He whirls on Tony as soon as he's put down his burden. "Are you drunk?" he demands. "Why on earth would you do that?! They already have a Tony Stark." "Not -- currently. A little bit, when I decided." Tony's casual lean back in his chair right now is complemented by his not-particularly-businesslike attire of grey sweatshirt, Iron Maiden tee and jeans, looking all the more lax in contrast to Steve's Serious Hero getup. He snaps forefinger and thumb together and points at Steve. "See, right now they do. But," he's rocking his chair forward, leaning forward like he's about to confide something that will make this whole scheme comprehensible, "you'll get him. Mass will be conserved. More or less. He might have a few extra pounds on me." The sleek black Lexus RX that pulls up to the curb has several rideshare decals in its windows, but it does not depart after dropping off its passenger. In fact, there seem to be several other passengers inside still, though it's hard to be sure through tinted windows. The one who's just disembarked, at least, is walking up to the half-destroyed stationhouse like he owns the place. But then, that's not so very unusual for Matthieu Tessier. He looks sharp enough to cut in a black suit of finest Italian wool, the jacket unbuttoned to flash glimpses of green paisley lining, a sober black linen vest underneath and a stark white broadcloth shirt cinched with an emerald-and-silver scrollwork tie that perfectly accentuates unusually vivid green eyes, his black patent leather shoes polished to a gleam. The gray scarf that's draped loosely--just so!--around his neck looks surpassingly soft and somehow more worn than the rest of his outfit. Those unusually vivid green eyes have snapped to Steve from a good ways off and not strayed as he approaches the two other men. "Pardon me, gentlemen. I do hope I am not interrupting." His voice is gentle and his smile winsome, but there's not the least suggestion of apology in his tone. "But I must borrow Mister Stark for a few moments." Steve's frown only deepens as Tony -- sort of? -- explains. "Wait -- what?!" There's a faint hysterical edge to his voice now. "But why? Dear God, if this is some kind of -- psychological experiment or practical joke, I swear I will --" He never gets around to whatever threat or promise he was about to make, because at that moment Matt's approach in his peripheral vision evidently warranted his full attention, even before he hopes-he's-not interrupts. Steve does not answer, though. He's just staring. His eyes travel up and down the other man, finally settling back on his face. It's a few ticks later that he catches himself and blushes, looking away to Tony if only to break the awkward spell he'd cast. "Uh..." he says, eloquently. "Hey." "Believe it or not I have given this -- some thought. I have a real chance here, to --" Tony cuts off here too, though, chair swiveling to face Matt as he approaches. His eyes skip from Matt to Steve and back, brows lifting. "I have not been here long enough for you to get on my schedule. Call Pepper -- wait. Do I have a Pepper?" He shakes his head to clear it of this line of thinking, following up -- with Steve, rather than Matt, "-- see that? Barge in. No appointment. Already feeling like home." Matt inclines his head to Steve. "It's an honor, Captain Rogers," he says smoothly. "To judge by your reaction, I'd surmise that the me from your world has also had the honor of making your acquaintance. I am glad for him on that point, at least, but I imagine this must be...quite odd for you. Certain it is, for me!" His gaze turns, steady and impassive, to Tony. "I am Matt Tessier, and I was looking for your alter ego. If you would kindly point me his way, I'll get out of your hair presently." Steve's pale blue eyes creep back to Matt, wide and wondering. "It must be a lot stranger for you. I understand the other -- your Steve Rogers is --" He grits his teeth, wincing. "I'm terribly sorry, I don't know what kind of relationship you had with him and I'd rather not say anything inconsiderate of your grief." His eyes flick back in the direction of the invisible rift. "I'm afraid the ah -- your Tony Stark is busy, on the other side. But I cannot let you through. Been given to understand it might cause...difficulties." "Tessier." Tony's fingers snap again with this identification. "You don't look anything like --" He stops here, abrupt, eying Matt for a moment before switching instead to: "... I'm sorry about your brother. Didn't get to know him long. Had a lot to say about you, though." "He was a dear friend, and he has been missed," Matt supplies softly, his eyes going a little distant. "What sort of difficulties might it cause?" His eyes widen slightly at the question, almost achingly sincere. A sincerity that has not wholly left him by the time his eyes snap to Tony, fierce and searching for just a split instant before he lowers his gaze. "Thank you," sounds yet softer than his previous words. "He was, I think, the closest confidant I have had all my life. I cannot be so surprised he spoke of me much, but I own I did not expect him to have had occasion to speak of me to you." Bright green eyes lift up, unblinking. "I admit I am curious." "Sorry?" Steve is asking Tony this. Then looking back at Matt. Then back at Tony. "I'm sorry, did something happen to Lu --" He frowns. "To -- your -- brother? I'm afraid he was the one who believed your passage would be ill-advised, and he did not really elaborate." Tony glances back to Steve quick. His lips compress, fingers lacing tight together against his midsection. "Died," he answers with a small frown. "Just this week. Sudden, from what I heard." He sits up, a little straighter in his chair. "Didn't expect him to have much occasion, either. Didn't picture the conversation like this but --" His shrug is small. "Might take some explaining." He gestures to an empty seat nearby. "He thought you could help me." Matt is slow to take the offered seat, his eyes downcast and a touch glassy. "I don't know that anyone would have an easy time picturing conversations across entire realities, and yet..." One hand turns elegantly upward, a sort of manual shrug at the dilapidated remains of the 121st precinct. "...here we are." His smile now is terribly faint, but not entirely forced. "If he thought I could help you--well, I should very much like to know how." Steve's mouth drops open. Then he quickly closes it again, looking down. "My condolences, Mister Tessier," he says, gravely. "I cannot say I really knew him at all, but..." He hesitates. Subsides minutely. "I'm -- sorry, for your loss. I can go back across the rift and fetch Neg --" He cringes. "--the other Tony Stark. If you need to speak to him still." "I'm gonna have to get used to picturing them. Been making some plans to stay in yours. Reality, I mean." Tony waves a hand around the remnants of the station, too. "Steve was -- just in the middle of telling me that's nuts. Your brother seemed to think it could work out, though. For your family. For the war. For a lot of things." "Thank you," Matt replies, inclining his head graciously. He straightens fractionally at Tony's revelation, though, his eyes coming keen and alert. They do not fix on Tony, however, but on the ground between them, ticking rapidly from side to side. "Points for originality," his murmur is oddly abstract, "but what are you playing at?" If this question was meant for either of the other two men, he does not give them time to answer it. "I have a couple of questions, if you do not mind. One..." He counts this off on his right thumb. "...will you return my sister in exchange for this help, and two..." He extends his index finger as well. "...what do you mean to do with our Tony Stark?" Steve's gaze is bouncing between Tony and Matt, not growing significantly less perplexed. "That -- is nuts," he shoots back. "He's going to send the other Tony to our world. How exactly do you expect to do that, anyway? Kidnap him? And then what -- so he can undo everything you've done with Stark or worse, bring his war with him?" He grits his teeth, and looks tempted to continue when he suddenly looks back at Matt. "Wait -- what does your sister have to do with this?" "We asked him. That's how." Tony's hands press tighter against each other. "Not. To bring a new war. To end one." He glances up to the ceiling for a moment, but then settles his eyes back on Matt. "Your sister -- stays. He was clear on that. Didn't think it was safe." A muscle twitches in his cheek, quick and sharp. "Clearly. Not safe. Guess he pissed off someone important." He unlaces his fingers, one hand lifting to rub against the side of his face. "He thought it would be a risk. Trying to stop all this. He might not be here to take, but --" That same hand turns out toward Matt. "If not. That you'd be a good person. To take it with." Matt's eyes dart, irritated, to Steve. "Please, Captain. The adults are talking here. Do try to keep up?" He blinks once, slowly. "If our Stark is amenable, why bother trading places at all? I might just as well work with him, not that I particularly care either way if this is how you are dealing with your respective mid-life crises." Some of the nonchalance deserts him now. "Not safe," he echoes faintly, his eyes focusing on the rubble-strewn ground again, tracking--nothing at all, that the others can see. "I suppose he was right, no?" Then abruptly he's on his feet, pacing, his "ostie de viarge de tabernak" is quiet but there's an unexpected violence in the sharpness of his movements. "My brother is dead. My sister carried off to another world. But--we can put an end to this war. Save my people from extermination. What kind of..." He just trails off, staring at the ground, his fingers playing absently at the tassels of his scarf. A flash of anger passes over Steve's face, but it's quick and quickly smoothed back out, his head dipping as he takes a deep breath. "Look, clearly there are things going on here I don't understand, and I'm not asking either of you to explain everything to me, but --" He runs a hand through his hair, heaving an exasperated breath. "If Nega -- like he said, if the other Tony is ready to end this war, can't he just -- do that? I don't mean to say it'll be easy, but he is an unfathomably powerful man and he'll have help!" His hand gestures wildly at Matt, but his next words are addressed to Tony, soft and almost plaintive, "Why does it have to be you?" Tony doesn't answer this immediately, uncharacteristically quiet as he watches Matt's pacing. "He's agreed," he says finally, "but wanting to change -- doesn't mean it's easy to. Get into patterns -- spend a whole life in those patterns. Takes more than just deciding, sometimes. Get a whole world of people telling you your mistakes are right? Are good? Are powerful? Doesn't make it any easier." He drops his hand back to the other, palm kneading at his opposite knuckle. "Maybe it shouldn't. But sometimes it takes a whole shakeup. Get you out of those patterns. Surround yourself with the right people instead. Like real heroes. Like real friends." It's only here that he looks up to Steve. "Dealt a lot of death in my lifetime, Cap. Can't undo the past. Best we can do is set it up for a better future." Matt stops, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly as he looks up at Tony. And then down at the ground again. His hand lifts to his mouth, pressing one curled index finger tight against his lips as he collapses back into the chair he'd been sitting in. "{It's a gambit,}" he mutters, in French now, his breaths coming faster, his fingers scrunching into the tail of his scarf, knuckles white. "{Oh, my poor darling brother.} Damn you!" It's not clear who this last outburst is meant for, and even harder to tell whether the passion in his voice is anguish or fury or both. "But he is right." This, at least, is to Steve. "Awful to put that on you--on anyone--but he is right." His gaze drops again. He's physically shaking, something like defeat sitting oddly on a frame so unused to it. "This I will do," though, sounds determined. "Only tell me, Captain...they are--good people, no? The Tessiers in your world. Tell me this, I pray you." Steve opens his mouth, perhaps to refute Tony, but no words come out. His jaw sets hard. His eyes glisten and he looks away, blinking them clear. "Goddammit, Tony," he manages at last, his voice rough. "Do you have any idea how hard it'll be to look at that man and --" His head shakes, sharp and quick. "But. This is your choice and. You're right." Some of the tension eases from his shoulders at Matt's question. "They're good people." His answer is soft and sincere. "Been like family to me these past two years. I trust them with my life. Him, too --" He points at Tony kind of accusingly. "Even if he's a friggin' punk. {Look out for him, please? On this side.}" "No. I've tried not to look at him. Very disorienting." Tony's eyes skip from Steve back to Matt when he collapses back into the chair. "{Funny. He asked me the same.} Didn't get to know the man well, but. If he's much like ours --" His head shakes quick. He looks up to the ceiling, then back to Steve. "You want a drink?" He's standing, abrupt. "Rift's not going anywhere till DJ makes up his mind. I'm getting a drink." "{I don't know if I'm the best candidate for that, but...}" Matt presses a hand to his mouth again. "{...Luci had such faith in me. I shall try.}" He looks up at Tony, blinks slowly. "The funeral's in a couple of hours," this reply is kind of automatic. But then, "Desi has the arrangements well in hand, though, and besides..." He pushes himself heavily out of the chair. "I certainly will not get through it sober."