ArchivedLogs:Some Assembly Required

Some Assembly Required
Dramatis Personae Bruce, Clint, Steve, Tony Stark, Jarvis
In Absentia	2016-01-20 "{Standards of what's 'rude' might be a little skewed here, Captain.}"
Location <NYC> Tony's Penthouse - Stark Tower - Midtown East
Accessible only by private elevator, this home takes up the top four floors of Stark Tower. Three of them are residential, a luxurious sprawl of space equipped with state of the art technology and a wealth of comforts. Private gym, terraced pool room whose glass walls can be rolled back in summer to turn it into an outdoor balcony, full bar equipped with robotic-armed bartender, extensive home entertainment system. For all its opulence, the place is decorated tastefully, careful coordination through its wood-and-stone look. The views, through many windows, terraces, balconies, might be the best part of all of it; from this perch high atop the tower, the city spreads out beneath. The lowest floor of the home is less residential, more technologically bent; packed with a host of robotics, monitors, equipment. Where Tony does the bulk of /his/ personal work, it may well be the real heart of Stark Industries' R&D. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the entire southern facing of the penthouse, low gray clouds linger ominously over the city--even lower for the high vantage point. The expansive spread of Indian food Scattered across a wide glossy table might qualify as either a late working lunch or an early working dinner, superimposed as it is with dense holographic schematics of some mechanical device consisting of a long series of gradually tapering cylinders and their intricate inner workings. At one end of the table, Bruce is leaning over a slightly more conventional looking holographic interface, displaying a table largely populated with inscrutable numbers. He wears a hunter green dress shirt, the top button undone and the sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows, dark brown plain-front trousers, and polished black Oxfords. He pulls the thick black framed glasses from his face and rubs the bridge of his nose, loose messy waves of black hair falling across his face. "{I don't think we're going to get much further on this without Regan,}" he muses, his French soft and fluid with a heavy Canadian accent, "{and probably not much further after that without the subject. This is going to take a lot of tweaking where the wetware meets software and hardware.}" At the other end of the table, Tony has a plate of rogan josh and aloo saag sitting amid his display next to a squat glass of Scotch. The food is going mostly ignored, though he's lifting the glass to take a swallow as his other hand swipes at one segment of the schematics in front of him. He looks somewhat like he's just stopped through here in between meetings, suit jacket draped over the back of a chair, dark sharply tailored trousers, blue dress shirt, striped tie. "{So bring the subject. We'll order more food next time.}" Stepping out of the space-age elevator, Steve looks just a little lost. He's smartly dressed today, in a pale pink pinpoint shirt, gunmetal gray tie with subtle embossed silver stars, charcoal pinstripe pants, and black dress shoes. He carries a black coat and his iconic shield hanging from its harness over one arm. Takes a couple of steps into the room and comes up short, searching the cavernous space. "{Thank you, Jarvis.}" Then he spots the two men at the table. "{Hello! I hope I'm not interrupting anything.}" His French is rough and informal, with a Provence accent. "{I'd hoped to put it off as long as possible,}" Bruce admits, his fingers tapping the tabletop quietly, their nails trimmed much too close. "{I think normal people find the way we work off-putting, and neither of us really have anything I'd call /bedside manner/.}" He jumps when the elevator doors open to admit Steve, replacing his glasses and staring at the man. His thick black eyebrows lift up, up, up. "{You're most welcome, Captain,}" Jarvis tells Steve, then switches to speakers facing their side of the room, "{Steve Rogers to see you, Sir,}" "{None of /my/ subjects ever complain about my bedside manner. Hey. Dummy. Do you have a problem with my manners?}" Over at the side of the room, a long-armed robot straightens slightly with a quiet inquisitive hum. "{I have overheard a complaint or two in the mornings, Sir.}" Jarvis's tone is mild. "{Nobody was asking --}" Tony trails off, glass still in hand as the elevator opens. His fingers tighten around the Scotch, brows lifting -- up, up. He lifts his cup, knocking back the rest of the whisky in a quick swallow. "{I didn't make this appointment. You sure it isn't, ah, a few decades overdue? Might be looking for the wrong Stark.}" Steve had taken a few more steps toward the other two men, tentative, but now he stops. His jaw sets tight. Then he replies evenly, "{I made this appointment -- last week, and I think I'm just in time.}" He crosses the room, eyes straying to the schematics above the table, to Bruce (with a quick nod of greeting), then back to linger on Tony. "{I'm looking for /Tony/ Stark. If you don't want to see me, I will go.}" Bruce straightens up, adjusts his glasses again. He glaces sidelong at Tony, his brows furrowing with concern and confusion. "{Captain Rogers.}" He nods his own greeting, still looking uncertain. "{Bruce Banner. /I/ can go, if you two need to talk...?}" He picks up his tablet, but doesn't actually move to leave. "{You found him.}" Tony sets his empty cup back down, a few quick swipes of his hand getting rid of the model they'd been working on. He dismisses Bruce's concern with a shake of his head, picking up his plate instead. "{What /I/ need is this curry. Couldn't possibly tell you what the Capsicle is looking for. If they can get a guy un-freeze-dried after seventy years, I'm sure your handlers can hook you up with whatever tech you need. You'd be surprised how far radios have come.}" Steve shifts from one foot to the other, his shield falling farther behind the fabric of his coat. "{I'm continually amazed by technology, but I don't have or need handlers to...}" Pausing half a beat. "{...hook me up. Or you, for that matter. I just wanted to meet you.}" His lips press into a thin line for a moment. "{Your father was a good friend.}" "{I'm not sure the credit for that revival belongs to /modern/ technology.}" Bruce shrugs a very small shrug, putting his tablet back down. "{Ah, can I get you something to drink, Captain? Water, coffee, tea, something stronger?}" "{So he told me.}" Tony's voice is bland. Regardless of Steve's answer, /he's/ pouring himself another Scotch, as though reminded of his empty glass by Bruce's prompting. "{Guess your handlers have probably had their hands pretty full with other business anyway.}" Tony's hand skims against the display he had been working on, flicking over towards one of the windows afterward -- which promptly shifts into a screen, playing a newsclip. A slender dark-haired newscaster discussing the recent dismissal of Steve's charges after his lawyer entered the results of his DNA test into evidence. "{Score one for humanity.}" "{Coffee would be lovely, thank you. Black, please.}" Though still standing, holding his coat and shield, Steve does not look particularly uncomfortable. "{Howard was the most brilliant man that I had ever met, and his designs saved /my/ life countless times, to say nothing my team and the people for whom we fought.}" His gaze drops to the glossy surface of the table, a faint tightness tugging at the corners of his eyes. "{I know it has been a...long time since he passed, but I still wanted to offer my condolences.}" He watches the clip only briefly, eyes skipping back to Tony before it has finished playing. "{Don't think it gives anyone /points/ that I came by my abilities one way rather than another.}" Bruce nods and crosses to the coffee machine, which he can operate without really even watching. Instead, he continues watching the other two men out of his peripheral vision. Returning with two simple glass mugs of dark coffee, he offers one to Steve and keeps the other for himself. "{By itself it does not mean much, but if Jackson Holland gets convicted and you never even get charged...well, it's a pretty obvious set-up for a challenge.}" "{Condolences. You're a couple decades late on that too. Are you going to sit?}" Tony leans a hip against the table, raising his glass halfway to his lips. "{Some people are definitely keeping score. All /kinds/ of folk keen on claiming you for --}" His brows lift, words breaking off as he takes another sip of his Scotch. "{Well, I'm sure they'd invented propaganda in your day.}" His eyes skate back to Bruce, a small huff of laughter pushed out through his nose. "{Pretty obvious. Pretty -- oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am sure your handlers have been nothing but thrilled lately.}" {Thank you,}" Steve says, accepting the coffee with a small but sincere smile. It fades quickly. "{Seems rude to sit when my host is standing, and I'm still not sure you wouldn't prefer if I just leave.}" He takes a deep breath. Lets it back out. Holds his coffee closer to his chest as if /it/ were a shield. "{I'm late to a lot of things,}" he allows, gritting his teeth. "{Not getting the impression you were holding /your/ breath for me to offer my respects. But, there they are anyway.}" Raises his coffee for a sip. Then, calmer, "{Yes, dismissing my case will probably help to challenge the law. That's a good thing in /my/ book.}" "{You're welcome.}" /Bruce/ sits, anyway, looking up at the other two men with one eyebrow slightly quirked. "{Standards of what's 'rude' might be a little skewed here, Captain. May as well just make yourself comfortable for as long as you feel like staying.}" He drinks his coffee and pulls his baigan bartha closer, though he doesn't actually resume eating. "{That law was hastily passed, to assuage fears and gain political currency and not to protect anyone. It certainly bears re-examining.}" "{Perceptive.}" Tony's cheek clicks against his teeth, glass tipping out towards Steve in a lazy-idle salute. "{Can see why my dad used to go on about you.}" He sets the Scotch down, leaning in against the table, both palms splayed out against its display. His eyes skate over to the window, narrowing on the silenced stream of news flickering across its surface. "{Re-examining. In what direction, though. Might've thrown out your case, but are you any /less/ dangerous because you got your mojo from a bottle?}" The ghost of a wince passes over Steve's face, so brief and subtle that it'd be easy to miss. He finally closes the distance to the table, though he still does not sit. Just stands, half-way down the long edge of the table between Bruce and Tony. Sets his coffee down. "{Of course not. /How/ I got the abilities is irrelevant, and danger is a red herring. /What/ I do with the abilities is the important part. And what I did was save a bunch of kids. That shouldn't be illegal, for me or for Jax Holland.}" "{It should be re-examined with a view toward justice for all--which is not necessarily any /direction./}" Bruce pokes at his lunch without much apparent relish, the fingers of his other hand playing restlessly at the screen of his tablet. "{But certainly a law that punishes a certain sector of the population effectively for their very existence is not just...and, ultimately, not practical. And, given that it plays into powerful existing prejudices, I'd even say it is /itself/ dangerous.}" "{Don't imagine /everyone's/ going to be as much of a Boy Scout as the good Captain, here. We're not just talking -- apples and oranges here, we're talking --}" Tony leans a little more heavily against the table, his fingers pressing down against it harder. "{Saving a bunch of kids and blowing up half of New York.}" He lifts one hand, tipping it out towards Bruce. "{Justice, sure. Yeah. We all want that. What's not /practical/ is pretending this is just another civil rights fight.}" "{Most of the people affected by this law are doing /neither/. Do you suppose this ordinance is going to stop someone from blowing up half a city? We already /had/ laws against that, did even before 'USA PATRIOT' and that whole mess.}" Steve stands up just a touch straighter, his brows gathering. "{But you can't just outlaw /people/.}" His jaw tightens again, his eyes narrowing fractionally. "{Or you /can/, but it doesn't lead anywhere good.}" Bruce digs his knuckles into his left temple. "{Look, ah, I do think this is an important conversation, but can we maybe take a step back here and try not to get too personal?}" He downs a quarter of his coffee all at once. "{It's not /just/ another civil rights fight. It /is/ about civil rights, yes, but also public safety, and personal freedom, and /personhood./ And if this case is going to put that law under a legal microscope? Get people talking and thinking about it? Good.}" There's a brief stretch of quiet from Tony, before he finally straightens. Picks up his glass, tips back the rest of his Scotch. "{Right. No. Wouldn't want that.}" The glass clunks down somewhat heavily against the table. "{Step back, maybe we should take two. Three. Here you've come to, what was it, pay your respects? I should probably offer you lunch before someone starts griping about my manners again.}" His hands spread to the large spread of Indian food laid out. "{Help yourself, thank you for, ah, all your /service/. I have another meeting to be late to.}" "{No, thank you,}" Steve says coolly. "{I'll be on my way and let you get on with your work. Good day, gentlemen.}" He nods curtly, pivots on one heel, and makes for the elevator, his steps heavy and fast. "{Thank you, Jarvis. Maybe I can buy you a drink when you get off?}" Bruce's dark brown eyes skip between the two other men nervously, though he relaxes visibly at the dubious truce. "{Nice to meet you, Captain, and have a good day.}" He stands up as if prepared to walk Steve out, but then remains rooted to the spot--obviously the visitor can find his own way. His brows knit at that last question, though. He darts a look at Tony, lifting one brow and mouthing, 'What.' The disembodied voice of the AI does not reply at once, but when it does, Jarvis sounds just as pleasant and collected as ever. "{That might prove difficult, Captain. I'm afraid I am not the man you knew--nor indeed a man at all--and I ought not to have permitted you to assume I was.}" Tony's eyes lift, shooting across the room towards Steve as Jarvis speaks, though the faint twitch of his jaw is difficult to read. He doesn't say anything. Just flicks a hand at his interface, bringing back up the schematics they'd been working on before. Steve has stopped in his tracks just short of the elevator. He looks up -- searching for the source of the voice, maybe. Then down again, shoulders slumping just a little. "Oh… {I see. You -- }" Just silence for long seconds, but then he resumes walking. Much softer, "{Thank you, anyway.}" Across the street, there is a lone human figure perched up in the superstructure of an only moderately less impressive skyscraper. If the biting wind bothers him, Clint makes no complaint, dressed as he is in high performance insulated garb, entirely black. He carries a black sling pack across his back and has a smartphone in hand, flicking at its screen idly like any average person trying to kill some time at work. He has one leg crooked around a strut of the superstructure and the other dangling down, kicking in the air above a several-hundred-foot drop. The inside of his goggles' mirrored lenses display all kinds of information: presently a glowing blue message: 'Are you /sure/ they're not punching each other?'