Logs:Any Port

Any Port
cn: referenced assault
Dramatis Personae DJ, Tony	2021-10-14 "He'd never -- I didn't think that he'd --" (in the wake of Dusk's assault.)
Location <PRV> Tony's Penthouse - Midtown Manhattan
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. There are layers and layers of security around Stark Tower, human and technological alike, designed to ensure Tony Stark's peace and safety here in his sanctum high above the city. Guards, robots, alarms, making sure that only those with the correct clearance, the correct appointments, make it through the security doors, up the elevators, out here to the sprawling penthouse levels. Likely Tony's security team was not fully counting on the erratic strobing path of one still heavily drugged teleporter who flutters through midair, hovers briefly over one of the wide balconies, skips the doors entirely and dumps himself in a heap on Tony's floor. DJ has lost his flannel and jeans somewhere during his night; his undershirt is torn and heavily bloodstained, his skin alternating too-pale and splotchy with incipient bruising. Possibly he intends to stand back up after this! -- but he doesn't; just pushes halfway to his knees and then drops again, still leaking a slow ooze of half-congealing blood from heavy wounds torn in his neck. Hopefully the throw rug he has landed on is not too expensive. Then again, its owner can probably eat the cost. Tony can assuredly afford the cost of rug cleaning or an entire new rug or an entirely new room to house the rug in if it came to that. He is not the first person to find DJ sullying his home decor, though; that honor goes first to his quiet and quietly vigilant AI, second to his somewhat frazzled bodyguard. It's only after Happy has come in to investigate and try and insist on locking down the room (and ushering Tony out of it) that Tony -- ushers himselfl in over the man's protestations. "-- half dead," he's saying, "if he bleeds on me too forcefully, I'll call you." "Yes, and I've already called an ambulance," Happy is trying to be reasonable here, "but he just teleported in here, you don't know what he's capable of." Tony is eying the struggling man on the rug, lips very slightly pursed. "Think I do, actually. Bye, Happy." He's summoning one of his drones to his side even as he dismisses his human companion. He stoops beside DJ, scooping the other man up and onto the couch where the drone begins ministering to the worst of the bleeding. "Get lost looking for the hospital? It's not far." DJ tries once more to sit up. It's not a tremendous success; his head thumps against Tony's chest, then falls heavily back -- thankfully to the couch and not floor. At first he answers only in a soft rasp of breath, eyes closing. He tries to sit up again -- falls back, this time manages a soft, "-- sorry." He's quiet then until the bleeding has mostly been stanched, cracking open an eye after this to look blearily at his robotic nurse like he can't quite remember how it got there. "... been a. Long night. I shouldn't have. Have come to... sorry." "No?" Tony has left the robot to handle the tending. He's gone off to pour a glass of whiskey, lifting it in offer, brows raised, to DJ. "Where, ah, should you. Have --" He waggles the glass in DJ's direction then. "Got your pick of your Rolodex, I'm sure." DJ subsides at the question. His next breath is harsher, closer to a sob. "Somewhere they wouldn't. Ask a lot of questions." He gives the glass a very long look. Swallows hard, finally, and closes his eyes as his head shakes. "Was a time I thought I had life -- kind of sorted out. And then --" His jaw tightens, then eases. Tony shrugs. Knocks back the whiskey at one gulp. Pours another measure. He leans back against the bar, swirling the glass lazily as he looks over to DJ. "Please. Like this is the first time you've landed on my couch after a night of bad ideas." His brows dip together. "If there's more terrorism involved -- no. Nope. Too soon, I don't need to know that." But his eyes are skimming down over the length of the other man's bloodied and disheveled form, his fingers clenching harder before he draws another mouthful of his drink. "Things getting spicy in that cult of yours?" "Hhhh." DJ's shudder is visible, his hand starting to lift toward his mouth, though it falls back to the couch after making it only halfway there. His breathing is coming faster, less even, but he manages to mostly compose it before answering, a little wry: "-- they haven't outlawed hanging out in mutant communities here, to my knowledge. Yet, anyway." The ragged breaths are getting slower, more labored. His eyes have closed again - maybe it's only this that stops him rolling them at Tony's cult comment. "I've had some questionable companions over the years but this guy was definitely not LDS. I should have stopped him, I just -- he'd never -- I didn't think that he'd --" There's quiet. for a while it seems as though maybe DJ is still searching for words. But his eyes do not open again, and the silence stretches on. Somewhere between the comment on mutant communities and the totally-not-rolled eyes over Tony has set his glass down. Sauntered away from the bar. There's the sound, now, of a chopper landing on the roof not far above; probably Happy is shepherding the medics this way. Tony is pulling up a holographic computer display, opening footage from both Stark and the city's very extensive network of urban surveillance. Zeroing in on Riverdale. "Yeah, buddy," is what he says, half muttered under his breath, "they never, until they do."