Logs:A Bridge Too Far

A Bridge Too Far
Dramatis Personae Bruce, Tony Stark
In Absentia	2019-11-07 "Wars don't start themselves. Wars don't keep themselves going."
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. Bruce is pacing, his gait stiff and truncated. He's wearing a royal purple dress shirt with dark blue stripes and navy trousers, his hair a bit tousled, his glasses sitting slightly crooked on his face. "Look, I have no illusions that it's any simple ethical course of action, but I'm pretty sure facilitating U.S. military intervention is not it." Tony has been leaning back in a chair, a white and red Chinese takeout carton in his hand, plucking thin strips of shredded beef and bamboo out of it with a pair of disposable wooden chopsticks. "I'm sorry, ah, how do you -- how do you think any of our military ops have gone down these past --" He waves the chopsticks in the air. "Sixty years? Where do you think we've invaded that our weapons haven't? But this, now, here, this one's a bridge too far." Bruce darts a glance at Tony when he replies, and starts shaking his head before the other man finishes speaking. "I know." He sounds a little deflated. "It's not that I think it's objectively worse in terms of arms sales, but you had stayed out of it until now." He stops and turns back to face his friend, tone earnest and urgent. "I thought maybe you had some compunctions about ah, destabilizing an already precarious political situation and potentially plunging an already embattled country into open civil war?" "They hadn't asked me until now." Tony pops the bamboo into his mouth. "I say no, you think Venezuela's going to just --" This time it's the carton of beef that gets waggled lazily in the air. "Recover? Please. There's a dozen other companies out there who'd happily provide them -- well. You think they go to, what, Hammer? Oscorp? Then you have rocky politics and bombs you can't trust." He looks down into the carton, fishes out another slice of beef. "Haven't heard any complaints from you about your paychecks." Bruce pulls his glasses from his face, his movements quick and sharp. "Tony--I'm not trying to claim any moral high ground. I know no matter what projects I personally work on, Stark still makes bank on military contracts. But..." He pinches the bridge of his nose. His voice is growing more and more agitated. "Would it be so awful for business to stop at enabling wars--not starting them?" Tony shakes his head, leaning forward and following up his mouthfuls of beef with a gulp from a glass of gaoliang sitting on the table by him. "Wars aren't stopping any time soon. With or without me. You have a problem I uh. I hear there's an election coming up." "You've got PR people who could turn backing out of this contract into an opportunity. Make the competition look--as callous and opportunistic as you're being, maybe." Bruce sets his jaw, scrubbing his free hand over his five o'clock shadow. "Yeah, I have a problem. Wars don't start themselves. Wars don't keep themselves going." He raises his voice, jabbing an index finger in Tony's direction. "The reason wars won't stop is because people like you abdicate responsibility for them!" "Abdicating?" Tony opens his eyes wider. Sits up a little straighter, sets aside the takeout carton. Takes another gulp of the liquor. "I'm not --" His fingers unfurl in Bruce's direction. "Abdicating, I'm, I'm." His hand drops to his knee; he exhales a quick puff of breath, studying Bruce's face and then the ceiling. "Placing. I'm correctly placing the responsibility." "Placing," Bruce echoes flatly. He looks down at the thick-framed glasses in his hand and slowly puts them back on. "Alright, Tony. You go place the responsibility, then." His voice has leveled out, but somehow sounds more menacing for it. "This is going to come back to bite you," he grits out before turning on his heels and stalking out. Tony's eyes stay fixed on the ceiling until Bruce is through; he looks down only enough to watch the other man stalking out of the apartment. He watches the door a second longer before he knocks back the rest of the drink. Stares at the open carton on the table -- the closed ones beside it. Leans back in his chair again, resting the glass against his chest and tapping his fingers rapidly against its side. "Huh," he says to the room at large. "Didn't even touch his tofu."