Logs:The Team
| The Team | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2022-03-11 "And what on God's green earth is a hate ray?" |
| 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. The sky broods strange and low over Midtown, looking for all the world like an impending blizzard though it's far too warm, and giving no rain. Steve is looking just a bit rumpled, shoulders ever so slightly slumped, eyes flicking just a little restless. He's wearing a bright yellow t-shirt a size too small for him with "JAX WAS RIGHT" printed in bold black letters across the chest, dark indigo jeans, and scuffed black combat boots. There's a pink armband pinned to the sleeve of the red canvas jacket he left by the door, but he's kept the shield with him, still patterned after Friend Bear's belly badge. He turns away from the floor to ceiling window that looks out over the city. "In some ways it's familiar. God only knows how many times I got beat into the ground by scabs or fascists while the cops stood by and watched." His eyes narrow slightly. "Or joined in. Except I was usually the one my friends had to carry off bleeding." "Hff." Tony's quiet snort just about carries to Steve. He's over leaning up against bar, watching video of the incident playing on one enormous screen on the wall adjacent. "What are we paying them for? Should give your crew their salaries til they do their jobs." He's returning to the task at hand after this -- pouring two generous measures of whiskey into two squat glasses. He freezes the video on a frame of chaos, just after Ryan's boom, the large Purifier's gun drawn but not fired, the cops advancing. Another few flicks of his hand overlays the still frame with text and photographs beside several of the police and Purifiers -- brief profiles of each. There's a soft pneumatic hissing that accompanies the first step he takes towards Steve, quieter once he gets moving. "Not surprised. Big guy is a cop down in Jersey. Preacher's cousin's about to arrest your green haired friend. Sergeant there was honored by the Friends of Humanity just last year. And here's Officer Friendly keeping these medics away -- two weeks ago in a white cross up in Riverdale." His tongue clicks lightly against his teeth. "Tough crowd." There's no announcement from Friday, no warning from Tony's security. Just a flutter by the huge windows, almost too quick to notice before DJ, in jeans and a black and grey denim jacket over a plain grey tee, drops down into the room by the window. His expression tightens as he looks at Steve, a sudden blush flooding his face. "So--" he starts to say, but his apology is truncated by catching sight of the large monitor. He blips a little bit further into the room, peering at the frozen image and its overlay with open curiosity. "How many Purifiers are on the force?" Steve's gaze ticks from one profile to the next, his jaw set hard. "Fascists in and out of uniform have always been cozy with each other --" Maybe he caught some flicker of movement at the corner of his eye, but Steve suddenly turns back toward the window, starts to reach for his shield though he aborts the gesture before he's even touched its edge. His truncated apology comes almost exactly in time with DJ's, and his blush half a beat after. "Sounds like most of them are, or are in cahoots, at the very least." He takes the glass from Tony with a tip of his head and immediately downs a long fortifying swig. "You monitor all of them?" Tony was about to drink from his own glass when DJ arrives. His quick startled blink is his only outward sign of surprise. "On? A handful. In bed with --" The hitch of his shoulder is fatalistic. He offers the glass instead to DJ with a lift of brows. Steve's question gets a dismissive wave of a hand. "Saw the video. Got curious. Wasn't hard, they're not much for subtlety." He's looking DJ up and down. Quick, assessing, before: "You don't look hurt." DJ reflexively starts to take the glass when it's offered to him but then looks at it, shakes his head, hand raising in negation. "What? I don't only come here when --" He pauses, head bowing as his blush deepens. "I'm not hurt, I just --" His eyes flick quickly to Steve, then away. "Didn't know you'd have -- company." He rests against the back of an armchair, his mechanical hand dropping stiffly to rest atop it. "I don't suppose," he says, lightly, "that taking down murderous hate groups is part of your Avengers' mission?" Steve raises an eyebrow. "Your curiosity is ah..." He darts a glance at the screen, looking just a touch impressed before lapsing back into a barely restrained scowl. "...highly effective." He blinks, glancing between Tony and DJ. "If you have something to -- I'm not here on any urgent business, I was just. Checking in." His eyes return to the screen, his expression more thoughtful this time. "I still haven't figured out exactly what our mission is, but if you think it oughta be?" He searches DJ's face, uncertain. "I don't know how that will fly with the UN, but we can talk about it. Now, I'll gladly wreck Purifiers, or any other flavor of fascist, if I can do it without endangering the folks I'm trying to protect, but -- well, that's just community service." Tony snorts, turning aside to go set himself down on the arm of a sofa. He takes a swig from the glass DJ has declined, his mouth twitching slightly at our Avengers. His brows quirk up as he looks at DJ. "Entire fresh world of things you could do and you're still choosing masochism?" He rolls his wrist slow, the glass cupped loosely in his palm. His eyes dart between the other men in a skeptical tick. "Think you'll need more than Tessier to sell that mission to the world, anyway. Maybe stick to practical things. Achievable. Intergalactic war. Diamond-powered hate rays. Evil psychic trees. The feasible things people will love you for." DJ's plastic fingers twitch down as if to tighten against the chair, though the grip doesn't hold. "I didn't sign on to this project out of masochism," he replies, defensive, but then just sags on a small exhale. "Maybe shouldn't have signed on at all. I don't --" His hand just turns up at Tony's list of Practical Things. "-- know what your mission should be, but I think there's a lot of good you could do that won't get you -- immediately branded terrorists." A small smile slips across his face. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for extracurricular Purifier-wrecking." "Maybe I shouldn't have asked -- not the way I did it, anyhow." Steve looks down into his whiskey. "Would still be glad to have you, if there's a way to go about it without heaping all the awful on you, or anyone else. Starting to think being the sole leader is the best way I can shield the rest the team with my image. Doesn't have to stop me listening to them." He takes a drink and quirks an eyebrow at Tony, drifting away from the screen and not taking a seat though he seems to be considering it. "Every time you drop one of those lists I'm less and less sure you're not pulling my leg. Is he pulling my leg?" He lifts the other eyebrow too as he asks DJ. "And what on God's green earth is a hate ray, for that matter?" "Very impractical weapon," is Tony's answer. "Expensive. Imprecise. Terrible branding." His eyes shift back to Steve, his expression briefly distant before he takes another large gulp of whiskey. "Bit of a, ah, cart-horse --" He waggles his drink lazily in Steve's direction. "The Team's pretty much you." "No," DJ replies earnestly, "it was an awfully impractical weapon." His eyes lower when Tony's expression goes distant, his arm curling across his chest. "It's weird," he says softly, "thinking of the Avengers not being -- the two of you." His lips thin. "Then again, what isn't weird anymore." Steve shakes his head, incredulous. "Once upon a time, I thought a giant supersonic bomber was outlandish. I pray I never have cause to feel blasé about -- evil psychic trees." He drinks deep, shakes his head just once, sharp. "Maybe if I'd tried putting the cart before the horse from the get-go, it might have gone easier for DJ." He's quiet for a moment, his eyes tracking back out over the city. "That wasn't me." Blinks hard. Swallows hard. Finally looks back at Tony. "And I'm not sure I would ask him, if he were here instead of you. From what I understand, you haven't exactly been an Avenger, either, those last two years." Tony exhales a short huff of breath, his mouth twisting slightly to the side. "Pretty sure he was done for soon as he agreed to your whole --" His hand waggles vaguely in Steve's direction. "-- or any other mutant you might ask. Was always gonna be his team if you failed and yours when you succeeded." His eyes dart toward DJ -- only brief before he's looking away to the window. Taking another long swallow of his booze. His fingers have tightened around the glass, his jaw hard as well. "Were no Avengers those last couple years." "No," DJ agrees softly, "it wasn't." He curls an arm around his chest, fingers closing hard on the mechanical limb opposite. He glances back toward the frozen screen, his jaw tighter. "I'm sorry. I'm -- interrupting. I just wanted --" His head shakes, quick and dismissive. "Good luck. Whoever's team it ends up being." And then with a sudden flutter, he is gone. Steve drains his glass. Does not look back at Tony. "Think it's going to take a heck of a lot more than luck." | |
