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@tony-starkim
selfmademarksman:
The question of the day is whether or not I should have target practice from my balcony… or just read a book.
Or is the question really: when’s the next time you can have target practice from your balcony, and when’s the next time you’ll find time and a space to read.
arp-jollygreenbanner:
Trying to blend in at a cafe. Not doing too badly.
“Bruce!!”
wintersoldier-ta:
“Like an arm.” He said simply, though the request was anything but. “I know you can’t fuckin’ transplant a damn arm, but like… The metal’s a pain in the ass. Gets too hot, it’s fuckin’ heavy. An arm that looks normal, but..basically functions the same as how I got it?” He shrugged, draining his glass for.. He’d lost track of what number that was, but could feel the alcohol beginning to take effect.
“SHIELD’s tech guys are great and all, but… To tell y’the truth, I don’t trust most people in that building.” Pushing a hand through his hair, he smiled small. “There’s not many people I do trust though, so that probably ain’t a surprise.”
“Please, Tony. I’ve done my homework. I know how you made that fortune of yours.”
Actually, they were getting pretty close to being able to transplanting an arm - maybe even be able to do it in the next ten years, if the right people were motivated enough about it. “I don’t know about looking normal, but I’m sure there’s a way to shave off some of that weight. Maybe by recasting some of the metal alloy. Integrate a more efficient systems script. It might take a while, but I could try a few things.” He shrugs, the offer on the table, a little more reserved now that it was less playing and more upgrading. Being trusted to poke at something and being trusted to meddle and update it were different enough for Tony to realize that what he was offering shouldn’t be taken lightly.
So, of course, he goes for casual.
“Being brilliant and innovative?”
Or murder and destruction. Whatever. He drains his glass, the liquid sloshing uncomfortably in his stomach. Too much, too fast.
flynn-credible:
/That/’s debatable.
I’m not giving mirrors without getting something back for it, that’d be way too charitable. Plus you sound like a perv.
There’s a lot of ‘probably’ floating around your sentences, man, that’s not what I came looking for. And just for the record, nobody’s looking to destroy humanity. Manhattan won’t die off with a cooler summer, I promise you. If anything I’d be providing a much needed service to people who can’t necessarily afford air conditioning or make time to get to the public pool- which leaves tons to be desired as is.
Humor me and imagine that you could take a gun to a sizzling neighborhood and- for a small collective fee- cool it down so people can make it until sundown. Temporary temporal interruption for the sake of avoiding anything from dehydration to heat exhaustion.
But sure, buy me a beer. It’s literally the least you could do while saving face.
Yeah, sort of the whole point there, squirt. But fine, keep your mirrors. I can just get my own.
You don’t think a freeze gun is going to have some serious environmental repercussions? You know what, let me mock something up and we’ll test it on you first, see how that goes. I’m sure all those little people will appreciate it - whatcha gonna do when someone can’t pay up? Let them heat stroke it out? Nice to see you’ve got no qualms about exploiting the lower income families. That’s gonna be great for PR.
You’ve seen your goatee lately, right? Or do I need to donate a couple mirrors to Stark Industries? You look like Satan. My eyebrows help me convey my disinterest in talking to other people, is all. You should see them now.
So the answer to my question is a big, fat, resounding ‘No’. No, you can’t make a gun to make it cold outside.
Your reading comprehension’s leaving a ton to be desired, here, Chief.
Been there, tried that. Kept the goatee as a souvenir. And for the devilish good looks.
Actually, I wouldn’t mind the mirrors - there’s a few strategic places around here that I’ve wanted to get equip, and no one can protest their placement if they’re gifts.
Well, yes, I can probably make a gun to make it cold outside. Will I? Probably not. There’re other alternatives to fixing your problem, other than, you know, destroying humanity as we know it.
Have a cold beer. It’s on me.
Wow. Science has really come a long way, huh? It’s a wonder you can talk with your head so far up your ass.
And thanks for the tip.
A wonder? Low blow - I am an innovator, after all.
Did you know I can make your lights flicker?
Huh. Didn’t know people could bend that way.
Two can play that game. But unlike you, I prefer the slow burn.
Fancy, isn’t it? Kind-a kinky. If you’re into that.
... are you?
You totally are, aren’t you?
Oh, hey, speaking of slow burns, you know nothing’s safe, right? Your iPod, your cell phone, work computer, television, microwave...
“I don’t think I would be. Well, not lookin’ this pretty, at least.” God only knows what would have happened. “I don’t think I’d have even got out of that factory Steve pulled me out of if I hadn’t been shot up with it.” He admitted with a frown, refilling his glass only to drain it once more at the thought.
“It– I dunno, it’s stupid!” He shook his head dismissively, “It ain’t even possible. And SHIELD would be pissed if I lost one of my ‘best features’.” He used those words very loosely. “This body has been fucked with more’n– Hell, I guess you probably know what that’s like, huh?” He gestured to the other man’s chest, “Kind of don’t want anyone fucking with it anymore, y’know?”
Tapping at his arm, he gave a smile. “It ain’t so bad. They get real excited when they see me, it’s crazy. I was a story to scare kids in Russia, it’s better bein’ a hero than a nightmare.”
The glass in his hand lifts to his lips and drains, a practised hand refiling both their drinks. Hammered, is the end-goal here. Mind-numbingly hammered.
“Well, but - wait, just what are you looking for? Because I’ve updated and upgraded this thing so many times it makes my head spin and my chest ache. I mean, pretty stable now, but it’s fine,” he taps his chest, though the dull glow is covered up by the incognito-layers he’s wearing. “No why in hell’d I’d let SHEILD touch it though. Pretty handy in a dark room, too. But, man, it doesn’t have to be metal - or heavy as hell, if you like the look.”
Tony’s pretty sure that he wouldn’t want anyone touching the reactor even if he didn’t know how to manage it himself, but if Bucky’s saying he wants a new arm... well, that might just be a fun project. If he wants. If he could handle some more fuckery.
“The Winter Solider - yeah. Wouldn’t know, I’ve always been a shining beacon of hope.”
Tony Stark. I should’ve known. Lucky for you, I don’t get mad…I get even. You messed with the wrong girl. Watch your back, Stark.
Because darling, I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream.
I see what you did there. Clever.
Bring in on Hill. Probably shouldn’t check your recent browser history though.
Someone slipped Taylor Swfit onto the training playlist.
I’ve had Blank Space in my head for six hours.
Oh, really? That’s too bad.
No idea how that could’ve gotten there...
“It happened in– It was the Nazis that pumped me full of it, not the Russians. They were trying to make their own Steve. Well, one without the, ah…” Gesturing to his face, he shuddered at the memory of the Red Skull. “Without all that goin’ on. We never realized it’d done anything. Was kinda more important shit going on.” he gave a shrug, talking away while he pretended not to notice the way he trailed off his sentence, finishing it with a shot…
“I dunno, I think I’ll just wait till SHIELD figures out how to make an actual arm. Probably gonna be waiting a while. Don’t think it’s high on their list of priorities - helping out people that aren’t in immediate danger. Hell, I dunno if they’re even helping anyone but themselves half the time.” He grumbled to himself, drinking from his glass. “I know how to do the talking thing! I taught Steve that!”
The man had a fair point. It couldn’t purely be Steve and his dumb luck that had that shield flying back to him every time he threw the damn thing. “You try to say no to a little sick kid that wants to stick ya with magnets. It’s impossible.”
“Good ‘ole fuckin’ Nazi’s,” Tony sighs, leaning back a little and kicking a chair around so he can put his feet up on it, crossed at the ankle. He folds his arms, drink in hand, angled so he can take periodic sips. “Made a good mess of things - although, who knows if you’d still be here, if they didn’t.” He shrugs, not sure if Bucky views that as a good thing, or a bad thing. “Who knows what else would’ve been different.”
It’s weird, to think about it, how one person can make such a difference.
“You want a real arm?” he asks, a little caught-off guard. “Like, what kind of real arm?” A prosthetic? Or a less Russian metal arm. Because Tony wouldn’t be trusting SHEILD with either of those things.
He laughs, “I think I’d probably just avoid the situation in general. If I could. Thankfully the suit doesn’t have that problem.”
“What, you never knew that?” He was almost surprised that the man hadn’t hacked into his files at SHIELD, then again… Bucky got the feeling this conversation would be going in a completely different direction if he had done his research on the Winter Soldier…
Rolling his shoulder out slowly, the man gave a shrug. “I guess it must help with the arm. Mean, the fuckin’ thing’s heavy.” The weight helped in a fight, and to be honest he rarely noticed it unless he ever removed the thing. “Would you think I was threatening if I had little rubber bits at the ends of my fingers? No. I’ll just stick to slow texting.”
There was always some way of improving something with these Stark me. Something that could be tinkered with, upgraded. By now, Bucky knew better than to use the old ‘you’re so much like your father’ line, knowing it would only ever earn him a scowl. “You stuck magnets on the shield? Little kids stick magnets on me.”
Ah Howard… Bucky wanted to guess it was the war that had left the man in the state Tony knew. He hadn’t known him very long, never seeing the side that the other man had apparently grown up with. The Howard in his mind was a smartass that could hold his liquor, not the distant, cold man Tony described. “She was a knockout. Never looked at me twice despite givin’ it a go.” Gulping down the contents of his glass, he grinned happily. “There ain’t many women like her in the world.”
“I didn’t think it would’ve actually worked. Just though that was some bullshit in there, along with...” he clears his throat, taking a shot. And that’s more than he’d wanted to say, since most people didn’t react very well to his research methods, and it was a little too close to the other thing he was avoiding until he got drunk enough to not.
The image of little nub-shaped bits poking out of Bucky’s metal fingers is amusing, and he can’t help laughing. “No, you neanderthal. If you wanted them on your fingers we’d peel a sticky and match the hue. But you can use a pen - or just dictate. You know we aren’t living in 2000 anymore, right?” he grins; it never gets old.
“Yeah, only little Trevor’s A-letter fridge magnet is like comparing Cap’s bike to a tricycle. How do you think he gets it back when the boomerang act doesn’t work out?” Then he realizes, “You let kids play magnetic poetry on your arm?”
“I’ll drink to that,” Tony says, refilling Bucky’s glass as well as his own. He takes another drink, feeling the perpetual buzz he’s seemed to grown accustomed to dipping a little further.
Easy as that? I ask nice and get to fly your jet?!
No. That’d be crazy.
But I do have simulators and shit that make it feel like you’re flying my jet. And if you manage not to crash, then we’ll talk.
Temporal interruption.
How was that even a question, do I look like a supervillain that wants to blast people with nitrogen? You’re supposed to be a smart man.
Gun. Makey cold outside. Y/N?
You sort of look like a supervillain - you’ve got the eyebrows for it. And don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it. Who knows, you might just have fun.
You’ve heard of this thing called air conditioning, right? You don’t need a gun, you need four walls, a power outlet, a wall, some styrofoam, and a box cutter.
Or you could just go to a mall. A store. An office building. Someone’s home - the possibilities are endless.
What do you know about freeze guns?
Care to be a little more specific?
Are you talking nitrogen-infused blasts, or a temporal interruption?
“Super serum.” He spoke the words after catching Tony taking note of the bottle he had taken. “I might not be nearly as pumped full of it as Steve is, but I’m still all screwed up because of it. Heal faster than normal, that’s kind of a bonus to it. Funnily enough, I’m not gonna thank the Nazis for that one though.”
The arm had always been a topic Bucky had guessed would be a fascination of Tony’s. Built years before he had begun creating his own designs, constantly upgraded throughout the decades, even hating it as much as he did, Bucky could admit it was something to marvel over. “Not exactly something you wanna hand out to every guy that loses a limb though… I still accidentally rip doors off of things, smash glasses, don’t even get me started on the goddamn phones. Why’s everything gotta be touchy these days?”
The man was still acting strange, off. Tony was always strange, but rarely did Bucky ever see him ever struggling to keep quiet.
“Oh yeah? How’d you make an indestructible shield better?” He gave a laugh, taking a slow sip from his glass. “Sure it is. But you, uh… You woulda got to know everyone else too, right? The Commandos? Peggy? I wasn’t even surprised when I found out she was one of the people that founded SHIELD. Woman was somethin’ else.”
“No shit,” he says, raising his eyebrows in surprise, finally pulling the sunglasses off. “You know how much they used?” It would make sense - they needed to have some way of keeping Bucky dormant when they weren’t using him, and Steve had survived decades in the ice. It was definitely the serum at play that made it work.
“Serum helps with the arm then - who knows how it’d react to someone who hasn’t had the biological fuckery that you’ve had to deal with. No arm wrestling, got it,” he laughs. Tablets and smartphones for the artificially limbed - he makes a note of that. Might be a decent good-will project. “You know they have pens and shit with rubberized ends for people like you. You don’t have to actually use your fingers.”
“Vibranium-Adamantium alloy; vibranium’s got a weakness for gamma-radiation. Adding a bit of adamantium compensates for it. Plus there’s some pretty wicked magnets on there that weren’t around back in the day.” He shrugs - it was standard upgrading, but it was still better.
"Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, “Because dear old dad was the first one to let me hang around and get to know his friends.” More like a smack on the back of the head and a locked door. “Did see Peggy sometimes though,” and the memories make him smile, “She was pretty cool. Didn’t take any of my shit.”
It’s okay, it’d grow back.
….Oh my god no, teach me that!!
Be here in ten.
