1965-02-12 - Then There's The Pigeon
Summary: A late night visit to the lab.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
strange tony 


.~{:--------------:}~.


Tony is working late again. Everyone has gone home, and he remains in his repulsor lab, tweaking his suit. No use having all this state of the art tech if he's not going to use it on his favorite outfit once everyone's gone. He can't risk people figuring out how it works. If the Ruskies got hold of that info… A blue glow highlights his face in the otherwise dim lab. If he ran a conduit from the repulsor to the arc reactor in his chest, he'd have a longer battery life on this thing, but it could put him into cardiac arrest. Choices, choices.


|ROLL| Rosemarie +rolls 1d20 for: 7


Over in that very same corner, a very familiar little glint of sparkling golden light appears. It grows at a consistent speed, like someone cutting their way through reality's metallic layerings, and thus arrives Strange once again.

It certainly isn't as graceful as last time. As he steps through the aperture and into the lab, dressed in a sleek black Belstaff and sporting a bright crimson scarf, he…trips. On something. A stumble and he glances back over his shoulder at the offending…something.

"Stark," he says by way of announcing himself.

And then a pigeon flies through the Gate, lost and startled up by something farther down the alley that rapidly disappears beyond the collapsing portal.

Now there's a loose pigeon in Stark R&D. The Sorcerer just gapes for a second before clearing his throat. "I have no explanation for that, my apologies. Allow me to remove it." Glowing light about his hands signals the beginning of a removal spell.


|ROLL| Rosemarie +rolls 1d20 for: 9


There are tools scattered on the floor, because that's where Tony was using them. In his defense, he wasn't expecting anyone. Not to his credit, he wouldn't have picked them up anyway. He looks up from his work as the golden sparks show up. Then he looks over his shoulder. "Strange," he says.

"And pigeon," Tony adds with formidable disapproval. He gestures with the soldering iron in his hand and says, "Get that thing out of here." He ducks as it buzzes him in its startlement.

The Beatles play softly in the background on a record player. His companionship prior to this unexpected vist.


"Patience, Mr. Stark," replies the Sorcerer with all the irritating calm of a Buddhist monk. Man, he must drive the children nuts from time to time. The pigeon lets loose on a monitor, but at least it's not a white-and-grey splat across the keyboard. It's only across the top, worthy of an easy wipe-down with a decent cleaner.

"And…" The rest of his murmur is a lyrical intonation in baritone and suddenly, the pigeon disappears within a swirling cloud of small comets. Poof! Errant bird gone.

Hey, it's magic.

Lowering his scarred hands, Strange sighs. "Well, that was more excitement than I intended. I suppose I can be thankful that your interns weren't around. How much were you going to pay them to forget about a simple showman's act?" He smirks slightly as he meanders over, his hands now in the pockets of his coat.


"It shit on my monitor," Tony says, full of accusation. He puts down his soldering iron, sets down the boot of his suit, and goes to get the cleaner and cloth. He's usually got people for this sort of thing, but he can do for himself just fine. Especially when there's bird shit on his monitor.

Tony gives Strange a look that tries to be patient and fails utterly. There was wildlife in his lab. He's a New Yorker. Pigeons are about as wildlife-ish as he ever wants to get. He relaxes, though, and he says, "Eh, at this hour you can usually catch me alone. I don't mind throwing money at them to believe it's some kind of alient co-location tech."


"Very good," Strange murmurs, standing off to one side. "I'll keep the time of day in mind." Normally, he would be tempted to touch the things — all the shiny, glowing, button-covered things — but years of minding a veritable museum filled with things labeled "DO NOT TOUCH" and "DO NOT TOUCH UPON PAIN OF DEATH" and "DO NOT OPEN THIS DOOR EVER" have jaded him to placing hands upon the unknown.

"I thought I would stop in, see what your R&D department has constructed lately. What dazzling new machinery has been released upon the world. Well, not the world…not yet," he amends, grinning.


Tony tosses the cloth and goes back to his boot. It's a little scuffed. He'll have to repaint it. He handles the thing lovingly. It's a component of his precious baby. "It's good to see you,." he says. "Not so great to see the pigeon." But the pigeon is gone, and he can drop it. There are so many other, darker things to dwell upon.

"You've come just in time to see a new polymer that will mean nothing to you unless you've got an advanced degree in chemistry. It'll help bond pain to plastic. Which may not seem to revolutionary on the surface, but plastic are the future. They're sturdy, they last forever. Great stuff."


Strange makes a sound in the back of his throat and tilts his head in a so-so fashion.

"I may not have the degree, but I can appreciate the nuances of the discovery nonetheless. Who knows, it may apply to the keeping of my charges in the near future." Imagine the impact a few well-placed sigils would have, especially if the paint bonded so thoroughly to the surface. Prank intensity would increase tenfold.


See, Tony can respect that. If he knew he was working toward such pranks, he would be so much more on board. "It's not exactly the advancement of space technology on a grand scale," Tony says, "but they still have to paint numbers on plastic components. When you want to get to space, everything has to be light. Plastics are in, metals are out."

He has an almost boyish look about him when he talks about space. Sure, he's not really part of the team trying to get people up there, but he does some of their contracts. His stuff will be up there some day. "Anyway, that's the hot thing we've got going now. I'm trying to rig the repulsors from my suit to this." He taps the arc reactor glowing through his shirt. "It'll run in part off the energy in my body."


The Sorcerer takes a few steps closer to the work station, glancing about from component to component, nodding to himself.

"Ah, yes, your…insertion, that keeps the shrapnel from entering your heart." He pauses and there's the slightest arc of an eyebrow as he considers Tony. "You are aware that you could have surgery to remove the metal? And how certain are you that the energy will continue to be emitted from your creation? The risk of falling to your death from mechanical failure must be considered." Yep, Strange looks properly unconvinced about the reliability of the technology at hand.


There are wires coming out of the boot. Long ones. Ones that could in theory connect to something around his chest. Plugging wires into one's heart can't be bad, right? "The surgery is too risky," Tony says. "Besides, it's part of me now. It's mine, I trust it." Doctors cutting into him? Not so much.

He taps the boot idly as he says, "The preliminary tests will be done without being too far up in the air. In theory it shouldn't stop unless my heart does, and if my heart stops, I'm going to have more problems than falling."


"This smacks of scientific experimentation based in a facet of masochism, but woe betide that I should stand between you and your discoveries," Strange comments with a click of his tongue. "Still, no surgery? Too risky? I believe there have been a good number of medical advancements recently that could guarantee a successful procedure."


Tony smiles crookedly. "You know me so well," he says. "I want to go further," he adds. "I want to cover more ground before I have to turn around. These limitations, it's like they're mocking me, and I'm going to show them." He waggles a screwdriver at Strange to emphasize his point.

He shakes his head, then. "I don't want doctors cutting into me. They tend to say things like 'stop drinking' and 'we're going to take away your best invention yet.'" He shakes his head. "Not yet. I've been following the advancements, and I'm not saying never, but not yet."


The Sorcerer nods, even though there's a reticence to the motion buried deeply in ingrained medical opinions. The idea of being the one to succeed at such a surgery… Ah, but even as he smiles to himself, an enigmatic little curl of lips, Strange is dismissing the fantasy. Old habits die hard, after all, and it's a nice daydream.

"As long as you live to flaunt your discoveries to the world, I suppose," he murmurs. "It would be a shame to lose a pioneering spirit to something as simple as an arcing wire." There's a goodly smear of the teacher in his tone, one likely heard about Kamar-Taj often enough.


Tony says, "That's the important thing. I can't risk my life willy-nilly." As he tries to create a way to plug his boots into his ticker. "I would be depriving the world of, well, me." He smiles toothily. "Don't worry, beneath the masochism, I'm actually invested in being around for a long time. I promise I'll be careful, Doctor." There's a bit of an exaggerated compliance there. Yes, MOM.

Over at the work table, something sparks and there's a small explosion. Tony winces, then says, "Okay, I have to take care of that. That's on fire." And he's off, literally putting out fires. Just another night at the lab.


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