tony stark. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
propulsion) wrote2013-07-15 12:27 am
propulsion) wrote2013-07-15 12:27 am
Entry tags:
closed log } a good time was had by all.
About a week and a half after someone in Stark Industries HQ sent back an RSVP politely declining Tony Stark's attendance to a gala across the country, a helicopter descended atop one of the many black glass high rises in Gotham City.
Not only would it tarnish the shiny, state-sanctioned government friendly image that a weapons manufacturing company tended to try to maintain (Pepper had explained in franker words before she noted the hint of interest creeping into Tony's expression over the Ferrari 400 Superamerica he was refitting), but he was meant to be giving a lecture in Colorado on repulsorlift technology and its influence on military development earlier that evening. It's a good time for the Freedom Line and a good time for Stark Industries, and no time at all to plant any seed of doubt in the minds of the men and women overseeing contracts, regardless as to Rhodey's influence.
And, that city is just crazy.
Not that Tony, he imagines, has to worry about that when flying several hundred feet above it and touching down in the midst of the glitz and glamour of Gotham society. He arrives with two women, identical waves of Malibu blonde hair and skin a flush, beachy tan, and they don't mind a lot that he mixes up their names. The wind lifts the fishtail skirt of Gabriella's (Rebecca's?) dress and Rebecca (Gabriella?) clutches his right arm, laughing.
Inside, he knows fucking no one, which is nice, and the bottle of champagne he'd helped consume on the way over is agreeing with him. Currently, he is watching a woman -- German supermodel, or maybe that was the last one -- play with the StarkPhone, tapping its transparent screen. "Give it a year, everyone'll have one," Tony is saying, between sips of-- scotch? Maybe. "Call it the pocket rule -- technology's actually diversifying in every other way, and this little guy can uplink-- oh, uh." A flurry of text messages, Pepper's smiling face at a contrast to a few choice words scrolling by. "Let me get rid of that, that's-- I don't know why it has that feature, to be honest--"
But eventually -- and not too quickly -- his orbit will collide with the other gravitational pull in the room, introductions slowly pulling him in like a tide as much as his attention span seems to fall into the cleavage of every model in attendance. Eventually, to the German model, and within earshot;
"He's supposed to be dead, isn'e? Must be a theme, pretty sure most of Wayne E has a foot in the grave."
Not only would it tarnish the shiny, state-sanctioned government friendly image that a weapons manufacturing company tended to try to maintain (Pepper had explained in franker words before she noted the hint of interest creeping into Tony's expression over the Ferrari 400 Superamerica he was refitting), but he was meant to be giving a lecture in Colorado on repulsorlift technology and its influence on military development earlier that evening. It's a good time for the Freedom Line and a good time for Stark Industries, and no time at all to plant any seed of doubt in the minds of the men and women overseeing contracts, regardless as to Rhodey's influence.
And, that city is just crazy.
Not that Tony, he imagines, has to worry about that when flying several hundred feet above it and touching down in the midst of the glitz and glamour of Gotham society. He arrives with two women, identical waves of Malibu blonde hair and skin a flush, beachy tan, and they don't mind a lot that he mixes up their names. The wind lifts the fishtail skirt of Gabriella's (Rebecca's?) dress and Rebecca (Gabriella?) clutches his right arm, laughing.
Inside, he knows fucking no one, which is nice, and the bottle of champagne he'd helped consume on the way over is agreeing with him. Currently, he is watching a woman -- German supermodel, or maybe that was the last one -- play with the StarkPhone, tapping its transparent screen. "Give it a year, everyone'll have one," Tony is saying, between sips of-- scotch? Maybe. "Call it the pocket rule -- technology's actually diversifying in every other way, and this little guy can uplink-- oh, uh." A flurry of text messages, Pepper's smiling face at a contrast to a few choice words scrolling by. "Let me get rid of that, that's-- I don't know why it has that feature, to be honest--"
But eventually -- and not too quickly -- his orbit will collide with the other gravitational pull in the room, introductions slowly pulling him in like a tide as much as his attention span seems to fall into the cleavage of every model in attendance. Eventually, to the German model, and within earshot;
"He's supposed to be dead, isn'e? Must be a theme, pretty sure most of Wayne E has a foot in the grave."
no subject
"Well, that was fun."
He's probably going to puke into the nearest, likeliest place.
But after that, and after he's run the tap of the sink over his head, he collects his cellphone, absently tries to straighten a tie that is no longer there, and puts in a call; "I need a spirulina, codeine, a cancellation of meetings up until about 4 PM, and all of that on a helicopter to airlift me out of Gotham, pronto. Which you were wrong about, by the way, perfectly uncrazy. Except Wayne's a little off the rails if you ask me."
The sun is out by the time he is on the rooftop, tucking his phone into his pocket, and turning his back against any particular source of light. It'll take longer for Tony Stark to complete his own vanishing act, leaving on a small amount of chaos behind in his wake, approximately two women, and a couple of tabloids to enjoy later on.