fade rift. inbox.

[propulsion]

"You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark."

sending crystal
written correspondence
private scenes

Comments

[heirring]

Oh.

[She hums, drawing an excitable series of runes in the margins of her notes. A box is drawn about them, presumably to emphasize their importance when she is later reviewing her own handwriting.]

Very cool.

[propulsion]

[ His smile is immediate and genuine if a little compressed, like in resistance to it, keeping his eyes fixed on the pages he's stolen as it happens. That day, Tony Stark's heart grew three sizes.

Papers rustle, and he now lays her notes flat against his chest and turned out so she can see her own rows of runic scribble. ]

So I've been reading this for three minutes and I have no idea what this is.

[heirring]

No, I don't suppose you would. It's a Kalvadan spell diagram. A very basic one, mind. Though I've been refining it for some time.

[Dashing off a last note, Wysteria at last sets her pen aside entirely and raises her attention from the page and the airship sketches. She looks at him.]

Would you like to see how it works?

[propulsion]

[ There is a beat in which the amount of that Tony wants to see how it works cannot be properly quantified and is written plain in his look across at her. Probably the fact he is also exhausted means he can pull off the nonchalant— ]

Sure.

[heirring]

[The line of her mouth pulls sideways and her eyebrows flirt in the direction of her hairline, but she does hin the courtesy of not explicitly calling his bluff. That would be rude.

Instead, Wysteria takes a random blank page from the middle of her stack. She folds it in half once and then lays it open with the fold's crease exposed on the table.]

Lend me something from your pockets, if you please. Something with bulk if you have it.

[propulsion]

Okay David Blaine.

[ Tony pushes both hands into his jacket pockets, coming up with his comms crystal—which goes back in—and a pair of winter gloves. This latter thing he offers with a querying twitch, a glance down at the paper. ]

I'm watching both hands. Nothing gets by me.

[heirring]

I don't know who that is, [is an automatic reminder as she takes the gloves.

There is no showmanship about it. Wysteria simply sets the gloves on one side of the paper, and then closes the other half over them.

Completely.

All the way over them.

The two sides of the folded paper meet flush and smooth, as if nothing at all lived between them that might reasonably make closing the fold—not difficult. Impossible.

Wysteria folds the paper a few more times, making a neat little self secured origami envelope out of the thing. She slides it back across the table to him.]

There.