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WHO: Tony Stark, Leo Fitz, Wysteria Poppell, and Ellis
WHAT: Science Club huddle.
WHEN: Early August sometime.
WHERE: Gallows workshops.
NOTES: n/a

Tony had called a meeting, and the meeting seems to be: force everyone to learn poker.

Well, presumably Fitz has if not a working knowledge of the game then at least knows it by osmosis, and maybe Wysteria does too, who knows, but Ellis definitely does not, and that's good enough. 'Learning', of course, feels more like an educational losing, lessons rattled off fast as cards are dealt, but at least they are merely playing for coppers -- this time. The cards are made by Tony himself, meticulous and well drawn and inked on good card, because if someone asks him to play whatever made up nonsense is Wicked Grace for the nth time, he's going to have to contend with the urge to just eat the cards instead.

They are well into the evening, and the room is lit with lamp and candle, all of them seated around a cleared workspace. In the privacy of just the four of them, and the over-warmth of the summery evening, Tony is dressed lightly enough that the circle of lyrium glow in his chest cuts a brighter shape through the fabric of his shirt than normal.

He is fidgeting with his cards as he listens to someone say something across the way before cutting them off with a sudden change of subject: "We have an in with the powers that be, by the way."

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This poker game is taking a turn.

Sensing that his prompting to Fitz has fallen by the wayside, Ellis flicks an unsettled look around the table. He doesn't have much context for "nukes" but he has a sense that Fitz is equally as unhappy as Wysteria, and that doesn't bode well for what's coming. He considers whether or not he should try to volunteer what he and Fitz had discussed, but what are the odds it gets swept into the percolating objections simmering here?

While considering his options for intervention, Ellis absently reaches out to draw another card.

Edited 2020-08-16 00:53 (UTC)

Tony is opening his mouth to bluster over whatever Wysteria is saying, except then Fitz says that, and he shuts his mouth instead.

And swings a look over at him, unblinking, a decidedly hostile, silent energy of: really. Really, guy. But the offense seems to be tabled, kind of, as he addresses Wysteria, albeit he is slow to take his attention off of Fitz, once there is a sufficiently awkward pause, in which time Ellis goes to draw with a near silent flick of cardboard on cardboard.

"'We'," he says, "as in collectively we know what we're doing out here. I didn't wanna go and name any names. And what I'm saying is we got an in. That if the Provost made a call on what the rules are, here, he did it on his own."

From where she sits across the table, color has been spreading up the back of Wysteria's neck. It's creeping further now - past her ears and flushing up along her hairline, and the line of her mouth has become positively knife-like in its severity in reply to that hand. She takes a short, sharp breath. What she says with it is—

"You're not the dealer, Mr. Ellis. You can't simply draw a card."

Fitz doesn't have to look up to catch the hostility rolling off of Tony, and when he does he's hit with the instinct to dodge eye contact, again. An instinct he ignores, barely, stubbornly holding Tony's gaze and just as stubbornly holding off the looming threat of contrition. Tony's eventual distraction is a sharp relief.

Maybe he shouldn't have said 'nukes', specifically.

He's so tightly wound with annoyance and incredulity and a hint of shame that Wysteria's sharp remark makes him jump very slightly and very guiltily, then his brain catches up: Mr. Ellis, not him. And also: Ellis is definitely still here. Fitz risks giving him a distinctly commiserating glance, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Ellis freezes, card halfway into his hand. There's a moment of indecision, before he grimaces slightly. What is he meant to do with the card now? He's seen it, and it's in his hand.

After a moment, he turns it face down on the table and slides it towards Wysteria, to do with what she will.

Looks from Tony to Fitz, expression entreating. He and Tony seem to be on the verge of a separate argument, and he hasn't figured out how to diffuse whatever is about to happen with regards to the Provost, so—

Is now the moment to drop a completely unrelated project onto the table? Maybe.

"And just to be perfectly transparent," Tony says, because in the absence of people talking, you just gotta double down, "because the energy in the room is just crazy right now, but I had my run at arms manufacturing. Thirty years of it. I moved on. Your magical ray gun? All yours, and I mean that sincerely."

He is slumped back into the chair, shuffling through his cards without really looking at them. "Besides, you should check what I got going on instead. As soon as I figure out how to launch all my enchanted satellites into space, Minrathous? Crater."

He can start and engage in all the arguments, don't worry.

Speaking of craters— Here, finally, an explosion occurs.

And it must be a real one for Wysteria says nothing at all as she rises with the abrupt shriek of the chair scraping across the stone floor and a flash of truly incandescent fury in her face. She throws down her cards. The door which stands between the kitchen and the rest of the house bangs hard against its opposing wall as she forces her way from the room.

(She'd been holding a rather good hand.)

Tony doubling down in this case means grabbing that thread of guilt and yanking on it, but doing it in a way that's still so phenomenally annoying that Fitz feels very secure in a) feeling bad and b) absolutely not acknowledging it in any meaningful way.

Wysteria happens first, anyway. She's out the door by the time he gets to his feet, which is enough to stall out his instinctive attempt to stop her leaving. Instead he gestures to the door, broadly, then swings a look back to Tony.

"That's fantastic. Well done," said in a mock-congratulatory tone, which is distinct from straight-up sarcasm in that it's slightly more annoying.

As she passes, Ellis almost reaches to stop her, but decides against it. She isn't crying, but she is angry. If it were the former or some combination of both, Ellis would have gotten up from the table to go after her, but considering his options—

"Listen," he says, finally chiming in with his voice pitched a bit louder than necessary. "There's some business Fitz and I were discussing in the Anderfels."

Is it helpful to shift the topic of conversation to new business when everyone is still angry about the old business?

Still, he's put his own cards down in preparation of getting up to go retrieve Wysteria, on the off chance she doesn't reappear on her own.

Tony flips his own cards onto the table -- a nothing hand, in comparison -- so he can rub his face, flat palms over eyes, and then link his fingers behind his head as he tips riiight back in his chair, all fidgets and actions of latent irritation yet to burn off. For some reason, none of that made him feel better!

He is staring at the ceiling as Fitz gesticulates, unresponsive to sarcasm and absorbing it instead, but then he does tip a look down his nose towards Ellis as the guy speaks up, finally.

Tony blinks and says, "What."

Edited 2020-08-19 12:22 (UTC)

Without any hostility to bounce off of, Fitz is left standing between the table and the door — the only one standing, awkwardly — still visibly irritated, but also visibly running out of steam for it.

There's a split second of genuine relief when Ellis breaks the awkward tension, but said relief has a very short shelf life; about the span of time between his first word and his last. Fitz shoots him a blank stare that segues smoothly into a hapless why gesture at Tony's very understandable response, but his incredulity doesn't stop him from catching the ball Ellis has very unhelpfully (maybe helpfully??) chucked in his direction.

"I'd like to speak to the Wardens." The statement's assertive, if weirdly defeated; nothing to do with the topic, clearly. "Try to find one that'll break their bloody NDA."

Since Ellis clearly won't!!!!!!! Is not said out loud.

As Fitz speaks, Ellis' gaze swings to watch Tony. His expression doesn't change, but Ellis isn't immune to the knowledge that this is tilting into equally fraught territory.

"Fitz thinks we're an untapped resource."

Ellis' tone doesn't indicate any particular agreement with that sentiment.

Tony lifts his hands up from where they were linked, a kind of suspended what the frick as he stares across at Ellis. A second spent to process, calibrate, and--

"Great idea," he says, now switching to Fitz, folding his arms. "Got a plan to go with it? Take a leaf from the SHIELD playbook and infiltrate?" He says that all sarcastic and then kind of squints and adds, "That's not a bad idea. Write that down."

And then from the hallway, the returning clack-clack-clack of Wysteria's fashionable ankle boots in paralyzing staccato. A moment later and she bursts back into the room with a huge collection of loose of papers and a large scroll of parchment nearly as long as she is tall under one arm, and a heavy case gripped in her other hand. She is still red faced, but in the intervening moments her fury has become a colder sharper thing—

"Clear the table if you please," Wysteria demands. The case is set with a heavy thump which topples copper coins from their stacks. "Take this—" The unsecured bundle of papers is shoved unceremoniously into Fitz's hands.

With a great CRACK! of the rod it is wound around, the parchment roll is thrust onto the table.

"Perhaps it would be best if we were to all be quite frank with each other, so that when next the Scoutmaster shows some interest in our work we might all be properly informed and so know how best to represent one another. Your glass is in the way, Mr. Stark," is the last warning she gives before, with a shove, she send the length of parchment unspooling.

What unrolls amidst a series of detailed call outs and an array of notes, is a full sized and carefully rendered schematic of a rifle nearly four foot in length, possessing a heavy barrel, a long tapering stock, and a bizarre flint locking mechanism. It is, before even referring to elaborate notes on runic enchantments and lyrium and glyph adaptation in the papers Fitz has been made responsible for, truly a great big bastard of a thing.

Wysteria takes a deep breath. She smooths her skirts and looks to Ellis.

"Now. What were you saying about the Anderfels?"

Heavy parchment unrolls across the table, striking the glass that Tony hasn't moved in spite of forewarning. It immediately upends to spill a few teaspoons worth of ale, rolling and bouncing off the edge of the table.

That's fine.

Fitz deftly receives all but one sheet of stray paper, takes a moment to corral them more securely, then crouches down to pick up the escapee. He's squinting at it when he hears the loud thud on the table followed by a smaller thud as Tony's glass topples. To Wysteria's question:

"We're going to infiltrate the Grey Wardens." Deadpan, then a bit more lively, "What are these for?"

Asked as he straightens up, still looking at a diagram of a glyph; and, finally, as his focus lands on the table and unfurled scroll: "Are you making a gun?"

In response, Ellis gives Fitz the most deeply stern look.

Could they infiltrate the Grey Wardens? Ellis might be welcomed back, but these others—

It's hard to know whether he is apprehensive because of the potential danger or because it is impossible to withhold certain truths from them if they were in the midst of so many Grey Wardens. But looking around the table, he's reasonably confident they wouldn't be able to pass this entire group off as Wardens.

Having lifted his arms up, Ellis gingerly returns his elbows to resting on the table along the edges of the parchment. His gaze moves from Fitz to Wysteria, waiting to see if he's going to be admonished.

Tony is still sitting fold armed as Wysteria waltzes back in, does her thing, spills his drink which gets a side along glance but otherwise no comment.

His eyes swivel to the schematics lying open on the table.

And he leans forward, adjusting the parchment so he has a better view of it. His head tips a little at Fitz's question and it prompts him to glance up at Wysteria's face -- is that why she is mad at him, did he spill a bean, if so, that sounds like her fault maybe -- and then back to the gun, and the shorthand notes on enchantment and glyph work and lyrium etchings.

"Scoutmaster said the same thing, about it falling into enemy hands. Thought about configuring a self-destruct mechanism? Depending on how much enchantment one thing can carry."

Anderfels who? We're at work, focus up. He lists sideways so he can retrieve his fallen cup between two fingers, also reaching for more ale as he does so.

Edited 2020-08-23 02:17 (UTC)

Ellis' elbows are evidently just fine where they are.

"Yes, Mr. Fitz. I am making a gun. Or rather, Monsiuer de Foncé and I are making a gun, with some consultation from Mr. Stark." Speaking of, her attention swivels to Tony more or less in time to her hands finding their way to her hips. "I had not considered it, but I see no reason why it couldn't be worked in. The rifle itself has almost no enchantment whatsoever."

She points to the strange mechanism surrounding the firing pan of the gun. It is a series of elaborate interlocking circles, not wholly divorced from the thing that lives in Tony's chest, except—

"The outer casement is designed to rotate for the activation of different runes. When fired, it is the ammunition that is enchanted rather than the gun itself. Why are we infiltrating the Grey Wardens?"

(She is angry because it isn't ready yet.)

"Okay," he stalls, greasing the wheels of his brain as he joins Wysteria by the table. He's still holding the wad of papers, peering over them at the mechanism she's pointing out.

"That's—," annoying? The gun isn't. The fact that he didn't get the memo on ignoring ethical quandaries and doing whatever is annoying, but that's complicated (is he mad because nobody shared? because he played it safe? because they should all be playing it safe?). Tabling that. "Very cool," he finishes, simultaneously earnest and defeated. "What sorts of enchantments are you thinking for the ammo?"

Fitz' brain also on the Anderfels who page, if not as deliberately. His laser focus on the gun's interrupted when he registers her question, and the bemused look he tosses her makes it look for moment like she's spoken a different language.

"We're— it's their connection to the Darkspawn and Corypheus. I think if we could understand it better, we might be able to exploit it."

That's not how Ellis would have chosen to reveal that particular aspect of Warden operations. Maybe that's something to blame Alistair for, the bright ring of his voice over the crystal reminding their compatriots to stab the Warden nearest them if there was any sign of Corypheus' puppeteering.

Ellis' hands fold over his edge of the blueprint, careful not obscure the loops of Wysteria's handwriting. There is no contradiction, but there's some minor tightening in his expression, a sharpening around the eyes.

"He was joking about the infiltration," is the only thing Ellis actually says, clearly having decided that joke has gone far enough.

No further denials, however.

Tony leans over to take the papers out of Fitz's hands, and start rifling through them, looking for something in particular. Likely this articulating runic mechanism, which is hands down cooler than the runes themselves.

"You want to hack Corypheus? I mean, that's not crazier than your infiltration idea, which, come on," he says, looking at Fitz, like please, "I know we're not in Kansas anymore, but we're not dealing with flying monkeys, and you're not Dorothy. Be realistic."

And back to Wysteria's notes.

Wysteria has stopped asking 'Who—?'; presumably that all means enough to Mr. Fitz that Tony's point carries.

"Why would we need to go to the Anderfels for any of that? We have all manner of Wardens here."

She says it to the room at large before her attention slides naturally to Ellis, clocks the 'sitting on something sharp' narrowness in his face, and veers straight away again.

"Though I suppose someone would have to discuss the matter with Warden von Skraedder. Obviously. —Lightning," she says abruptly to Fitz. "And there is an old Tevene rune for slow that I've read induces paralysis. Among others of course, but you get the idea."

Edited 2020-08-31 13:10 (UTC)

The what? look he shoots Ellis is short-lived, quickly interrupted by Tony's commentary and a knee-jerk:

"Wha— hack," he echoes, brow creasing and voice loaded with shallow judgment. It's a ridiculous way to put it, even if it's mostly accurate. And speaking of ridiculous ways to put things (and juggling three conversations at once, badly):

"Paralysis. Like a magical I.C.E.R." Said icer, and with no further context, to Wysteria. The judgmental vibe's quickly dropped for enthusiasm. "Are the bullets non-lethal?"

The look directed his way is momentarily ignored while Ellis considers whether or not to be direct about what Tony had so charmingly dubbed "Burning Man," as it would clear up some of Wysteria's question about why the Anderfels.

(Ellis has yet to ask what the association between it and ritual murder in a desert could possibly be, and has mostly opted not to pursue it.)

Of course, beyond both of those things, there's Ellis' poor relations with his fellow Wardens, but that's surely not applicable in the moment.

Besides, the question of lethality seems to momentarily draw all the attention in the room. Ellis' eyes move from Fitz to Wysteria briefly, before looking directly across to try and discern Tony's reaction. If he's fully absorbed in the weapon, the chances of Ellis having to explain anything drop rapidly.

Ellis looks over to find Tony's attention kind of square on him, turns out. He has Wysteria's notes fanned in his hands and he is shuffling through them, but speculation has landed on the resident Warden as if to, in turn, gauge his reaction. Because the things Fotz is saying doesn't sound like anything Ellis would normally volunteer. Or just hasn't?

So for a moment they are just two blank mirrors, facing each other.

And then, as if irritated, Tony asks directly to him, statement slicing along the end of Fitz's last question, "What do you think we can do in the Anderfels? With the Wardens." Except it's not irritated, not quite, not brisk, impatient, slapping aside stoic silence.

In the beat that follows, Wysteria's attention slides from Fitz to Tony, then finally back to Ellis - questions of lethality (because the answer to that is naturally 'Well Mr. Fitz, that would depend on how well aimed the gun is') being rather less interesting than Anderfels Nonsense.

Her eyebrows rise toward her hairline. It's less an expectant look and more of a dangerously rare pause.

"You read about Burning Man."

Ellis' tone clips around the idiom, directly to Tony.

That hadn't exactly been what Fitz was driving at when he'd asked Ellis those questions in the library. Has Fitz read about the summoning, about Clarel? Ellis' hands flex where they rest on the blueprints. His thoughts scatter, shunting to desert, hooking into the spatter of blood on sand, caked and sand-smeared across his palms, to the endless burn of sun on his neck back to Wysteria's kitchen.

It isn't an answer to the question. (It's part of an answer.) He raises a hand to rub the back of his neck.

"Fitz needs answers that I won't tell him. Things related to what happened in the Western Approach, and how that came to pass. The majority of Wardens are still in the Anderfels, and they might talk to him if I vouch for him. And there are some, ones who survived Burning Man, that would be useful if Fitz could speak with. We'd likely find them at Weisshaupt too."

Where speak with means drag back to Kirkwall kicking and screaming probably. Ellis doesn't know if there are even any of those mages left alive. How long could they have sustained that connection? How long could they have avoided being deployed on the field?

Edited (maps??? no) 2020-09-06 01:01 (UTC)

At 'Burning Man', Tony darts a look over at Fitz, defensively guilty. Not a word, bagpipes.

"Aren't the Anderfels a hotbed for Tevinter forces right now? Not that I mind dipping behind enemy lines, but I normally do it with rockets on my feet and I'm not sure some good old Wardeny folksy charm is gonna cut it going in or out."

Edited 2020-09-06 10:34 (UTC)

Fitz doesn't say a word about Burning Man, but he does meet Tony's warning look with an incredulous one. Burning Man. But okay, fine, he'll get to that later. A theatrical pause as he briefly closes his eyes, takes a breath. Patient in an extremely put-upon way:

"Hence the Scoutmaster. We're going to need as much information as we can get our hands on about their movements. And the Wardens'." Another pause. It undercuts his efforts at making this sound very casual and reasonable, that instinctive hesitation before stepping out onto thin ice.

"And I'm not asking anyone else to put themselves at risk. We're less likely to attract attention if it's just the two of us."

From her side of the table, Wysteria looks between the three of them. Her eyebrows are still raised and something in her face is beginning to curl with displeasure over what must be—

"I'm sorry, hold just a moment. Which men were burned?"

—confusion. How irritating it is, to lose the thread of a thing so quickly.

Ellis looks across the table at Tony, expression prohibitive for completely different reasons than Tony had likely been directing a similar look at Fitz for.

"It's a figure of speech," Ellis says flatly. Predictably, he would rather not untangle Tony's turn of phrase as it relates to what Ellis had been doing in the Western Approach.

But as it occurs to him—

"What does this shoot?" two fingers rapping lightly at the sketching under his hands, in what is either genuine curiosity leading in to a greater point, or a second attempt to divert the conversation.

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