closed.

[propulsion]

WHO: Tony Stark, Joselyn Smythe
WHAT: Drunk History.
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Research offices
NOTES: n/a

[ On the table are the following items: a brass candle holder holding a squat candle that holds three wicks, all lit; a rounded bottle of something called Mackay's Epic Single Malt, which has been soundly depleted; thick crystal glasses containing dark amber liquid; and an arm.

It is a metal arm, or more accurately, an arm-shaped piece of armor ending in a gauntlet. It is more finely crafted than you know what Libby you know what Iron Man armor looks like. It it bescratched, dented, torn in places that are sharp and exposing intricate wiring. Scrap, in other words. He keeps it in a locked box.

Tony is sitting with his feet kicked up on the table, a leather bound journal in his lap. He's been looking for something for like twenty minutes to show off, but he keeps getting distracted by their conversation. ]

Not to belabor the issue, [ he is saying, ] but just 'cause Cap was the first superhero doesn't mean he invented the superhero. Technically I did that, because I said that. It's not real until it's trademarked.

I feel like you're not taking this seriously.

Comments

[propulsion]

Oh, [ says Tony, quite dramatically, where previously a look of quiet triumph had existed at her obvious hesitation, now shattered at this betrayal, ] oh he does not have seniority, okay. The guy was a popsicle for seventy years. He showed up late with a frappuccino.

[ Reaching for his glass, he stops to point across at her— ]

And he better not hear you say that if he pulls it again.

[ —before taking it up. ]

'Didn't invent anything'— [ is muttered into some Mackay's, a brief duck-face grimace on his way to the next sip. Pfft. ]

[obdurata]

He will hear me say that, and if someone turns up tomorrow calling themselves Captain Ferelden, they will hear me, too—

( all five foot three of her will tell captain america to get a cooler superhero name, what the fuck is he gonna do about it. )

Tell me again about your golems.

( jarvis is not a golem and neither is dummy. )

[propulsion]

Not a golem, [ Tony says. ] That's the whole— okay.

[ He sets the book aside, because he agrees: robots are way cooler than most things you could possibly talk about. ]

JARVIS was— still is, somewhere— an artificial intelligence. Started off as a NLUI— a language interface, basically, like a go between between me and different computer systems, but as the systems became more advanced, [ he tips a nod down at the armor piece lying between them ] so'd he. By design.

You'd like Dum-E. He's a mechanical arm, makes a decent cup of coffee, could probably lend a trisected claw to mixing throwing acid. Probably taste the same.

[obdurata]

Helpful in the laboratory and he doesn't talk, be still my heart—

( joselyn, please. )

[propulsion]

Mhm.

[ A faint smile, which is allowed to exist on its own for a moment, before chatterbox resumes. ]

Nothing I make's gonna be intelligent, have language, 'cause you don't want lyrium to start gaining sentience, but a mechanical construction that can follow simple orders, sure.

It's a good way to learn what the materials in front of you can do. Worked for me.

[obdurata]

( she dances her fingertips along the table, less like a completely absent gesture and more like — imagining something, contemplating how that might work. what it might mean. she's a little too far this side of the single malt to complete the thought that crosses her mind, laying simple constructs that follow simple orders alongside the tranquil,

she isn't sure what that thought is, and isn't sure it's entirely relevant to tony if she completes it, but she'll ponder it later, sober. if she remembers. there may be cool robot things between now and then. )

Like what sort of orders?

[propulsion]

Directional, [ sounds damp after his last sip of epic single malt. ] Pick up, put down. Hit that. Hug.

Taking suggestions.

[obdurata]

I suggest you deploy 'hug' very carefully—

( is mostly a joke.

a minute later, delighted, )

Diplomatically.

( —isn't but should be. joselyn isn't in diplomacy for a reason. )

[propulsion]

Seven-foot-tall metal men are great for de-escalation, [ is likewise not a joke when it possibly should be. ] I'll introduce you sometime.