closed.

[propulsion]

WHO: Tony Stark, Daisy Johnson
WHAT: Hey, what's good.
WHEN: A time.
WHERE: A place. (Tavern.)
NOTES: Attitude.

There are times when familiarity breeds more familiarity, and there are days when it absolutely does not. One day you think you have your shit together, you're getting used to the place, you're developing butt calluses from all the pony riding, and the next day, it's like everything's at a Dutch angle, and you feel like you're on shrooms at a renfaire. There really is a balding guy in the corner playing the lute and warbling through a ballad, and there really is a roast animal being slowly turned over a fire, and your beer is actually ale and really is being served in a giant tankard, foaming and dark and room temperature. Your underwear has no elastic, you have no idea what time it is to the minute, and it's all real and happening to you and it's not gonna end any time soon.

Tony Stark has days like that, anyway. Maybe Daisy can relate. Maybe not.

He plans to find out.

He finds her at a Ye Olde Tavern, picks up tankard off the tray of a corseted server, and winds his way through the crowd. She probably sees him coming, even though he is dressed like a local. A blue shirt under a nice coat, all well made and fitted as opposed to being whatever hand-me-downs he received when he was initially taken in by Riftwatch. He's done something to conceal his chesthole light, but otherwise resembles the man from her contemporary world, down to sharp facial hair styling and duck-ass hair cut.

He sets down the tankard on her table. "Mind if I join?" He is probably gonna regardless, but waits for the yes-and.