[closed]

[heirring]

WHO: Wysteria, Cassius, Flint & Various
WHAT: Catch-all for fantasy August....which is just August
WHEN: August
WHERE: Kirkwall/The Surrounding Free Marches/misc
NOTES: Content warnings in subject lines; holler at me if you want a bespoke starter, otherwise feel free to drop me a start for whatever your heart desires.

Comments

[propulsion]

"You'll have to ask Princess Peach."

By which he means, "Madame de Cedoux," as he goes to line up another shot. "Don't tell her I called her that."

Testing out the paralysis rune is desired, but not gonna work on inanimate objects. He's thinking about it anyway as he says, "She's been pulling in some interest on Research's behalf, got the number of a local engineer in war machines for dragon murder. But we just need their money, not their ideas. Staff meeting," he explains, in aside. "Extremely productive.

"Scoutmaster wanted to know how viable this baby would be."

[heirring]

If there is a line of inquiry she means to chase pertaining to the subject of war machines, or perhaps some remarks she might make with respect to Markahm—'You know, Mister Stark, I have a friend or two within the University there who might be of service to Madame de Cedoux—'then they die on her tongue as Wysteria's jaw clamps shut in reply to this last item. She stands a little straighter. A flush of color begins to tinge the back of her neck.

It is not the color of embarrassment.

"I see. I suppose this is to be your assessment of the thing for your remarks back to her then?" is all very cool and collected. She ought to leave it there. Instead— "I've a letter of attestation from Mister Ellis. And de Foncé—Valentine, I mean, intends to draw up an article. And I have inquired already with Mister Holden whether he would be willing to take part in conducting a field study. Even if it isn't precisely as effective as one might wish under such extreme circumstances, the design and concept are still perfectly legitimate."

[propulsion]

"Who, me? I just wanted to shoot some stuff."

CRACK! The fire round punctures the next target, not an ideal placement but enough for flame to blossom and burn. This time, Tony allows himself a laugh—a cackle, really, usually the sort of delight he reserves for his own inventions—and then steps back, holding the gun by the stock for her to take back.

He flips his sunglasses back down over his eyes. "Mister Holden should consider field testing it out on something big. Dragon shaped, ideally. See how the paralysis takes. I can make some inquiries. And then we need someone, someones, trained in shooting. You look like you know what you're doing," he adds, a sudden swivel of focus from a still burning target, to her. "Think you can teach it?"

[heirring]

She has thoughts with respect to the gamut of testing Mister Holden ought to run the long gun through, and she has at least one very strong opinion to express with respect to Tony Stark's motivations this afternoon—just shooting stuff, indeed—, but all of them seemingly melt away in the face of this suggestion.

Wysteria pales faintly. And then as if to make up for her own balking flushes pink up through her neck and into her ears, frowning either at herself or the prospect of conducting training or both.

"I can't say that I have ever had reason to be anyone's instructor before, no."