WHO: Tony Stark + Byerly Rutyer WHAT: Looking for missing colleagues and having a normal one. WHEN: Backdated to Justinian, because it's our show, and not yours. WHERE: Hasmal NOTES: Some sauce.
To be fair, Byerly probably wouldn't be in Tony's top five, either. Generally, the impression that By gives off is unsubtle, idiotic, and possibly drunk right now - not the sort of person you'd want in a moment of crisis.
But, well, he is a spy, so it's probably not actually that surprising that in this sort of situation he actually acquits himself quite well. He needs no more than twenty seconds to pick this lock, and it springs open silently right when Tony nudges him.
By looks up, nods in acknowledgment. They should have enough time to get through before this patrol catches them. He opens the door and lets Tony, with his magically enhanced vision, go first.
And to be further fair, Tony's association of Byerly is a man with visible stress veins in his temple at the prospect of his colleagues in danger, of crouching down and expertly undoing a locked door without hesitation within minutes of them deciding they needed to.
Tony Stark knows what bad press is like, about being unsubtle and idiotic and possibly drunk right now, and what it's not.
The immediate room is nothing special, small and utilitarian, but the door is unlocked, and opens into a generous hallway, decorated with paintings, polished floors, archways. Open empty rooms visible from this point show furniture shapes rendered into ghosts with cloth thrown over them to protect them from dust, and missing spaces where furniture once was.
"Coast is clear," he says, a tonal uptick at the end of that. "Think this wing's sealed up for appearances or purpose?"
"Certainly hope it's just for appearance," By murmurs, lifting one edge of the cloth. He eyes it a moment, then says, "This is in last season's colors. They might simply want to hide it away until orange comes back into fashion."
He thinks a moment, then looks up at Tony. Perhaps with his enhanced senses -
"Can you tell how often this space is cleaned?" he asks as he begins moving down the hallway.
Tony scans the floor, the walls, then moves closer, touching the surface of a narrow shelf and checking his gloved fingers. He moves to catch up once he does so. "Floor's clean, but couple cobwebs, some dust. Like someone got lazy." Not decrepit, just—untended in the corners. No discolouration on the hanging portraits, but there's a musty smell to the air, even in these clear hallways.
Dusting off his hands, he says, still keeping his voice quiet, "We could do a sweep of the wing, hope everyone who needs rescuing still have all their fingernails when we're done." Dark as far as jokes go, but extremely reflexive to make it anyway, too printed in his DNA to do anything about. He doesn't sound like he's having fun.
By appreciates a bit of grim humor under the right circumstances. Ironically, this is a good circumstance - he's a lot less sour-tempered here, getting something done, thrusting himself into danger, than he is back at the Gallows sitting with a pile of paperwork and correspondence. He arches an eyebrow, purses his lips, and says -
"Not worth it." He moves forward, eyes scanning from side to side. "The reports said noises were coming from beneath the estate - are there any hidden doors? Anything that could lead to stairs down?"
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But, well, he is a spy, so it's probably not actually that surprising that in this sort of situation he actually acquits himself quite well. He needs no more than twenty seconds to pick this lock, and it springs open silently right when Tony nudges him.
By looks up, nods in acknowledgment. They should have enough time to get through before this patrol catches them. He opens the door and lets Tony, with his magically enhanced vision, go first.
no subject
Tony Stark knows what bad press is like, about being unsubtle and idiotic and possibly drunk right now, and what it's not.
The immediate room is nothing special, small and utilitarian, but the door is unlocked, and opens into a generous hallway, decorated with paintings, polished floors, archways. Open empty rooms visible from this point show furniture shapes rendered into ghosts with cloth thrown over them to protect them from dust, and missing spaces where furniture once was.
"Coast is clear," he says, a tonal uptick at the end of that. "Think this wing's sealed up for appearances or purpose?"
no subject
He thinks a moment, then looks up at Tony. Perhaps with his enhanced senses -
"Can you tell how often this space is cleaned?" he asks as he begins moving down the hallway.
no subject
Tony scans the floor, the walls, then moves closer, touching the surface of a narrow shelf and checking his gloved fingers. He moves to catch up once he does so. "Floor's clean, but couple cobwebs, some dust. Like someone got lazy." Not decrepit, just—untended in the corners. No discolouration on the hanging portraits, but there's a musty smell to the air, even in these clear hallways.
Dusting off his hands, he says, still keeping his voice quiet, "We could do a sweep of the wing, hope everyone who needs rescuing still have all their fingernails when we're done." Dark as far as jokes go, but extremely reflexive to make it anyway, too printed in his DNA to do anything about. He doesn't sound like he's having fun.
no subject
"Not worth it." He moves forward, eyes scanning from side to side. "The reports said noises were coming from beneath the estate - are there any hidden doors? Anything that could lead to stairs down?"