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.
"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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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?"