This is no bustling Time Square and screeching traffic, no sudden onset of tall top hats and monocles, or whatever else a world might produce. Snow, and the distant sound of suburban traffic, and carolling. A stand selling apple cider and Christmas cookies covered in cellophane. Quaint. Cute. According to the best doctors, there is literally no universe where Tony Stark got to attend one of these when his own kid was old enough to be among the carollers or throwing snowballs out on the field. Pepper could probably have talked him into Santa duty. He shoves all that aside.
And swipes a cookie as he goes, petty theft just audacious enough to get away with it. His old timey clothes are out of place but not egregiously—shirt, jerkin, trousers, boots, a little too close to costume without being eye catching, but the sunglasses he's wearing help forgive him some sins.
By the time he sees a familiar face in an unfamiliar context, he has rock hard gingerbread slathered in royal icing between his teeth and an even stupider expression on his face. It's a moment of double-vision as he observes her from a distance, too sharp not to see identical details but every other visual cue speaks wildly of a whole different person. Well.
He goes over there, obviously.
"Excuse me," Tony says. "Hey," to the guy, and then back to. Cosima? "Happy holidays. I'm looking for something."
no subject
This is no bustling Time Square and screeching traffic, no sudden onset of tall top hats and monocles, or whatever else a world might produce. Snow, and the distant sound of suburban traffic, and carolling. A stand selling apple cider and Christmas cookies covered in cellophane. Quaint. Cute. According to the best doctors, there is literally no universe where Tony Stark got to attend one of these when his own kid was old enough to be among the carollers or throwing snowballs out on the field. Pepper could probably have talked him into Santa duty. He shoves all that aside.
And swipes a cookie as he goes, petty theft just audacious enough to get away with it. His old timey clothes are out of place but not egregiously—shirt, jerkin, trousers, boots, a little too close to costume without being eye catching, but the sunglasses he's wearing help forgive him some sins.
By the time he sees a familiar face in an unfamiliar context, he has rock hard gingerbread slathered in royal icing between his teeth and an even stupider expression on his face. It's a moment of double-vision as he observes her from a distance, too sharp not to see identical details but every other visual cue speaks wildly of a whole different person. Well.
He goes over there, obviously.
"Excuse me," Tony says. "Hey," to the guy, and then back to. Cosima? "Happy holidays. I'm looking for something."