sorry mario

[fe_male]

WHO: Tony Stark
WHERE: The Fountain, Blacksmithy.
WHEN: 25 Sept.
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Tony Stark.
STATUS: Open, ongoing. Like I'll ever remember to edit this once it's not.

---

ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴ

He squints.

Both at the sunlight and the fact that the world seems to have rearranged itself somehow in the last little while since he most recently took survey of his surroundings, and he's not entirely sure to which direction things have swung but he knows he doesn't like it.

Level one, assessment. He's sitting up on the bottom of a probably-concrete pit outside, and he can hear wildlife. No, wait, not a pit, a fountain, unless one makes the argument that a fountain without any water is technically a pit anyway. "Somebody changed my clothes, sure, why not, that's not weird at all. That hasn't happened since like. Ninety four." Investigating the backpack tells him very little aside from the fact that someone around here apparently lacks forethought and that he's retroactively pretty happy this fountain is empty aside from one increasingly irritated engineer.

"Alright, I don't know what kind of game this is, but it's pretty crappy! Like, terrible. Duke Nukem wouldn't even touch this with a wavebird, and now I'm just talking to myself in a hole. Fantastic. I have red pants, a peacoat, and nothing to get out of here with."

Shouting into the void seems like potentially a Bad Idea, so instead he's gonna poke around and see if he can finagle something out of the pipework maybe. Probably with running commentary to himself.

ʙʟᴀᴄᴋsᴍɪᴛʜʏ

Well this is familiar. His hand releases the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and trails over the edge of a shelf. Tony hasn't seen much of wherever the hell this little place is - nothing even really indicates whatever country he's supposed to be in now - but he can't really say it looks that appealing. If there's a blacksmith, then this might be a little bit more rustic than he's comfortable with. Either that or he's found the last bastion of hipsters. That might at least explain the overalls.

Comments

[fe_male]

Jesus, the whole gang's here. Nearly. That's just going to get more confusing the more he thinks about it, so for the moment he'll put it in the background and let his subprocesses mull it over.

Whatever is happening in his future, if it makes her pause like that then he knows a couple of things:

1. He doesn't want to ask about it.
   
2. He's definitely going to ask her about it.

He doesn't know why he is the way that he is, but at this point it's really too late to do anything about it, so it'll just have to be another one of his 'charming' personality traits. When she does continue though, the news is vaguely surprising. "They found him? He get scooped up by some crabbing ship in the bay?"

[taiyny]

Natasha crosses her arms and clears her throat in a clear mirror of the time Happy asked her if booty boot camp was the extent of her boxing knowledge, and she takes a second to compose herself. Because he should know damn good and well where Barnes was at, and he doesn't, and she needs to remind herself of that. Because whatever it is that's dragging in Agent Carter and Sergeant Barnes from the 1940s and her and Steve and Clint and Sam from after the fight, and an Australian woman from the 1800s has also grabbed Tony from mid fight with a murder bot and so he doesn't know.

She has to keep remind herself. Because if she doesn't, she'll snap at him and walk out, and he doesn't deserve that. Not yet.

"Actually, he's from the 1940s. Before he even fell from the train."

[fe_male]

He squints.

Tony might even shift his weight a little, because for whatever reason even though Aunt Peggy came through at an earlier time-point, it's somehow weirder for Barnes to have done the same. No one's ever accused Tony of being entirely objective.

"That... Sounds fun to deal with. How's that working out?"

Is he potentially asking as a mirror to what he thinks might be his own circumstances? Nahhhh.

[vdova]

"It's working," she says with a minor shrug. "The girl who runs the inn is from the 1800s, give or take, and I think there are others from even further into history than that, although I can't be certain without talking to them directly."

Which she hasn't done. She's been too busy trying to eke out a living in a place where her usual skill set does her no good. She has her own resources, knows how to keep herself alive but it's not just herself she has to worry about.

"And there's no telling when we are. Everything indicates the possibility of the Victorian era or older, but there's no newspapers, calendars, books— nothing with the written word that would give us an indication of where we are."

[fe_male]

Well, Tony supposes that's about as good as you can get here. He's been here all of the length of a fire drill and he's already getting that vibe - and he acknowledges her response with the sort of nod and shrug people give when they're acquiescing to a point they don't have any further commentary on. "You catching him up or letting circumstance work all that out?"

The whole bit about the Victorian era or older actually pulls an audible groan out of him. Not particularly loud or drawn out, but definitely a bit more than a huff or sigh of displeasure, especially when coupled with the shift in body language. "Yeah, ye olde blacksmith was sort of pushing me in that direction, but I was really hoping this was just a charming little standing museum." There's the sigh. "There's seriously nothing written down anywhere? No natives?"