sixthiterationlogs | Here's to my future, Here's to my yesterday

WHO: Tony Stark
WHERE: Village, Forge, Spring
WHEN: September 29th - October 7th
OPEN TO: Marked prompts are locked, ota marks are ota
WARNINGS: Swearing, descriptions of canon appropriate violence, recreational weed use

September 29th - [ Locked to Iron Bull, Kamala, Elena, Steve Rogers ]

He doesn't know why he thought it'd be a stroke of midnight kind of deal, a bibbity-bobbity-fuck-you' sort of thing but, well, he thought it'd be one moment of having a full, unscarred chest and all his youthful spring and a jolt before he went back to having a chest full of shrapnel scarring and shitty, shitty knees. A more gradual decline is- well. Probably less traumatic and more reasonable, thank you mysterious sciencey bullshit magic overlords, but no thank you, not really. By the time he makes his way to the Inn some of the grey hair's back, the ache in his shoulders from working the forge hard and long for the last two weeks, settling in, an odd hitch to his breathing he cant quite peg as being mostly normal until it wasn't. It's nothing, he's fine, this was expected, right? Right. Just means he takes a little bit longer to squint down at his notes while he eats lunch, stands up slow as his spine pops like a set of firecrackers when he clears out.

Work, predictably, slows down somewhat at the Forge. He can't hit as hard, as long, as he might've the day before- which is probably a sign shit is going down with his system but denial thy name is Tony 'Fuck You I Reject Your Reality And Substitute My Own' Stark. He's not going to give in to the fact the hammer feels heavier, drawing the wire feels more difficult, or that he's got a building migraine (Which he hadn't had for the past two weeks, what a fucking joy it's been). Nope. He's sweating, taking breaks, and denying that he should probably just. Take a day. One more hour? Maybe two.

End of the day- earlier than he's been clearing out for the last while- and he's resigned himself to taking maybe one or two days of just to recover. Admitting that yeah, he's back to how he was when he arrived, now (minus the hole Thanos gave him) at least to himself Tony's taking a not so long walk to the Fountain for a bucket to shut down the forge- leaving it to burn attended for that Long? Asking for trouble. It's not the walk to the Fountain. It's not dropping the bucket in and filling it, it's hauling it up that hits him hardest. He manages- barely, to get it up to the lip before that hitch he's had all day doubles down and locks in with, oh, right, he's missing parts of his lungs and shit- and he's forgotten how to breathe through it. Tony slumps against the ledge, hand pressed to his chest, eyes squeezed shut as he tries and fails to get any actual air in his mangled lungs.

October 1 - 7th OTA

Two days of weren't exactly enough after pushing so hard for so long and letting it all catch up to him- Tony'll never admit it, not in a million years, but he's...taking it easy. Handling theoretical work for the time being. Which means research at the School House, or hiking all the way over to the Mill to see what he's working with RE getting some kind of analog power set up- or making a hydroelectric power a more consistent kind of deal. He'd been by before but now? It's less pacing and measuring, more sitting, listening to the wheel work, and letting his mind wander. It's actually kind of peaceful.

The hooka of weed probably doesn't hurt much either, but joint pain is joint pain and self medicating is something he's got a history of. As long as he's tucked up in the mill he's not likely to expose Pete or Kamala to the terrible habit. Theoretical Engineering under the influence has always led to some interesting (only somewhat implausible) ideas. Couldn't hurt.

Most nights he makes the trek out to the Springs- only once measuring a flattish area for changing stalls or whatever before giving up on it for the time being. His stuff's packed up somewhere safe (in a zebra print bag that use to be a snuggie, tied to a tree) He's got a canteen of water and a few peaches to gnaw on. Might as well double dip on bullshit accelerated healing assistants.

Later still, when he can't sleep, when he can't work due to lack of light or lack of energy he sits on the porch of House 34 staring out into the night, mug of tea at his elbow. Quiet. Contemplative like he normally isn't, hands twisting and turning a length of delicate chain between his fingers as he wills himself into exhaustion- or at the very least attempts to do so.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jake's head snaps up, following the sound of the voice... and then following the wheel and the figure on it. His mouth opens and then closes, not even sure what to make of this guy.

Then he prepares himself and Jake takes a step forward.

"Maybe you should..."

And then it doesn't matter as the guy jumps. He stumbles and Jake rushes forward, already trying to help as the guy works to regain his foot.

"Hey. You sure? You didn't turn your ankle or anything, did you?"

"I'm good!" He presses a hand up to steady himself catching a vaguely familiar pec in the process and- he'll think about that after the room stops spinning. "I'm good. I think. No- yeah I'm good."

Tony sets down the hooka and scrubs at his face with a groan, heels of his hands pressing into his eyes to establish some kind of equilibrium or. Something. "Ankles are fine- uh."

Peering between his fingers up at the guy is. Weird. "Uh. I might be more baked than previously anticipated."

He definitely doesn't seem good, but Jake isn't one to judge. Not that he makes any effort to move away, his hand moving to catch the other man's elbow, offering that stability even if he says he doesn't need it.

Figuring the hooka has a lot to do with it, but not bothered so long as the guy is okay. Even if the scent is pretty nice, making him wonder why he hasn't indulged in this before here rather than being a spaz looking for people that are not there.

"Oookay," he murmurs, not sure what brought that on. "Do you need to sit down then?" The boyscout thing is coming to him fairly naturally, though he's used to being around four guys that would kick his ass for trying to help them in a situation like this.

"Rogers. When'd you grow a goatee?" It hasn't been that long, he knows it hasn't been that long, and as rude as it is (personal space is a thing) it really doesn't fucking fit with- well. Anything. Tony reaches up to poke at Jake's chin, thoroughly baffled. "Seriously, what?"

He sounded- not like Rogers. But he looked like Rogers. With glasses-

"Wait are you sad gnome beard guy?" He can't think of anyone else that worried about facial hair quite like him in the village.

"Since I joined the ... Wait. " Nope, not his name, even as he's being poked, jerking back slightly. "Okay. One, you really are wasted," he says, chuckling a bit.

"Two, I have no idea who the sad gnome beard guy is, but details would work because that sounds like someone I really want to avoid. And..."

He takes a breath, because he has an idea, also because there's still smoke everywhere and he kind of needs it. He's been warned, but hasn't faced it yet and still isn't sure how he feels. "Rogers first name is Steve, isn't it? Bucky warned me that I kinda look like him."

"I am very baked, this is true." Tony offers cheerfully, smile flickering for a moment while he tries to prove to himself (without excess poking) that this is, in fact, not Rogers. And for every shade of similarity- it seems like it's not.

Still.

It's fucking weird.

"I'm the guy that works the forge. You mentioned something about not growing a beard because it makes you look like a sad hobo gnome? Or something." He can't recall the details. "And yeah, you do. But...not as built."

He kind of smiles at that, considering the smoke wafting around them. "Curious where you found the pi...."

He stops there though, considering what else he's said. "OH! Oh. You're Santa Smith," he says, lighting up to meet the person behind the offers. "I was the guy that asked for a razor," he admits.

"And really? Less built?" He's not that built, but he's muscled enough. He thought. Now he's really curious about this Steve guy. "How buff is this guy?" In truth, he's kind of becoming a amazed by this man he's never met.

"Mhmm. Not the best name out of the season, now that I think of it-" But he shrugs, smile sheepish. "I think- no I don't have it with me, I have it back at the forge. Swing by and I have that for you and a shaving mirror. Don't have anything to make a lather, boar bristles are hard to come by."

Because a proper kit's a thing. He's sure. An important thing.

"Rogers is- he's shaped like a fucking Dorito. Not kidding, I did the math once."

Jake grins at that, nodding and actually fairly impressed. He's used to units working together but this place is something else. He's never seen anything like it. Everyone is so friendly and doing so much to help one another out.

"I'll figure it out from there. It's a bigger start than I expected to have. Thanks." And he means it.

"Huh. I... You know, nope. I have no words for that. Can't imagine that being useful in my line of work though so I'll stay with able to hold my own and maybe not die."

He gestures around them, or he's waving the smoke away.

"You okay? I mean, this seems like a lot of natural relaxation."

Here's to my future, Here's to my yesterday

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