sixthiterationlogs | [ MINGLE ] FORGE AFTER HOURS

WHO: Tony Stark
WHERE: South Village Forge
WHEN: January 8th
OPEN TO: Smitherns (Thor, Brigitte, Annie Cresta, Siefer), Plus Ones, Passers by, and Friends! Anyone, really, come on down.
WARNINGS: Language, discussion of canon typical violence probably, drinking?

THE HEARTH

With the bulk of the work and chores done for the day, the heart's banked down to a tolerable level rather than steel meltingly hot, positively cozy. Tables are cleared of metal filings and shavings, the floor is swept, extra chairs and seating or overturned crates serve as places to kick back and enjoy the warmth. A large kettle of tea is kept brewing all night, another of coffee, and a jug of cool water for those thirsty with no real requirement RE flavor. There's a rack for coats and scarves when people don't need to be quite so bundled up, and space cleared enough for milling about, tossing ideas back and forth, or simply relaxing. Arguments happen at The Debate Wall, not by the fire.

THE FOOD

It's an eclectic spread- a pot of stew, some crusty bread, frittatas, a few large, simple cheese pizzas, bottles of wine, and whatever other food the Smitherns or their Plus Ones chose to bring. It's a bit of a potluck, food spread out on one table for perusal, plates waiting and a bin for dirty dishes. Tony will scrub up at the end of the night. By the fire there's a waffle iron and as many toppings as they could find for waffles- jams, zalpaca butter, dried fruit, preserved peaches. Serve yourself or sit and sample!

THE CHILL OUT CORNER

For the more introspective or anyone taking a break from The Debate Wall, there's a comfortable chair tucked in the far corner where the light isn't as bright, the sound not quite so loud- and in this chair sits a young Peacat, a smaller pot for tea, and a few books. Elton's a friendly sort and will chirrup to lean for pets or simply sit on a lap and purr, offering calming, quiet company.

THE DEBATE WALL

Scrubbed clean for the night, the wall opposite Tony's Scrawled projects, equations, rules and definitions- currently marked only with a few notes RE proper charcoal use 'It's for the wall, not your hands, not anyone's clothes', the large space cleared for marking out or drawing out- well. Games, hangman, tic-tac-toe, sketches, or debate points. The only other rule listed is 'If you're going to pick a hill to die on, cite your references'.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Anyone, anything- generally we look down on damaging humanoid shaped things that get brought in through the tubes. You're lucky I'm the one that found it. Anyone else would've sounded some kind of alarm and stirred up a witch hunt and that is- that is just a migraine and a half, honestly-" Tony rolls his eyes, patting Elton to urge him to move along. The peacat huffs before weaving across, hopping up onto THIS connor's lap, paws delicately placed on his shoulders as he leans up to give it a sniff.

Not the same as the other Connor and therefore- acceptable to rub against.

Tony doesn't do much more than quirk a brow at the peacat's choice, but he doesn't warn him either. No reason. "Me? Not so much."

Since he first walked up, Connor has been pointedly ignoring the bizarre creature curled in the human's lap. This has just become... considerably harder. He blinks—mouth flattening at the sudden weight, fingers twitching with the impulse to remove it. But acknowledging the irritation would only validate Stark's efforts. Maybe if he ignores the animal, it will go away?

Humanoid shaped things is accurate. Still, the label doesn't quite match up to Stark's aggressive posturing. To the grudge, sharp and vicious, that had filled his language nearly from the start. It's possible, of course, that Stark was merely taking petty revenge toward a machine inconveniencing him. But that doesn't match much better to the current act. No, Connor's calculations are estimating a 62% chance of attachment. Some kind of sympathy towards the deactivated machine.

Deviants are dangerously misleading. He doesn't comment on the probability, only tilts his head past the animal, voice calm. "Very well. I'll be more discreet."

"How—" The creature reaches one paw towards his face, and Connor turns his head more sharply, a forearm coming up to push it back. "How did you know I was involved? Just the resemblance?"

That, unfortunately, is not how cats work. And it certainly isn't how peacats work, and definitely isn't how Elton works. The more he's ignored the more he attempts to rub up against Connor's cheeks and fingers, trying to claim his property all over again. How dare he come back not smelling like him. Honestly. The utter nerve.

"Alternatively- you could use your words instead of jamming a pipe in someone. Not as satisfying, I know, but a lot less likely to make trouble for the rest of the village." They're a community, after all, and keep an eye out or on each other out of boredom if nothing else. Having someone just jacking up the population on a whim? Not ideal. In the slightest. "Everyone else here knows about the 'no shank' rule. It wasn't that difficult."

Edited 2019-01-17 06:47 (UTC)

The—bird? cat?—is irritatingly persistent. Connor scowls, fingers curling away from the soft tickle of fur as he forces it down. It latches firmly in his lap, but there, at least, it can't reach his face. Or so he assumes... until the back half swishes. Connor barely manages to close his mouth on a retort in time to avoid sampling feathers.

"Someone—again?" He shoves the tail back. "I took apart a faulty machine. Just like you did. But I'm sure that won't be much of an issue." The words are pleasantly spoken, but there's a cold, analytical focus as he stares at Tony. Checking for the slightest micro-expression that might give more away.

"Unless there are any other deviants to deal with?"

"Generally speaking. There aren't any other walking talking toasters for you to jam a pipe in, you do that, you'll be hurting an actual person." Insert eyeroll here, the likes of which he hasn't whipped out since the damn Helicarrier. He's bored with the whole fucking thing already, beyond bored, but it's something he's going to need to have to keep an eye on. Because apparently he's got some sort of unofficial authority?

He's never looked at it too hard but this? This could blow up in someone's face.

Best to just nip the potential buds before they get a chance to grow.

"You, tweedle-dee, and tweedle-dead are the only androids in the village where that term is a thing. First of your world. And, well. Only androids period." As far as Tony's aware- he's speaking truthfully. There are plenty of weird people but as far as he's seen? They're all people. Nothing like this jury rigged, faulty coded, twink faced sociopath.

The dramatics, Connor pointedly ignores. The actual substance behind the human's answer? Is considerably more interesting. No flicker of the eyes, no lag or change in pulse. He can't afford to discount Stark's deceptive skills completely, but almost certainly...

...he doesn't know he's wrong.

The corner of Connor's mouth quirks up slightly. More than it should—but for the moment, he doesn't catch the lapse of self-control. There's a distracting buzz crawling through his processor, a warm, light feeling.

Satisfaction, he assumes.

"Then I'm sure we won't have any problems." There's just the slightest stress on we. Connor shifts as if to stand—and is brought up short by the weight now digging needle claws into his coat.

Right. The animal. He glances back to Stark.

That's damning, right there- and the why of it rattles around in the back of Tony's brain-

Well shit. There must be someone else then. How to go about keeping them away from the line of fire without knowing who, exactly, they were or possibly outing them to the rest of the village (not that anyone gives a flying fuck except for this yahoo, they're alright with Liv and Venom, for fuck's sake) and-

Right that one weird-

Maybe?

Note to self, look into it.

Between one blink and the next Tony's focus has narrowed, his brows lifted, all innocence. "I think Elton's comfortable where he is. Why don't you relax a little while, do some people watching? Get to know your neighbors a little better seeing as you're stuck with them until you aren't."

"Your concern is touching." The smirk twists. "But I'm not going to be here long."

In this gathering or this island. He needs to get back. To CyberLife, where new orders await him. To Detroit, where his predecessor's failures have already nearly brought the industry to a halt. It's been days since he lost contact with Amanda, and Connor's smile nearly slips—but somehow, the tight panic floats just out of reach. It's... strangely easy to dismiss. The android's eyes shift to the middle distance, LED flickering slightly as he checks over his processing logs. He's... confident?

...of course he is. He'll make it back.

First, of course, he needs to stand. Connor's gaze flicks back to meet the human's, expression calmly, coldly pleasant as he settles one hand pointedly atop Stark's pet. "I'm getting up now." His fingers curl, framing the shape of its small... fragile... head.

How much force would it take to move the creature? How much to cause irreparable damage? Less than 200 newtons, Connor thinks.

Stark can get it off him. Or he will.

[ MINGLE ] FORGE AFTER HOURS

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