40/Hoop Shootin

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Hoop Shootin
Date of Scene: 20 February 2020
Location: Gotham
Synopsis: Tony and Bruce play some b-ball
Cast of Characters: Bruce Wayne, Tony Stark




Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce jams into Tony's space, spins in an agile manner, and runs the court. With a leap he barely tips the basketball up into the (decidedly non-regulation height) rim, and lands with a flexion of his knees that turns into a pell-mell stumble.

"Whew! You need more cardio, Tony," Bruce advises his friend. He blots sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his t-shirt, worn under a Gotham Knights jersey with Wayne 00 on the back-- a vanity gift from that team.

The public courts are a little under-populated for this time of day. Probably due to the half-dozen bodyguards strung unobtrusively around the area who are keeping a casual vigil to make sure no one swarms the two billionaires during their afternoon pickup game. No one's being turned away, of course, but folks who pester the duo are invited to take a few hundred dollars in 'courtesy money' and take their loved ones out for ice cream as compensation.

"What's the score now? Ten to six?" he inquries, and checks the ball back at his companion.

Tony Stark has posed:
"You're cheating!" Tony announces, pausing to bend forward and plant both hands on his thighs. He rises once again to his full height after a moment, planting both hands on the small of his back and stretching his shoulders. As he does, he looks over towards one of the bodyguards - Bruce's own, "He's cheating. I hope you're seeing this. Gotham's favorite son reduced to petty trickery and fouls. Very sad."

Tony's own gym clothes are dark and simple. A black t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting shorts that hang down to his knees, all on top of a pair of black and white basketball shoes. The blue pyramid-within-a-circle glow is in evidence in the center of his chest, the site of the device that keeps his heart from being penetrated by deadly shrapnel.

He doesn't comment on the score. Instead, he shakes his head vigorously as he reaches out to snatch the ball out of the air when it is thrown. It bounces from one hand to the other, Stark glancing down occasionally to check his hands. High-level physics and engineering are the things he mastered as a child, not sports. Still, he's not bad.

"I hope you're ready to drop that monocle in your champagne glass out of shock, Uncle Pennybags."

He makes a break, faking left then darting right to try and get around Bruce for a lay-up.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Cheating? You're accusing me of cheating?" Bruce looks shocked and indignant, and his feet start skip-stepping to keep up as Tony sets into a dribble and starts traversing the court. "Big talk from someone who reported zero income last year--!"

The two jockey and push for position, and Bruce makes no real effort to slap the ball from Tony aside from simply forcing the other man to exhaust himself trying to move through or around Bruce. He's a big guy with a lot of reach and there's a lot of inertia.

Still, Tony drives down the court, evades a palm slapping at the ball, and Bruce is too slow to stop a lay-up from tipping over the rim.

"Seven ten. It's almost a tie game! You just need to make a few more of those. Maybe actually land one of those three-pointers you were bragging about?"

Bruce walks the ball back to the other side of the court, dribbling lazily, and checks it to Tony.

It comes back, he sets up, and then with a grunt of effort hops on his toes and sinks one right into the bucket.

"Thirteen seven, now?"

Tony Stark has posed:
"That money was all HOMER's," Tony answers haughtily, turning around to watch the basketball sail over his head and land with a swish in the hoop, "As soon as artificial intelligences are granted citizenship rights, he's going to be a very rich hologram. He's already blocking out space for a sunroom."

The ball bounces a few times and then rolls lazily across the court, prompting Tony to chase after it. He bends to pick it down, holding it under one arm as he looks towards Bruce.

"Besides, Iron Man is my taxes. You can pay for new bridges and roads; I'll put on my cutting-edge suit of armor and stop aliens from enslaving all of humanity."

"That said," Tony adds, glancing back over his shoulder and pointing his free hand at Bruce, "As soon as three pointers is a superpower, we'll fit you right in on the Avengers. Move over, Thor - the Bucketeer is here."

It isn't hard to see Stark is more than a little worn out. He's not gasping for air, but there's a sheen of sweat on him and when he's not speaking, he's taking a moment to catch his breath. He doesn't move to set up for the next play, instead he holds onto the ball and heads over towards the bench where his towel and water bottle are.

"Speaking of," he adds, before swallowing a mouthful of water and momentarily trying to speak through it, "I'm doing a little thing on Saturday. Sort of an announcement. Want to introduce me?"

A pause, and then he quickly adds, "But, uh, none of that zero income stuff. Won't play well."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce seems to sense Tony's calling it for a few minutes, and follows his friend to the edge of the court. He's breathing heavily but not quite gasping for air, as if he's had a moderate workout himself. The squeeze bottle's compressed and he jets water into his mouth, spits some, and then rinses his brow off without another quick spray.

"Tony, /no/," he winces, shaking his head. "I'm not gonna set you up for another round of 'Maxim Cover Girls'. I did it the one time, it was a blast, and I'm not doing it again. Dick gets enough grief at work as it is, and Tim will possibly evaporate on the spot if he sees me getting a whipped cream pie in the face from some playmate of the year," he protests.

Tony Stark has posed:
"I promise, it's nothing like that," Tony says, shaking his head vigorously and waving his free hand through the air. He pauses for a moment, his head tilting and his eyes staring upwards as though deep in thought - but then he once more shakes his head, "No. Nothing like that. I promise. It's a serious thing. The cover girls'll have to go without me for a bit."

The ball is still clasped in his hands as he sits down, resting it on his knees as he does so. He glances up towards the taller, far more athletic Bruce Wayne and regards him for a moment. The expression on his face is still distinctly Tony Stark, but there's something less flippant about it. His brows are not raised, he doesn't have that deadpan expression that suggests a joke was just here and everyone missed it.

"You don't have to do much," he promises, "Just get up. Say some words about how much of a great guy I am. A titan of industry. How I'm so generous I let you beat me at basketball. All of that."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce's eyes narrow very slightly and he folds his arms across his chest. Fingers wrap around his triceps and he regards Tony suspiciously. "Why is this starting to sound less and less like 'hey buddy, come introduce me to that cute blonde', and 'Bruce, I need a character witness because I've been subpoenaed again?'" Bruce quips at his friend.

He looks around, then makes a discreet gesture at his bodyguards. They turn and face deliberately away from Bruce and Tony, creating a little shield of privacy. Bruce touches his Omega wristwatch and a shrill noise vanishes into the upper registers of the audible spectrum.

"This? Best birthday present ever, by the way," he reminds Tony, and points at the eavesdropping scrambler built into the timepiece. Bruce hunkers down in a squat, forearms resting on his elbows and fingers loosely interlaced in front of him. The philanthropist squints up at Tony.

"Just you and me, Tony. Tell me what's going on," he says, in a more serious tone of voice. "You in trouble or something?"

Tony Stark has posed:
Tony remains seated on the bench, turning to watch as Bruce asks the bodyguards to turn. The mention of a subpoena only prompts a lopsided smirk from the man, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's eyes fall to the wristwatch, picking up the meaning and so he waits until it's been activated. When it has, Tony rises to his feet and keeps the ball clasped between both hands.

"It's not a bad thing, if that's what's got your chiseled jaw set in that worried frown," Tony promises, closing his eyes and shaking his head, "I'm making a big play. Biggest of my life. Bigger than Iron Man."

Another thoughtful expression covers his face, "Maybe bigger than Iron Man. But I'm going there, and it's not a stunt or some effort to boost interest in the new phone. This is real."

From far away, the pair can be seen speaking but cannot be heard. Tony keeps his head turned; his lips unreadable in the way he cants his head. Any sort of listening device would get only the high-pitched whine of the device Bruce wears, not picking up what Stark tells him next.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
There's a laugh. Then another. Then it quiets. Then another laugh. And once Bruce's shoulders stop shaking with the chuckles, he's staring at Tony with his jaw slack.

"...You're not kidding," he remarks. It leaves the Gothamite a bit gobsmacked, what Tony whispers, and he rubs his jaw briskly and looks skywards for inspiration.

"I'm... I gotta think about it, Tony," he admits, finally. "You know how I feel about that social circle. Gotham doesn't have a great track record. I need to... there are people to talk to, plans to make, you need to set up some contingencies and ..."

He trails off, shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm just kind of stunned. Of course, I'll help you. Any way I can." Bruce grins and shakes his head, then rises. "Lookit Tony Stark, suddenly developing a social conscience. I'm not entirely convinced this isn't gonna turn out to be a prank," he warns Tony-- but offers hima hand up anyway.

Tony Stark has posed:
"Ah," Tony says, eyes widening and eyebrows raising, "But if it is a prank? Surely, it's my best one yet, right?"

But then he shakes his head, taking a few backwards steps out towards the court with the ball under his arm. He stands there for a moment, speaking up now that the cat is out of the bag.

"This is the right thing to do. I've never been surer about it. The world needs this. I was there in New York. I watched the Dominator Invasion on the news and all I could think about - besides my profit margin if there was another world war - was how much things have changed. It didn't used to be like this. I remember being ten years old and seeing the Fantastic Four and thinking it would never get more out of this world than that. Now look where we are."

He takes the ball between both hands, squaring his feet with his shoulders and holding it tight against his torso.

"I've uncharacteristically put a lot of thought into this. I know what I'm doing, and we're going all the way. Nothing but net."

He heaves the ball backwards over his head, not turning to watch where he's shooting it. It sails through the air, missing the hoop by several feet before it hits the ground, bounces, then rolls lazily past the feet of one of the bodyguards who doesn't so much as look down. Tony glances over his shoulder, purses his lips, and then looks back to Bruce.

"Should've practiced that. Anyway, you get it."

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Yeah, I'd work on that one if you want to really make a splash with the kids," Bruce agrees.

He scratches the back of his neck and grimaces at the ground while Tony wanders, then exhales and spreads his hands. Arms flop to his sides.

"Well, I gotta give you this-- it's pretty signature Stark," he allows. "No one's gonna see it coming. Just don't expect me to volunteer to do any work?" he inquires, dryly.

Bruce whistles at the bodyguard, and uplifts his chin at the ball. It's retrieved and passed to Bruce, who catches it easily and dribbles twice, then passes it to Tony's midsection.

"And let's finish the game first. Otherwise the first words out of my mouth with be 'sucks at baskteball'," Bruce remarks.