503/Mission: Asgard

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Mission: Asgard
Date of Scene: 14 March 2020
Location: Stark Tower: Penthouse
Synopsis: Natasha comes by Stark Tower to brief Tony on the Asgard Situation - they end up drinking vodka and watching Mission Impossible.
Cast of Characters: Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff

Tony Stark has posed:
It's true that Tony has been spending more time at Avengers Mansion to get away from his security detail, given that they are not permitted to follow him in there unless he asks them to. But the sad truth is that there's not a great deal of work he can get done from there, and he's had to come back to the office from time to time.

The office, in this case, is his lush penthouse apartment situated atop Stark Tower right on Broadway. A few floors down is the Stark 2020 Campaign Headquarters, which is itself abuzz with activity. The penthouse itself is quieter, accommodating only Tony and two of his security detail - one standing near the elevator that opens into the living room, and another out on the balcony.

Tony himself sits on one of the upholstered seats in the sunken middle of the room, one arm draped over the back of the sofa. In his other hand he holds his phone, which he flicks through swiftly. The contents project into the air before him via holographic emitters, while music plays through concealed speakers. In this case, the choice de jure is 'Birdhouse In Your Soul' by They Might Be Giants.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    It's been two or three years since Natasha infiltrated this place under the cover of an employee. Funny story, but kinda long. Her employment nded very suddenly, is the crux of it, and a lot of security codes have been changed since then.
    Natasha *could* conceivably Spy her way up to the penthouse. But there's two innocent secret service members, an ally's once-challenged-already trust, and a national mood to consider. So she only sneaks into the elevator.
    Jarvis speaks up, <<Mr. Stark, the main elevator appears to be requesting clearance to reach the penthouse.>>
    A holographic display appears in front of Tony, showing a view from the corner of the ceiling of the elevator where Natasha Romanoff stands, wearing a red business jacket and skirt over a black dress shirt and leggings. Her arms are folded in front of her until she curiously looks up at the camera and gives a thin smile and a little finger wave.
    <<It appears to be Ms. Romanoff. Shall I alert the authorities, per protocol?>>
    He's *probably* just being funny.

Tony Stark has posed:
Tony appears to consider the recommendation for a moment, switching off his phone with his thumb as he looks at the holographic rendition of Natasha. The guard by the elevator door regards Tony cautiously and maybe, just maybe, takes a faint side-step away from the elevator as it slides to a stop behind the reflective metal doors.

"Nah," Tony waves a hand and shakes his head, "She'd just be mad about it at the next meeting - and she's already mad at me a lot. Let her up."

The elevator itself responds silently, releasing the locks on the penthouse entrance so they can slide aside and allow Natasha passage into the room itself. Tony looks up from the sofa, arm still casually draped over the back of it. He's wearing a blazer and jeans with what looks like a - yes, it's one of the Black Widow t-shirts he showed the team the other day.

"Coincidence? Or is this one of those 'I have my ways' moments?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    <<Very good, sir.>>
    When the elevator reveals Natasha, she steps into the room and gives a disarming smile to the men protecting you, before stopping a short distance away from Tony and looks at him with a bemused expression. "The day you know which is which, is the day I retire in shame, Tony Stark."

Tony Stark has posed:
"Don't retire, I don't think I could bear it," Tony says with a shake of his head, sparing another glance down at his phone before he lays it face-down on the coffee table, "You're the only one on the team who truly gets me. That's why I'm officially asking you, when I inevitably win this election and the footage of Luthor killing puppies to make winter coats leaks or whatever, to be my First Lady."

He pauses, affording himself a remarkable poker face that doesn't let on as to whether he actually means it or not. It hangs in the air until he presses on, climbing up out of the chair and pointing at the security guard near Natasha.

"You. You know she'll protect me better than you can, anyway. Go take a breather."

The guard looks warily between the pair before he moves towards the glass doors that slide open automatically, walking out onto the balcony and taking up a watchful position at the other end of it to his comrade. Once he's gone, Tony turns back to Natasha.


Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha's expression doesn't change as she blandly says, "Wow, Tony, this is... all so sudden." And then holds that gaze for a very long moment before asking, "Can we have a moment? I'm too embarrassed to answer with an audiance."
    Not that Tony needed prompting to remove the poor hapless eyewitnesses who did NOT sign up for the times they're likely to have before this assignment ends.
    At the offer of a drink, Natasha starts to say "I'm-" I'm working, is how that usually goes, but she re-thinks it and says. "You know what, sure. I'm feeling nostalgic." She answers, and approaches the table to take a seat. "Plus I'm all... flustered and... giggly, now. I need to calm down."

Tony Stark has posed:
"Giggly?" Tony asks, raising his eyebrows, "These Life Model Decoys are getting really accurate - I'd have never guessed."

There's a faint smile from him as he moves towards the bar, reaching down beneath it for the little freezer and opening the door. A moment later he produces a bottle that is strangely curved towards the middle with a golden top: "Mamont? Only the good Russian stuff, right? Would you drink a martini or would it be better if we drank shots and glared?"

As he waits for the answer, he lays the glasses out on the counter and sets about preparing them.

"None of the reporters downstairs tried to rope you in for an interview?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha shakes her head and says, "I'm not married to Russian stuff." and pauses. Awkward choice of words, but, moving on. "Whatever you feel like right now. Just make sure I can drive afterward."
    She crosses her legs and makes herself comfortable. "I brought some news that I didn't want you to scroll past in a hail of candidate news alerts." She puts on a little smile and adds, "Plus I figure it's better if you're sitting, just in case."
    She's exaggerating, but.. she's not sure how he's going to react to Steve Rogers being the perspective that potentially directs Earth's future in the cosomos, considering their... differences in personality, past issues aside.

Tony Stark has posed:
"I'll tell you what," Tony offers, "If you can't drive afterwards, I've got a self-driving car down in the garage wired into HOMER's sat-nav network. I've been dying to test it, but they insist on driving me everywhere."

He sets about mixing the drinks for the pair of them, pouring the alcohol and mixers into a stainless-steel shaker before giving it a few violent twists and turns. Satisfied, he pours the contents half into his own glass and half into Natasha's. Taking them both in hand, he returns to the sofa and places them down on the coffee table. Seated, he raises his eyebrows at the Russian's words.

"I think you better hit me with it, Romanoff," he says, picking up his glass and taking a sip, "If you're backing out of the First Lady gig already, I'll tell you right now I'm heartbroken."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha takes the drink with a soft "Thank you." then takes a sip before looking off into the middle distance, as if considering Tony's words, before saying. "*Two* pieces of news." She puts on her most heartfelt face and laments, "It was never meant to be."
    She takes another sip, and when the glass goes down, her face is back to normal. "Our whirlwind romance aside... I thought you should know that Thor came back from his big visit to Asgard. *Apparently*... Thor convinced Odin to consider strengthening ties with Earth. An embassy, ambassadorship, the whole thing. Maybe even a say in what goes on over there, where it concerns us." Which she doesn't have to spell out is a pretty big deal considering they've apparently been Odin's goldfish up until now.

Tony Stark has posed:
Tony shakes his head with a sigh, taking another sip of the drink and letting it rest in the palm of his hand: "I'll win you over yet, Romanoff. Still a lot of months between now and November."

When the conversation turns to Asgard, however, his expression tightens. He'd been clear about his opinions of Odin and his treatment of Earth during their mission to Genosha. But as Natasha lays out the details, he looks momentarily incredulous and then actually surprised.

"No kidding?" he juts out a bottom lip and raises the glass in a toast, "Well, here's to the ancient mythological figure being dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st Century by Thor of all people."

Another sip, and then a pause before asking, "So, who are we sending?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha raises her glass accordingly, thouh there's a hint of mischief in her expression as she anticipates the question that comes next.
    "Well." She says, taking another sip, belaboring the moment, "... First Odin wants to *meet* a human and figure out if this is worth his time. And it turns out that 'who' is entirely up to Thor. And Thor knew who he wanted as soon as he got back...!"

Tony Stark has posed:
"Let me guess," Tony asks, voice more terse than normal, "Tall, blonde, and anachronistic?"

For all the emotions he manages to hide or otherwise obfuscate around the Avengers, there's a little bit of a sore point there that he doesn't quite manage to shake before it becomes legible on his face. It's gone not long after, however, and he lifts his drink to take another, longer sip.

"Good choice."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    There it goes. It's the simple things in life you treasure. Tony Stark being off his game for even a split second is special and fleeting.
    Natasha doesn't lift the drink this time, letting it rest on the table with her hand on the glass, shaking her head a little with a bemused smile. "You have to admit, the short list is pretty short."

Tony Stark has posed:
"It's what it is," Tony answers flatly, downing the rest of his martini dregs and all before putting the glass back down on the table with a clatter, "Keep me posted on whatever the alien and the superhero say is best for the rest of us mere mortals, huh?"

He pushes himself up off the sofa again, that relaxed, and even mildly flirtatious demeanor completely drained away now. He stalks towards the bar again, opening and closing the freezer with a clangor and pulling out the bottle. He fills only one glass this time, and rather than mixing it just downs a shot in short order.

After the drink is down, he pauses and looks across the room. He's caught his reflection in the mirror, looking past Natasha towards it. He sighs, shoulders sinking a little bit as all that tension disappears out of him.

"That was an asshole move. I'm sorry."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha's face actually falls a little when Tony gets so clearly upset. She'd expected... humorous disdain. Maybe a few choice words about blonde fraternity. But he actually sounds... bitter?
    Maybe she's gotten soft, but Natasha actually experiences concern, though there are also subtle hints in her expression that she doesn't love being spoken to that way.
    Natasha stands and approaches Tony at the bar, agreeing, "A little bit." Before setting her glass down, taking the bottle, and slowly refilling both Tony's glass and hers a modest amount each. She sets the bottle down and leans on the bar on the opposite side from Tony with her arms folded on the table, glass held in one hand. "What's going on?" She asks in a gentle, sympathetic voice.
    Believe it or not, she wants to help. Though, really, there's only two other people she's pried for honest feelings without either ruining or ending their life afterwards, but... Tony doesn't need to know that.

Tony Stark has posed:
Tony looks wary for a moment, leaning against the wall behind the bar with his arms crossed low over his stomach and his head turned. He looks out over the cityscape beyond the window - the beating heart of civilization, despite what others may think or say. It seems like he's clammed up, unwilling to share what's on his mind.

But then he shifts a little, his gaze turning back to Natasha as she starts preparing the drinks. His jaw tenses, his eyes flit from her to the glasses being set out. His body language unfurls a little bit and he moves back towards the bar, reaching out to take the drink she prepared.

"You know who my father was, right?" A pause, "I mean, of course you know. It's your job to know that stuff. You know what he did, though, right? Built weapons to fight the Nazis? Worked alongside Captain America and the rest of the genuine, dyed-in-the-wool heroes of the Greatest Generation?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha turns around to watch Tony, leaving her glass on the bar and nodding her head once. "I do. He did good work."

Tony Stark has posed:
"Yeah," Tony says flatly regarding his father's good work, "He did. A lot of people said so. Still say so. I guess I never quite lived up to the same image because all the wars I had to fight weren't popular. Siancong. The Gulf. Even when he was alive, he never thought I was quite up to scratch. Guess he figured waiting until late in life to have a kid was diluting the old Stark family bloodline, infinity formula or no."

He waves a hand as though dismissing the thought, taking another sip of his drink with the other and letting out a sharp hiss of breath as the alcohol burns all the way down.

"Growing up - when he wasn't away, and I wasn't at boarding school 'learning to be a man' - Captain America was all he ever spoke about. The only thing he ever felt worth relaying to me about his time back then. How great Captain America was. The greatest hero in the world. Even the Fantastic Four didn't compare. If he'd been around for Superman I'm sure he'd have thought the same thing then, too. Captain America."

He effects an agitated, deeper-sounding voice and mimes holding a cigarette up to his lips. Speaking between puffs: "You ought to try being more like him, Tony. Brave, selfless, utterly devoted. Never a shame."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha gradually realizes she's kicked over a hornet's nest, and her eyes sink slowly downward and close for a moment as she takes this in. She thought she knew where Stark stood on Captain America; hell they practically lived together for stretches of time in Avengers HQ, but she had no knowledge of this. How could, they, of course. No body files reports on the little microaggressions that disfigure a relationship.
    Maybe it's for the best she told him personally instead of leaving it to a text message; better than letting him wallow in these feelings privately. But that remains to be seen. The Black Widow isn't known for making things better for people.
    "... Tony." She speaks softly, stepping closer, "... You're two and a half of those things, and none of them are a shame. And between your work, and Iron Man... you could make a strong case that we'd all be dead without you. Not just the Avengers. Everyone in this city. You..." Natasha spreads her arms, indicating not just their surroundings, but meaning, sort of... *everything* "*You* made this possible. You made it possible for us to fight, and the whole world's been safer for it." The rule of escalation notwithstanding, but forget that part right now.
    Natasha crosses her arms and steps closer, looks up at him sympathetically, "... If your father didn't like the rate you matured, that's his problem. And if he saw you now..." she smiles a little, "... I bet he'd feel like an ass." she finishes, being a bit more vulgar than is characteristic for the sake of hopefully making him smile or at least taking the edge off.

Tony Stark has posed:
"He'd find a way," Tony answers, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, "You know what he said when I graduated? Keeping in mind I was seventeen and most kids that age are still staying out too late and trying to decide what country they're going to visit in their gap year to 'find themselves'. He said 'And?' Just 'And?'"

Another shake of his head, and the way his shoulder bunch up suggests he doesn't feel entirely comfortable laying all this bare before the Widow. That said, he's there now, and he's not backtracking or trying to downplay it. For all his other little flaws, he's at least an honest man.

"But even if he doesn't feel like an ass, he'd look like one."

The last words prompt a broad grin from him. Once again, he dons the demeanor that, until now, he had never let fall or even crack around her. He finishes off his drink, letting the glass rest on the counter before slapping both palms down alongside it.

"Come on, Romanoff. Let's get drunk and celebrate 'ye olde Midgard's firsteth steps into ye wider supernatural community'."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha's smile weakens a little with the sad ending of Tony's story, and closes her eyes for a moment, leaving that small smile on her face as Tony 'cheers up' very suddenly. She knows a thing or two about being shaped by unpleasable masters, and a few things more about putting on masks. It's not *exactly* the same thing - Natasha usually has to consciously put on a performance to convey *honest* feelings - but... it's close enough.
    Natasha really should go. Really. Just professionally speaking, she should go. But instead she heaves a slow sigh while carefully undoing the buttons on her business jacket, lets it roll off of her shoulders and slings it over a bar stool. "All right, Stark." She says with some resignation and a little smile, "Just stop me when I start speaking Russian."

Tony Stark has posed:
"Moye sudno na vozdushnoy podushke polno ugrey, tovarishch."

Tony lifts a hand to his brow to fire off a mock salute before returning it to the vodka bottle, pouring out another glass for himself and one for Natasha. After a moment he reaches under the counter, coming up with a small silvery buckle full of spherical ice cubes - using tongs, he puts one in his own drink and one in Natasha's.

"Don't ask me," he adds, shaking his head, "That's the only Russian I know. It's the phrase I use to calibrate HOMER and JARVIS's translation matrix."

"Now," he adds, "Forget all that mopey parent talk and tell me honestly. Do you like my shirt?"

He leans back, tugging down the front of it so he can show off the Black Widow t-shirt he wears.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:


    Natasha gives Tony the most incredulous look in recorded history and reels animatedly when he tells her about the translation matrix and says "Is that why I keep having to tell delivery men the aquarium's full?"
    She nods gratefully and raises her glass once it's filled, getting halfway through a sip when Tony's question forces her to arch one eyebrow and then prop her chin up on her hand with her elbow on the bar.
    She decides to answer *half* honestly, because the order is 'no more mopey shit', saying, "I think kids will love it... and I think as soon as that name gets on the market, I'll never get a date as long as I live."

Tony Stark has posed:
"Maybe that's part of my calculated plan," Tony suggests, leaning on the bar himself to match the chin-on-hand posture that Natasha has taken up, "Render you undateable so you have no choice but to come be First Lady after I win in November. I can't imagine even HYDRA trying to sneak an assassin after me with you there - and you've got experience making sure nobody kills me."

He tilts his head again, glancing down at the shirt he wears. Then he's taking another sip of the drink, still leaning forward on the bar with his elbows.

"You know, I said it before, but I think I ought to say it again. You're a genuine hero now. You've saved this whole city - the whole world, actually. Having your name on a shirt's probably the least anyone can do. I think we're all trying not to get lost in that big shadow our man in the stars and bars is casting." A pause. "Except Thor."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha fakes an exasperated sigh and shakes her head. "It might just work. A girl can only take so much." She jokes, "First Lady Natashaaaaa Stark." She says, as if testing out the name on her lips, and then smiles ruefully, "Sadly I don't think your campaign would survive the media scrutiny. Not without another..." Natasha swishes the glass around thoughtfully, and concludes "Four layers of false identities to dig through. But I can probably still keep your adoring fans at bay."
    Natasha's smile weakens - just a bit, she still has to pilot her expression for most things - when Tony tries to talk her up, her eyes looking a little distant for a moment. "I do my best." She says softly and noncommittedly. She has a few more, and significantly less sparkly shadows to contend with, and she's cast a few herself. Though in Tony's defense, it's hard to feel too impressed with your progress when you're standing next to the paragon of sincerity and virtue. "I'm not... a role model, I shouldn't... be." She clears her throat and regains that gentle smile saying, "But... in the interest of positivity: ... This has..."
    Wow. Oh *shit* sincerity is *hard*. It feels like pulling teeth. Dealing with other people's emotions is one thing, exposing her own is like trying to turn a rusty valve.
    "... This has been... good. It's... It's been good to have the opportunity to... do things that are just..." she struggles to find the word and shrugs, settling on repeating, "... *good.*. Just unambigiously good. And not... 'for the best'. So." She raises her glass very slightly and says, "... Decent assignment."

Tony Stark has posed:
Tony was grateful when Natasha listened to everything he had to say about his father, and he returns the favor in kind. When she speaks about the reality of being an Avenger, he nods his head attentively. He doesn't even lift his drink for a sip, instead simply topping Natasha's off when it gets dangerously low. It's an open bar in Stark Tower, and alcohol is one of many things he is never in short supply of.

"I wouldn't say I'm a role model, either," Tony offers, drumming his fingers on the counter, "I mean, you remember what it was like back when SHIELD first assigned you? Not exactly modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah but definitely cresting in that direction. But then I see kids in Iron Man masks wanting autographs. Did I tell you I was at a school in Staten Island a few weeks ago? Bunch of kids there who see every good thing I've done and just set aside the bad."

"That's how it starts, Nat. The impostor syndrome. Thinking everyone else around you is a hero and you're the odd one out. You know, I felt the same about you? Tough. Smart. Doing everything you had to do to get the job done. Then eventually I started to think I belong here. I'm doing the right thing because I want to do it. So are you."

A shrug of his shoulders and he takes another sip of the vodka: "We've got a long way to go, I'm sure. And I'm not about to tell you 'forget your past' since I sure as shit can't. But - I don't know - try remembering that the Avengers is the sum of its parts, and you're one of those parts. An important part - not a hood ornament like Barton."

He lifts both his hands, grinning broadly, "I'm kidding. I'm kidding. Don't tell him I said that."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha listens quietly for the most part... and she doesn't give too much away... but there's definitely a moment there where she maybe wouldn't have been able to turn the smile off if she wanted to.
    And then her lips press very tightly together for a long moment before a muffled 'snrrrkkk' of pure amusement escapes the red headed spy and her shoulders begin to shake with repressed laughter. "I... ahuh- I, uh... I've had too much to drink... that's-s-s-s-s-ssss... that's not funnyyyy-hy-hy...!" but then she grins and sniffs sharply. Blame it on the drink, sure. It probably had *something* to do with it, but...
    Barton's her closest friend - in that weird way comrades can be close 'friends' and not, like... do kaoraoke together. But *god*, the mental image of the look on his face if he heard that...
    Natasha sighs, "... Tell you what. I won't tell Barton *or* his magical girlfriend you said that, if you don't tell him I laughed."

Tony Stark has posed:
Tony is less practiced at hiding smiles, but even if he had KGB-trained emotional mastery he's not sure he'd have been able to keep that one back. He grins from ear to ear as Natasha laughs, bringing his own glass up to his mouth to try and cover it but still failing to keep it concealed in any meaningful way. It's a hell of a sight, and knowing he gets to keep it all to himself is maybe even better than just seeing it.

"My lips are sealed," he promises, keeping the glass held before them like a symbolic lock, "If anybody asks, you were the Ice Queen incarnate. No smiles. All business."

He takes another sip from his glass, putting it down to pick up the bottle and waggle it suggestively in Natasha's direction: "Another one? I promise HOMER is a great driver or there's a guest apartment downstairs if you'd rather sleep it off. I've seen you laugh already, and you've heard me talk about dear old dad, so I think we're in uncharted waters here."

"HOMER?" Tony asks, looking up towards the ceiling and gesturing towards the television screen displaying a news article about Lex Luthor's recently released tax returns, "Turn that crap off." He glances towards Natasha, "Feel like watching a movie? Do they let you watch movies? Anything but Lord of the Rings. I can't stand it."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha regards the glass held between them for a moment, still smiling broadly with amusement, shakes her head, raises her glass and taps it against his.
    At the offered bottle Natasha gives a long protracted indecisive sigh and complains, "I'm gonna become a lush at this rate." then tilts her head slightly, letting her hair dangle to the side briefly, "Nice day for it, though." She leans back slightly, considering the movie option with gradually narrowing eyes that finally close as she says, "... Yeeeaaah, why not. My reports are all filed, no one needs intimidating, and my other options are training or brushing up on all the dance trends. Gruelling."
    Honestly, it's been ages since she's watched a movie for anything other than keeping up on cultural touchstones to keep up 'normal-definitely-not-a-Cold-War-assassin' pretenses. It could be fun. Only...
    "Sure. Only no James Bond either." She says, and considers, "Mission Impossible might be worth a laugh."

Tony Stark has posed:
"Mission Impossible it is," Tony answers, pointing towards the television before once again addressing the room at large, "HOMER, put on the good Mission Impossible." He leaves it up to the artificial intelligence to decide exactly which one that is - it turns out to be the fifth one, as the poster shows up on the screen before fading into the movie.

"That guy," Stark points out, gesturing to Tom Cruise on the screen, "Did you know they were going to make a movie about my life at one point and he was going to play me? I mean, I guess I can see the action hero side of things but I don't think I grin quite as maniacally as he does, do you?"

Despite how much he's had to drink, Tony shows remarkable agility as he slings his legs over the back of the sofa and sinks down to sit on it in front of the TV. He's got the vodka bottle tucked under his arm, tucking it down between the sofa cushions for safe keeping.

"So, be honest, Romanoff. Have you ever driven a motorcycle out of a plane?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha takes a more gingerly course towards the couch, kicking off her short-heeled shoes and leaning back into the couch, where she squints at the screen incredulously, "That guy? Isn't he like... eighty?" She purses her lips and considers, "... I can't see him with facial hair."
    At Tony's question she shifts her eyes to the side thoughtfully. "Aaaaaa quad-bike. Why do you ask?"

Tony Stark has posed:
"That's what I said," Tony answers with a haughty sniff, leaning back into the cushions alongside Natasha, "Now, if they scheduled shooting around debates and campaign appearances, I'd offer to just play myself. I think I'd make a good movie star."

The revelation about the quad-bike causes him to turn bodily away from the screen to face Natasha fully, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Unable to think of a suitable mode of praise to get across just how cool driving an ATV out of a plane sounds, he extends his arms to *clink* glasses with her again.

"You ought to be careful about that," he says after a moment, putting on a nonchalant voice despite his mood, "Those quad-bikes are dangerous. Ozzy Osbourne almost died on one of those."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha smirks a little, "I think you have sufficient swagger to play yourself. I think you'd get typecast, but it's steady work."
    She briefly peers at Tony, as if she's said something very strange, and then gives a pleasant smile and gingerly clinks her glass with him.
    Half watching the screen, Natasha lowers her brow and says "*Oh*, I know. I have - honestly?" she says, interrupting herself, the booze showing signs of weakening her ability to compose a straightforward sentence, "... I have never felt more in danger than when I had one of those things on the *ground.*"
    Natasha blinks once, "... Oh, a fifth one? I... I might need to do some supplementary reading." As if there's an overarching story.

Tony Stark has posed:
"I'm pretty sure it's just like really expensive episodes of a TV show," Tony ventures, shifting a little on the sofa as though trying to better focus his eyes on the screen, "I don't think they tie into one another much. HOMER?"

<A cursory examination of online reviews suggests this is the case, sir.>

Satisfied, Tony leans back amongst the cushions and makes himself comfortable. All the booze has almost made him more liquid than man as he sinks down, kicking up his feet to rest them on the coffee table. On the screen, the action of the movie begins in earnest.

"I can imagine. You'll never catch me on one. Did you know the first time I ever took a suit out - a time that wasn't me staggering through the jungle in Siancong trying not to get shot to hell - I crashed it through my living room? Ended up with a concussion. Even that sounds safer than a quad-bike."

He pauses, finishing off the remnants of his umpteenth drink and putting the glass down beside him. He turns his head, glancing up towards Natasha before adding, in a tone surprisingly earnest and down to earth for him: "This is good. I'm glad you stayed."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha nods slowly. "That's actually really conveniant for me. And it means I don't have to remember any characters." She squints, "... Though I just realized *all* the bad guys are gonna be Russian." She might be wrong! But, statistically speaking... yeah.
    Natasha smirks, her shoulders shaking briefly with a laugh she DOES manage to restrain when you tell her about the suit crash, though you can hear it a bit in her voice when she says, "I believe it. At least an ambulance can come out to your house."
    At Tony's earnest expression, Natasha slowly gives a warm smile and says, "... Me too."