OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[avali]

OPEN RP POST

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Muselist

Open RP (smutty version)

 

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[febrile]

You wouldn't believe how often that proves useful. [Bars in space aren't all that different from the ones on Earth, fortunately enough for her. A side street's not too far off where she can tuck in away from any passerbys without actually creeping in on dark space that he won't dare entering with a stranger.

Not that she couldn't make him, if it came down to it.]

Coolant systems, how familiar are you with them? Is it possible to make something portable that wont shut down after long periods of wear and tear?

[not_iron]

How portable are we talking? [It's dark by the time they hit the street. Tony doesn't bother to take off his sunglasses. In his state, it wouldn't matter if he did. Things would like about the same anyway.]

[febrile]

As in-- [Dren, what was the word Crichton used for it?] hours of use with as little downtime as possible. No hook-ups, no plugs or [There's a short pause as she waves a dismissive hand, completely given up on the idea of attempting to use accurate terminology. Too far into his space again to leave much room for it.] whatever.

Something for [Another beat. Her lips thin. It's a reluctant confession. ] well, me.

[not_iron]

[For somebody who's not interested in losing her panties, she's awfully insensitive about his personal bubble.

He keeps his hands safely tucked into his pockets, screws up the corner of his mouth while he listens and then barks out a little laugh.] So, what, you want a personal A/C unit? Come on now, I thought you were going to throw me a curve ball.

[febrile]

[Safe to say she is-- particularly when she goes for the collar of his shirt. It's steady, firm for all of half a second before wilting off into unsteady territory.]

Call it whatever you want-- I need this. [Aeryn swallows thickly, fingers still wound up in his shirt.] Or I am going to die.

[Not immediately, of course, but if it looks dire she'd rather do the job herself. Options weighed.]

[not_iron]

[While physical assault has its sobering qualities, getting roughed up a little is still par for the course on a Tuesday.

Tony peers down his nose at the hand at his throat.]

Really? You know, I wish I could tell you I don't know how that feels.

[febrile]

[She thins her lips, grip loosening off into non-existence: whatever he might be trying to tell her, she very much doubts that statement.]

Then you'll help?

[not_iron]

I'll give it a shot.

[And he won't dare let on he's intrigued--not just by the why, but by the sniff of a Project she's waved under his nose.

Tony rocks back, regaining a couple inches.]

Are we gonna do this or not? Come on. I'm driving.

[febrile]

Driving what exactly? [She's not about to argue, given that her prowler's little more than a heap of shattered scrap on the outskirts of town. Hardly optimal for getting around on a planet like this, anyway. So for now, where he goes, she'll follow.]

[not_iron]

Ah. Uhh [Tony squints, tips a finger to his forehead and scrunches his brows together before pointing it down the street at...nothing.

Because he absolutely knows where he parked.]

This way. Sort of.

Give me a minute. [He starts off back toward the bar, rounding the side of the building.]

[febrile]

I don't have a minute. [True or not, the infection in her blood isn't going to wait around for an invitation: the less time they burn on him wandering aimlessly, the better. Aeryn's barely two steps behind, face the textbook definition of concern.]

[not_iron]

You know what, beggars can't be choosers and unless you think I'm gonna put this thing together with a pre-owned prophylactic and a crack pipe, we're gonna need a ride. [He's made do with less, granted. But he's ten block from his work bench, not ten thousand miles.

Eventually they do make it round to the front of the building, where the NSX roadster sits front and center, one wheel up on the curb.]

And we're in business. Hop in.

makes all the medicated tags

[febrile]

Beggars don't offer to pay, in case you feel like updating your definition. [For something welded together on Earth the vehicle Tony's quick to climb into doesn't look half bad. By Peacekeeper standards, anyway. The sort of sleek, sharp lines she's used to rather than the stumpy, clumsily applied aerodynamics of John's 'baby'. If he actually manages to keep her alive long enough to seriously consider strategies for repairing her prowler and attempting to find another wormhole that might lead back to Moya-- well, she might just borrow a few spare parts from this machine on the way out.

It hardly takes more than a few seconds for her to figure out how to strap herself into the cushion of the passenger's side bucket seat. Even considering the hour the car's stuffy with heat from the outside-- stale air, mostly. Reasonably it shouldn't be adding to her internal issues, slight as the difference in temperature is, but it's hard not to think of it as a threat when she reaches back to brush beads of sweat from the side of her throat.]

Where are we going? [It's a question that comes with a certain measure of obvious distrust.]

[not_iron]

[Tony leans over the top of the car before reaching for the driver's side door, tipping his glasses down to meet her eye to eye.] Please.

[Then he opens the door, slides in behind the wheel and fires up the engine. That he's actually picked up on her discomfort is unlikely, but she'd never know it by the way he pokes at the button to retract the roof.] You don't mind a little air, do you? Good.

[And then they're off.]

[febrile]

[She grips the handle at her door well enough to show pressure-- not because she's uneasy (she was born in space, for the rush of flight though there's a difference between dealing with the weight of gravity versus without) but because her previous experiences with human drivers? Not always top tier.]

[not_iron]

[Lucky for her, there isn't a lot to worry about. Tony Stark behind the wheel after a bender is about as typical as things get around here. Besides, with a bit of navigational savvy, he's able to make the trip between the bar and Stark Tower ten, give or take a minute. So her torment's short-lived.]

So. Spill it. What's your story?

[febrile]

No story. [It's an obvious lie, but she's not in the business of trying to make anything better: so long as he's willing to keep her alive, they can skip the details.]

[not_iron]

[So much for icebreakers.]

Fine, I'll give you a minute. We just met. But don't you think it's in your best interest that I know why I'm making this thing?

[febrile]

[The blur of scenery rushing by seems to hold her attention moreso than anything he has to say, but after a few blocks spent with her eyes stuck elsewhere, Tony wins this round of stubbornness tug-of-war:] My body has difficulty regulating its internal temperature.

[Oversimplification, far from addressing the fact that normally this amount of warmth wouldn't be about as fatal as a kill shot, but considering how far she trusts him, that's as much as she's going to give out for free.]

[not_iron]

[He doesn't take his eyes off the road, fortunately, but she does earn a shot of skeptically raised eyebrow and a twisted corner-mouth.]

Aquarium and heat lamp not doing it for you? [He chuckles, doesn't wait for her to laugh.] Nevermind. I get it.

[When they approach the base of the tower, Tony queues up the elevator and then pulls the car straight through without a single tap of the breaks, which brings them to a near-skidding stop just before they hit the other door.]

[febrile]

[Which is good, because she doesn't laugh: Aeryn doesn't mind the tug of gravity any more than she minds a joke she doesn't get, but she also doesn't follow its pull well enough to gauge whether or not the skidding rush towards the door is intentional or not.

Frelling madman.

She stays stuck (rigid as anything) in her seat with one arm braced against the passenger-side door.]

I have a great deal of trouble believing you do get it.

[not_iron]

I'm sorry, but until you fill me in? You don't get a say. [The platform onto which they've pulled rotates quarter-turn and then begins to climb rapidly. It's a smooth ride, the mechanism beneath them barely giving off a purr until the circle punches into the floor of their next stop, ten floors up.

The lights snap on, illuminating a room about twenty-five thousand square feet and packed back to front with machinery in every state of repair, dismemberment, and conception imaginable.

Finally, the sunglasses come off.]

Welcome home.

[febrile]

[Aeryn's not easily impressed. Not by the unfamiliar especially, but this-- despite the location-- is the smooth, metallic glint of machinery that feels closer to home than most anything she's seen on this planet so far. Here, in private, resting down to sit on the hood of his car, Aeryn lets her guard ease up just a touch.]

It's an infection-- an irregular one. Keeps my body from managing its own temperature.

Give it long enough and it'll go beyond anything tolerable.

[not_iron]

Uh...huh. And where do I come in? Why me? [Tony drops his jacket over the car door and then folds his arms across his chest, tilting a hip against the the highest part of the hood.

It's a fair question. This is a medical problem and Tony Stark is just about as qualified to practice medicine as he is to preach at the Sunday Mass.]

[febrile]

Your doctors can't fix this. [Which is precisely why she's asking for something that'll delay the problem. Even if they knew how-- which, given the differences in physiology they likely wouldn't-- there'd be too much interest in what she is for that to matter.

It'd be a stupid mistake.]