iron_ically | This is how I show my love

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[what] roleplay

This is how I show my love

In theory, his armor is supposed to protect him from any serious injury. It’s surprising how often it fails. Of course, it seems to be directly related to how often he gets blown up. Maybe that’s what should be surprising, or maybe not considering the mission he’s given himself: world peace.

Injury is the reason he’s running late, or being blow up is. Either way, he lands on the roof of his house with a less than graceful thud. He stumbles, scraping the knee of the suit against the concrete.

“Mr. Stark, shall I inform you guest that you’ve arrived?”

“Unless she’s gone deaf, she’s aware. Apologize for me and let her know I’m going to dress for dinner and be right with her.”

What he really meant was that he was going to clean up, bandage what needed bandaging, self-medicate with scotch then join her for dinner. Whether he’d be dressed appropriately or not was still up for debate.

Getting out of the suit had been a breeze; it was all automated. Getting out of the shower was going to be a problem simply because Tony loved his shower, particularly when he felt like he’d been dragged across miles of concrete. Oh. Wait. He had.

“JARVIS, have dummy bring me a scotch and assure the pretty girl that is hopefully still waiting for me that I do plan on keeping our date.”

She would forgive him, or at least he hoped she would. He actually liked this one enough to have more than one date. He liked her enough that he was concerned about pissing her off, enough that despite the fact he hurt enough to have scotch in the shower, he didn’t want to break the date.

It was, quite possibly, a first for Tony Stark.

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Niamh was used to waiting. She had four older brothers, waiting was basically how she spent 80% of her time. (The other 20% was split between punching and various other activities.) Luckily, Tony Stark's house was a hell of a lot more comfortable than her own.

So comfortable that when she was told she would need to wait a little long, she didn't really care. Instead, she draped herself across the closest couch and closed her eyes. It was the most comfortable couch in the entire existence of couches. She didn't like leather couches, as a rule, but this one was so soft and smooth it was like a million old ladies died chewing the leather until is felt like silk. And it was cool to the touch, making her happy she had left her jacket on over her dress.

It was like laying on a cloud, one leg dangling off the side. One hand rested on her stomach and the other lifted to cover her eyes from the light until they mysteriously dimmed and her hand dropped to the couch next to the puddle of her hair. "Thanks JARVIS."

She wouldn't mind waiting if this was where she got to wait.

She might fall asleep though, waiting on a cloud like this.

Edited 2013-03-26 18:00 (UTC)

It was fortunate she enjoyed the couch so much, because it took Tony nearly an hour to feel like he could manage more steps down to the living room. As for dressed appropriately, he opted for a pair of sweats and a tee shirt, which was not up to par with her dress, but it was what he could easily get into. He'd had two glasses of scotch by the time he made his way into the living room, approaching the couch with a bit of a smile on his scraped up face, despite the fact that he was getting too old for this.

He put a hand to her shoulder, shaking her very lightly. "Really, I should have just had JARVIS escort you down to my room."

By which he meant JARVIS would give her directions.

Niamh started a bit, she had definitely fallen asleep, but she didn't open her eyes immediately. She smiled though, shaking her head slowly. "Oh no no, to get me to you room, you will put in the effort, not JARVIS. How's the damage? Is it bad, will I need to push down my instinct to coddle if I open my eyes?"

He paused a moment, evaluating her statement and what her reaction to seeing him might be. "I promise I'm just as sexy right now as I was this morning. More dressed, but no less sexy. Maybe more so. I've heard chicks dig scars."

Not that the injuries he'd endured would likely leave any scars. He was just going to be sore for a couple of days and scraped up for a week or so. Possibly bruised later.

Even with her eyes closed, it was fairly obvious she was rolling her eyes. After a moment to prepare herself, she opened her eyes. Well, one eye, scrunching up her face to look at him before her other eyes opened and her expression mostly cleared.

"You look like you got into a fight with the pavement," she told him, pushing herself up on to her knees and putting a hand to his cheek, turning his head slightly so she could look at the scrape better. "And lost. But I've seen worse: like my brothers on St. Patty's Day in Boston. It's a modern day retelling of Boondock Saints with less death and more violence."

Satisfied, her gazed flickered to his cheek to his eyes and she smiled faintly. "You're late."

He shrugged at her assessment of his injuries. "You'd be surprised how close to the truth you are." He liked having her hand against his cheek, more than he was willing to admit right now. The smile was good though. The smile meant he was forgiven, or at least he was fairly sure that's what it meant.

Well, technically I was somewhat on time, but I decided to take a shower first. You could have joined me."

"Remember what I said about effort? I'm not just some tartlet who'll climb into bed with you because you have more money that JK Rowling and Oprah combined. I am thoroughly unimpressed with Iron Man. Impress me, Tony, and then we can chat about that shower."

Even still, she leaned forward a little a pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Nothing like a bowl of mixed signals for an appetizer. Speaking of, and because she was just going to pretend she wasn't secretly a softy underneath all that grump...

"I'm starving."

"Mmmm, you keep using words I don't understand," he joked with her, one hand going to her back, fingertips trailing the edges of her hair when she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Mixed signals kept him on his toes.

"That I can do something about and it's possible it'll even impress you," he winked at her and pulled away, walking a bit slowly with the slightest signs of a limp to the kitchen. "Dinner was made entirely by yours truly earlier today. I've just got to warm everything up."

He got a crab-avocado-mango stack out of the fridge and set it on the island with a couple of plates before he pulled a large pan out of the fridge as well.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He was going to pour himself another scotch. He'd add ice this time. He'd learned that it helped get people off his back.

"Maybe I'll give you a dictionary for your birthday." She followed him to the kitchen, pausing to leave her heels by the couch. She dropped down a few inches, but it was much more comfortable and he was in sweats so she didn't care. Perching on a stool, she dropped her elbows on the counter and put her chin in her hands.

"I'll just steal yours from time to time," she told him truthfully. She wouldn't be able to finish her own glass, but his... well.

"You made this?" She might be a little disbelieving. "I sort of thought the kitchen was for show."

"Hmm, I don't think that's going to help, but points for effort." Really, he'd rather her be more relaxed in his house, rather her be comfortable here. They spent a lot of time in his house because she didn't like being photographed with him. It was something he was trying not to take personally.

He nodded, poured his drink, took a sip and set it on the counter within reach for both of them then turned the oven on and let it heat up a moment as he got forks for the both of them.

"Every billionaire has to have a hobby. Mine is putting things together and making better things. Food isn't so different. Besides, JARVIS can't cook worth a damn."

Although honestly, he rarely cooked for himself. He ordered take out when he remembered to eat at all. He did, however, enjoy cooking for other people. It was a little like inventing things or putting something together. He started with a list of parts (ingredients) and if he was careful and did it all right he came away with something better.

"Maybe I'll get you one anyway, for lack of anything else to buy. You pretty much fit the bill for the man who has everything." She didn't say it like she minded though, it was a challenge. Though she didn't know what it meant, that she was thinking that far ahead.

She didn't mind being photographed with Tony, personally. She minded being photographed with Tony Stark, billionaire playboy and Iron Man. She minded being labeled his newest fling and the fact that the photographers tended to follow her. To school. That she minded a lot. Which, she would happily explain if Tony's ego would get out of the way.

Taking a fork, she dug it into the appetizer, trying to get a chunk of everything on her fork before popping it all in her mouth. She chewed a moment and then sagged on the stool. "Oh my-- Tony, that is delicious. Your hobby is delicious."

He shrugged a bit at her summation of him. It wasn't like he could argue with her, at least not without exposing way more of himself than he was willing to at the moment. Tony did have everything material that a person could possibly own, but he was also very much alone. There was no one in his life that he didn't program or pay.

Did she realize who she was talking about? Tony's ego was always a problem and usually in the way.

He grinned at her exclamation over the dish. "I am very good at what I do."

Well if Tony and Tony's ego really had a problem with Niamh's homebody tendencies then he could say something about it and she would happily explain. She was a teacher, she loved explaining.

She grinned back, she couldn't help it -- he was infectious. "Except modesty, you're flat out rubbish at that."

The next time he had a function, he'd mention it. He might even ask about it tonight as he's got something coming up on the calendar. She could explain to him.

"Who needs modesty when you're...well...me?"

The oven beeped, letting him know that it was heated. He picked the pan up and slid it into the oven.

Niamh gave Tony such a look. Someone was not impressed, just not at all.

Tony chuckled. He got that she wasn't impressed. There was little use in hiding who he was though.

"So, outside of my tardiness, how was your day?"

"It was... admittedly less exciting than yours, though also less violent apparently. I was vomited on twice." She frowned, trying to think of anything else notable that happened during her day.

"We did colors today. You would be... pleased to note that the color combination most popular is red and gold." She was feeding his ego and didn't care, it was cute. Her kids adored the super heroes.

"They're still doing that? The vomiting thing. Have you checked them for alcohol consumption?" He was half joking, but only half. Tony knew absolutely nothing about kids. He hadn't even been much of a kid himself.

A grin spread over his face as she fed his ego. "Good kids. It's a very striking color combination."

"They're kids, love, they tend to be messy. Although, you know... one of them had been hitting the grape juice a little hard. The lush." She didn't mind though.

She wrinkled her nose at his smile. She was such an enabler. But it was so cute, and the kids really did love him. "I do personally like the combination myself. When I was little I always wanted a ruby ring, the ones you get in the little candy machines? I never got it, just 15 blue ones."

'Better stage an intervention. It's best to get them early." He took a sip of his scotch and a bite of the crab stack.

He liked being enabled! It was fun and it made him feel comfortable. "One of the big gaudy ones that go from knuckle to knuckle?"

"Can you even imagine that. An intervention with a couple dozen seven year olds. Oh god, with wee little index cards." She put her head down, giggling into her arms. That would be hysterical. After a couple seconds, her head popped back up.

"Noo, one of those wee little ones-- well, they're little now, so I s'ppose a bit big. Not like Kardashian big, though. That's..." She wrinkled her nose. "That's gross. Anyway, I've not seen one of those machines in ages. At least not with rings, just those sticky hands."

Tony watched her, thoroughly amused by her. "And cups of bad coffee. They always have bad coffee at an intervention. It's like no one thinks to bring the good coffee. That'll somehow derail things, or maybe it'll just force an intervention over coffee as well."

He pondered that a moment, fingertips ghosting over his beard before he responded. "You know, you've got a point. I don't think I've seen one in a while either."

"I've never been to a proper one, just seen 'em on TV. They've got horrid coffee at AA meetings though, so I can imagine. Dad used to say if you could live through one of those cups, you could live another day without a drink. And he was sober... sixteen years? So it must have worked." Her faint Irish lilt became a bit more pronounced when she talked about her father. She missed him.

Shifting slightly, she finally shrugged out of her jacket, setting it on the stool beside her. "Alas, they've gone the way of the pay phone and the do-do bird."

"I've actually had one staged for me. Or two...maybe three, but it's hard to tell." He took a sip of his scotch, a bite of the appetizer and sat down on the stool next to her. "Sobriety is one of those things that don't sound like much fun."

"Oh, I wouldn't say they're extinct. Just harder to find, which makes it a challenge."

"No I don't think it sounds like much fun either." Niamh scooted forward on her stool a little, pressing her toes against the stretcher of the to lift her up a little. She leaned forward and kissed Tony, softly at first and then a little more forcefully. "Thank you, for making dinner."

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