snow is (fair) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2014-02-19 13:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | door: tales, iron man, snow white |
WHO: Snow White and Tony Stark
WHAT: Attempts to control the fairy tale snow blower
WHERE: Snow and Rose's cottage
WHEN: Recentlyish~
WARNINGS: Nada
Snow was trying not to be nervous. She was also trying not to be excited. Really, she was trying not to be anything at all, lest another foot of snow fall. It was more than her usual desire (or need, depending on who you asked) for control. Now it was absolutely vital to maintain her calm. Unfortunately meditating could only get someone so far, and she could only manage to read and respond to in her journal before someone’s comment riled her up. Since she wasn’t sure when her guest was coming (Tarzan—Tony S, her mind kept having to correct itself) she decided to not be idle and set herself to cleaning. Despite her later status in life, she had come from simpler beginnings (even if she had forgotten them for a time). A little elbow grease wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it was the complete opposite. Her days spent in the cottage and sometimes losing her temper had left it with ice and snow inside, every day cleaning it out. Now was extra time spent carefully cleaning the scant objects still inside it and pointedly ignoring the drama that often unfolded on the pages of her journal. The task was distracting enough to require some attention and not taxing enough to incite much frustration. Truly, it was a perfect way to waste her time. She only stopped when she heard the sound of movement outside of her door and glanced up toward the windows. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed but the fact that there wasn’t any new feet of snow obscuring her view of the sun was a good sign, and she set her rags down and cleaned her hands. As she walked to the door, she tried to clamp down on that fluttering nervous excitement once more, stopping as she watched her breath turn momentarily ice, a white puff of chilled air escaping her red lips. After a slow count to ten and checking that her emotions were once more in check, she opened the door. Her dark hair pulled into a ponytail, she was dressed in a pair of dark skinny jeans and a lace laden purple knit top, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She looked like she should be in her modern office during a light spring day, not trapped in a fairytale cottage in the dead of an enchanted winter. “Yes?” Fleetingly she was afraid that maybe Rose had come back, but the door was already open, and she turned to look at her visitor. The metal man was so much more. The new cold-weather suit Tony had built could literally withstand temperatures on the dark side of the moon, and he was very proud of it. The blue light gleaming out from beneath the circular chest plate and the unemotional eye slits also spread out in robotic veins that came down to follow human pulse points and suggested the kind of circulation necessary to run the thing. There was a processing system in there that could keep Tony breathing for an entire day if he had to melt himself out of a solid ice-cube the size of a football stadium, and in any human weather conditions, he’d probably just keep walking. As he tramped closer in a chorus of pneumatic sounds and metallic clunks, Tony thought that the cottage looked a lot like a gingerbread house, and JARVIS’s heads-up display was drawing little conclusions as the suit adjusted to the very temporary Ford-in-the-hallway scenario that had only lasted under a minute. Tony was shorter than Ford but Ford had more weight and muscle (annoying little kid) and part of the intervening time was adjusting the interior of the suit so that it could adjust to two different pilots. The audio speakers did a good job with his voice, but it was obviously processed. “Nice spot. So quaint.” "The better to lure small children inside," she replied mildly. Stepping out from behind the door and closing it halfway behind her, she watched the approach of the metal man warily. She wasn't sure who or what she was expecting but this wasn't it. She was barely aware of the temperature change in response to her until she spied a harsh gust of wind and the snow start to fall between them. "That you, Tarzan?" She cocked her head to the side as she surveyed him, arms folded across her chest. She'd wait until she was sure to slow down the storm. Until then, the snow would fall. “It’s me. In here. I want you to know that I still have all the muscle but twice the brains.” Clunk, clunk, clunk, he walked up to her threshold. Something beeped somewhere inside the suit and he said, “Sweetie, we just lost eight degrees. Do I worry you?” He had a snappy yet genial voice. Lots of privilege, lots of “I am the patriarchy” going on. But he made a tiny little gesture with his eyes, looked at a menu, looked at another menu, stared at an icon, and made a little twitch with two of his fingers, and the helmet popped up. The front of the iron suit’s face went clank as it went up as well, and he stopped where he was, posing so she could get a good look at his blue-cast face. His well-manicured facial hair hid all sorts of devilish intelligence, and there wasn’t even one iota of all that engineering brilliance to be found in his sculpted expression. You can forget about any deep emotion. “Also I’m much more handsome.” His observation on their environment made her eyes narrow slightly, her chin lifting up to survey him coolly, with barely a change flickering across her face when the helmet popped open. Did he worry her? “The suit?” She shrugged and added, “a little. The snow? Certainly. But you?” She shook her head, her soft smile falling short of her eyes, as polite and meaningless as his tone. “No worry. You don’t do anything for me.” Even his later comment only made her blink quietly back at him. She was starting to think she would prefer the man in the loincloth, even if this getup was impressive. The snow remained, the wind dying a little as she pushed herself off the doorframe, letting the light of the fire spill out through the gap from the open door behind her. Just a little warmer. It was a start. “What first, then, Mister…” She still didn’t know what his S was for or what would this all entail and she stepped closer to him, patient and unyielding between him and her childhood home, and awaited instructions. He got a lot of ice queen from that comment about not being worrisome, and for a man like tony that statement was all challenge. He gave her a ludicrous eyebrow waggle that worried those that knew him well, and only smiled on. “What’s to worry about? Snow is crystallized ice falling out of the sky. It’s cute until it kills you. Right now it’s still cute.” He brought up a metal glove, the minute joints moving with perfect precision, and he used one finger to tap the glowing central point on his metal chest. Ping ping. “So is the suit.” Questing for his name caused an automatic response, though Tony was used to people recognizing him wherever he went. “Stark. Tony Stark.” Confidence bled all over his name like fresh quicksilver, and with a chorus of hydraulic movements his arm came up for a little salute from one brow. He moved in the silver suit with total ease. “And by the way, I do something for everyone. I should just tell you that now.” He gave her a little smirk, just so she’d know he didn’t mean the comment exceptionally seriously, while at the same time, he did. With more clanking, he moved fully into the center of the room and turned his head to either side, exaggerating the movement so the helmet would move with him and he could peer around from under the lifted visor. “Tell me about your life, Snow Queen. Been like this long? Where are we? Husband coming home anytime soon?” The name only had the faintest ring of familiarity, mostly due to the young girl in her mind who practically gasped before Snow closed the connection off. No time or care to be distracted. She barely refrained from rolling her eyes at his smirk. “Good thing I’m not everyone,” she replied dryly, this time her red lips lifting into a smirk of her own. She watched him survey the receiving room, hearth and fire on one side, table on the other, ladder to a loft upstairs, and followed him into the cottage. “Divorced my husband years ago. He took the castle. This is my family’s cottage that I share now with my sister, when I’m not in New York.” She glanced back behind her to scan the forest for anyone, and satisfied, and a bit saddened, that the forest was still quiet and dead to the world due to the storm, she closed the door behind her. “Everyone thinks I’m back there. No one knows I’m here, so we shouldn’t be interrupted. I prefer no one knowing my whereabouts while I work on the… snowfall.” Stepping around him, she leaned against the side of the wooden table, her thumb running over her lower lip thoughtfully as she turned over his question. “As for how long it’s been going on, months. September, maybe? Certainly before you and I met on the ship. It wasn’t so bad at first. Chill air. A bit of frost where I would lay my hands. It turned into a storm after.” She thought on recent events, Charming and Faust showing up once more, and frowned. “Recent arrivals into our door have only exacerbated my stress, and therefore, the winter.” “In my world kids usually get new powers around puberty. I’m gathering you’re a little farther along than that.” It wasn’t a question. He was turning his head all around at every angle, examining the quaint room, eying anything that was feminine and pretty. He was also looking for storage, dust, anything that might suggest how long she’d been here or if anyone else (like this sister) was around. It wasn’t really scientific, he was just curious and observant. Two more things that were not readily apparent in his personality. He looked at her and added, “Also, once you give it time, you’ll love me. I’m loveable. My whole world revolves around me.” The figurative was true, at least. He grinned at her, because he was never serious. The suit made a sound like a well-oiled piston as he rotated to keep her in front of him, engaging in the conversation as much as watching her reactions. “So you know the root cause of it, that’s good. I figure we just have to work on control and stay warm.” Not for the first time, it occurred to him that Bruce would be good at handling this kind of thing. Why was Bruce so good at everything? Tony felt like he was asking the man for help every other day, and while irritated he was grateful the other scientist bothered to concern himself with Tony’s requests. God knew they weren’t calm, safe ones. Tony was still trying to talk his way around Selina’s little problem. He wasn’t planning on mentioning the Snow Queen. Clapping his metal hands together with a fantastic twang, he let his visor slap shut so it could show him some of the surrounding readouts. He tapped a few buttons on his arm. “What have you tried so far? For control, I mean? Also, consider my advice a legal acceptance of assistance and I’m not responsible if the whole thing goes to hell in a handbasket.” You couldn’t see the bright smile, but you didn’t need to. “Quite,” she replied dryly, for she was much farther along in age than he probably could guess. But her focus was on him, taking everything in, and she wondered briefly what he was looking for. Her eyes fell upon a small blue top hat visible from its perch on the loft, a gift that she didn’t have the heart to return, and felt a pang in her chest, ignoring soft, cold breeze that brushed her hair off her shoulder and disappeared as quickly as it had come. Her thoughts halted as quirked a brow at him and raised her lips in a cool smile. “Ah, but this isn’t your world.” He was persistent though. She’d give him that. She jumped ever so slightly as his hands clanged together, and when she eyed his tapping of his arm she felt that nervousness once more hum just under her skin. Well, the suit seemed to be handling everything well enough, what was another drop in two degrees? “Meditation on my own, mostly. That never seems to last long because I inevitably see something on the journals and my blood pressure goes through the roof, doing the opposite to the temperature. I scoured a few grimoires but didn’t get very far before I realized I was seconds away from icing the entire library.” Red lips twisted into an unamused pout she recalled the frosted mess she left in her Fabletown office. “I had worked with a wizard in another door but that didn’t get us very far. The mechanics of the magic are wholly different between our worlds. His was all encompassing and the fact that I never had magic until a few months ago, and now simply one type, was baffling to say the least. We tried. We failed. Here’s hoping something more scientific can help.” This time her smile was a little warmer, a touch more knowing, a small echo of a challenge in her smirk. “Don’t worry, Mister Stark. The worst that could happen is that you kill me, and that doesn’t last too long. I’ll just move onto the next plan after that.” “I don’t know how scientific this is going to be,” Tony said, casually, in his faintly hollow, magnified voice from the interior of the helmet. “It isn’t like I’m going to be taking you to bits and seeing how you work. That’s usually the way I do things. With machines, you know,” he added, glancing up in a gleam of unblinking blue. “All the same, we have a lot of talented people who have your problem in my world, and they seem to work it out. There’s a special school they have all set up. I looked up some methods, but none of them were really all that exact. Worth a shot, though, especially since your woo woo magic tactics didn’t work.” He said it just like that, with obvious distaste: woo woo. Loki gave him headaches too. He looked up sharply, head twitching and attention focusing. Though his helmet hadn’t moved all that many degrees, it was obvious he had been watching something else and not her face. “Kill you? I’m not planning on doing anything dangerous. You’re the one that’s doing the testing. What do you mean, it doesn’t last long? Are you immortal?” He said it casually, as if he’d heard of this ailment before. “Anything’s better than this,” she muttered, feeling the telltale skitter under her skin, the power restless and unnerving her, making her concentrate on not letting to blanket everything in ice again. Snow didn’t put much stock in magic either so she was hardly offended. Oh it worked, certainly, in her world, but she would never call it reliable or even worth the trouble. She watched his attention shift everywhere and she frowned, trying to think of the myriad of things he could be possibly looking at. “Let’s just say a lot of people won’t let me die,” she said, just as casually. If he wasn’t going to make a big deal about mortality, well, neither was she. “So what are you planning then. And is there… something in particular you’re looking for?” Now she was the curious one with so many questions. The blue light turned its full brilliance upon her. "You have a fan club. Lucky girl. I have one of those, I charge dues and have a newsletter. Great way to start charitable endeavors. You should see the cosplays." He chuckled to himself, a digitized thing that went hzzzr hzzzr hzzzr. He had a growling laugh that didn't try too hard. Everything about Tony seemed casual and laid back, completely without effort. It was one of the most attractive things about him, and also one of the most off-putting. "Anyway... you still didn't say whether you are immortal. Interesting. So interesting. Gorgeous, immortal, big fan club. Like the last Oscar Winner I dated. I hear she's with Clooney now but that's going to last a New York minute." He clanked over toward her, then past, opening the door out into the snow. "Let's go somewhere that we'll minimize the damage to your swanky digs." He clanked and then slushed out into the wet and white. "Alright. So now you're going to TRY to make it snow. But you're gonna focus right over there at that tree. And only there. You got it?" He pointed a long, shining arm at a spikey green pine at the edge of the clearing, the tallest one in the circle around them. “No club, no newsletters, no one should know I exist. I’m just hard to kill,” she hedged. Attractive and off-putting was exactly what Snow was getting, and often red lips lifted ever so slightly before quickly thinning back to a line across her face. Such serious expressions weren’t lasting as long as she would have liked, and she found herself relaxing a bit more than she had been lately. She blamed the offhand remarks about the New York. “It’s Clooney,” she shrugged, with a hint of a smirk and a tone that suggested It might be worth it. All the modern references were something more akin to normalcy. She liked that. She followed him outside, closing the door quietly behind her and frowning as he told her to actively make it snow. At least they were aiming for focus, though she wasn’t feeling overly optimistic. The frowned deepened as she concentrated, feeling the air around her chill, feeling the snow start to fall heavier. She focused on the tree, blocking out the rest of the treeline behind it, staring at the lone pine and willing air above it to snow on its branches alone. But try as she might, she couldn’t center it on the tree. “It’s not working,” she scowled, the wind picking around her, nearly blowing her hair loose from its ponytail. “I can’t,” she seethed, frustration and tension nearly vibrating off her body, cold air swirling about her hands, balled up into fists at her side before she crossed her arms over her chest, unflinching and almost oblivious to the storm that had kicked up around them. Tony appreciated the appeal of Clooney. The idea of the man that aged just right, like fine wine and red meat, had to appeal to women of all ages. People always expected age to stop at the place they preferred, and Tony had a feeling that given his current occupation, he didn’t have to worry about surpassing Clooney on their mutual journey from “silver fox” to “roadkill.” If he started looking like a horror film reject, he could always stay in the suit and wow people by blowing things up. God, that was a depressing tangent. Contained and warm inside his insulated suit, Tony pointed a metal finger at his new (if somewhat temporary) protege. “You barely tried. But you’ll notice you made some progress. You turned it on. You also localized it a little bit more than you had before, though I don’t have the kind of satellite equipment I might like, it’s still colder that way than it is this way.” Tony watched his heads-up display wink different numbers back and forth, and give additional topographic notations. “And not because that way is uphill or downhill, or closer to the sea. It’s hard here without historical weather conditions,” he muttered to himself. Then, yanking his metal gaze back up and focusing on her once more, he clanged his metal hands together to get her attention. “Now you’re pissed, and it’s making the cold happen where we are. Be pissed at that tree over there instead,” he ordered, lifting his arm. This was going to take some serious work, he thought to himself, watching the degree numbers plunge and staggering slightly in the wind. She tried not to bristle as he admonished her. She wasn’t Rose; she wasn’t prone to petulance. She tossed him a look, part irritation, part resignation. So maybe she wasn’t trying as hard as she could. She wanted a cure, not control. She wanted this fixed, and fixed yesterday. But he was here, and he was helping, and she took a breath as she squared back her shoulders, her temper barely eased but concentration straightening up her spine this time. The tree. Make the tree cold and nothing else. It was beyond difficult, the how of it making her frustrated. He made it sound so simple. Everyone would have made it sound so simple. But Snow wasn’t used to thinking that way. Her world was magical but she wasn’t. The temperature dropped before she could stop it and exasperation and disappointment swirled around her as the snow did. Be pissed at the tree. Instantly a thousand faces, a hundred scenes flickered in her mind as she stared at the tree. She thought of her days working long nights in her office at Fabletown, endless and thankless hours. She thought of her time and betrayal in Charming’s castle. She thought of the dwarves and she felt her heart hammer, her pulse angrily resounding in her ears. Her hands clenched, wanting her blade, wanting a weapon, wanting to stop feeling so damn helpless in the face of things that were ruining her life. The sound of wood cracking startled her out of her reverie, taking a step back. The tree was there, its truck speared with a large block of ice, long and sharp, reminding her of the blade of a sword. Branches snapped off in its wake, crashing to the ground, echoing the ice’s entrance. The air around her stilled with her shock, and though she should have been glad for that, she could only think one thing. “Oh shit.” “Whoa!” The inside of Tony’s head rang with digital alarms in the split second before the blade of ice smashed through the tree and swiped upward through the air, marking the rush of water molecules in that direction and nearly knocking Tony flat on his face, suit and all. He didn’t actually take any damage, because the air getting drier and (a lot) colder wasn’t exactly the end of the world, but he was startled at the intensity of the results of their little experiment. He caught his weight on one metal toe and then bent his knee before rising back up again, hands spread as if ready to catch himself on something that wasn’t there. The wind took him about six inches in a scraping path toward the tree until the air turned off again and he was standing upright again. There was a short silence. “Well,” he said, never short of words for long. “Good job. I think we might need to start working on the different levels of ‘pissed,’ but at least you’re taking steps on the targeting issue. At a certain point you must go from ice storm to flat out ice, I suppose. We better find that point before you lose your temper.” The blue visor stared off into space as Tony watched a replay of the event and the associated diagnostics. “Where’d the shape come from? I mean, icicles are the result of gravity, not a molecular tendency to like swords.” Snow grimaced, her hand sheepishly smoothing her hair back over her shoulder. It wasn’t often that she was embarrassed over something she did. “I might,” she drew out the word nervously, “have been thinking about stabbing and slicing open the tree with my sword.” Even now her empty hands unfurled and then closed, wanting the familiar weight in her hand once again. She gave him a faint smile, the curve echoed by her shrug. “You told me to get pissed off at the tree. I had to think about things that would get me mad.” That sounded logical. “But you’re okay, right?” He was talking and he said his suit could protect him but she had seen the wind bat him around like he weighed nothing and guilt fluttered in her stomach she looked at him. Taking a moment she looked at their surroundings, the world still and peaceful around them, though she could feel the wind just begin to start up once more. She held it down with a thought, though she knew it couldn’t last long. “The storm’s quiet, but I can’t keep thinking about fighting to get it that way.” Her lip quirked slightly. “I’ll run out of trees eventually.” Tony readjusted his stance on the snow, picking up one foot and then the other and placing each, the result being a pivot of the large metal suit as he crunch-crunched in the ice gravel. He was totally stable now, almost lounging against gravity despite the weight of the armor. He glanced at a series of icons in succession and moved his fist to execute the order and the visor popped open, revealing his somewhat Mephistophelean face, with its groomed dark beard. He was giving her an overly theatrical eye. “You may have been thinking about stabbing the tree with your sword,?” he said, in disbelief that was tuned up for her benefit. He didn’t actually require an answer to that, because immediately on the heels of his last syllable he said, “I don’t know if I’m the best trainer for you.” The resemblance to the literary fiend grew even more as a suspicious light filled his eye. Thor, he was thinking. He just needed pretty, empty-headed, well-meaning Thor to flash on down here with his hammer and teach this woman how to handle her abilities without destroying everything a mile distant. It wasn’t like she’d be able to hurt him, and storms were Thor’s thing. He’d know all about them. Also, Snow was very, very pretty (Tony couldn’t help but notice this) and if Thor was busy with training, he wouldn’t be figuring out ways to dip Pepper in chocolate. Tony waved his hand through the air as these plans began to solidify deep in the mechanical depths of his whirring mind. “Of course I’m okay,” he said, not showing the slightest bit of concern. “You know, I have a buddy who controls storms,” he said, conversationally. “We’ll work some more on the basics--this locational thing, maybe with some different envisioning tactics, and I’ll ask him to drop by too. He might know more about handling the weather. Sound like a plan?” He gave her a bright little boy smile and then clank, snapped the visor shut again, ready to indicate the next hapless pine. The sheepish grimace remained, though it was losing its edge in the face of his disbelief. “It was a quick thought,” she tried, even if it wasn’t much of an argument but she didn’t particularly feel like explaining why some thoughts came with an instinctive reaction to gut something. He wasn’t feeling overly optimistic and she agreed with him with a slight nod. He wasn’t the best trainer, though she had secretly hoping he’d help her contain it than control. Still, it had been a long shot to begin with and she opened her mouth to start, “Well thank y--” when he continued on. “A buddy,” she replied flatly, not entirely believing it. Then again she was at the mercy of ice storms so maybe he did know a guy. But there was something in that smile, all eager and supposedly guileless. Her blue eyes narrowed as she considered him, and his plan, and her shoulders relaxed with resignation as she nodded. “One more try,” she agreed, doubting already that this friend of his would be any more helpful but willing it give it one more try. Anything at this point was better than the last resort she had planned, but the clock was ticking and she ran a thumb over her lip as she frowned, pensive and worried before turning her attention back to the man in the suit. “And one more go? I promise I’ll try and stay unarmed this time.” Try was, of course, the operative word and she gave a wan smile. |