Who: Anton, Iron Man and Bly What: Meet and greet and gush Where: Anton’s office When: Wednesday before Thanksgiving Warnings: This log may exceed your daily limit of squee and delight
The limo pulled up at noon; he saw it out his window. Bly rushed through his house, pulling on appropriate clothes for meeting a personal hero. He had been following Iron Man for months, years, even. He paused as he pulled on his pants, wondering if Iron Man had been around for years. Whatever. he’d been following the guy for a long time. That suit was just badass. And then with those memory things... Oh, yeah, life was sweet and he was going to meet someone who won the biggest BAMF ever award.
Grabbing his wallet and stuffing it into the back of his pants, he adjusted his shirt, checked himself in the mirror, and then ran out. He took the stairs, because elevators took way too long, and burst out the front door. A chauffeur opened the limo door for him, which was amazingly cool, and he hopped inside. It was empty, but that was okay, because there was pizza. As the city passed him by, he downed half the box in greedy bites. When they pulled up to Sparke Industries, Bly was out of the limo before the chauffeur could help him. He waved to the guy and hurried in. He told the main receptionist his name, and she sent him to Mr. Sparke’s floor. Mr. Mother-Fucking-God’s-Gift-to-the-World Sparke.
There was nothing closer to heaven. Nothing. Except shaking the Iron Man pilot’s hand. That would be heaven itself.
When he got off the elevator, he approached the pretty receptionist at the desk. She had a weird scrunched up expression on her face, like she was trying not to laugh because if she did she’d pee herself. “Uh, hi, I’m Jackson Bly, and-”
“Mr. Sparke is expecting you,” she said, choking on a laugh. “Please, head right in.” She pointed to a door down the hall, and Bly made his way to it.
Sucking in a deep breath, he knocked twice and then pulled the door open, stepping into the office. “Um. Hi?” Lamest. Opening line. Ever.
“Mr. Bly,” Anton said with a smile and got up from his desk. The kid wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting, but he was pretty eager to see what he could do. He walked around his desk, crossed the office and shook the teen’s hand. “Anton Sparke. Nice to finally meet you. Did you get enough to eat? There’s plenty more pizza if you want any.” He gestured to a table off to one side of the office that had two open pizza boxes on it, one with a few pieces missing.
“Uh, yeah, plenty to eat, thanks,” Bly said, but he threw an assessing glance toward the pizza, clearly considering eating more. He had a bottomless stomach and a wicked metabolism. He could do it. But he decided not to.
Withdrawing his hand, he shoved both in the pockets of his pants, glancing around. “So... what about the pilot? And the suit? Can I see the suit?” His eyes lit with unabashed glee.
“First things first, Mr. Bly,” Anton said with a chuckle. This was usually the point where he’d offer his guest a drink, but Mr. Bly didn’t exactly look old enough for Scotch. The kid had enthusiasm, which was good, but Anton needed to see what he was capable of first. He crossed over to a wall that was lined with cabinets and unlocked the tallest one. The doors were pulled open to reveal an impressive array of firearms, all branded with the Sparke Industries logo. “I’d like to see what you can do. Take your pick. And let me know if you need anything else. Oh, and none of them are loaded, so don’t get any crazy ideas.”
Briefly, Bly toyed with the idea of telling Mr. Sparke that he didn’t actually need a gun to be loaded to put bullets in it. Then he figured that he could save that for later. It would be more impressive, maybe, if he saved it for later. So he followed Mr. Sparke to the cabinets and peered at the guns, looking them over. There were a few Sigs, a Glock, and some guns that were definitely more serious business weapons.
He eyed two Sigs, picked them up, and held them close together, his eyes on one of the more impressive weapons. Turning his mental attention to the guns, feeling the cool metal under his hands, he mentally told them to be that gun, the one he was looking at. The metal under his hand shifted, changing. He poked it a little, feeling the change as it happened. He added a second barrel, adjusted the trigger, added a few extra gizmos and thingers so that the gun could spit fire, too.
When he was done, he grinned and held it up for Mr. Sparke. “There you go. An authentic, one of a kind, flame-throwing semi-automatic badass machine of death.” He paused. Yeah, that needed to be trademarked. Now.
Anton’s eyes wanted to fall out of his head. Now why couldn’t he get a power like that? Something that didn’t try to kill him could’ve been a plus, too. But that was beyond impressive. He’d never seen anything like it before and his face lit up like a kid’s at Christmas as he took the weapon and looked it over. If he wasn’t leasing the damn office space he’d have a place to play with it right there. But no. No he didn’t own the building. He didn’t even own his floor of the building. They’d be moving before too long.
“Can you do that again? Do something different. Really show off,” Anton said, not bothering to dampen his enthusiasm. The kid was awesome and there was no reason to make him think otherwise.
“Sure,” Bly said, grinning, his energy growing because of Mr. Sparke’s. He reached for two of the larger semi-automatic rifles holding them against each other in his hands. His brows drawing together, his grin faded into an intense look of concentration. In his head, he imagined a huge gun. Ridiculous. With the barrel of a Gatling gun, except it could push bullets through all the exit holes. And a rocket launcher. Yeah, that would be sweet. And on top of that, lots of little, smaller parts to fire tiny bullets like rain.
It only took about five minutes, but when he was done, he was sweating. Still, his spirits weren’t dampened by exhaustion, and he gave Mr. Sparke a huge smile. “Tadah! I mean, it’s not that amazing, and I could do more, but I need more raw material to do it.” He wondered if he could build a tank or something. Or the gun that went on a tank. Hell, he bet he could make turrets. But he didn’t say that. “Oh, wait!”
Reaching out, Bly grabbed one of the other guns, a Glock, and he held it to the newly created weapon. His nose wrinkled as he concentrated. The bullets only took about thirty seconds. With a perky smile, he stepped back. “That’ll fire. I made bullets.” Oh, yeah, Blytech was a badass.
“You want a drink? Cigar?” Anton asked, though his mouth felt awfully dry. He set down the first gun on the rack in the cabinet, then crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink without waiting for Bly’s response. The kid was magic. Pure and simple. “I hope there’s a safety on that thing. Just put it down wherever. We’re going to make a little trip across town so I can show you the suit.”
Carefully setting the gun down, clicking the safety into place as he did so, Blytech shook his head. “Naw, I don’t smoke,” he said. Some people thought he was way too straight-laced. He probably was. But then again he wasn’t interested in acquiring erectile dysfunction in his thirties and dying of a shriveled lung a few years later. He nabbed more pizza, though, shoveling another two pieces into his mouth, one after the other.
He trotted toward Mr. Sparke as he swallowed the last bite of pizza, wearing a grin that might have split another guy’s face in half. “Really?” He all but squealed the word, sounding like a complete and total girl. But that was okay. Because fucking Iron Man. He thought about that thought. So maybe “fucking” should go somewhere else in that sentence. Like Iron Man fucking hell yes! That was better.
“Absolutely,” Anton said with a grin of his own. He quickly called his driver and arranged for him to pull around to the front of the building. Once his phone was back on his hip he ushered Bly out of his office and locked the wooden doors behind them. There was no need for anyone, especially Reina, to go in there with a loaded weapon lying around. “C’mon, intern. We’ll get the paperwork sorted this afternoon and make it official, but you’re gonna love this.”
Anton waved to Reina on his way past her desk. “Hold down the fort, Miss Ignace. I’ll be out of my office for a while. Don’t let the cleaning crew in there if I’m not back by closing.”
Bly followed Mr. Sparke eagerly, waving to the receptionist, too, to seem cool. She looked blankly back at them, watching them go. He wondered if there was something wrong with her and then figured she was probably just bored. Being a receptionist sounded super stupid. And boring.
“So where’s the suit at?” he asked, bouncing slightly as he walked. This was just too good to be true. This was just... it was just.
“My place,” Anton said flippantly as he led Bly into an elevator. His phone was vibrating in its holster, but he ignored it. This was way more important for the time being, plus he was technically still in a meeting. A migrating meeting. “I don’t think I have to reiterate that this is all very top secret, hush hush. If you spill about you know who I’ll have to cut you loose and tell everyone what a big fat liar you are.” He shrugged and shot Bly an apologetic look. “Don’t make me do that, kid. You’re too cool for that. And I’m really looking forward to working with you.”
“No, I won’t say at thing, I know better than that,” Bly said honestly, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “Promise.”
The ride over to the Aubade would have been more fun if Anton hadn’t been stuck on his phone the entire time. He would’ve rather been asking young Mr. Bly about the extent of his abilities. Could he mass produce certain types of weapons? How many? How fast? After a while the person on the other end of the phone started sounding like one of the adults from Peanuts. Anton excused himself from the call at last once he’d ushered Bly into his first floor apartment.
“I’d give you the grand tour, but this apartment isn’t all that awesome compared to Iron Man,” Anton said, grinning knowingly at Bly. He gestured for the young man to follow him and led him upstairs to his work room, which looked more like the offspring of a garage and a server closet. The Iron Man suit itself stood in the center of the room, shining and ready for action.
Yeah, the car ride was boring, but it hardly mattered. Like, at all. Bly was bouncing his foot against the floor of the limo, then he was checking out some of the lighting, almost pulling a panel off the wall in his interest. They arrived at the Aubade apartment complex just about the time when Bly was getting truly stir crazy, and headed into Mr. Sparke’s apartment. And the guy was right: he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the place. He wanted to see the suit. A lot.
And then there it was. It was like the heavens themselves opened up and angels were singing out a chorus of hallelujahs or something, and that suit was in the middle of everything looking like gold and beauty and perfection. That thinking was probably why he was still single.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “That’s... that’s... can I touch it?” He turned to Mr. Sparke with huge, pleading eyes, not even registering the expression on his own face.
“I just polished it,” Anton said with a faux pained expression. But he couldn’t fight his smile for long and gestured at the suit as he walked over to it. “Yeah, go ahead. Just don’t turn it into a rocket launcher.”
Bly was all over that suit like... like... like something all over something else. He couldn’t think of a good analogy, his brain was too full of beautiful, shiny metal, gizmos and sprockets, gears and springs, and sweet, sweet weaponry. He ran his hands over the suit, lifting up flaps where he could, poking the joints to see how they moved. This was brilliant. Sheer, epic brilliance. He looked at Mr. Sparke, then the suit, then Sparke again.
“Dude,” he breathed. “Dude, you built this, didn’t you?” Ho, shit, this man was his hero. And then something else occurred to him. “Hoshit, dude, you’re the pilot, aren’t you?”
“Yes and yes,” Anton said, delighted with Bly’s reaction. This was going to be an amazing thing, he was sure of it. Preston wasn’t going to like it, but he’d have to relent at some point to the kinds of upgrades Anton was sure he and Bly could come up with together. It was going to be badass. He patted the suit’s shoulder. “This is the Mach Three. You think you could help me with some upgrades? Unless you really have your heart set on doing the traditional intern go-fer stuff.”
Dude, he was the pilot. Sparke was the pilot. Bly was standing in the same room as the Iron Man pilot. He thought he might pass out from sheer glee. Or something. Because this was amazing. How awesome was this aside from totally beyond awesome. This went straight past awesome, skittered around mind-blowing and hit... he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what came after mind-blowing. But whatever it was, it was this. Iron Man. And the pilot. And holy mother of God this was amazing.
Bly shoved his hands in his hair, making the curls stick up in one hundred different directions. He stood there, breathing, staring at the suit and Sparke alternately. “I would love to help you with upgrades,” he breathed, pulling his hands from his hair. His hair remained shooting off in odd, bizarre directions. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter how bizarre he looked. He was going to work with Iron Man.
“Perfect. We’ll get the paperwork sorted out and once everything’s official we’ll get started,” Anton said. And he couldn’t stop being amused by how awed Bly was. It was great, and he was genuinely looking forward to spending time with him. Maybe he could even help the kid out socially, since he seemed a little awkward. Starting with the clothes.