Scorpion Characters: Tony and totally-not-Mystique. Setting: The ocean somewhere. Near Fiji, if you must. Content: The goal is bikinis and margaritas. Summary: In case you forgot, Tony is ridiculously rich and eccentric. You're welcome.
"I HAVE SOMETHING OF YOURS." Texting, rather than calling, would have been a gamble for anyone else. There was no way to overstate the confidence of Tony Stark, though, so he wasn't at all worried about losing the pot. That was hours ago now, and he had since all but forgotten about it, quietly absorbed in his work with no one around for miles to interrupt him. If it wasn't for the awkward logistics and obvious failings of installing a lab, Tony thought he might like to relocate his office permanently. This idle thought lasted about as long as it took him to realize he could only go so long without the flash of a smile from a passing stranger, and then he was longing for dry land.
"THERE'S A CAR WAITING OUTSIDE." It had been over a week since he had decided the best course of action in dealing with this strange infatuation with Wanda was going cold turkey, and so far that had been working about half the time. Given a quiet minute, he found himself checking the messages she had left, then quickly dialing out to someone he knew wouldn't mind a round of tennis and drinks at the club. Eventually, he got to the number in his directory that he wasn't so sure played tennis, and then much of the week suddenly seemed to be such a waste of time. If there was anyone who managed to keep his attention from wandering anymore, it was Raven.
"YOU CAN TRUST HIM. TRUST ME." Whether she could be won by text, convinced into the car, onto the plane, off of the dock and across the glittering, clear blue ocean was the whole gamble. From a distance, the yacht was bright white and serene, barely moving on the water so still it was a perfect reflection of the cloudless sky. Closer, and the illusion of serenity wavered, the sound of the music becoming clear over the roar of the boat's engine, carried easily across the water. An island dance beat, but a solitary dark figure flitted across the deck, only to disappear again easily as the approach made the yacht loom.
On board, a uniformed crew member welcomed her, another turning away and heading for the bow, and gestured for her to follow into the refreshing cool of the cabin, the stinging smell of the salt water still permeating the rich, oiled wood. After showing her an expansive room and promising anything she required could be provided, he bowed himself out with the promise that, "Mr. Stark can be found by the pool."
Over the music, an announcement came from behind Tony; "Your guest has arrived." He grinned and said only, "Thanks, dude," and made no move to greet her himself. He remained cross legged on a lounge chair, leaned over a laptop that he studied closely, barely aware of the heat from the bright sun that sent a cool bead of sweat down his bare back, or even that his glass had been empty for almost three quarters of an hour. He didn't have to call himself an artist to be inspired by the colours and easy clarity of the islands.