Strains His Conversation Characters: Elektra, Tony Stark and, of course, open to everyone. Setting: Evening. Concours d'Elegance, Pebble Beach, California. Content: Warning: Tony's awesomeness is sometimes overwhelming to minors. Also, needles. Summary: Just when Tony thought it was safe to be a smug, rich bastard amongst the same again, trouble comes calling. Classic cars, cigars and... scimitars?
The day had that kind of hazy, humid heat that made the air heavy and thick and it was only the occasional ocean breeze bringing the salty smell of the waves that reminded the picnickers at the Pebble Beach Golf Links that life existed beyond this luxurious green. The dainty, fresh smell of cut grass hung in that thick air and was only crowded but never pushed away by the bitter smell of rubber, leather and exhaust, the musky smell of cigars and cologne, and the sticky sweet smell of spilt lemonade, spirits and fresh fruit. It was a scene of revelry and indulgence, and even that heat couldn't embitter the competitors who had lost their coveted prize. There was always another glass of vintage something pouring in the tent; a lonely, slim, young fantasy appreciating the engine; a party invitation shared discretely during a handshake. There was always next year. Of course, before next year, that next great purchase needed to be made.
The action of the auction was not so intense in the act, but the aftermath; as the car came off the ramp and the winner went to meet it, shake hands, get their pats on the back and, of course, smile for the cameras. Louder than the auctioneer and the polite claps of the observers, the press scrambled for even just a few words. "Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark! A word for--" "--I'm with Octane, the readers--" "--have to say about this beautiful--" "--inspiration behind--" "--the feel of the--" "Mr. Stark!" Just long enough for the major distributors to catch it on film, Tony clasped the hand of the sweating man he had liberated his new Harley from, flashed a dazzling smile, waved, apologized, and was on his way. The next item would be rolling down the ramp any second, they wouldn't miss him. He didn't get very far.
"Mr. Stark." One had disengaged from the pack and followed across the damp grass, making Tony glance over his shoulder and squint into the sinking sun before flicking his sunglasses back down onto his nose. "I'm sorry, do you have a minute?" "A couple," he replied, only turning half way and forcing the reporter to meet him. Tall, dark-skinned, something aggressively cocky about his smile-- Tony was already rehearsing his departure. "Beautiful bike, congratulations," the reporter opened, and for some reason it didn't sound so much like a congratulations but a condemnation. Great. Tony, with all the humbleness he could muster, waved a hand, leaving between them a waft of blue cigar smoke. "I'm going to guess you don't have all that much to say about Harley's and I don't really, either, so lay it on me while I'm still feeling good about it," he invited. "There have been some recent reports of some internal troubles at Stark International--" "Where'd you hear that?" "--stemming from this decision to move--" "No such thing. Now I know you're lying." "What? You're denying the relocation of Stark headquarters...?" "No, listen, I'm rejecting this story you think you have on me for the good of both of us. No," Tony had to repeat, holding up a silencing finger as the reporter went to protest, "listen. The relocation to New York is monumentally beneficial to the company, and if you lived in Los Angeles you would know damn well why. After the move is complete, you'll be reporting on a huge leap in production entirely due to the rerouted costs." Piece said, he offered a hand to the reporter, signaling an end to the interview. It wasn't taken, the reporter opening his mouth to accuse him of something else, but Tony got there first; "I don't know the names of the architects, the Playgirl thing is a tentative 'no', and I am not involved in the production or with any of the cast of Twilight."
Gone. Across the grass, towards the cliff where that breeze wafted and the voices gave way to crashing waves. Just for a minute. He wanted to enjoy this cigar.