Bruce Banner. (doctorbanner) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2014-09-06 22:54:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log, !thread, bruce banner (mcu), tony stark / iron man (mcu) |
Who: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark (MCU)
When: Saturday afternoon.
Where: Stark Tower.
What: Aimless theoretical chitchat and poor food decisions. It's the weekend.
Rating: Low.
To say Bruce had been hard at work since he'd shuffled in at mid-morning powered on tea and half a bagel and - most of all - a low-level urgency to retreat even further from the increasingly sticky sunshine would have been charitable in the extreme, but he had probably earned it. If he'd wanted to do nothing but sit and push himself an inch backwards, and inch forwards, and inch backwards again in his chair while staring through the wall of a lead-lined cabinet he could have done it in his bedroom, after all, or something close enough to it; he didn't need to be here to tap his pen over and rhythmically over against a workbench. He was actually working. Sort of. At least in the Newtonian sense of the word. The question on his mind, if it could be called anything as specific as a question, was stability, and something had struck him (or tapped away at him over and rhythmically over, maybe) in all the directed rush of the city, the uneasy scrambling of both information and human bodies that had spiked during the past week, the going-places that was about twenty percent of living here, and that was if you were lucky, even in times of non-emergency. Subway, guide rails; ferries, rudders; cars, tires; planes, foils. All more or less just different ways to use gravity or mass (same thing, really) as a crude lever. All therefore necessarily themselves crude, because tools always were, intermediaries between intent and action required because intent wasn't action, because you couldn't move through the water without pushing on it any more than he could summon up the second half of his bagel just because he regretted leaving it on the counter. (He paused - that problem, at least, had a solution - he pulled out his phone, shot off a text - cnmn raisin tstd crm chz? - set it down in front of him - and resumed.) Necessary, sure, because actions and equal/opposite reactions were just the stuff the world was made of, but it was all starting to seem a little backwards, a little roundabout, a little over-thought, and he'd been chasing the impression for a couple of days without really laying hold of it, but if - The tap of his pen changed from solid to soft, and he looked down at a growing smear of black-blue edging toward his elbow - so he wasn't about to lay hold of it now, either. With a sheepish glance around, he mopped the stain up with his sleeve and wrist (with only marginal success), dropped the dead pen into the waste bin, moved his now slightly-mottled phone out of the zone of danger, and - found a pencil instead, and kept at it. |