Who: T’Challa and Tony Stark When: Mid June Where: Outside Stark Tower What: Meeting for Schwarma to discuss work Rating/Warnings: Low. Just grabbing a quick bite and discussing work. Status: Complete
T’Challa smiled as he basked in the mid-afternoon sunlight, heading with casual strides towards the Schwarma truck parked outside Stark Tower. He’d gotten a text from Tony Stark about meeting for lunch, and as it so happened, today was a day T’Challa had off. Things had cooled off between him and Ororo, and his good friend Stephen Strange had left for New York, so the suddenly nearly friendless teacher was happy for any distraction. Plus the dreams had left him in an unsettling place - somewhere between a happy ending and a cliffhanger. That too, was something he would prefer not to think about.
“Tony,” he grinned, as he saw the man with his customary sunglasses, standing by the truck. “Beautiful day today.” His African accent had never quite left him, despite the years he’d spent of his youth in America.
Tony was standing outside the food truck, in the heat, in his three piece suit. He had his hands in his pockets, and was reading the sign on the side of the truck… for the thousandth time. It wasn’t like he was going to get anything else. He had a regular order, and the man inside the truck knew him by name and food preference.
The sound of T’Challa--Tony’s friend, even through all they’d been through together--made Iron Man turn his head. He gave a little smile, the offered T’Challa a hand to shake. “Good day for Shawarma, that’s for sure.” He responded. “I could eat three meals a day at this truck. Though, I think Pepper might have something to say about that.” And how would he fit into the suit if he got fat?
T'Challa laughed. “And Jarvis.” He knew the sometimes snarky but ever polite A.I. always had something to say. Much like his creator.
He scanned the menu, considering his options. It had been a while since he’d last had Schwarma and was trying to remember what he’d had. “Any suggestions?” He tilted his chin at the menu as he spoke to Tony, then nodded politely at the truck operator.
“Definitely go for the number three, extra sauce, and get something to wash it down. Either a bottle of tea or water.” Tony said, motioning to the menu. He slipped his hands back in his pockets after, and rocked back on his heels. “Jarvis doesn’t really care if I get fat, so long as I can still fit in the suit. Making modifications at this stage in the game would be disastrous.”
Tony stepped up to the window and pulled some cash out of his pocket to pass inside to the operator. Then he motioned toward T’Challa, meaning he’d pay for the other man’s food, too. “The usual for me, Chuck.”
T’Challa raised a wary eyebrow. “Extra sauce? Isn’t it rather spicy? Or am I confusing that with the Halal trucks of New York City?” He’d learned his lesson there that day. No hot sauce on the Halal food. His digestive track had taken it pretty well, considering, but he couldn’t taste anything properly for the rest of the day. At least his sinuses had been perfectly clear.
He started to object to Tony paying, but the man was quick, giving Chuck the cash before he could do anything about it. They got their orders as quickly as one would expect with a food truck, and before long they were sitting down, T’Challa with a bottle of water and his styrofoam box.
“More sauce doesn’t mean more spice,” Tony explained. He passed some money through the window to the man inside. “It means more deliciousness on every bit of meat, instead of only on some of the bits of meat.” They collected their food, and moved over to a table nearby.
“So, you’re looking for a job at Stark Tower?” He asked, opening the container to start in on his food.
“‘Ah,” T’Challa nodded, understanding.
He took a moment after opening the container to savor the smell of the food. “Yes, I am. I’ve decided to leave the university. I’ve put enough years in, and feel that with the scientific and technological knowledge the dreams have given me, I’d be of better use elsewhere.” He put a forkful of food into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully he savored the taste and nodded in approval to the other man’s choice of food.
Tony ate while they talked, not bothering to be overly careful with the way he ate. He was hungry, and the food was delicious, so he went for it. “I’m sure we can find you a spot somewhere,” he mused. “I’ll send a note to Pep, and we’ll find you a spot.” Tony liked the idea of doing good in the world--after all, wasn’t that his job as a superhero? And any way that he could, he would.
T’Challa quirked and eyebrow ever so slightly at the phraseology as he stuck another forkful of food into his mouth. He wasn’t offended, so much as curious as to how generic Tony was being. It was like he was hiring a friend’s kid for the summer instead of an intellectual equal.
“Not the mailroom, I hope.” he smirked at the other man, referring to their email conversation earlier. “The king of Wakanda does not sort mail.” And he laughed.
T’Challa should get to know that Tony treated everyone like a friend’s kid, rather than an intellectual equal. Some of the time, anyway. There were other times, but for the most part? He was kidding, anyway. He knew that adding T’Challa to the Stark team would bring about great things.
“Not the mailroom, no,” Tony replied, returning the smirk. “I want to hear more about Wakanda, too. Promise you’ll come to the lab for a scotch after your orientation? Give me all the details?”
T’Challa nodded and chuckled. “I can regale you with many tales of Wakanda and the kings of old. And of course, the Vibranium we are so famous for.” He continued eating a moment and then said, “When would this orientation be?”
Tony simply smiled. He was very much looking forward to working with his friend. They could do a lot of good things together. And hey, it was easy for Tony to get things to happen when he wanted them to. “How soon can you start?”