systemcritical | [01] scaramouche, will you do the fandango (open & closed)

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[01] scaramouche, will you do the fandango (open & closed)

CHARACTERS ▶ Tony Spark, Dean Winchester, Skye if she likes, and maybe you too!
LOCATION ▶ Lower layers of Zion
SUMMARY ▶ Upon completing the 'entry exam project,' Dean is hired and absconded with by his new boss who wants to go see what his prospective programmer is doing. After which, he will go honking and clanking about bothering anybody else you like.
WARNINGS ▶ PG-13 probably for naughty words
NOTES ▶ Pre-funeral

closed | dean winch and skyeby

[The horn sounds like someone punched a goose in the butt, but it does what it's supposed to: warn the citizens of Zion to get out of the way.

Tony's 'shop' was only two living units in size, which meant that the Bottlerocket Mark One took up half the space. However, both he and Dean were accustomed to working under suboptimal conditions and under pressure and with unfamiliar company, as much as they were accustomed to working in their ideal settings alone. It had gone very well: the bumper almost looks like it fits, the doors and trunk keep squeaking like they're about to pop, and it won't go over 40 miles per hour without the engine protesting, and what was once a convertible roof is now covered in solar panels that drink in the farm lights', but it's a Goddamn car in Zion. What else do you want.

Maybe for your major contributor to be something other !! than a younger, better-looking, less smart version than you, but this is something that Tony Stark is not inclined to admit to.

P.S. he's driving.] I'm not exactly sure where she hangs out, [he yells at Dean over the (modest) wind pouring through their windows. Small children are shrieking and chasing after them, through cornrows. In the distance, a giant magnetic tractor plods by, going slower than the Bottlerocket-- but not by much.] Where do kids your age hang out?

[The battery will last them into the lower layers and back, but not much more than that.]

open | otw to/from funeral

[It's not that death makes Tony uncomfortable exactly, it's just that he isn't really the flower-weaving, candle-wicking, or generally

mourning type. And there are no would-be fascist godlings to mutilate out here.

So he focuses on his work. Of course, given the absence of arc reactor parts around and the otherwise limited sources available, Tony's work is merely the clunky heap of parts that he passes off for a vehicle. Though he's been lending it to Dean often enough, he likes to run his own tests as well. Today-- well. Today, that means running people to and from the Temple for the funeral proceedings.

Sorry in advance if they break down. The AC is pretty bad, so it'll smell like unwashed dude in half an hour, though there are worse things than sweaty mechanics laboring under the hood, if you're into that.

And there aren't too many things better than a free ride, advertised with a hoarse horn-blast, and Tony's pointy beard poking out the window to say:] Need a lift? It doesn't explode. [Yet.]

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[ There's certainly worse things than sweaty mechanics laboring under the hood: pristine mechanics. Civic duty completed, Wedge feels like he needs to break in his newest coveralls, and rolling around on the greasy floor at the shipyards seems like a waste of time that could be more efficiently wasted.

So might as well risk his life inside a rickety ride. It appeals to the thrill junkie inside of him. ] Your cabling system could use some work. [ Wedge pulls at a wire sticking out as he gets in, raising his eyebrow as the turbine hiccups a roar. ] We're betting on how long it'll take for this thing to blow, by the way.

[ He turns, staring at Tony flatly. ] You want in?

Edited 2015-04-03 04:22 (UTC)

Don't pull on that, [Tony tells the other man, glancing at him from under the shade of the hood. It certainly isn't a problem of lack of available light output here, in the field.] I wouldn't say 'blow' is out of the question, but this isn't a combustion engine so it'll probably be more like.

Ehhhh. Onomatopoeia fails me. [But then Tony is pulling the hood prop free, easing the metal down. Despite that vehicular breakdowns tend to elicit insane amounts of stress and anger in people, Tony seems calm. This is nothing. Or at least, it's familiar.] But if it starts gouting acid all over your face, I'm not liable. [He pulls the door open for Wedge. Welcome, stranger.]

What did you put down?

[ Wedge stops pinching the wire between his fingers and releases it, the faint reek of singed skin lingering. ] Just magnetic, then? [ Magnets and fuel were how the hovercrafts flew. If Tony found a way to eliminate fuel altogether, well, that's something Wedge is very interested in. ] I suggested we should move the hovercrafts away from their reliance on the magnetic pads, and they all but laughed when I suggested nuclear power. [ Yes, he was explained that Zion lacked the technology to enrich uranium, but the chasm between what's possible and what's realistic still chafes Wedge.

Onomatopoeia aside, wouldn't that be an amusing way to go? Wedge can see the headline already: PROSPECTIVE CAPTAIN DIES IN MECHANICAL ACCIDENT. It'd certainly be an anecdote in his danger-filled life, both in the Matrix and the real. ] A turbine and a power converter.

Edited 2015-04-10 05:40 (UTC)

No. Hybrid gas-electric, [Tony says. Which means he was lying but only a little: a combustion engine is involved, only presumably smaller, weaker, which may account for the drastic limits of the speed as much as for the use of the battery as well. He had to make do with what he had, which certainly was not a lot.] Shitty Jerry-rig.

[He's not being self-deprecating. It is what it is.]

The lack of resources is killing me, [he agrees. But a hard shove from the shoulder slots the last thing in, and he steps around Wedge (and the open door, assuming the man didn't get in) and he sits back into the driver's seat. Tries to start the car, right then, without telling the other man to step back. It coughs to life.] But magnetic isn't the problem. Nuclear's untenable. But it's the fuel that the hovercraft use that's the liability. You hear what it did to the Memphis?

[ 'Hybrid gas-electric' could mean a lot of things. It could mean a graceful marriage of the relative safety of electricity, working together with the (relatively) vast energy stored in hydrocarbons. It could also mean an amateurish mixture more likely to spark up and cause an explosion than get you home in one piece.

Guess Wedge is about to find out. ] Yeah, I was briefed. [ Which is why Wedge wants to find an alternative source of fuel that isn't so prone to shortages and explosions. ] Any engine getting shot at will blow up eventually. The trick is to find a stable fuel that won't make such a big explosion, or that it can be contained.

[There's a grim satisfaction in Tony's face when he comes back out again, and goes around to slam the hood shut. Why did Dean have to fuck off to another city? It would've been nice to have more hands. If the opportunities and pay and future were better in another city, that's none of Tony's concern!! but it's with great aplomb that he handles the inconvenience of having to tinker the engine and go all the way back to his seat.

He gets in, wiping his chin on his arm. I am going to assume Wedge is now in the vehicle, so Tony pushes the engine gently into drive.] For a given value of 'blow up,' [he concedes. Even the arc reactor would have sprayed some glass and elemental garbage if it'd been under fire, granted. Anything with substance creates shrapnel.] What are you, energy scientist?

Were you at any point in your life irradiated?

[ Wedge is, indeed, in the vehicle. He would offer his help, but as a Corellian, he's wary: Corellians are infamous for getting overly attached to their vehicles. Tony strikes him as an honorary Corellian. ]

No, just someone who's flown a lot of things that can blow up. Nuclear, geothermal, electrical...

Yes. [ Wedge admits. ] Malfunctioning hyperdrive. A couple of seconds of gamma rays. Had to sit out of active duty for a week.

Edited 2015-04-16 20:11 (UTC)

Huh.

[Ever the eloquent one, Tony glances over at the other man just briefly. Of course, radiation experienced in the Matrix would only translate over to the Real in a few limited ways. Internal bleeding maybe. Death, for sure. Still, this warrants enough wondering that he asks, offhandedly, in past tense:] Did you turn into anything?

Was it green? [You never know, with the parallels between worlds.]

[ Fortunately for their partnership Dean is the first in line to admit he's not the smartest guy in a room by himself, so he's content to take that better looking quality and stretch it as far as it'll take him. Apparently, it takes him as far as their surprisingly successful project will manage before it inevitably breaks down; Dean gives it eight weeks, but hell, Orville and Redenbacher Wright or whatever only got that first plane a couple hundred yards. Despite the way it creaks and groans, despite how the belt sounds like it's going to peel away any second now, he's still gotta admit it's an impressive feat considering what limited supplies they had at their disposal.

At least it's not a goddamn Prius.

One of his arms hangs out the window, and he's clearly pleased by the familiar sensation of riding (though god damn it if he wouldn't rather be driving) and he's not quite as dickish as usual when he shoots an unimpressed look after Tony's question. ]

The ol' soda shop, mostly, since Old Man Jenkins shut down the video arcade.

[ He responds, because how the hell should he know. Programmers were practically a different species, and on top of that he's pretty sure Skye's a solid decade younger than him or something. Not everyone can be pushing male menopause, Stark. ]

[Don't forklift eyelashes and ridiculous pouts come with only a specific generation! how should Tony know. He wasn't equipped with that. Whatever. (He doesn't have male menopause, his manvaries are still functioning great--)] I think I know where she lives, [he mutters, mostly to himself. Either she told him or he invasively creepily looked it up when he saw her courting the ire of OUR FASCIST LEADErs on the network. He can't remember. He turns the wheel, guiding the car toward the massive cargo lifts.

The Looks that the men elicit from other Zionites once inside the elevator's sliding doors are about as aggravated as one expects, but they'd managed to fit all the last wheat barrels in so what do they really have to complain about. Tony pretends he's not watching the dashboard lights in a slight concern that they'll abruptly twitch and fade out to nothing. ...Old Man Jenkins.] What century did you come from?

[Maybe relevant questions for back during interview but no. 'Earth' and a like usage of curses had been good enough.]

[Looking like the spitting image of a newbie fresh out of a goopy pod with his lack of any substantial hair and malnourished frame just barely holding onto the rags he calls clothes, Luke could probably use a lot more than a ride.

Still, as sorry a state as he's in, Luke is far more interested in the vehicle itself rather than the service offered. With hands in pockets he steps forward and leans down to get a look at its interior, an expression of wonder on his face. He's never seen another one like it around.]

Woah. Where'd this thing come from?

Like fifty different places, [replies Tony, who sounds smoothly irritated more as a default than any kind of real problem he has with Luke or any other bald baby tottering around fresh off the system.] Come on.

You're on your way to the funeral? The elevators? [Tony would make a terrible cab driver fyi. Very pushy, never mind that he technically 'works' entirely for free.] They have food at the funeral, [he adds, after he climbs out of the vehicle and notices how ghastly thin Luke is. Not unusual or unexpected, merely gross in a highly standard, perfectly normal way, that Tony judges automatically but not very severely.] Baby could get his back, back.

[He rounds the nose of his car and opens the door. Inside, Luke can see the battery gauge. We're good for energy a little while.]

[Luke doesn't appear bothered by Tony's attitude in the slightest. He's too busy trying to mentally piece together the mechanics of the vehicle. Of course in his Matrix this would be a cross between a museum piece and a laughing stock, but here it would have required ingenuity and ambition to create something this complex out of the scraps available.

The poorly masked comments about his weight only get a wry smirk from Luke... until the second one. His Matrix was sorely lacking in Earth pop culture so the phrase doesn't ring a single bell. In fact, it doesn't really make any sense at all and Luke's attention is momentarily drawn from the mechanical marvel to give Tony a rather baffled look.]

Huh?

[Did this guy just call him baby?]

You look like a baby, [Tony begins, leadingly, even as he puts the car into park. He won't have the brakes accidentally fail and send him into a pack of well-meaning Zionites. They'd probably take his car for damages, and it took him eons to build.] Back is--

--forget it. [Tony shakes his head.] Besides, next to Cap you look like Beyoncé Knowles. [He points out across the way ahead toward the cargo lifts, which loom up ahead, connecting the bottom levels to the massive sprawl of upper tiers. The Market ones are the closest and most colorful, dozens of people moving to and fro, miniaturized by the distance.]

Are you getting in or am I leaving?

Edited (fixxxeddd) 2015-04-07 16:03 (UTC)

[Luke tilts his head and remains confused at the references that he's obviously missing, but he doesn't comment. It's not important and he's far more interested in having his questions answered about the car than Beyoncé Knowles, whoever that is.]

Oh. Uh— [He seems to be belatedly realizing that he's holding things up and he looks apologetic, holding up a hand.] —no, thanks. I'm going to walk.

[He'll probably be late but Luke is adamant about improving his condition. Walking everywhere he can will help and he's not about to let himself lapse at the temptation of a minor convenience.]

But before you go— [he leans back into the window, curiosity winning out against any social graces] —what kind of drive does this thing have? Is it combustion?

It's a hybbbb, [Tony starts to reply, with every rude intention of speeding up and away without salutation, except that in that moment everything goes wrong.

Not with a bang, nor with a whimper. Just a pathetic, greasy cough that declares the engine at least momentarily dead, while the electronic battery that he was saying it was hybridized with takes over with its paltry but stubborn flicker of charge. Of course, what was once a magnificent 30-mile-per-hour rate of travel dwindles now to a pathetic forward squirm that even Luke's backless person can keep up with and still maintain a conversation.]

...brid, [Tony says, making a face.]

[As the engine sputters and dies, Luke bites his lip and watches with sympathy. So the guy was about to speed off somewhat rudely, he doesn't deserve this.

Luke steps up easily alongside it, ready to offer any help he can.] Sounds like you might have a fuel-related problem, a clog or a busted line somewhere. What does this thing run on?

[Tony sighs. Very put upon. Very suffering.

The car continues to ease forward anyway, of course. The battery holds quite a lot of charge, even if its output isn't the most ferocious thing you've ever met. Tony doesn't try to stop and fix it though. Instead of jams his foot on the accelerator a couple times, which does nothing :'))) but a little pettiness never killed anybody.]

Same fuel as the hoverships run on, [he replies.] That blew out the Memphis' guts. Some distillation of crude and a few other organic compounds that were discovered as feasible enhancements in the last century of humankind. [WHACK WHACK, he steps on it a few more times, but the internal combustion engine refuses to come to life. He continues to creak forward at Luke's walking pace.]

Real life humankind, [he clarifies.] I dunno about yours.

[It's very, very... very difficult for Luke to conceal a tiny amused smirk as he keeps walking along, watching Tony abuse the vehicle in his attempts to make it behave. Luke considers suggesting that he pull over and fix the problem since putting along at this speed is pretty pointless... but Tony doesn't seem to be in the mood for such a suggestion.]

We used nuclear fusion engines so mostly hydrogen-based fuels. Combustion technology was pretty... [Luke slows his sentence almost to a pause when he realizes that it might not be helping the frustration] ... archaic.

[Quick, fix it.] Uhh—though we still sometimes used it for lawn trimmers and— [nope, still probably not helping.]

... That's a good battery.

Yeah well, [Tony eyes the other man. By the standards of no world is the technology level of this vehicle impressive; it's the ingenuity it took to put it together at all that was an achievement.] Back home, guess what we used floppy babies for? Three guesses. One guess.

[A beat.] Well maybe for horror movie tropes, but you don't fit. [That last part diminishes into a mumble that is almost drowned out by the crawling noise of tires over grass. His brow furrows when another thought occurs to him, and he momentarily sets his cattiness aside.] What were the chances of surviving an engine containment error?

[Tony's indignation is getting funnier and funnier and this time Luke can't help but let out a small snort at the phrase 'floppy babies'. Try harder, Tony.]

Not great, depending on how close you were to it. But because of all the power regulators, containment fields, and fail-safes, that almost never happened. You'd have to take the whole engine apart and intentionally cause a meltdown to make anything exciting happen. [Luke has an unusual definition for "exciting". Thanks, Alliance service.

The vehicle is moving so slowly that Luke actually has time to kick at a rock as he walks.] Looks like you're escorting me to the funeral after all. [His smirk is barely concealed.]

[Tony gets irritated by people who fail to understand metaphors. This is hypocrisy because he, personally, often refuses to acknowledge such subtleties himself.] So basically, [he says,] you shouldn't put a nuclear-powered engine in something that should get shot up.

Or metal tentacles coming through the walls. [For a man as intelligent as Tony is, he doesn't actually tend to rub it in the faces of people less singularly inclined along the same pursuits. And even now, irritated and getting increasingly overheated as well, he breaks off. Turns the wheel, and the vehicle with it. Of cOURSE this incidentally leads him to threaten to smoosh Luke with his car, but he's 'nice enough' to say--]

Gangway.

[Luke's about to protest and go further into the technology behind turbines and repulsor drives from his Matrix, somewhat oblivious to the source of Tony's irritation, but he's cut off by the sudden realization that he's very close to getting run over.

At Tony's poorly-timed warning Luke stops and jumps back out of the way, watching the vehicle putter away with a disgruntled look.]

... See you later, I guess [he mutters, basically to himself.]

[ Jay gives the death-trap Tony's driving a skeptical look, but Tony's a familiar face - and one that saw the horrorshow of the search-and-rescue mission with him - and he's liable to trust him far enough to get into the vehicle. But not without wrinkling his nose to make his disdain for the contraption's looks clear. ]

Well, ah. It's better than walking--

[ Then again. "It doesn't explode", in Jay's experience, is only ever said about things that could explode. But he's tired and the Temple is far and he wants to see what other bizarre symbols have been added to the sand mandala and maybe see if he can talk one of the people working on it into depicting a shoggot or sneaking a symbol of the Lord of Song into the patterns. He sighs and heaves his shoulders. ]

Yes, darling. I very much need a lift.

Get in, [Tony replies, leaning across to unlock the opposite door. It's probably not the wisest assumption, that Jay comes from a world or some experiences similar enough to his that he'd know how to open a car door, but they worked a hovercraft together so minimally he knows that uhhh

Jay knows how to open doors.] I'm making runs to the funeral and back, but if you're trying to go somewhere else, I can map a detour. [He pulls open the boot and extricates a map, hand-drawn, intricate, the circularity of Zion immediately recognizable on the page but dizzying in its complexity.] But I probably can't get you all the way to the Wizard of Oz, if you're looking for a backbone.

[Naturally, Tony hasn't forgotten their exchange on the network either. It's an offhand kind of snideness, but if Jay picks at it, no doubt he'll find himself some bickering.]

[ Jay figures out the car door easily enough - it's different to the automobile doors in his Matrix, but similar enough that he doesn't have too much trouble.

He raises an eyebrow at Tony's barb about the Wizard of Oz. ]

Emerald City, darling. Not "Oz". And in any case, he wouldn't be able to give me a backbone. Didn't you pay attention to the book at all?

[ He gets into the car and settles into his seat as comfortably as he can manage. The interior is a little cramped for his liking and he wrinkles his nose again. ]

I'm, ahhh, going to see the funeral preparations. See about ... helping, I suppose.

[ He sounds rather uncertain about that, like he's doing it out of a sense of obligation rather than a genuine desire to help. ]

You're from some weird country, [Tony decides, because casual xenophobia/attitudes of American superiority are so attractive, Tony, keep that up you're a superhero. Once the door is shut, he puts the car into gear and pulls back into the track, the tires churning dirt as it goes.] I guess the lesson of the story is a cute girl is supposed to show you that you have what you were looking for all along, so maybe that makes sense.

Lucky for you, funeral prep isn't too scary. [Vrrrr. An old man toting a basket of something on his head pauses to look at them going by. Waves a salutation, looking amused rather than annoyed that Tony doesn't, you know, stop to offer him a ride. Maybe later.] You saw dead people in weird country med school, right? And out in the field. Just now. With the blown-up Sentinels and whatever.

[ Jay smirks at Tony, deciding to let the "weird country" comment go. He's no patriot and he doesn't want to think too hard about his Matrix right now. But the assumption Tony's making there must be corrected. Jay's very clear on not being taken for something he's not. ]

Girls aren't a good incentive for me, darling.

[ The mention of med school, however, makes him twitch in discomfort. No one here, save maybe the team that extracted him, knows what his education had actually been, but having that memory prodded even obliquely is unpleasant. ]

Ahhhh, I've seen plenty of dead bodies, darling. Just ... in circumstances that had a far lesser chance of ending up with me losing face or violating some sacred taboo. You know how people get about death and burial, I'm sure.

[Yes.

Yes, Tony does. But he'd received extensive instruction about what to wear, how sad to look, what to say to the old lady who came weeping and change it up a few words so it didn't look rote for Maria Stark's distant family members. His advisors had even told him not to eat too much, though it had gone unspoken of course-- unless he wanted even more concerned persons (genuine or mercenary or otherwise) clouding his orbit, he would have to make himself eat something. In his early twenties, he had been a brat too of course, but he'd kept a lid on it then. mostly.

With one hand, he jams the map back into wherever.] This city is ruled by assertive hippies, [he says after fractionally too long a pause, not concealed 100% well by his physical fussing and driving.] They'll tell you what to do. It's surprising how much baking and basket weaving is involved in a funeral. Give summer camp a run for its money.

[ Jay grins with amusement. He's finding Zion's rites alien, too. ]

Mmmm. It's really nothing like any rites I'm familiar with and I'm familiar with plenty. At least in passing--

Could try praying.

[Tony sounds a little distant as he says it, but that probably just means it's the most neutral-sounding couple of words out of his mouth in ever. He brakes gently to turn, and guides the vehicle toward the cargo lift. They pass under the shadow of a walkway, and someone's losing their balance in a walkway above, sending just those flowers raining down.

Brilliant white petals.]

[ Jay watches the white petals fall, carefully not looking at Tony. His mouth has gone dry and his hands curl into fists - not angry, but helpless, despondent, homesick. ]

Pray to what, darling? Any gods I have believed in are fake.

Yours and everyone else's. [Tony, the consummate atheist, glances at the younger man. His left eyebrow goes up.] What, did your world have the kind that'd come down out of the sky, and ask what's up?

Is that what made you believe in them?

[ Jay scowls in Tony's direction, irritated that Tony's suggesting a god manifesting in front of one is the only real reason to believe in said god. ]

No, darling. Not since a very long time ago.

But, ah. I had ... experiences. Interesting ones.

[ He leaves it at that, for now - partially because he's not sure how to frame said experiences so they don't look like drug trips. ]

[Tony definitely would disapprove of drugs.

They enter into the shadowy box of the cargo lift. A couple of farmers end up frowning at them as they try to fit a few bales of grain around the vehicle, but Tony is a pretty good driver even if his car isn't exactly great; there's a little space. The mechanics start to grumble and hoist them up.]

Your faith was based on real experience, [he says,] or at least Matrix experiences. Don't tell any of the hacks in the Temple. [He gestures.] They don't even have that going for them.

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[01] scaramouche, will you do the fandango (open & closed)

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