aggravating | spam} for Wheels McGee

[Charles honestly hadn't been expecting him, obviously. He glanced up at the knock on his door, sent out enough of a telepathic probe to tell who it was before Tony spoke and went over to open it, already looking a little confused and more than a little concerned.]

Excuse me? [But wait, more important question that he already knows the answer to first.]

Are you drunk?

[Hey, even Tony hadn't been expecting himself. Or something. But either way he's just leaning his hip against the door frame as Charles finally opens it, one hand up and a multitool thing he'd lifted from maintenance wiggling between his fingers.]

Maintenance call. I fucked up something on your chair. [And, as if Charles couldn't tell by the way he'd drawn out the 'f' on the swear he doesn't normally use and the, you know, slightly bloodshot eyes...] Moderately, yeah. Doesn't matter.

Edited (R U D E html) 2012-09-10 22:09 (UTC)

[Charles had been about to protest that Tony didn't make mistakes, and it wasn't like he'd noticed something was wrong, but the second comment took precedence for the time being, and he wanted an answer to that, first.]

Yes, it does matter. We talked about this, Tony. What happened?

[It's almost even better than having Steve around to keep Charles occupied while Tony gutted the chair, made off with the "faulty" tech and modified it on his way to blasting Loki out the side of the ship.

... Something that, honestly, he'd wanted to do since the first blow up the trickster had caused. Which might be why Tony's voice has a bit of an edge to it, now.]

You haven't been keeping up with ship gossip. Loki pulled the same crap with Clint that he did with me. [He wiggles the tool again, glancing pointedly at it] Gonna let me rework the wiring, now?

[Charles tried, usually, to respect other people's boundaries. He really did. But he didn't just shut off his telepathy, and if you think a thought loudly enough at him, he'll hear it unless you're entirely shielded.

So there was a sudden rush of anger, of images of what Tony was planning on doing, and almost without meaning to, he gasped, staring at him.]

Tony. [He was angry, and so, so disappointed, and honestly, there was a part of him - a hurting, vulnerable part that remembered being tortured and left helpless because he didn't have his telepathy and he couldn't walk - that wanted to shove him away, that wanted nothing more than to really show him that he wasn't some helpless, easily conned victim he could use like this, but he choked it down, trying to bottle the rising emotion before things got out of control.]

What the hell are you thinking? Killing Loki isn't going to solve anything. And how dare you come in here, drunk, acting like I'm just a bucket of spare parts to use whenever's convenient to you! Did you seriously think I wouldn't find out?

[.... Well fuck.

He actually doesn't even get that Charles picked up on his drunken thoughts until halfway through his tirade, until the annoyance bursts and fades back and he's left narrowing his eyes at the Professor. Anger he can take. He's fielded anger while drunk time and time again.]

Right, because killing someone who's directly responsible for my death, the death of hundreds of people back home, and who keeps trying to play us like some kind of deranged, out of tune fiddle- if Clint had met any one of us between whatever talk he and Loki had and making that post, Either Cap or I'd be laying in the infirmary with an arrow through the skull.

[He's not even touching the rest of Charles' accusations right now. Because something in what they're saying, in what he just said makes him feel sick. He's too pissed to really listen to himself, too drunk to think and reason, but he knows something's off. Something's wrong.]

Look. I need a part in your chair. You won't even know the difference. Give me five minutes and I'll get out.

Edited 2012-09-10 22:48 (UTC)

Get away from me.

[He's not really sure if it's a threat or a warning at this point, because he was not having a part in this, and it wasn't really fair to Tony, that he was having this strong a reaction to this, but that was how these sorts of things worked. There was sometimes no logic in the human brain reminding you of a traumatic time and trying to protect you from going through the same thing again, by telling you to fight or run as hard and fast as you could away from it, and it wasn't like he'd told Tony how angry and hurt he was about what had happened. He didn't know.

He forced himself to take a breath, to remember Tony wasn't intentionally threatening him, that he wasn't really threatening him at all, and he needed to focus on telling him off and getting him to stop before he did kill someone. He forced his voice to be calm - or as calm as he could manage, anyway - trying not to let the anger overpower the rest of it.]

Killing Loki in a place where he'll just come back immediately won't change what he's done. Killing him at all won't bring back the people whose deaths he caused, which I thought was motivation for you to make progress here and graduate, instead of backsliding into whatever the hell this is! [Deep breath, calm down, yelling isn't going to solve anything.]

We'll discuss this further when you're sober.

[Logic checked out months ago, Charles. Logic was never even a factor in this situation. Hell, Tony hadn't acted on social logic in decades, which is why that warning, those four words said in a tone he, frankly, had never heard Charles use didn't really register in full. Not for a while. It sparked anger, annoyance, a roll of his eyes, but he didn't focus on them, didn't even seem to really understand them.

There was a much more pressing topic to focus on.]

It'd sure as hell make a statement to him. Stop him from pulling this shit every few months just to watch us run around trying to kill each other.

[And you know what? Because he is that much of an ass, he's just going to take a step back into the hall, going to pocket the tool and reach for his flask, taking a very pointed swig of it before capping it, drumming his fingers against the metal in agitation.]

I haven't been sober in three weeks now so, uh- [He laughs, tense and harsh and not at all amused. But still, he laughs.] Have fun waiting for that.

[Not something he meant to say, not something he ever planned on admitting, but screw it. It's already catching up to him, what's being said, the topics they're touching on. Charles' anger, disappointment-

You'd better stop pretending to be a hero.

Heroes didn't use their friends. Heroes didn't take advantage of anger and circumstance to act on personal vendettas. Heroes didn't get drunk off their asses and try and make weapons out of something he'd made to help, to assist. To make someone's life just a shade easier.

As drunk as Tony was now - and trust him, it was pretty damn drunk - it suddenly wasn't nearly enough. He felt parched, felt his chest clenching and his stomach churning, felt thoughts coming to his mind and emotions clogging his throat and all he wanted was for them to be gone. For the ironic clarity totally letting go brought to him. The blissful oblivion that came with passing out, covered in spilled booze and his own vomit. The knowledge that waking up and not remembering how you got there also means not remembering what made you drink in the first place.

There's a certain comfort to that.]

[Charles had just let him go. He knew it wasn't the smartest thing, knew this could end in some kind of disaster, but honestly he was shaking with adrenaline and felt almost sick, and he didn't want to deal with this right now. And maybe that wasn't fair and maybe it made him a lousy warden who was ill equipped to deal with an alcoholic would-be superhero, but he just couldn't, right now. He was tired, he was so damn tired of being put in situations like this, and he thought Tony had understood maybe a little bit of what it was like, after that flood.

Which meant either he was wrong or Tony was just so far gone he didn't care.

So he'd stayed in his room and tried to focus on something else for a while. It didn't work, but it was better than being pushed into a corner where he had to use his powers to stop Tony, to convince him to leave or back off or walk himself down to Zero, so he stayed and waited and then his communicator chirped.

He'd headed down to the art room immediately and, after apologizing to Ariadne, wheeled himself in stopping a few feet short of Tony and just... stared at him for a moment.

He wanted to believe the best of him. He really, really did, just like he always seemed to, with people, because he'd seen the good in them, even when they couldn't see it in themselves. But Tony seemed hell bent on staying on this path, despite all the talk that he wasn't, that he wanted to graduate and help the people he'd lost, and Charles was tired of handling him with kid gloves, if this was just going to be the end result. They'd need a different plan of attack.

He brought his hand to his temple and reached out with enough force to nudge him awake, almost like he was shaking his shoulder.]

Wake up, Mr. Stark.

[Any other day of the week, he would have understood. He would have left it alone and he would have actually been empathetic for once in his life. He remembers being held under the water, wires in his chest shifting and shorting out, electricity cracking through his chest, jolting and scarring his heart as he gasped for breath and inhaled nothing but water. Walking out of there knowing that if that glowing circle in his chest ever went dim, his heart was no longer able to beat on its own.

He built something to fix his own handicap, to make it so he didn't have to carry around a battery, didn't have to make sure there was some sort of electrical outlet everywhere he went. He might not get it to the same extremes, but he does get it.

Just not now. Not slapped in the face with the fact that Loki's trying the same shit. That Clint didn't know what had happened, that he'd done the same exact thing to him that he'd been so upset, so betrayed about just a few months before. The fact that Loki was still messing with them... and Cap seemed as pissed and ready to act as he had been. It wasn't just him, it wasn't just some messed up idea, it was a messed up idea that their team leader had okayed.

He was drunk, he'd made a mistake, he'd gotten caught up in bitterness and the memories of floods, the memories of his past. He'd let anger and rage take control and twist his judgement. He'd wanted nothing more than to do what he'd done for twenty years. What he still found his hands itching to do, his mind flitting over blueprints for. Weapons was what his family had known, it was what he had been built and trained to produce. It was habit and it was second nature. Non-lethal solutions... finding those was like retraining himself. Becoming a whole other person and it had worked when he was sober, when he had full control of himself.

But he had been drunk, and when Charles had shut him out of his room, had ended the conversation with the same finality that Tony himself felt, at the time, he'd left. Gone back to his room. Filled up his flask and walked the hallways with a bottle of scotch in hand. Drinking and raging internally. He wasn't drinking to party, to draw attention. He was drinking to smother the rage and horror of the conversation he'd just had. The truth of the situation. The pain that gripped his chest and made it feel like the arc reactor had abandoned ship and left Tony to curl up and die.

So, he'd found the art room. The lock hadn't been engaged properly, he'd managed to get the door open and shut behind him, locked with clumsy fingers as he took a swig from the bottle and looked around him. Clean and organized and way too fucking happy... and he'd lost it. In the safety of that room, the door locked to intruders, he'd let out a yell of outrage, he'd grabbed what supplies he could find and he'd thrown them on the ground, ripped paper, pulled a Grade A drunken tantrum and eventually collapsed, cradling his bottle of scotch, curling up on a table. Covered in paints and charcoal with clay and plaster and grease underneath his fingernails.

And by some miracle, his sleep was dreamless.

Until something shifted, something jostled his thoughts and interrupted the resting pattern of his mind, something caused him to crack open watery, bloodshot eyes and squint against the way too bright glare of light in the room. Seriously, it was like the sun was chilling up there in the corner, the moon just kind of blocking the light a bit, but since when was the moon egg sh-]

Th'fu... [His mouth tastes and feels like cotton, his words still slurred in the end of the near alcohol coma he'd drunk himself into. He shifts, pushing himself up and swallowing against the wave of nausea hitting hard. Okay, not the moon. And not the sun. Just Charles' stupid head and the light in the ceiling.] ... Coffee, scotch'r die.

[God if he doesn't get one of those two in him, the headache he can feel coming on is going to be killer.]

[Charles looked a bit different than he had when Tony had first seen him that day, more composed if still unmistakeably disappointed and angry with him. When he'd heard what Tony had done, he'd locked everything back down and left to take care of it, and he could keep it under control to handle this. Tony wasn't a threat to him, had never been and probably never would be, and while Charles certainly wasn't planning on using his ability against him, it was still sort of steadying to remember that. He wasn't helpless here. No one was going to force him into doing something he didn't want, because he could fight back.

It had been stupid, to let that shake him so badly. Maybe he should start thinking about opening up to more people about what had happened. (Not that it was likely he'd take his own advice at this point, but.)

He could, in theory, help take the edge off. Help him push the pain to the back of his mind, so he could maybe stand up and walk out on his own without throwing up or passing out, but he wasn't exactly feeling charitable right now. He wanted Tony to feel this hangover and really realize what a disaster he'd fallen into this time, because maybe maybe he'd learn something this time. Maybe this was hitting rock bottom, and he'd have no choice but to drag himself back up.]

Welcome back. [He did, at least, keep his voice quiet, even if the disappointment and aggravation was still very apparent.] Pleased with yourself?

[This isn't rock bottom. Rock bottom is pushing away every one of your friends and living in some crummy, roach infested hotel with moldy sheets for weeks and never showering, shaving, changing clothes and just drinking. Constantly. Crawling across the floor to a bottle hit out of your hands, just for the last few drops.

Here, he would probably never hit rock bottom... but this was as low as he'd ever hit before. And some part of him, the logical, genius part of his brain that was way too fast for his own, drunken good was starting to nag at him again. To get him to stop and think. To look at the last handful of hours and realize just how bad this situation was. How bad it could have been.

Unfortunately, that part of him was just a niggling itch and nothing more. He was still too drunk, too distracted by the ache behind his eyes and the nausea his body was stubbornly keeping at bay. Endless years of practice, physical resistance to hangovers that would have landed the rest of the world in a hospital. He's invented through them, gone to school, passed exams, given lectures, weapon presentations. Right here and right now, this conversation?

Yeah. He could do this.]

I go somewhere? [He squints, refusing to wince at the sound of his own voice, even if he is lowering the volume a bit after those first words.] Maui. Maui, right? Some... tropical place. God I need a vacation, just. Beaches, bikinis, winding roads'n sports cars.

[He's feeling behind him and- ah. Flask. Flask with just a slight swishing of liquid inside it. God this flask is his best friend right now.

If only he can remember how to get the freaking cap off.]

[What Charles wouldn't given in that moment to have Erik's gift, or Jean's. Being able to snatch the flask out of his hands without touching it would have felt a little gratifying, but as it was, the best he could do was again put a hand to his temple and tell him to drop it.

He knew he would. And he felt bad, because he really didn't like using his ability on people unless he had to. It was easier to do it to a stranger, to tell them to forget that Raven had suddenly inexplicably been blue and scaly, to tell Russian soldiers and diplomats to forget about him and Erik and just go to sleep until this was all over. It felt like a breach of trust, to do it to someone you cared about.

Because even with everything that had happened, yes he still did care about him. And this really was for his own good.]

Put it down. [And he cut off the command at that, knowing what kind of damage that could be done if you went a little too far.] You've had more than enough already.

[Considering the art room looked like an angry gorilla had been unleashed in it.] Do you even remember what happened?

[Hey, you think that's bad? Try being the oldest (Thor doesn't count) guy on a team of superheroes that includes a supersoldier, a Norse God, and a green rage machine. Out of the suit? He can bench press a good amount, sure, and knows basic boxing techniques. But he's no assassin. He's no soldier. At least Charles has something extra in this place.

His hand is down before he knows what's happening, expression bewildered as he places the flask next to him and lets it go.] ... Huh. [That... hadn't been what he'd been planning to do.

He turns almost unfocused eyes at Charles, still squinting, taking in the fingers pressed to his temple and grinning, giggling and raising his own hand to mimic the motion, pointing and snapping at Charles immediately after] I get it. Jedi mind trick! Ha, nice, that- nnnno, no hold on.

[He furrows his brow, closes his eyes, and presses the back of his wrist to his forehead.]

Not- fuck, my head. Get out'f it. Or make this stop. Useful, be a useful psychic.

[Oh... memory. He stops, actually thinks for a moment, and winces.

If he doesn't focus on a blackout, he can pretend that he doesn't remember, can delude himself into it never happened. But his mind... how it works, how quickly and accurately it documents what he sees around him, how he analyzes it all... his blackouts are rarely blackouts.]

... The watercolors offended me on a personal level.

[Well, he was the leader of a gang of unruly teenagers and young adults with admittedly improving control of their powers. But then again, their save the world mission only involved some minor damage to some random beach in Cuba, so maybe X-Men were just neater, despite having only trained for like. A week.

He didn't say anything or really respond to Tony's mumbling, but he did lower his hand, not really establishing much contact at all, once more. He got bits and pieces - strong emotion and thoughts - but honestly hangovers never sat well in his mind unless they were his own, so he did his best to nudge the nausea and confusion and pain away from his own consciousness.

But he can tell he knows, even with the deflections, trying to pretend like he doesn't realize what happened. Tony's hurting too much to really discuss it right now, and Charles doesn't really want to. It can wait. So he sticks to business, and doesn't beat around the bush.]

Someone's [He figured it was a bad idea to tell him that someone was the person who'd ripped his arc reactor out of his chest a couple months ago, and there was a part of him that was already seriously considering putting Tony to sleep before Erik got here, so there was no chance of a Hitler reference or God only knows what else Tony would use to try to provoke him into actually killing him this time.] going to help me take you down to Level Zero, and you're going to be down there for the next few days. I'm leaving your communicator with you, and I'll be down to make sure you're recovering and have something to eat. Do you understand?

[Hangovers were literally the worst. Well. From a normal person's standpoint. From Tony's they were third on his list of the worst and most painful things. Topping that list was, in the number two spot, dying of palladium poisoning and two, waking up in a cave with no painkillers and a giant hole carved in your chest.

Then again, he's still not really in hangover land yet. The nap he'd taken had gotten rid of the worst of his drunken rage, and he only has a slight headache, underneath the bubble of leftover drunk that was still clouding his mind.

But oh, it was there. Lurking in the distance. A miserable experience that would literally feel like his head is being ripped apart and stitched back together a hundred times over. But for now? He's just screwing up his face as he listens to Charles, as his mind lazily struggles to keep focused on what he's actually saying.]

Yeah, okay. Sure tha- wait. No, no, wait. What? [He's still squinting against the lights in the room, still looking at Charles incredulously.] Why Zero- I didn't do anything. Just. Slap on the wrist, send me to bed. Don't you need that space for... actual murderers?

[Nope, Sorry Charles, this is one Tony Stark trying to push himself up and off of the table, wobbling and flopping back down before he can even get halfway up, cracking his head slightly on the surface with a hiss, wince, and... giggles as he reaches a hand up to rub at the spot.]

Je suis désolé, mon ami~ [French, said with a wave of his hand that's really distracting him for a moment.] Think I'll just.. sleep here. 'Kay?

N'avait pas votre mère vous apprendre à ne jamais faire des excuses quand vous n'êtes pas désolé? [Erik pushed the art room door open without touching it, surveying the damage with a long sweep of his eyes before settling on Tony.]

Why don't we stick to English, until you can actually talk?

[He wasn't sure when he started grinning, exactly, but he could feel it, lips pulled back and white teeth flashing. He was terribly amused to find Tony in this situation.

Or really, any remotely embarrassing situation. He isn't picky.

Glancing toward Charles, he arched his eyebrows beneath the helmet, knowing that Charles would prefer less antagonizing; the look he gave his friend was very much a 'what did you expect' look, before he turned back to Tony.]

Go on, get up. [He missed the falling over, but he can guess, from the way Tony's rubbing his head, and yup he wants to see Stark falling over himself.]

[It's like the cold hand of death just reached out and caressed him. As if every drop of blood in his body just froze solid, that burning kind of cold that stops your thoughts and sends shivers down your spine. The kind that has his eyes wide and focused in on the one thing in the room that suddenly even matters.

That. Grin.

Lips spread almost unnaturally wide, teeth pearly white and far too large, clenched together in that terrifying, menacing way. It's like looking into the depths of Hell itself. And for a moment, Tony knows what those poor suckers in the fifty Jaws movies felt, staring straight into the jaws of that shark he spent weeks crying over and sending angry letters about. After all, he could build a more convincing one in his sleep.

And maybe that's why, after he blinks and listens to the French, the English, tries to pick out the meanings of the words, that the fear is really hitting him. That he's suddenly swearing in a mix of languages - English, French, Spanish, Italian, Dhari, because screw you he's Tony Stark - and scrambling backwards, sliding and pushing himself off the table, rolling as he hits the other edge, ducking under and peeking up over the side, just a pair of narrowed eyes, wild hair, and fingers clutching the edge.]

You're not getting me this time, Jaws. I'm not in the fucking water. [Is all he's hissing out, as threatening and dangerous as he can make it - spoilers: it's really not that threatening - before he starts singing a quiet but intense rendition of the Jaws Theme.

A nice little chorus of DA NA DA NA DA NA DANADANADANADANA DANANAAAAAAAAAAA.]

[Charles' first thought was, honestly, that Tony had lost his mind.

He'd been about to tell of Erik a little, since he'd called him down here to help, not taunt Tony (although, really, he hadn't expected anything else, and maybe there was a slightly vindictive part of himself that didn't mind, considering how the evening had played out), and had intended to put Tony to sleep to make sure this didn't escalate any further when... that. Happened.

Unfortunately for Tony, it was another thirteen years before Jaws was released in theaters for Charles and Erik, and as such, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing or referencing as he pushed himself off the table and peeked back over at them, and he really did look a little deranged peering over the edge and hissing something that - apparently - had to do with sharks.]

I think he's gone mad. [he directed quietly at Erik, before just staring at Tony. There are no words, Mr. Stark.]

What are you singing?

[ Some of the smile slipped, replaced by no small amount of confusion. Glancing at Charles only briefly, Erik let his gaze settle back on Tony for a long moment. What the hell was this? And better yet, what sort of grown man made such a fool of himself like that? ]

I'm quite certain of it, [ he said dryly, and as the chorus went on, it wore at Erik's bewilderment. And his patience.

The absurd look on his face faded into an unimpressed on, and he reached around the table, grabbing for Stark's arm. ] Whatever it is, I think I've had quite enough of it.

[Good, you look less like a marine serial killer when you don't smile. God no wonder people wanted you to go through life miserable, Erik.

You're a fucking shark.

It's the fuel of nightmares and emotional trauma.]

Y'don- [... Okay no] Fuck that, you don't know Jaws? [He is so going to expose your asses to fine cinema, even if he hates you on principle, Lensherr.]

S'Jaws! DA NA DA NA, you know. The shark, the goddamn- no, hold on. Year... year, year. '75. You from '75?

God I'm sick of this past bullshit.

[Oh no, he sees you going for his arm, Erik. Which is why Tony is literally lurching himself away from you, actually trying to slap your hand away in his attempted scramble.]

Back off, shark face. No touchie.

[He was picking up on images now, and, well. Alright, apparently it was a film, but the more important part right now is waving Erik off briefly, bringing his other hand to his temple again.]

We're from '62. And I think you need to go to sleep, Mr. Stark.

[And, sorry Tony, your eyes are going to be rolling up in your head as you take a trip off to la la land without Erik and Charles. The telepath lowers his hand again and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, glancing back at Erik.]

Sorry. I thought this might be for the best. [In the interest of you not murdering Tony and all. :V]

[ Erik was still just staring at Tony, largely bewildered. The attempt to slap his hand was avoided (but still an annoyance, because he is hypocrite enough to think that he has every right to grab Tony, but Tony has no right to touch him), and he stood back, half lifting his hand with the intention to manipulate the magnetic fields around Tony - but Charles got there first. He didn't wait to see if Tony was completely out before speaking.]

How on Earth do you put up with him? It's as if he never shuts up.

[Charles, honestly, didn't know. Most of the time, Tony was someone who - while intensely aggravating on the best of days - Charles could easily see the potential for good in, but tonight, his patience had really run out. He knew he needed to keep it under control and get over it so he could go back to focusing on the good things, but right now he was just tired and disappointed and needed a damn drink.

Still, he shrugged, trying to smooth out his expression.]

It's not always about sharks. [And he forced himself to grin a little, glancing over at Erik.] Besides, I put up with you, don't I? [And, forced normalcy established via teasing, he looked back at Tony.]

Come on, we should get him to Zero so Ariadne can clean the place.

[ Erik pressed his lips into a thin line at that, squaring his jaw enough to make the vaguest of faces at Charles (because he was a grown man and did not just make faces). ]

Very funny.

[ He stretches out his hand fully this time, and Tony lifts off the ground as the magnetic fields around him contort. ]

You know, now that he's silent, this may be one of the better moments I've experienced on this God forsaken ship.

[Charles was about three seconds from telling him to put him down before realizing Erik was using the magnetic fields and not dragging him up by the arc reactor and shrapnel in his chest, and he mentally swore at the helmet again, for not being able to just sense the intention.

So he just sighed and rubbed at his temple, grimacing, before turning to leave the art room.]

I've had better days.

[Come on Charles, where's a bit of that infinite faith you have in people? Glancing back at Charles, Erik floated Tony in front of them as the entered the corridor, letting his head loll forward.]

Are you going to tell me what the hell happened, now?

[It's momentarily bruised because Tony. :| Also after you've played hide the arc reactor once, it's hard for that not to be the immediate concern when the two of you run into each other.]

Mr. Stark- [And almost as if on cue, Tony let out an impressive snore, apparently determined to be annoying even while unconscious. Charles swallowed a frustrated sigh.] Has apparently been drunk for the better part of the last three weeks. We had an argument about what constitutes acceptable adult behavior on the Barge in reference to him trying to settle a score from back home, he left and I got a call from Ariadne saying he'd destroyed the art room and needed someone to come pick him up.

[It's a fun game okay, everybody enjoys it. Rolling his eyes at the snore, Erik shifted his hand and let that jostle Tony, his head flopping backwards. Erik was perfectly all right with the idea of Stark waking up with a crick in his neck.]

Three weeks. [There's disgust in his voice; really, Tony, he just thinks that's pathetic.] It's a wonder his liver's survived.

spam} for Wheels McGee

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logic was never an option?

tony stark built his logic replacement in a cave. with a box of scraps.

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<- p much exactly how he feels right now. just saying.

omg perfect icon also I can change if this isn't okay

everything's always okay c:

you're too good to me :c

I'm too good for everyone \o/ YEEEEAAAA

forgive the google translate French, it's been too long /o\

lmfao you say that as if I ACTUALLY SPEAK FRENCH 8'D

I love everyone in this bar. jsyk.

drinks for everyone.

PUT IT ON TONY'S TAB! Except Erik. Erik can fuck off.

But :C

fuck you Tony you don't get a tab anymore >(

that is also true

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