[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.
no subject
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.]