anothercontinuity | (no subject)

This place you come from...what is it like there?

[ He has his suspicions. Clearly, it's somewhere advanced.

Perhaps on the same level as the elven empire of old, as Bellara had described it. Oh, the excitable tinkerer would likely have a field day with some of the things Tony was crafting. ]

Starting broad. Okay.

[ immediately his mind fills: the bright lights, the fast cars, the skyscrapers. home. a distance creeps into tony's eyes, not one of looking forward, but of looking back, inward, into memories—what he's tried leaving behind.

sniffing loudly to break out of it, tony twists pasta around his fork and shovels a helping into his mouth. he peers down at his food as he chews, trying to order his mind; to set up a comparison, a thruway from thedas to earth.

he swallows. as he talks, he can't shake that sense of loss. it lingers in his periphery, a trace of it in his words, ever present despite himself and his own efforts, no matter how hard he runs. ] In some respects, it's the same. Languages, accents, food... You call it Antivan. I'd call it Spanish or Italian. Common is English. [ except for the vast difference in their written forms, but that makes more sense to him than sharing a language galaxies apart. (still, gift horse, mouth, etc.) he had to give himself a crash course on written common early on. ]

Others? [ mouth thinned, he shakes his head. ] Apples and oranges. No magic, for starters. [ unless you count pulling a rabbit out of a hat or card tricks, he thinks sardonically, which I don't. ]

None at all?

[ So no mages, no demons...interesting.

Starting broad gives him an idea of where to guide things, however. Tony's decided what's important to point out first is points of similarity, and that could be him needing a way to anchor himself. Or it could be evasion.

Lucanis hums thoughtfully, lowering the mug to the table. ]

And you made things there. Weapons, machines, things of that sort.

[ a forced, tight smile is tony's answer to "none at all?" before he shovels another mouthful in. he thinks of the blue cube again, but even that can be explained with theoretical concepts. what she did to him...

an upside of talking about this while they eat, besides satisfying his own hunger, is that the mouthfuls grant tony time to figure out what to reveal and how to reveal it. ] Only the very best, [ he answers. ]

Edited 2024-12-01 04:24 (UTC)

Job, or hobby?

[ And he reaches for his own fork while waiting for the answer, patient enough to take what scraps Tony will reveal on his own. Perhaps he can form the picture for himself, with enough information. ]

Job. I headed a weapons manufacturer for the U.S. military. That was my country: United States of America. Land of the free. Home of the brave.

[ Military. Army. A coalition of states, united. Unlike the Free Marches.

It paints more of a picture as he chews quietly and swallows. ]

To go from supplying an army to a one-man blacksmith's shop. It must feel frustrating.

Army. Navy. Air Force. Marines, Coast Guard, National Guard... All of them. So yeah. Bit of a step down. It's been humbling, [ he admits, twirling more pasta around his fork, ] but truth be told, some people would've argued I needed that. [ a small, self-deprecating smile, then another mouthful. ]

Was it something you chose? You seem to have a passion for creation, but also...a sense of purpose. Unfulfilled.

[ Perhaps that's too blunt, too personal, but tact is not his forte. His eyes rest intently on Tony for a moment longer before returning to his plate, scarred brow arching. ]

Much as I would feel in a world with no need of the Crows, I suppose.

[ these next words tony says carefully. cherry-picked. practiced. ] Where I come from, peace meant having a bigger stick than the other guy, and I made the biggest sticks.

[ there are select points during their conservation where tony raises his eyes to emphasize or stand his ground. this is one of them: ] It doesn't matter what I chose. It was needed.

Edited 2024-12-03 02:04 (UTC)

[ When their eyes meet, there is only understanding there, the weight of heavy obligation.

Duty, family, a sense of what was needed...that feeling he knew all too well. ]

And these 'sticks' of yours. The blacksmith seems to be benefiting from them. It's drawn some curiosity around the city.

Edited 2024-12-04 14:15 (UTC)

[ no matter where he looks, tony can't find an ounce of judgment from lucanis, not a tic nor twitch. it makes sense. they come from similar family businesses. lucanis and the crows got down on a more personal level, but the result's the same: the deaths of their enemies, any of them remaining cowed, all in service of the people. ]

Eh. That's just me having some fun. [ tony scrapes the fork across the plate to scoop up some of the shorter strands. it tastes good now that he's slowed down, less ravenous. ]

Edited 2024-12-04 20:45 (UTC)

[ He hums softly. ]

And when you get serious? What does that look like?

[ Because he wants to know, as a facet of Tony, but also because he needs to know. This is his city, and any dangerous element being introduced to his home needs to be considered carefully. ]

Explosive.

[ after a glance from beneath his brow, tony scoops up more pasta, ending his answer. lucanis gets no more than that. some cards tony still means to hold close. ]

Edited 2024-12-05 00:35 (UTC)

[ It does explain the Venatori's interest, at least. ]

Then I would hope it does not come to that. I rather like my city in one piece.

Mmh.

[ that distant, inward-facing look again while tony mindlessly chews. even after swallowing, it stays. in his hand the fork rests on the edge of the plate. ]

[ Sign enough that the personal questions are likely on hold, for a moment. ]

You'll be going back to the blacksmith's once you've recovered, I assume.

[ tony breathes in, but this time he has to crawl back to the surface. it hasn't really sunk in until tonight, how much he's lost. he hasn't allowed it to. ] Uh, yeah. Maybe. [ finally, truthfully: ] I dunno.

Edited 2024-12-06 20:29 (UTC)

[ He'd assumed, perhaps, that Tony would seek out stability. The thing he'd been using to assert his independence from Lucanis, from the Crows.

Maybe more had changed tonight than he thought. ]

You don't have to decide now. Just let me know.

[ with a half-hearted smile and whispered "sure," tony pushes his remaining pasta into one glob and shovels it in. strands slurped up, he drops the fork onto the plate and grabs the brandy glass, which he holds beneath his waiting, full mouth.

he's always known what to do. what the next step was. even after his parents died, the most lost he ever felt until thedas, there was an obvious path to take. here, he has nothing. ]

[ It isn't something he's readily equipped to handle. He's still dealing with the ramifications of his own imprisonment and torture, much less being able to help Tony through his.

But he has something, here. If he wants it. ]

...take what rest you need. I can have word sent to your blacksmith friend.

If you would. Thanks. Good noodles, by the way, [ tony murmurs into the glass before he downs half of it in one go. well, that's all the objectives he set out done, food being the last. now what? ]

I thought so.

[ Again, that faint quirk at the edge of his lips, before he draws himself out of his chair. Scarred fingers reach out to collect their plates to be taken back to the kitchens, as he debates whether to leave Tony alone for the remainder of the night or not.

Surely he's been through enough, for now. And it didn't seem he had further questions. ]

[ once he's gone, tony sighs and rests his back against the chair, the hand cradling the glass lowering to his thigh. from the kitchen drifts in the quiet clinking of dishware and then the faucet running. sometimes the water hits against wood or metal, ringing duller or brighter–the telltale signs of washing. the sounds soothe some part of him. his shoulders loosen.

idly, while looking down, tony tips the glass toward himself. an easy answer to "what next" is to get drunk, but once that passes, what then? he shifts the red brandy around inside like maybe answers will float to the surface or he can peek them at the glass' bottom, but it mostly just reminds him of blood, which he's seen more of tonight than in his entire life. you'd think someone who's designed methods of death for over ten years would have come across a higher volume of it.

he's not a fighter, a soldier, an adventurer, or a demon-infused master assassin. if he returns to the blacksmith's and the venatori snatch him up again, nothing he can do will stop him from falling under their spell.

what would you do, dad? he wonders, reaching for that familiar guidance. molded through an amalgamation of his memories and the newsreels, his father appears as an imposing titan, not because of stature, but because of importance and legacy. one tony was meant to carry on. "you're supposed to be smart, aren't you?" his father huffs. "figure it out."

afterward, the specter watches him. the silence from it spreads around tony like a great chasm, an expanse, empty on all sides, and with no footsteps to follow. ]

Edited 2025-01-30 22:08 (UTC)

[ It is not a silence he is left to for long.

Lucanis pauses for a moment at the door to observe Tony, lost in thought or memory or whatever else might capture a mind like his so thoroughly. It had been a close thing, coming across him before the spell could be completed. The Venatori know of him, would target him again.

And Lucanis...is not a protector. He has no training in such things. He is a killer, first and foremost. Yet he sees the pain on Tony's face and knows he must do all he can. Illario would argue that he doesn't have to do anything, that he's not his responsibility at all, and would groan out loud at the measure of effort Lucanis is putting into keeping him safe.

...it changes nothing. Both he and Spite agree, and that's rare enough on its own. ]

I suppose you'll want a liquid dessert, then.

[ A brief nod is given to the bottle, before he finally slips back out of the kitchen, passing through the patches of light cast by the nearby fire.

For just a moment, the shadow he casts against the carpet seems split in two. ]