2015.02.23 - How the Argus got HBO

"Give me some good news, Hartnell." Maria Hill is at one of the rear stations on the helicarrier's bridge level, talking with an agent known for his shock of white hair and penchant for grasping the lapels he added to his uniform. As the man talks about the coded message and the linguistical anomalies of this particular message, Maria is pacing back and forth, trying not to look too much like a caged tiger. Trying.

"Look, I know you SAY you're sorry, but I'm not convinced you mean it. I'll have to let the SHIELDies figure out when you're truly ready to repent for you sins and start on the straight and narrow road of civic duty and filing taxes."

One of the additions to the latest iteration of Iron Man's armor: twin speakers hidden in the chest panel that simulate a 'boom box' effect. It might not seem to be the most pressing design concern, but it definitely makes it much easier to hear the Armored Avenger when he's flying through the sky at near Mach levels. To think, just a few months ago the prisoner in Iron Man's clutches would have missed out on the charming banter from Mr. Anthony Stark, Esquire.

The Mark XLII soars gracefully through the air, despite having a Big Ugly Villain clutched in the armor's right hand. He appears to be in no immediate danger from being towed through the air in this way, and is clearly pretty resistant to damage. "Don't worry though. Our SHIELD agents are experts in rehabilitation. I'm sure that after they pick a cell to put you in, you'll be back on the streets and rescuing kittens from trees in no more than fifteen years."

Whether or not the captured Ugly can speak, he apparently decides not to exercise that right, grumbling with his arms folded in front of his face. Iron Man rockets toward the Argus in a beeline fashion, heading right for the main deck. "Oh crunch! Jarvis, did you remember to log my flight plan with SHIELD HQ?"

A couple of minutes later, Tony is stepping out of the lift. His parcel has been delivered, and his statement has been given. With his armor's faceplate up, he looks around the bridge crew with his traditional look of respect and skepticism.

"You know, when I deliver bad guys to the Army, they always offer me bourbon."

Regan Wyngarde sits near the back, curiously watching Hartnell. Such an odd little man the old duffer is. When Iron Man strolls onto the bridge, though, Regan's attention is understandably diverted. "Huh... is that...?"

Karla makes her way out of the elevator. A Saturday, she should probably not be here, she rarely does weekends. She looks in front of her only to spot Warbucks himself. Then her eyes go to Maria and Regan, a faint smirk at Regan's question. "It is.. Me." She comments with a grin before looking over Ironman's costume. "Mr. Stark. Nice outfit." She says as she starts toward the water cooler. "Which of the Walker brothers do you prefer?"

Maria Hill doesn't have to look up. "Evening, Stark." Hartnell continues, until Maria cuts him off. "If you were trying to convince me to assign you Chesterton and Wright, you needed only cut to the chase. I'll let them know." The man nods his thanks and toddles off back to the desk he uses as his own. "There's a bottle of bourbon in my office if you're that desperate, but I can't promise it's a brand you prefer." Maria is ex-USAF. What are the chances she and Tony have a drink brand in common? And she might as well: "Stark, have you met Agent Wyngarde?"

"What? NATO spent... $46 billion on this thing, and they couldn't cough up a couple thousand bucks for a decent bar? You poor guys are living like orphans in a Dickens novel." When you walk around in a suit of powered battle armor, you get used to being gawked at. But Tony seems to take it pretty well in stride. "Don't worry, Agents of SHIELD, I play golf with a couple of the Council Members. I'm sure I can get the funding issue sorted out, and possibly get you guys HBO. Nobody who protects the world from threats that I can't spell... should have to miss out on the season premiere of True Detective."

So... apparently he isn't here for anything too pressing...

"Apparently drinking on duty is one of those Rules that carry more than a slap on the wrist, Mr. Stark," Regan isn't quite purring. But c'mon. It's Tony friggin' Stark. The guy's got money, charm, and a wearable tank! She pushes up from her seat, and smooths her hands down her clothes, and looks about ready to saunter over..... But a brief sidelong glance towards Maria prompts a rethink. "I'd offer you a seat, but .. I'm not sure we've got anything up here sturdy enough." One can almost hear the abruptness with which she decides /not/ to complete suggestions regarding Tony's potential comfort.

Maria Hill glances at Karla for a brief moment, nodding at her arrival. "I don't think we have much time for HBO, frankly," she tells Tony. "Though I'm sure someone uses the internet to watch when they're off duty." After all, it's not against the rules to have private computers on the helicarrier. They do get looked through by staff at random, just in case. "What brings you by tonight?" Karla gets her water, and takes a sip. Then she pulls a napkin from the dispenser as she walks over towards Regan, "You might need this. It is okay, it is Pavlovian to the word billion from a billionaire." The head shrinker says and glances to Maria. "Would you like me to get it for you?" She asks about the bourbon, for now though she seems content with her water. "Forty-six.. When you sell us the next one, Mr. Stark, just put it in the plans."

With his faceplate raised, there's enough of Tony's face exposed to let both a smile and a wink through in Agent Wyngarde's general direction. Neither are particularly subtle, but nobody who has ever encountered Stark has ever called him subtle. "It's okay. I won't be here long, though I've got to admit that I'm genuinely wounded to hear you think I need a reason to stop by for a visit, Maria. Maybe I'm just here to woo you away from all this paramilitary drudgery?"

So... apparently he isn't here for anything too pressing...

Since there's nothing sturdy enough for him to sit on, he simply finds a console to lean against. Strategically chosen, it's pretty centrally-located between all three of the most interesting women on the bridge. "To be honest, I was just here dropping off a superpowered villain I nabbed a few minutes ago. Figured I'd poke my head in and say hi while I was at it."

The napkin is graciously accepted, and a thpppt graciously extended in return. Regan calmly wipes her lips and chin with the napkin, before tossing it in the nearest trash bin, "Boss, I hadn't heard about this Bad-Guy Delivery Service. Gotta say, it makes a nice change from us having to go find them. Maybe we have HBO time after all." Or maybe, just maybe, if this becomes a regular thing, she can stop fighting Yamaguchi about 'get out of bed /now/' time.

Maria Hill quirks an eyebrow. She certainly wasn't expecting that. "Who was it this time?" There's a list of people Maria /doesn't/ want it to be, because frankly she's wanted to punch a few Raft escapees personally. Tony's offer gets a bit of a smirk and a shook head. "I'm comfortable here, though I think Wyngarde might enjoy being taken away." Yep, she's teasing the new girl. Just a bit. "We can't ask Stark to do everything for us, Wyngarde. You know that."

"Kept calling himself 'The Pounder', but I recommended a good PR firm, so he'll probably change his name soon..." Stark rolls his eyes with mock exasperation. He clearly gets as much fun out of antagonizing his villains as he does out of capturing them.

Speaking of things he gets fun out of... "But if I'd known you were going to brush me off like this I might have just left him. And now you're trying to pawn me off on one of your agents like yesterday's jam? One of these days I'm going to stop chasing you, Maria... although... actually... she IS about the right height." He looks over in the junior agent's direction, and rubs his goatee with armored fingers as if he were actually doing some serious evaluating. "I bet she'd look great in a miniskirt with a martini in her hand. Why don't you have her come work with the Avengers? We never seem to have enough liaisons."

Teasing? Flirting? Regan slips easily into familiar habits. It's one of the (many) areas she still needs to show improvement.. buuut. She cocks her hip to one side and rests the back of her knuckles upon that hip. With the other hand, she flips her blond hair back over her shoulder. "Great? Mr. Stark, I should be offended. I look /amazing/ in a miniskirt..." She leaves the obvious and cheesy tail-end of that sentence dangling out there, before half-pouting at her superior, "Aw, boss. I would never suggest he do /everything/ for us. Just that... you know... I'm sure there are plenty of things he'd /love/ to do." Pause. "For SHIELD."

This is what you get for offering a former supervillain the chance to reform, Maria. For a long, quiet moment, Director Hill stares at Regan. She ends up pinching the bridge of her nose and turning away towards her office. She returns, holding that bottle of bourbon she mentioned. "Don't go telling me this isn't as good as whatever the army's been offering as a thank you, now."

"I've always said that I was happy to provide whatever service SHIELD required..." Tony lets the sentence hang there for a second before frowning. "Actually, no, I've never said that. But I'm going to make it my new catchphrase." He stops leaning on the console, and the console groans just a bit as if it's thankful to be relieved of the burden. Of course, his armor was mostly holding up its own weight, but that's so not the point.

"I really shouldn't stay much longer." For a second, he looks as if he's about to turn around and leave, but he stops himself right before he does so. "But what the hell? It'd be rude to turn down a chance to see what you're like when you've had a few drinks, and I could actually really use a drink myself: I had a light lunch."

Regan Wyngarde has enough awareness to cough lightly and settle her butt back down onto her chair while Maria is off fetching the bourbon. "I... should probably get back to work. Nothing screams exciting like reading in-depth intel reports on local agribusiness and political corruption... Woo." See? She can behave. Really. Totally. "Just be glad I'm not assigning you the Latveria reports," Maria snaps. She produces three plain glasses, pouring a bit of the bourbon into each. One goes to Tony, she puts one in Regan's hand, and takes the last for herself. It's late, nothing of seriousness is likely to happen, and technically Maria's off duty anyhow.

Tony cradles the glass carefully. He's always got to be extra careful when handling fragile items in the Iron Man armor, even with the refinements he's made to the gauntlets.

The glass is raised, and he swirls the bourbon around gently in the glass. "Well then, let's drink to good ol' Doctor Doom. To old friends, new acquaintances. And... to miniskirts." He downs the drink quickly, but not TOO quickly, savoring the taste even if it isn't quite his brand of choice.

Regan Wyngarde purses her lips, then lifts her glass with a bit of a toast, with a bit of a grateful nod to Maria. "Pretty sure none of us would want me handling the Latveria reports, so consider me super grateful." She nods at Tony's toast, and sips from her glass. Even manages to control most of her expression at the hit, a notch stronger than she's used to. "Woosh."

Maria Hill takes the drink even slower than Tony. She can handle it, but she usually only busts out this stuff once a year. If that. So she's re-acclimatizing, in a way. "That's why Hartnell is doing it," she tells Regan after nodding for the toast. "That guy lives for the ridiculous Latverian coding practices. Probably going to write a book on it all, I swear."

"Incoming download."

The slightly robotic, very English voice emits into Tony's ear just when he was starting to enjoy himself. "Files from Ms. Potts concerning tomorrow's shareholder's meeting, with instructions to read on the flight home."

Tony sighs, setting his glass down on Agent Wyngarde's desk/work station thing. "I just got a message from my butler/robot life partner... looks like I've got to head home and do homework. Something to do with the international conglomerate I own. But I promise not to be a stranger, and I'll have Pepper work on that restructuring proposal I owe you."

He waves a bit bashfully, like a kid who is getting called home for dinner, and heads toward the elevator. "Stay classy, SHIELDies."