2012-11-04 Rattled

Stark Mansion is a complete mess. Mainly because Tony Stark has made sure that any and all 'help' is not around. He's not doing so hot and he can't have people around seeing that he's not doing so hot. Things are already on a downward spiral for him and he's just going to try and go through the motions of all this until he can get himself into a better position or something. Not that there's even a better position to be in, to be perfectly honest.

Right now? He's just kind of sitting at the bar in one of his many rooms. It's easy enough to get inside and follow the trail of empty bottles towards one of his entertaining rooms. This one is sort of a lounge. There's a huge television and a pool table and all kinds of seats. But the most important thing is the bar. And that's where Tony is sitting right now, nursing yet another Whiskey. Neat. The television is blasting him about his Wakanda Fail at the moment. Media. The first indication that someone else in the room comes when the television's commentary is abruptly cut off. "Sorry," comes an apologetic voice, and a moment later, Steve Rogers lightly sets a remote control down on the bar next to Tony's whiskey as he slides onto the next stool over. "I've about had my fill of the modern news media lately." Steve's known for a long time that alcohol no longer really has an affect on him. After a moment spent quietly studying Tony, however, he starts looking around for a clean glass. Misery loves company, and Tony sure does look miserable. "You hangin' in there?"

"Unfortunately, I'm still breathing. So there's that."

Tony's not exactly sure how to really react to the Suddenly Steve. But he's more interested in making sure that he continues to wallow in the despair that is everything he's managed to mess up in the past few days. "JARVIS? Youtube. Wakanda Fail."

The AI almost seems to sigh before the far wall flickers to life with YouTube loading and viral video of the Wakandans leaving Stark Tower and all of their angry and offended comments. Yeah, Tony Stark doesn't need a remote control or television to wallow in his own despair.

"By the way, dibs on everything that's not water." There. That should stop Steve from drinking any of his stuff. And wasting it.

"Breathing is a good thing," Steve notes, lips curving into a wry, humorless smile. "Doesn't always feel like it, I know. Ice counts as water, right?" He slides right back off the stool so he can move behind the bar itself, and at least get himself a glass of ice water. He doesn't mind letting Tony have his dibs. Not right now.

Maybe later. He'd see how the visit went.

"Just don't drink it all at once, Tony. It'll hit you a lot lighter if you pace yourself," Steve notes, and he makes no effort to mask the concern from his face or voice. "What happened? With that," he clarifies, gesturing towards the Magical YouTube Wall of Wakandan Shame. "What's got you so rattled?"

"Don't drink it all at once, Tony." Tony rolls his eyes as he annoying voice mimics Steve's concern and finishes off the whiskey in his glass. He's already moving to pour another one for himself. "It's mine. I can drink as much of it or as little of it as I please. And if you try to stop me, I will call security." Not that he actually has security right now. But whatever. He's just saying whatever because he's on Tipsy Street.

"I'm not rattled. Do I look rattled? No. I don't think so. I think I look amahzing. And by amahzing I mean amazing. More amazing than Spider-Man even." Stark is already lifting the new glass of whiskey up to take a sip from it. "How do you suppose Spider-Man deals with stuff like this? I mean, /everybody/ hates him, right?" Deflection! Steve makes a thoughtful noise as he pours his water. "If I had to guess... probably by deflecting concern with humor," he replies lightly, offering Tony a small smile. "It's what a lot of us do. I know I do it, when I'm not just sulking, or punching things, or... you know." He gestures at Tony's drink. "Re-learning that doesn't work for me anymore."

"I'm not gonna ask if you need help," Steve adds, leaning lightly on the bartop. He's ignoring the video completely -- he's seen it, just like Tony has. He's more concerned with other things. "Though the offer is there if you want it. I want to know something else."

It's too bad Steve has no idea he's channeling a very good television series, because the way he asks "What's next?" is uncannily Martin Sheen of him.

"I'm thinking of buying a small island and filling it with cheerleaders. That sounds like a good way to go, doesn't it?" Stark is just rambling off answers without any real thought to them. He's already in the zone mentally and he's losing more and more of his thoughts the more he's drinking. And there's no hope of him stopping the drinking so there's that to consider also. He's just in a very interesting place right now.

"Hey, did you know I'm rich enough to buy an island? Maybe two? Hell, I could probably buy a continent." There's another wrap up of the Whiskey that he just poured and he's pouring another one when he gets this weird smile on his face. "Wait. I just solved everything. I'll just buy Wakanda." And the viral video just starts over. Stark hasn't even looked at Steve this whole time. Been watching the video. That's okay. Steve's a big guy. He can step out from behind the bar and plant himself between Tony and the screen. He's sure Tony can /move/ the screen, but that's why God gave him legs. He's plenty mobile, too. "I'm worried about you, Tony," he says, hoping that stating it plainly might have /some/ chance of registering. It probably won't, Tony is a stubborn guy. But he has to try. "Whatever trouble you're having, I want to help you get through it before you drink your life away and can't fix it."

"Did you not just hear me solve the problem? First of all, I'm not going to drink my life away. I'm not even drunk right now. I'm just having a few drinks to get me through this rough patch. It's what all self-respecting mutli-gazillionaires do when they make a few mistakes. Granted, I didn't really say anything that wasn't true. So in reality, none of this is actually my fault. But you get what I'm saying." And it seems like the Tony Stark Defense is set to High.

"It's cute that you're worried about me, Old Man. It really is. I'd be flattered if you were my type. But have no fear. It's going to take a lot more than some bad press to break me. I'm Iron Man, remember?" "Do you?"

Steve was prepared for this, for the defenses to go up and the jabs to start coming. It doesn't make him any happier about it, but it does mean that he's able to stay calm, at least. He had some lead time.

"Do you remember?" Steve asks, raising his eyebrows at Tony. "Why did you build the suit, Tony? How much good is Iron Man doing while you fill your mansion with empty bottles and push your friends away for having the gall to worry about you when your life's hitting a patch nasty enough to hit the national news?"

"Whoa whoa. Let's back this train up a little bit. Exactly when did Tony Stark get friends?" Yeah, that's right. He's just straight up dissing everyone that considers themselves to be a friend to him. And that's why he's drinking his sorrows away. Because he doesn't feel like he has anyone to talk to. Even though everyone wants to talk to him. It's really difficult being Tony Stark, y'know.

"Look. I get it. You're here to be the Voice of Reason. Well, I hear you. Loud and clear. Ten Four. Over and Out. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?" Stark doesn't even try to get any of his military terms right. It's more of a jab that way, you see. "But I've got this. I got through my childhood alone. I got through MIT alone. I got through turning Stark Industries into a giant pile of money alone. Which pretty much means I don't need you or anyone playing the 'make sure Tony is alive' game. I'm fine. End of Story." Crunch. Crunch. "Cheese doodle?"

Notice how he decidedly did NOT respond to anything about his suit. HMMMM. Steve does not know what a cheese doodle is, but he reaches out to take one all the same. Of course, once he's actually eaten it, Tony Stark is no longer the only man in the room consumed with regret. Rise above it, Rogers.

"You're missin' the part where you don't have to be alone /now/," Steve points out, and the gentle firmness in his voice is only /slightly/ marred by the odd face he's making due to the cheese doodle. Ick. "You have people around you who, for reasons beyond even our own comprehension, actually /like/ you. Not your money, not your suit, not even your brain." Definitely not his brain. "You. We don't want you to carry this burden, whatever it is, by yourself."

Steve falls quiet for a moment, and very slowly, his eyes narrow in thought. "So... why hasn't Iron Man been around lately?" he asks slowly. "Did something happen to the suit?"

"The suit is fine. Iron Man is fine. I'm fine." Tony is starting to feel like he's some sort of broken record that's worth a few gazillion dollars. Which is just fine and dandy with him. If he has to keep repeating himself to get these people to leave him alone then that's just what he's going to have to do. He's all for making sure that he's getting the upper hand in these conversations. Not that he's even going to remember this conversation by the time he's finished drinking himself into yet another stupor.

"Let's just say that nobody really needs the Iron Man. I mean, we've got Captain America. We've got Superman. We've got Spider-Man. We've got the Green Hornet. We've got Kermit the Frog. The world has enough heroes, Steve." Tony shrugs a little bit. "The last thing we need is some rich guy with a chip on his shoulder galavanting around the city taking justice into his own hands to avenge a wrongdoing of some sort." "A lot of people play at being heroes, Tony. Not everybody who makes the news is truly worthy of the title." Steve reaches out to try and lightly tap Tony on the chest, right over the familiar blue glow of the arc reactor. "Real heroes don't believe in hopeless situations. You've thought your way out of them before, more than once. And if you'd stop drinking the entire eastern seaboard's supply of whiskey, I know you could think your way out of the situation you're in now, with or without anybody else's help. You /are/ a real hero, Tony," he says, genuine conviction in his voice. "You're not a pretender to any throne. You belong."

"Seriously?" Tony looks down at the finger that's tapping on the glowing Arc Reactor in his chest. "You're seriously going to play the Arc Reactor card?" Tony rolls his eyes a little bit but doesn't budge. Instead, he just downs the rest of his latest glass of whiskey. "You do realize that this thing in my chest is the only reason I'm not dead already. Oh and it's also the reason that there even is a suit. Oh and if I wasn't a Merchant of Death in the first place, none of this would even be happening right now and you and I would probably be punching each other in the face instead of having this conversation. So. You might want to rethink that whole 'I belong' bullshit. Because before this?" Tony takes to tapping his own Arc Reactor. "I was just as bad, if not worse, than some of the jerks we put down now." The corner of Steve's mouth twitches upwards. The jerks /we/ put down now. Good. Tony /is/ still in there somewhere.

"I gotta play the cards I've got, man," Steve says helplessly, spreading his hands. "And you're making my case for me. You were going to die. It was a certainty. An impossible, hopeless situation. A lesser man, a /normal/ man, would have just rolled over and let it happen, but you?" He nods down at Tony's chest. "You saw no existing way out so you /invented/ one. You didn't take no for an answer. You saw something wrong and unjust and you fixed it."

"And lucky for me, I don't have to do that again. Why? Because these guys have done it for me." Tony takes this moment to give a Vanna White display hand towards the huge wall of liquor that is behind the bar that he's ever so close to. It doesn't look like he's going to be leaving this particular section of his mansion any time soon. At least, not for the forseeable future. Even if Steve has managed to sneak a couple of Heroic Stark statements out of the drunken fool. He's a little too tipsy to be fully on his game anyway. "Listen. I get it. You knew my Father so you think you know me. A totally plausible mistake to make. But here's the thing. Howard and I? Not exactly the same. First of all, I'm way more good looking. Secondly, I'm already working on a business deal that will serve as a sufficient apology to the Wakandans. All I'm doing is having a few drinks to celebrate." Steve turns in place to survey the sea of bottles he had to walk past just to reach the bar. "A few," he echoes, with a nod. "Okay. So tell me about it," he says, moving to hitch back up on a bar stool. "What are you thinking?"

"Spoilers." Stark is not about to admit that he has no plans besides Buy Wakanda. Which if he gets drunk enough, he just might actually try to do. Which will probably make everything even worse. WHich he may be okay with by the time he's drunk enough to do something that stupid. But right now, he's just trying to appease the Captain. "I'm not going to ruin the surprise for you. You'll have to watch that thing we call a Television to find out like everyone else." "Please don't try to buy Wakanda, Tony," Steve says, and even though he looks like he might laugh, there's an undertone of dread. It's Tony. One does not even /try/ to guess what he will or will not actually try to do. "Tell you what. I'm going to get a pizza delivered so you've got something other than cheese doodles and liquor. And once the pizza is gone, I'll get out of your hair for the night."

"I'm allergic to pizza." Tony is just saying whatever at this point. "How about, instead, I go take a shower and we hit the club scene? I can't wait to introduce you to Dubstep. Your head is going to explode." Somewhere in the midst of all this, Tony has poured himself another drink and he's already drinking it down. "You're going to have to drive though." It seems as though Stark has already made up his mind. "If I drive you anywhere tonight, Tony, it's probably not gonna be to a club," Steve says wryly. "Fair warning." And what the hell is a dubstep? Whatever. Not important right now. "Go ahead and grab a shower, though. Maybe I'll change my mind by the time you're done." Or maybe he'll have called Bethany to help him get rid of all the booze they can find in the house. One of the two.

"You're so boring." Tony rolls his eyes and takes another swig of his latest drink. "Well, since you're not going to have a good time with me, you should probably exit the premises. I'd hate for people to find out that Captain America is trespassing on private property." That almost sounds like something of a threat, because Tony's smirking as he stumble-walks his way away from the bar. He's losing it but he's managing to not even spill a drop of the whiskey that he's got in his glass. Skill. "Heaven forbid. Go sleep it off, Tony," Steve replies wryly, leaving his glass on the bartop as he turns to start back the way he came. "You know how to reach me if you need help with anything."

"I'm not sleepy." Tony Stark is barely making it to the sofa. In fact, when he has to take a step down to try and get to the imported sheep leather or whatever, he stumbles and falls. The glass drops, but doesn't break and the liquor pretty much ruins the carpet. Tony? He's down for the count. He's apparently way more drunk than he was letting on because he can't even move now. Done. Next. Steve stops just shy of the doorway and looks back, and after a moment, he sighs. Right. He turns right back around and crosses the room, nudging the glass aside with his boot so he can make sure Tony is good and unconscious before hauling him up off the floor, and laying him out on the sofa instead. "I'll take that as a request," he says to himself, and with that, he turns to level his eyes on the bar.

"JARVIS? Where do you guys keep the trash bags?"