Marvel High: Scene #4
Sep. 20th, 2010 12:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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The cheerleading squad works on team unity.
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The cheerleading squad works on team unity.
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Date: 2010-09-20 05:04 pm (UTC)Wanda nodded, half-way through arranging Pietro's lunch for him. "Our little sophomore will be there," she promised. "I spoke with her mother yesterday. That's everyone. Brother, eat, or you'll be hungry for the rest of the day."
Natasha looked pointedly over at a sulking Pietro. "Is this a co-ed slumber party?" she asked archly, wrinkling her nose. "I was under the impression that it is girls-only."
"It's a cheerleaders-only party," Jan corrected, hunting through her salad for another tomato. She knew there was one in there. "Steve and Pietro count as honorary girls for the night."
Wisely, Pietro didn't protest this, just sighed and slunk lower in his seat.
"So I see," Natasha remarked softly. The cafeteria noise almost covered it up. She twisted her neck to look over at where the squad's co-captain was sitting with his best friend. "Steve is going to be there as well?"
"He's the other captain." A flash of red under a piece of romaine lettuce caught Jan's eye. She pounced, poking it through with her fork. She loved tomatoes. "It's to build up camaraderie. Excluding the boys would be counter-productive. We can do a girls-only thing later."
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Date: 2010-09-20 09:45 pm (UTC)For the love of Asgard/We mourn the plight of Migard/ Capitalism we have no regard/ burn these systems down/ Valhalla! Thor snarled over the driving riff of industrial metal, which sounded like a cross between a high powered drill in a wind turbine.
Industrial metal, Tony thought. It figured.
He found himself on the other side of town, invited to a rehearsal. "So you can get some ideas about the mood we are aiming for," Thor hitched the guitar strap over his shoulder, as he tied his hair back with string. Tony murmured his assent as he took a seat at the edge of the crate.
A stout lad, his features hidden by a shock of red hair held his drumsticks towards the sky, as if ready to offer sacrifice to some God Tony had yet to hear about. "Five, six, seven and -" his voice lost in the roar of riffs, their notes amplified to the point of being blurred by the ferocity of their playing. Tony had to admit, Thor's band had something, their beats primal, and Thor's voice, seguing easily from the high screams that might have pierced the corrugated steel of the roof, to low harsh growls when he snarled Capitalism which made the ground rumble underfoot. Coupled with that blonde Viking look that he had going for him, with shit kicker boots and a chainmail vest, this band was going to be a pussy magnet.
And he had to go and bet his car against Natasha's icon, in order to get into Steve's pants.
So not one of his better ideas, considering the last car ride they shared.
Steve held his books against his chest, his eyes staring resolutely at the traffic in front of them. The lights moved from green to amber.
"Don't you dare try to beat that light. Green to amber to red means slow down, not go faster."
"Well, one of us could drive Ms Daisy," Tony geared down, stealing a glance at Steve's forearms. Smooth skin with golden hairs and strong enough to look as if he could break him.
"You've seen the movies about what happens when people try to jump the traffic lights, you know better."
"I thought you were homeschooled?"
"Just because I live in Brooklyn doesn't mean that I don't have the internet." Steve said stiffly. The light turned green and Tony moved off, squelching his desire to floor the accelerator, since he know that Mr Goodyshoes here would have an aneurysm if he did so otherwise, and if that happened, he couldn't seduce him and won't be able to keep his car, and where would he be? He imagined Natasha's face when she'd be forced to give up her icon. Her features would be stony, but her eyes would flash and tell the story. Tony 1, Natasha 0, this round.
The scenario made him smile, and because of that, made him regain his good mood.
"How's the cheerleading going?" Getting laid 101: focus on what interested the subject most, and watch their panties (or briefs?) drop.
"It's been going well. We have a good team this year, and Jan is a great captain. She's super involved, knows her material and her team inside out. We have something special."
Oh ho, Hank wouldn't want to hear about that, and Tony not wishing to go down that route, because what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Or he could plead the fifth, or something. He missed civics class, and if push came to shove, he had Stark's retinue of lawyers to get his ass out of whatever fires he found himself in.
"So you're ready to smash DC into the ground, then."
"Winning isn't everything," Steve relaxed a bit, leaning back in the bucket seats of the car. "It's the stab at committing to team work, to something bigger than you."
Gaping, Tony had to stare at Steve, found his features untouched by guile, his eyes sober and - he was serious. A fricking boyscout. Whiskey, tango, foxtrot. What the -
"Tony!" Steve grabbed the steering wheel, the action causing the car to veer a sharp right, the blare of the horns from the cabs shocking Tony into the now.
"Sorry about that," Tony grabbed the steering wheel, and narrowly avoided nicking the lights of a taxi cab.
"Let me out here."
"But this is no where near Brooklyn," Tony objected.
"Not while you're driving like that, Mister," Steve glared. Tony sighed, realising that he'd have to retreat and try another day. Tony geared down, and pulled over in the bay. Steve lit from the car, leaving nothing but the strong scent of soap, and deodorant, and the fug of his displeasure.
"You're welcome." Tony quipped brightly, as Steve stalked away from the car.
Power doesn't give up without a fight/ We bring lighting and fire to the night/Warriors and Valkyries alike/ fly! To! The! Skies!
Thor wrapped up, as he finished the song with a flourish. Bam, his legs spread, his arm flung upward. As if on cue, the special effect of thunder rolled, the air sharp with the scent of ozone.
Tony pushed himself off the crate, and walked over, clapping lightly. Impressive, absolutely impressive.
"Say, Thor, what do you think about being signed to a record label?"
"That is the idea, Tony, to spread our message far and wide, educating as well as to entertain. Which label do you suggest?"
Tony stuck his hand into his pockets, a smile playing across his lips. "Mine."
I forgot this forever D: sorry!
Date: 2010-10-01 02:33 pm (UTC)"Well, no. But how hard can it be?"
"Hard," Val leaned up against Thor's side, and he obligingly slipped his arm around her. Tony ran his eyes down the smooth black curves of leather, but refrained from leering too obviously. He'd only been vaguely aware of her last year, seeing her smoking at the back of the gym sometimes when he skipped class, all torn black fishnets and cheap black hairdye. Thor had apparently acquired her at an anti-McDonald's sit-in, and Tony had to admit that if Thor had spotted the potential blonde bombshell lurking under all that silver jewellery and piercings, he was more perceptive than anyone gave him credit for.
More likely he'd been lured in by her copy of No Logo, though.
"You need marketers and promoters and distributers and things," Val continued. "And there's recording costs - if we're going to release proper CDs, we'd need to make proper recordings. And covers, and -"
"Better than signing up to a big label, though. Selling your soul to a corporation, and all. Working together, I'm sure we could get things done."
"Worker owned production?" Val arched her eyebrows. "I don't see you as a socialist, Tony. A baby corporation, maybe."
"Tony has a point." Thor squeezed her gently. "Better a baby corporation than a fully grown one, eh? He has a better brain for business than you or I."
"True." She looked at Tony thoughtfully, running her hands over the neck of her bass. "Why, though?"
"Because - " Because it makes Thor happy. Because I'm bored. Because - "Because why not. It's something I've never done before, and I think we could make a success out of it." Enough, surely. And it was something to occupy him, and it would keep him from dwelling on - he pictured Natasha's narrowed eyes, and then Rogers'defensive scowl. Did he like music? Probably not this kind.
"No harm in trying it," Thor said coaxingly, and Tony wondered if he'd actually refuse if Val didn't go for it. Surely not.
Val's lower lip pushed out in a considering pout.
"We need to start by making a master," she said, and Thor nodded. "And we'd need one of those whatever we did. So I guess, yeah, no harm."
"Okay?" Thor glanced back towards the drumkit, and got a shrug from its pilot. "Well, then, thank you Tony, we'd love to."
Val gave a little shriek of excitement, and bounced forward to fling her arms round Tony's neck and kiss his cheek. Tony put his hands on her waist and kissed her on the mouth, because surely Thor realised Tony wasn't going to make a move on his girlfriend.
"Will you pose naked for the album cover, darling?"
"Only if we all do," she grinned over her shoulder at Thor, who smiled back. Either he realised Tony wouldn't poach from him, or he just didn't feel threatened by him.
Which considering Tony's recent luck with women, wasn't unreasonable.
"It would be a powerful anti-materialist statement." Thor actually seemed to be considering it, and while Tony had no particular objection to nudity, he - well, was there any real objection? Perhaps that sort of thing sold well? He'd have to do some research.
"Maybe," he said, and Val laughed and tugged him back over to Thor, so she could put her arms around both of them at once.
"What are you going to call it?" She leaned her head against Thor's shoulder and he kissed her hair, and then they both looked expectantly at Tony.
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Date: 2010-10-23 03:57 pm (UTC)They stood there for a few seconds, looking at each other. Awkward moments were a rare, if not unique, occurrence when Tony was around Thor and his friends. Well, Tony had many an awkward moment, Thor was just one of those guys who didn’t do embarrassment, he was that cool.
It wasn’t by chance that a few spoofs of the Chuck Norris list had made it to Marvel High last year; they had featured Thor and Principal Fury mostly. Thor of course had taken it in stride.
“So!” Val exclaimed suddenly, almost startling Tony. “Beer?”
Tony shrugged his agreement and Val disappeared in the direction of the small mini-bar. Thor hadn’t said, but Tony was almost positive they pilfered it from a hotel. How they had managed to do that he didn’t know, but when he’d asked once Thor had just smiled mysteriously.
There was a bio-hazard sticker on the front.
Tony leaned back against the Stop sign hanging from the wall. “I’m not joking about signing you guys up for a record deal,” he said.
“I know. You never joke about business,” Thor said seriously.
Tony’s father was always complaining how he never took anything seriously, he couldn’t wait to see his face when he heard Tony wanted to start his own record company.
Val came back with the beers. They clinked the bottlenecks together. “Teenage rebellion, here I come,” Tony said by way of a toast.
They drank.
“So, everyone naked on the cover, huh?”
Thor laughed.
Tony looked up from his laptop as Natasha entered his room - without knocking of course. She tossed something on the bed, a bundle of paper sheets.
“The notes I promised you,” she said with a grin. “How nice of me, isn’t it?”
He raised an eyebrow at her, but she didn’t add anything more. So that’s how she had managed to get in. Jarvis should have known better, really.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she sat down on his bed, smoothing out the covers. She looked around the room as if she’d never seen it before.
After a few minutes, he snapped the laptop shut and turned to her. “I’ll bite,” he said. “What?”
“Oh, I’m just checking on my business deals,” she said. “I saw the car.”
Tony narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s still my car.”
“Oh, is it?”
He forced himself to relax. He grinned at her. “You know what I think?” he said. “I think you’re scared of losing. I think you’re here to get me to lower my guard.”
Natasha laughed. “You were subtler than this.”
“You’re getting the two of us mixed up,” he replied. “That was you, my dear.”
Natasha gave him a sharp look. “So how are the things with Mr. Rogers then?” she smiled.
“I’m working on it,” Tony said, grimacing when it came out too quickly.
“Oh, is the Stark charm failing you?” she said. “You never used to have any problems. How did you put it? To know you is to be ‘dazzled’?”
“You never used to have to check on your- how did you put it- ‘business deals’.”
“I know you, you’re not above cheating,” Natasha replied.
“The terms were pretty straight,” he said, smirking at the cheap pun. “I don’t see how would it be possible for me to cheat. But then again, takes one to know one?”
Natasha didn’t reply to that. Tony stood up, his hands in his pockets. He looked around the room and then he sat down next to her on the bed.
Natasha was looking at him and as always he couldn’t quite say what was going on in her head. He used to find it sexy, exciting. All that unexpectedness.
He trailed his fingers from her shoulder down to her elbow. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt and her skin was warm. “You know what they say about sex with an ex.”
She smiled at him, but it wasn’t pleasant at all. “You know what they say about playing with fire?”
He blinked innocently. “Fire is hot.”
Natasha smiled. She looked more like a snake than fire, despite the redness of her hair.
Thanks to
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Date: 2010-10-26 05:45 pm (UTC)"Don’t tell me the infamous Tony Stark is hesitating." Natasha laid back on his bed, arms folded behind her head. Her hair fanned across his pillow, just the way he liked it. The way she knew he liked it. "For old time’s sake? Will you play with fire?"
Pale skin was visible just under Natasha’s ribs, where her shirt had ridden up. He traced it with his fingertips, drawing them up until he could touch the underwire of her bra. She shivered and made that little sound in the back of her throat that he loved so much.
"We had some good times, didn’t we?" His nose brushed hers as he leaned over her, not quite close enough to kiss.
"Very good." She batted her eyelashes and smiled like a cat lounging in a sunbeam. When she stretched just right, her breasts brushed against him. "You have always been a… creative type. I miss that. I miss you."
Tony sat up. "You’re going to have to keep missing it."
Natasha froze. "What?"
"Do you think I’m going to fall for that? You miss me?" Laughter cracked in his throat. Tony flopped back to the bed beside her, bouncing enough that he nearly tossed her off it. "Maybe next time, when I’m in the mood to be used and abused again."
She rolled out of bed and glared at him, green eyes narrowed and teeth bared in a snarl. "You are… refusing me? Me?"
"Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?" Tony pillowed his cheek on his bicep. He smiled angelically, just to see her turn red with rage. "You know where the door is. I hope you also know how to use it. Darling."
Her chest rose as she took a deep breath, as if to yell at him. Tony waited for it, keep his expression pleasantly blank. But instead of yelling, Natasha turned on her heel and stomped out, slamming the door behind her. Pictures rattled against the wall.
One…two… three… Tony watched the door and counted the seconds.
At forty-two, tires squealed on the driveway.
As soon as it was safe, he grabbed a pillow and stuffed his head under it, groaning. What had he been thinking, turning down sex? He hadn’t gotten laid since the breakup, and porn mags were no substitute for another person, or people. It would have been a disaster, and she definitely would have used it against him, but it would have been such a hot disaster.
And he’d passed it up.
"Fuck my life."
Steve stared straight ahead, face impassive, breathing regular. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. It would just encourage them. The risks had been clear when he’d signed up. He’d known it could happen. He just hadn’t expected it to be like this.
Across the room, Pietro stayed close to the wall. His expression said everything. Better you than me.
Jan lifted the sponge from his cheek and gently pulled the paper off of the temporary tattoo. She beamed at her work. "I like this one. It looks good on you."
He didn’t know what they’d put on him, but if it glittered he’d never live it down. The rest of the team crowded around the bed, giggling and nodding their approval. Every one of them had some sort of decoration on her face. The only one missing was Natasha.
"Are you sure this doesn’t violate the Geneva Covention?" Steve asked for the third time. He started to touch his still-damp cheek.
Jan slapped his hand aside. "Stop being a baby and let that dry. Pietro, your turn."
Sorry, being gangbanged by uhh... bangs.
Date: 2010-10-31 03:23 pm (UTC)There were worse surprises, he knew.
"Professor Xavier?"
"Peter." Charles waved his ward to him, Peter placed the mail across his lap. The usual detritus of modern life; junk mail, bills and enter now for the Reader's Digest Lottery. Idly, Charles shifted through the envelopes, his fingers stopping on the letter addressed to him from Principal Nick Fury. Before he started to read, he realised that Peter had yet to leave.
"What is it now, son?"
"Mr Lensherr is here to see you, he says. If it's all right, Professor?"
Just as he thought. There were worse surprises. "See him in, Peter, then leave us."
"I'm here," Erik greeted, and no surprises there. Erik moved with a stealth and stamina of a man half his age. "Shall we go for a stroll, Charles?"
Charles linked his hands across his lap, as he looked outwards. The porch had a ramp to the side that allowed his wheelchair access, as well as the grass underneath being relatively level. He nodded, because there were things to be discussed which his wards didn't need to hear about.
"As you wish."
Erik grabbed the handles of the chair, and pushed. The afternoon felt better than it looked, the trees casting shadows on grass, dapples of sunlight everywhere. It was charming, like the water colours Moira did, between their research and before she fell pregnant with their son. Charles was content to enjoy the moment, to remember better times. The notes of Erik's cologne in his nostrils when the wind changed direction, with the heavy scent of soil and grass. Charles lifted his head towards the sun, allowing the heat to spill all over his face and neck.
"You've read the letter then," Erik said.
"Only just." Charles lied.
"Funding to be cut by the powers that be. Fury is going to have to close down the school by the end of the year. The letter is asking the parents and wards to come and meet."
"It's a hard time. The recession touches everything; roads, jobs, schools-"
His wheelchair stopped moving, as Erik dropped to his knees so that he was eye to eye with Charles. "Let me do this for you."
"No," Charles shook his head, the dreamy contentment dissolving into brittle resentment. "You can't use the school to bribe me, because of what happened all those years ago."
"It's not about that," Erik's fingers skimmed the back of Charles' palm, and Charles closed his hands into a fist just in case- just in case.
"Erik," Charles sighed, "it's always been about that. Even before it became that. I can't, I won't let you use Marvel High for whatever absolution you wish to give yourself."
"Not absolution," Erik shook his head, his heavy mane of hair ruffled and tugged by the wind. At times, when they were younger, Charles might have envied his hair, tussling it after he took the time to comb and style it. That was an age ago. "Never that," Erik's eyes now dark and sombre as his gaze settled on Charles. "A gesture of our friendship, and what we've lost, perhaps. But never that."
"I am prepared to go to court, to take this to the press in order to stop the closure of the school. If it closes down, so be it, there are other options. But you are not one of them."
Erik gave a pained half laugh. "And you say it's not about that. I probably should buy the school, and raze it to the ground. You might deal with me, then."
"You'll sacrifice the future of children, just to get back at me. I thought you were a better man than that, Erik."
"Charles, you've made it clear that you think nothing of me at all."
Silence after that comment. Nothing save the chirruping of birds - Graymalkin House had the luck to be in one of the lusher areas of the state- and the ssssh of wind in the trees.
"My driver waits. Shall I take you back to the house?" Erik asked, his voice flinty with the chill tones of decorum.
"No," Charles looked off in the distance. "I'm fine."
"Then I'll see myself out."
Natasha parked her car in Jan's driveway. By the looks of things, it seemed that the gang was all here. Hip, hip hooray, she thought with ill humour as she jerked the handbrake up. It was a good thing that Clint wasn't here, because he'd have made noises about Russian drivers, old technology and making broad hints about her riding a donkey instead of driving a car. All the men in her life right now, were assholes. She dragged her weekender out of the truck of her car, before scrambling up the steps to Jan's door. Her house was neat, very American with it's sharp, clean lines, and big windows. Natasha pressed the doorbell, willing herself to be calm, because she was a cheerleader. Bah at Jan, too.
"Natasha!"
"Hello, Jan's mom," Natasha smiled at the trim woman in front of her. Jan's mom was a designer, but not catwalk with ateliers in tow, Jan had said. She was one of those designers who focused on knits and evening wear for the high street. "Coming to an H&M near you." Jan would joke, stepping to one side when her mum threw a sample of fat quarters after her.
"Natasha," Jan's mother smiled at the joke, as if she hadn't heard it a thousand times before. Natasha felt the ragged edges of her temper being softened. "Jan and the others are upstairs. Now that you're here, I'm going out for dinner. Tell Jan no drinking, and make sure that my house is show ready for the models tomorrow, will you?"
"I will. Good night."
"Night."
As if on cue, as soon as Jan's mother closed the door with a 'click', Pietro screamed in outrage. "It is pink? And with glitter?!"
"Pietro, you look wonderful," Wanda's soothing tones were spoilt by her giggle. Natasha just remembered Clint wanting to score with Wanda, and grinned. Tony was toast, as they said here. Things were looking up.
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Date: 2010-11-12 10:35 pm (UTC)There was a sparkly pink butterfly blazoned across his cheekbone, and Natasha bit firmly on her tongue to hold in the laugh. It suited him; Jan had excellent taste even in childish games like this.
"You all look ridiculous," she said after a moment, and Pietro's scowl deepened. "I want one too!"
"You do?" Jan sounded a little surprised.
"If everyone else has one, I want one. It's not like they're permanent or anything," she put a bounce in her step, and patted Pietro on the shoulder as she passed him. Wanda smiled at her approvingly. Pietro's expression had shifted to resignation, and he let Wanda tug him down to sit on the beanbag. She cuddled up to him, and he put his arm around her shoulders and watched Jan expectantly as she flipped through her sheets of tattoos.
Natasha sat down on the bed beside Steve, who had a sparkly stars-and-stripes on his cheek. He smiled at her, too, and Natasha batted her lashes. He really was handsome; too bad he was so... uptight. Jan patted carefully at her cheek with a damp sponge, and Natasha sat dociley to be decorated.
"There," Jan sat back on her heels, the rainbow at her temple glittering. "Now we look like a proper team."
"We should do our nails next," Betsy dug into Jan's vast make-up box, and Pietro sat up sharply, almost tipping Wanda on to the floor; she squeaked and clutched at him.
"Can't we... watch a movie, or something?" Steve was eyeing the make-up box rather as if it were a snake. Natasha took his hand, and smiled sweetly; there was no harm in cultivating him, a little. It could be useful later on, if Tony seemed to be getting anywhere.
"It comes off." She held her other hand out, and Sharon dropped a bottle in it. "Grin and bear it."
"Someone do mine?" Jessica Drew said plaintively. "I can never keep my hands steady."
Children Natasha thought, but it was hard to stay annoyed with the team giggling around her and Steve's nails turning a rich royal blue under her brush. After Steve sat back with his hands splayed out, a long-suffering expression on his face, Natasha picked a rich dark crimson out and scooted over to sit by Wanda.
"I think this is your colour," she held it up for inspection, and Wanda cast a doubtful look down at her nails. "Oh, you don't manicure, do you?"
"Her nails are fine," Pietro snapped, and Natasha felt her smile ice a little.
"Let me get a file, and tidy up the edges." She didn't take her gaze off Wanda, who jabbed her elbow into Pietro's ribs. "You have such pretty hands."
Wanda did have nice hands, and Natasha began the work of smoothing the nails into neat ovals without saying another word. After a few awkward minutes, Jean and Ororo dragged Pietro to their corner for what seemed, from the corner of Natasha's eye, to be silver and pink stripes. Serve him right.
"I'm sorry about Pietro," Wanda murmured, and Natasha glanced up at her. Her eyes were downcast, and Natasha envied her thick dark lashes.
"You shouldn't apologize for him," she blew dust gently away from Wanda's nails. "Really. I was going to ask if you two wanted to come by one evening, hang out, but I suppose Pietro wouldn't want to?"
"Really?" Wanda's mouth curved. "You know, I always thought cheerleaders were kind of... you know, cliquey? But you've all been so sweet and welcoming."
"Well, you're in the clique now, Wanda." They both giggled, and Natasha reached for the base coat. "Why don't you ditch Pietro after practice on Monday, and come over? We can watch some TV, get to know each other."
"I..." Neat white teeth dug into full lower lip as Wanda pondered. She flicked a glance towards Pietro, and then back to Natasha.
no subject
Date: 2011-06-03 09:23 pm (UTC)Wanda still didn't look certain, but she nodded slowly. "I will think on it, and let you know before we leave tomorrow."
Lights flashed across the wall. Over by the window Betsy, who was still clinging to the makeup box like a life preserver, peered out from a crack in the curtains. "Is someone else supposed to be coming?"
Jan pursed her lips to blow on one of Jessica's fingernails, nudging a bit of smudged lacquer off with her thumbnail. "We're all here. Maybe my mom forgot something?"
"I don't know..." Betsy set down the box pressed her nose to the window, making a neat little lump in the drapes. "Does your mom drive a gold Audi?"
Natasha twisted around, almost dropping the little bottle of polish. No, he could not have... But it would be just like him. "Does it have red details? Like a circuit board?"
"Yeah! How'd you know?"
With a regretful little smile at Wanda for her unfinished nails, Natasha capped the bottle and turned to peek with the little sophomore. She was adorably enthusiastic, and likely right, but Natasha wanted to see for herself. She moved aside a fold of curtain and peeked through the hole.
Streetlights weren't the best, but the car was beautifully unique in shape and color. There was no missing the Stark Swoosh on the hood. "That is Tony's car."
"Tony? Are you sure, Nat?" Jan put Steve's hands on the table and spread them flat. "Don't move, you'll muss the paint."
"It is!" Betsy bubbled, bouncing on her knees and making the curtain flare at the edges. "He's outside the car now!"
Indeed, Tony had gotten out of the driver's seat and was standing with the door open, looking up at the house. He made a pretty picture at a distance, like a hero out of a romance novel, like he could begin spouting poetry at any moment. In spite of herself, Natasha's heart gave a little twist.
Jan joined them at the window, taking the other side of the window. "Okay, so Tony's here. Now... what are we going to do about him?"
Tony climbed out of his car and looked up at the house. It was a modest home for someone with money like the Van Dynes. They were almost as rich as his parents—instinctively, he'd expected a butler and maybe a valet service, tucked away behind an acre or more of property. Instead it was only two stories, probably with an attic and basement tucked away in there.
He wouldn't have been surprised if it only had one swimming pool.
Light kept flickering through the curtains in one of the upstairs rooms, as if it kept being twitched aside. Tony restrained himself from waving, but only barely. On the passenger seat floorboard, a tub of non-fat, sugar free triple fudge ice cream was slowly starting to leave a watery mark on his mats.
After five minutes, the curtain stopped twitching and the front door opened to the sound of a scuffle. In a blink, Steve was ruthlessly shoved onto the dark porch and the door slammed behind him. He grabbed a pillar to keep from falling, flailing a little before he managed to push himself upright.
The porch light flicked on.
Waiting patiently while Steve fought the girls to try and regain the safety of the house was surprisingly easy. Steve was fully clothed—a crime for a man attending a co-ed sleepover—but his thin pajama pants and white t-shirt didn't hide nearly enough for actual Steve-like levels of modesty.
When it finally became obvious even to Steve that he wasn't getting back in, he turned around and crossed his arms belligerently. "What are you doing here? This is cheer squad only."
no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 12:07 am (UTC)It figured, Steve thought, frowning at the sweet smell of acetone, his eyes widened as he remembered manicure. Slowly, as not to draw any attention to his person, he tucked his hands behind him. The gunk on his nails still tacky, almost sticky, even though Betsy whipped out an aerosol can and blasted it on his nails. "It dries in sixty seconds," she said, still sounding as if she stepped from the page of a Jane Austen novel even though she'd been living in the US for the past ten years. "Just wave them about, it'll set soon."
The only kindness they'd shown him before chucking him out onto the porch, or something.
"I was just in the neighbourhood." Tony answered, perched on the bonnet of his car.
"You live on the Upper East side. Ten miles that a way."
"Still in the hood. Thought I'd run out and get some ice cream. Better than heckling Jarvis, anyway."
"Jarvis?"
"The butler." Tony grinned, and it did his features good. Made his eyes light, and his manner- Tony was cool without it coming across as aloof, considering his storied background, expensive schools and now a butler. He just left it there, as easy as pie, without being stuffy or self conscious.
Steve realised that this might have been what Sam kept referring to as 'game', just that ease.
"Okay," Steve nodded. "Well. You can't stay here. It's a cheerleading pow wow. If you want to speak to any of the girls, it will have to wait until Monday."
"You wound me. I just came to offer my services for the purpose of 'school spirit'. We're the 'house of ideas', remember? If you guys need any ideas for your routines, I don't mind giving a hand."
Natasha Romanov, Tony had to admit, might have foxed him this time, he thought, as Steve stood there, hands behind his back, chest out, head up, like a soldier at a soft parade. Steve Rogers was unyielding, his features bland, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Tony thought about his car, her icon and took heart. He pushed himself off the car, tripped up the stairs onto the porch, and Steve didn't step back.
"Come on, Steve. Don't be like that. I come in peace - not to go on a panty raid."
"Stark, not that I don't trust you, but - I think you should leave. Thanks for the offer. I'll pass on the message to Natasha and Jan, we'll talk it over, and get back to you."
"Okay," Tony nodded, as he saw the shadows of feet at the foot of the door. The odd muffled giggle escaped from the other side, and the tips of Steve's ears were red. Yeah, now was not the time for him to try anything on. Nothing said cock block like a gaggle of cheerleaders on the other side of anything. So Tony made as if to leave, tripping down the stairs, before snapping his fingers, as if he forgot something.
"Oh," he stopped and turned, taking in Steve, the soft light of the porch turning his hair and skin gold, his clothing rumpled and lived in. "Next Friday, Thor and his band will be performing at the Vance, mid town. If you and your gang need tickets, drop me a text, and I'll see what I can do."
"Oh yeah?" Steve's voice brightened at that. "I've heard that Thor and his band are pretty good."
"They're on my label," Tony rolled his shoulders. "I'm inviting some people from Pitchfork and Vulture. It's a closed gig, but, if you're interested-"
"Wow," Steve smiled,"that's generous, thanks." Hello, nurse, Tony almost whistled, but a big fish Steve had to be reeled in, slowly, steadily. Before being tasered then stuffed and mounted on the wall.
"Sooo, I might see you Friday?"
"Oh yeah," Steve raised his hand and waved. Tony hummed as he got into the car, did a wave before he backed out of the drive way and hummed. The game was afoot.
Sam scribbled diagrams of various plays in his composition book, the scrawls of game plays on the field telling him the sad truth. There was no way around it; short of a Hail Mary pass there was no way he could come up with a winning strategy for this team on paper.
No ifs or buts about it. They kinda sucked. He ran a hand over his fade. Just got it cut, so the ends of his hair, sharp underneath the palm of his hand. In his other hand, his iphone, and he scrolled through the numbers, his heart hitching in his chest as he flicked across Carol's number.
So ask her out, Steve's voice came into his mind, unbidden. She's a volley ball player, knows about strategy, she might have some insights.
When Steve said that, it made sense, Sam had to admit. Never mind that Carol, well, Carol was -- Carol. He couldn't- she might say no.
Probably he could call her asking her for help with his trig? Never mind that both of them were in AP Math, as well as AP Biology.
Buck up, soldier, that Steve voice nudging him on again, like a blond haired Jimney Cricket. You have to spike the ball in order to score.
That, Sam grudgingly agreed, made sense. He picked up the phone again, restless, he got up from the chair, and walked over to the window in his bedroom, looking outside at the tidy yards, and street. The neighbourhood lights still on, and it being a Friday night, he should have been out, but-
Pressing the thumb against the screen of his smart phone, he dialed Carol's number. The phone rang, and he held his breath waiting for Carol to answer, hoping that he'd get her answer phone.
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Date: 2012-07-16 01:46 am (UTC)She answered on the second ring. "Hello?" Her voice had a hint of suspicion. It froze Sam's throat. Why would she be suspicious? Didn't she ask him to call? Was she backing out because he was a crazy drooling stalker?
"Hello?" Carol repeated, sounding annoyed. "Look, I don't recognize this number. If you don't do something other than breathe in three seconds, I'm going to hang up. One—"
"Carol!" Sam blurted out, then nearly fumbled the phone in surprise at the sound of his own voice. "I—I'm sorry, I was just calling—about the playbook? You offered to help?" Belatedly, he added, "This is Sam Wilson? From school? Marvel High? I go to school."
He closed his eyes and dropped his head against the glass. Smooth, Wilson. Very smooth. What was it about her that it made him act like an idiot? He'd been around hot girls before, even hot and smart ones, and he'd never had a problem before. But Carol was just... special.
"So you do." That was definitely the sound of a snicker being held back. At least she was nice enough not to laugh in his face. "So you wanted to talk about the playbook?"
"Uh—yeah—yeah, I did?" Breathe in, breathe out. One word at a time, Sam. You can do it. "We—the team kind of sucks, and the playbook too. Are you still interested in helping?" Sam had a flash of bride at having managed to string coherent, almost intelligent sentences together.
"Well, I can't right now. I'm about to go out to dinner with my parents," Carol demurred, and Sam's heart fell. Shot down.
Almost as soon as his hopes died, she took a defibrillator to them. "But we could get together tomorrow? Maybe over lunch?"
"Lunch sounds great!" Sam enthused, and managed to bite back an inane comment about how he liked food. "How about that new Mexican place down by the school? I hear they do killer nachos."
"Sounds like a plan." In his mind's eye Sam could see her smiling, maybe sprawled out on her bed with the cell phone to her ear. His heart gave a pathetic little twist. "Look, I've got to go, but I'll talk to you later, okay? Noon tomorrow?"
Sam nodded, his head bouncing up and down like it came out of a Jack in the Box. "Noon tomorrow. I'll see you there."
"Great. Bye, Sam." The call ended, leaving Sam to stare mindlessly out the window at the street lights.
Noon tomorrow. Noon tomorrow. He was going to go have lunch with Carol Danvers at noon tomorrow.
He was going to die.
If there was one thing Steve had learned through the whole Cheerleader Sleepover Experience, it was that nails took forever to dry, and that smudging them was a crime against God and all humanity. It ended up being enough time that the girls decided collectively to watch a movie before moving on to hair and makeup. Consensus ended on the latest Muppet movie, which was cheesy but at least not the romance sap fest it could have been if the girls had voted in a bloc.
Halfway through the montage of cleaning up the Muppet Theater, Steve's phone buzzed at his hip. Ororo and Natasha both raised their eyebrows at him as he squirmed to get it free of his pocket without damaging his probably still-damp nails. Sam's face looked up at him from the screen, a snapshot of him in the Brazilian jungles during his internship. Waving the phone in silent explanation, Steve slipped into the kitchen and closed the doors against the refrains of We Built This City (On Rock and Roll).
"Hey, Sam."
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Date: 2012-07-19 01:48 pm (UTC)"Um, what?" Steve replied, holding the mobile away from his face and checked the screen. Yeah, that was Sam's phone number, all right. The screencap of Sam in Brazil against his name. Unless... "I'm sorry, this is Steve Rogers, and you might-"
"Steve." Oh yeah, Steve would know that huff anywhere.
Sam was rarely driven to huffing and sulking, but as the Captain of his beleaguered team, Sam had been driven to kicking at a garbage can more than once. Relaxing now, with a laugh, Steve leaned against the kitchen counter.
"It’s safe to assume that you spoke to Carol, yeah?”
“Yeah, if by ‘speak’ you mean, ‘Me Sam...you, me? I am Sam.”
“C’mon buddy, it can’t be that bad.”
A high pitched whimper on the other end of the line as answer. Oh, boy.
“When I’m around her- Carol- I forget English. English is my first language, Steve! Around her though, I’m fluent in... gibberish and drool.”
“If only that were an AP credit.”
“I’d be on my way to an Ivy League, yeah,” Sam’s laughter now a welcome presence on the phone line. Only for him to take a breath and say, “I asked her out.”
“She deciphered that from, ‘You me? I am Sam’?”
“Bite me.” Sam said, without any heat. A pause and then, “We’re having lunch tomorrow.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know what I’ll be.”
“Hopefully, less dramatic.”
“You don’t know my pain." Sam groaned, but fair play to him, he didn't stay down for long. "But enough about me, how’s the cheerleading gag going? Have you guys painted each other’s nails or braided each other’s hair as yet.”
Steve surreptitiously eased a hand behind his back, crossed his index and middle fingers, taking care not to smudge the polish. “Mmmm, not really.”
Tony’s fingers skimmed over the keyboard so fast, their tips looked blurred. He sat on the bed, legs crossed, like a yogini, his laptop balanced on his thighs. With an absent minded hum, he finished setting up the webpage for Thor’s band, as well as banners and various links for their upcoming performance.
Just to now integrate the code for the youtube vid onto the webpage, and easy, peasy chocolate squeezy. Send off the links to Gawker, and other various social hubs, and -
“Still trolling the internet, Tony?”
“Jarvis,” Tony waved at him absent mindedly. “I’d like you to know, I’m building up school spirit, here. Thor’s band gets a presence, somehow I tie it into school spirit, and get a grateful cheerleader to-” at this, Tony raised an eyebrow. “Show me their pom poms.”
“Of course, the famous Stark philanthropy.” Jarvis stepped into Tony’s room, with laden tray of drink and snacks in hand, neatly side stepping around the heaps of clothing and discarded tech. With a withering grace that wasn’t lost on Tony, he cleared the detritus from the side table with a sweep of his hand - and placed the tray on the now bare surface.
“Noblis oblige and all that,” Tony pushed the laptop off his lap, linked his fingers at the end of outstretched arms and curved into a neat stretch.
“Quite. I have Master Pym on the phone,” Jarvis dipped his hand into his pocket, and took out the small headset that made up one of the house phones. “Something about a robotic cheerleader?”
Tony blinked in mid stretch. Then stopped, disconnected from the stretch and held out his hand.
“I’ll take that.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Oh and Jarvis?”
“Hmmm?”
“You might want to transfer Pym’s number from the house phone into my personal handset.”
“As you wish. Anything else for me to be going on with?”
“If you could just lay out my clothes for school tomorrow? “
“Of course, I live for doing your chores.”
“Ixnay on the snark, eh?”
“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” Jarvis sniffed, as he sailed out of the room, leaving Tony staring at his retreating figure. The blinking light of the ‘mute’ button brought Tony back into the moment however. Half dreading Hank’s answer, he took the phone off mute and hissed, “Hank, what have you done now?”