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[Have an equally unimpressed sniff. This is why they're friends.]

So does flying around in a metal suit but we humor you.

[ ........ You know what. ]

Fine, I'll own that.

Gimme twenty minutes to prepare a series of weapons and self-defense contingencies.

[ aka that's probably about how long it'll take him to get back to the med tent from wherever the heck he's wandered to. ]

[ 1961. ]

That explains...

So many things.

[Okay, the way he says it makes it sound like she's being made fun here. Her expression darkens. She grabs the pillow and angrily throws it at him.]

Oh, fuck off you asshole! You think your time is better than mine?!

[ Tony lets the pillow pop him in the faces and catches it as it falls, looking smug. ]

"Better" is a matter of subjectivity and selectiveness. Music, for example. Waaaay better in the sixties. No contest.

On the other hand, medical science had yet to definitively link cancer and the chemical compounds found in cigarettes, meaning doctors were encouraging their patients to slowly breathe in murder gas. Somewhat less great.

But again: The Animals? The Beatles? Once in a lifetime.

I don't know any of those artists. [She huffs. His smugness isn't really helping with calming her down.]

And okay, so. You might be right about that but so what? It's not like you people in future have stopped smoking either so who cares.

Not everyone has stopped, but the ones who do are making informed decisions.

[ He briefly thinks of a childhood smelling Obadiah Stane's expensive hand-rolled cigars and then decides he'd rather not consider that at all. He gives the pillow a careless toss back in her direction. ]

Also, remind me to introduce you to The Beatles at the soonest opportunity, because you're missing a cultural experience.

[The party is dying down towards the end of the night. Instead of roaring the fires are just a warm glow. The music is soothing in the air as most people still awake have dropped into quieter, more intimate conversations.

Hawke is exhausted. But she can't sleep.

Every time she closes her eyes. She thinks about Bethany. Or she imagines herself being swallowed by an unknowable and powerful darkness that she can't escape. So she wanders the outskirts, never really engaging anyone, brushing away anyone who knows her with a quick gesture.

Then she stops on one figure in the fading light. She would have expected he would be with Pepper. Then again he never sleeps and maybe somethings and some people never change. Hawke walks over and drops next to him, a blanket wrapped around her thin shoulders, and leans her head against his shoulder. She seats herself strategically so she's a bit behind him, so she's resting against the back of his shoulder with her forehead and its harder for him to see her face.

She doesn't say anything. It's just a gesture. Nothing more.]

[ Pepper sleeps. It's a proven fact.

Tony Stark, on the other hand, does not. At least, not as much as doctors say he should, or as much as Pepper tells him he should, or as much as he knows he should. And that was true even before the last six hellish months happened.

Anyway. Pepper sleeps and he doesn't, and he'd rather not disrupt the former because of the latter, especially when Pep needs all the rest she can get. She probably won't notice he's slipped out of the tent for another few hours at least, which is why he takes as much time as he needs to sit and think (or try not to think), his hands twisting uselessly between his bent knees. It's a testament to a lot of things that he doesn't jump when Hawke settles against him, just glances sideways out of the corner of his eye.

The silence sits for a long while before he pipes up. ]

Probably doesn't mean much to you dragon land people, but I'm pretty sure tonight's Christmas.

[Hawke shifts a little against him, forcing herself to open her eyes that desperately want to be closed despite not at all being interested in sleep. A deep part of her is glad that he didn't jump or make any sign that he rejects her. Instead he simply knows her. She doesn't know what "Christmas" is but she can guess.]

A holiday? Lucky fate. I love holidays. You get to sleep in and eat more food than you should be legally allowed to and no one can stop you.

[And drink, which Hawke does out of a flask. Thank the Maker for you Varric. But other than that, haha, funny joke between the two of them little eating or sleeping is done.

Edited (varric has booze now hooray) 2017-01-01 20:30 (UTC)

So one of the broken Ingresses spat someone out today that I thought you'd wanna know about.

Is it someone who wants to kill me, or someone who wants to kill you?

For the record, I'm prepared to take the latter way more seriously.

I don't know if he wants to kill me, but he's not my biggest fan. That's not why I'm telling you, though.

Remember Elena's shrapnel? The guy who dropped the grenade that put it there is here.

[ KILL BILL SIRENS PLAY IN BG ]

Oh really. This gentleman got a name?

Harry Flynn. British, wears a stupid puka shell necklace, has his pants stuck to him for some reason. He used to be dead.

[She catches the pillow, digging her sharp fingernails on the edges of it.]

Well, thanks for the information. I'll take my chances with the cancer. [Her tone gets colder and more rash as she speaks. It's quite remarkable that he's managed to dig up such reaction out of her, seeing that just a moment ago she was still floating in the cloud of numbness.]

Bah, if they're anything like their name sounds like no thanks. I've had plenty of futuristic cultural experiences on this damn ship.

( after this a-hole incident )

[ Running until she couldn't anymore, the best place to drop down was near the outskirts of the camp, not feeling the uneven ground when her knees hit. The evening sun was beginning to drop off. Elena didn't care about the drop in temperature or the fact that nightfall was close on the heels of the setting sun. She was too busy leaning forward and pressing her left arm to stomach, the quick and gasping breaths near making her sick.

Trying hard to get her breathing under control, it felt impossible.

The panic was real, it was sinking its claws in deeper.

The glow of her TAB came up. The directory was a blur. She was sure Nate could get someone else to watch the kids. She was shaking so much that the device slipped from her hand and showed her at a crooked angle. The beeping that signaled the call being made barely came through the sound of blood pounding in her ears; everything felt like it was going in slow-motion in spite of how frantic she really felt.

The sling at her neck felt heavy. Elena struggles with it, breaths gasping and short, panicked.

It's like her body's fighting her, like her lungs are refusing to accept the air she's trying to draw in. There's nothing out here to stop her from hyperventilating, nothing to ground her.

Ring ring— ]

[ Tony's ready with a quip, like he pretty much always is any time someone contacts him (It's a small wonder anyone contacts him at all). It's on the tip of his tongue when he notes the caller is Elena, but once the feed actually comes through, something is... wrong.

His picture of her isn't great, tilted and off-kilter, and the labored breathing almost sounds like she's just run a great distance. And if she has, what was she running from? It's not unreasonable to assume the potential danger hasn't passed. ]

Elena? [ Said slowly, but deliberately firm, ] Where are you?

[ A voice was coming through from... somewhere. She couldn't make it out, barely recognized who it was. It felt like all the medical training she'd had over the last few months had come and gone, she should've known how to deal with this kind of an attack. It'd been so long since she'd had one for this reason. And the fact that every muscle was tight and ached, the muscles in her torso especially, it didn't help that it felt like she was experiencing shrapnel pain all over again. The phantom pain of the remaining bits moving. ]

I can't— I can't bre-breathe—

[ There was a quiet sob somewhere between trying to get that out. Her body rocked forward like curling in on herself would help.

She was so focused on trying to make herself breathe that Courser coming up against her side was overlooked. But the bahari's head was visible to the feed to show she wasn't completely alone. ]

I don't— know— edge of-

[ Edge of somewhere, apparently. ]

[ An eyebrow threatens to rise at the appearance of that flask, but you know what? He'd probably have one on him too if the supplies were available. The only notable divergence from long-held routine is that he doesn't bother to ask where she got hers; he doesn't wanna know. ]

There's a couple thousand years of religious backstory in there somewhere too, but yeah, you got the main idea down.

[ He watches his hands for a long moment, wondering what Christmas might've been like this year if he'd been back home and none of this had ever happened. Except, hell, he's pretty sure "back home" involved (involves? will involve?) terrorists and kidnappings and murder robots, so maybe not that much better. ]

This one's notable for the fact that everyone you know is supposed to give you something, just because. That's how Christmas works. Consumerist paradise.

[Yeah and she's clearly been using it. She'd forgotten how much liquor can take the edge off in times like these. It got her through the death of her sister, loss of her brother, and her mother's murder. Booze, don't fail her now.

She coughs, trying to clear the tightness in her chest. Elena told her it doesn't do anything but it's instinctual.

What did you give me? I'm a very just because person on top of all my amazing feats so I ought to be given something for sure. Or did you just tell me that to let it dangle. And don't say booze, you've been beaten to it.

[But in the spirit of generosity, she hands him the flask to take if he wants. Or maybe he's still doing the whole sober thing because he's an idiot.]

[ Tony's spent enough time hunched over and gasping for his own panicked breaths to know that this isn't a simple case of being winded.

He knows exactly what this is.

Courser's presence is a boon and a solid nugget of information all on its own — the bahari would be attacking if there were an immediate threat, and if he's with her, she must not be too far from camp, or medical. It only takes him a moment or two to decide how to proceed; he has the armor out of his pacdisc in no time flat, and by the time it's curled itself around him, the critically low power warning is already flashing in one corner of the HUD.

Yeah, tell him something he doesn't know.

Knowing his time is limited, he has JARVIS scan for Courser's heat signature - unique and alien as it is, it's not hard to pin him down, even from a potentially great distance - and as soon as he has a lock, he's off. Flight is a risky business when the armor's this low on power, but who's gonna lecture him right now? Well, besides JARVIS. That's right, nobody.

He lands and drops the armor a healthy distance from where Elena is huddled, lest he spook her by approaching her in a giant metal suit. She probably doesn't even notice her approach until he's crouched in front of her, both hands on her shoulders. ]

Hey. Deep breaths, in and out.

[ Elena doesn't notice him at all. She doesn't hear his footsteps or the leaves and dirt crunching beneath them thinking she'd be alone here for the next little while to deal with this. Courser however is alert, head lifting, and even as Tony crouches down the bahari remains at her side as a source of extra comfort and warmth, sensing how she's shaking.

Hands are on her, out of nowhere, and she jolts harshly as her instinct is to fight. His voice draws her back and the hand she'd raised to shove him away grabs at his upper arm, gripping tightly. She stares at him— was he really there? How?

Deep breaths.

Elena nods and closes her eyes, focusing, trying so hard to focus. It's difficult, it's like she's trapped and everything's closing in, crushing her chest, mentally already too far in where the panic isn't releasing her. Her head ducks, expression twisting, and then she's shaking her head. The breathing isn't getting any easier, each one rasps in pitch and the gasping continues. ]

Can't— I can't...

[ Tony'll take anger and frustration over creepy post-death indifference any old day, truth be told. At least this seems more like a normal human mood to be in after getting royally fucked over. ]

Futuristic? Didn't you just say the 60's was your decade? Casting shade on your own point.

[ Not that he's actually even invested in this point, which might be obvious when he leans back in his chair and props his feet up on the nearby bed. ]

So when's the last time you actually slept or ate? Not counting tobacco.

How fortunate that the Ingress revived a national treasure for us.

[ But more importantly, ]

Does Elena know?

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video; after he runs into Flynn

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