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[The glare goes ignored and she starts throwing the piece in the air as she speaks.]

Mnn. So does that mean you cried when you saw that video? Or did you weep at my corpse like they do in movies? [The tease falls out flat, lacking the usual fire and energy behind it.]

Don't know if that's touching or just creepy.

I'll let you decide which option you like best — if you lose that I'll toss you out the airlock, by the way — but don't throw in any crying. That's just out of character.

[ Tony sets his tool down and pushes his chair back from the desk, arms crossed, giving her a serious once-over. ]

So what'd you lose when you came back? Door privileges?

[Now, that warning makes her stop throwing the piece around and lips curl up in to a small imitated smile.]

What, I'm not worth of a single tear? That's cold even from you.

[She gives him a lousy shrug. To be honest, she doesn't know what had been taken from her. As far she can tell she's physically fine, no missing limbs or whatsoever, which makes it all more scary to think the possibilities about losing something from inside.]

Ha, beats me. Though that would make sense, right? At least now I won't be opening any weird doors.

Weird doors including your own, apparently.

[ He gives her a momentarily suspicious look, but decides this probably isn't the play she'd go with if she were secretly trying to rob him, murder him, or convert him to a crazy husk religion or whatever.

Which means she really is unable to get in her room, which makes her technically homeless at the moment.

Which is... sad. ]

Y'know, if the doc shows up, he might get the wrong idea. Just saying.

[The suspicion is only met with an uncaring eyes before she turns her attention back to the armor piece in her hands, turning it around and inspecting it as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

Not being able to open her own door actually doesn't bother her too much. Sure, she misses her room and it's frustrating but it's not the first time she finds herself from situation alike this, no place to go and having to depend on others. Even during her first week on Moira all those months ago she spend her time in someone else's room from being afraid of the living Skeleton inside of hers.

But what bothers her more is the desire to be around someone. And well, right now Tony's the only person she has left on this stupid ship.

The mention about misunderstandings makes her scoff a little. Yeah, because obviously the first thing she'd want to do is screw after coming back from the dead. Sure. Though then again, if Adrien really were to jump into that conclusion there's no one else except herself to blame for it.]

Ha. Does that bother you? Or maybe we should make it the right idea.

[ Compelling oneself to hang around Tony Stark really is a terrible way to live, J.

Tony offers an elaborate shrug at the question, which doesn't make it seem like he actually cares one way or another, beyond giving her a hard time about it. ]

I'm flattered, but you look like you're gonna keel over at any moment. Takes the thrill out of it.

Speaking of that, maybe you should - sit, or something.

[ Her hovering over him is making him nervous, damn. ]

[The answer makes her smile more in satisfaction. While the suggestion had been mostly just joking on her part there's no denying that she wasn't sort of testing waters here. She didn't expect him to take it too seriously but she's not hearing any other requests or hints of throwing out either.]

Don't worry. You're so full of shit that the idea of kissing you scares me, might get bad taste to my mouth and all.

[She cracks right back. And when the suggestion about sitting down comes J looks briefly around the room again, examining the beds as she tries to figure out which one belongs to whom. Putting down the small armor piece she approaches the one that looks messier, like it's been slept in more than the other one, and approaches it. She brings her arms to her front and starts undressing.]

Give me a shirt.

[ Tony puts a mocking hand over his chest. ]

Your words cut like a knife, and then you demand my clothing? I'm being played, here.

[ But he's already moving to a drawer where he can pull out a simple t-shirt, which he gives a flippant toss her way. He's mostly polite enough not to oogle openly while she undresses in the middle of his room, but, well.

He's not that polite. He still looks. ]

Don't be like you don't like being bossed around by a pretty face.

[Is all what she says as she catches the shirt. The stare doesn't bother her a bit, she's used to living with others by now and lack of privacy isn't anything new, not even when she's removed her shirt and takes off her bra -- revealing a flat chest with a nearly perfect smooth skin. Save for the few ugly fresh marks from being killed by Rinzler the second time.

Nonchalantly, she picks up the shirt he gave her and pulls it on. Then she drops her trousers and steps out of them, throwing herself on his bed.]

You got any cigs?

It's certainly preferable to being bossed around by an ugly face.

[ So yeah, maybe he's just fine with it. Who knows. He quirks an eyebrow - more at the fresh scars than anything else, jesus christ - and drops back into his chair, swiveling it so that he's facing her. ]

Listen, I've got enough catastrophic health problems without adding cancer to the list. [ And honestly, he has enough unhealthy vices as it is. ] You want gum? Best I've got, this is only a two star hotel.

What does cancer have to do with it? [She blurts out, not bothering to hide her disappointment. It's not the first time she hears someone associating cigarettes with health problems. One time Miles had compared them to a rat poison while trying to get her quit.]

Also two star? Let me be judge of that in the morning.

[ Oh, god. What year is J from. ]

Uh, the part where they're full of more chemicals than the stuff powering the engines, probably? They're basically little sticks of overpriced death.

But that doesn't mean cancer. Aren't medicines also just tiny package of chemicals and whatsoever? Haven't seen people protest against pills, hm? In New York doctors even recommend smoking.

[and seriously. why is it the cigarettes that always get mocked even though there's other plenty unhealthy stuff around.] And besides, it's not like death sounds too intimidating at this point.

Edited 2016-12-08 01:33 (UTC)

I—

[ Tony opens his mouth and then... closes it. Where to begin. Where to begin. ]

Okay. First, a healthy fear of death is a good thing to cultivate, no matter how many times you've died in a bullshit place where death isn't real.

And second, are you from, what, the 1950s or something?

Well excuse me if I fail to find the death threats that frightening at the moment. But it's not like I'm looking for a airlock to jump out of. [She huffs, her irritation only growing.]

Actually, I'm from 1961. So there. [Because there is a difference!]

Edited 2016-12-17 00:16 (UTC)

[ 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.

[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.

[ 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.

Where I'm from Marilyn is still the biggest star. Not some insect musicians. [Careful now. If there's anything she's more passionate and strict about than fashion it's definitely music. Marilyn's music to be more precise. She's sure that Tony's put two and two together and noticed how she imitates her idol when it comes to hair, makeup and clothing.

But before she manages to take this argument to that direction and start defending Marilyn more she's somewhat taken aback by the change of subject. It also calms her down a little, though a small pout stays on her lips.]

You tell me. I don't know how long I was dead.

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