eyecondition | 01. [Action / Voice]

[When Scott had last been aware, he'd been somewhere near the deserts of Mexico. Where in Mexico, he couldn't be sure, though there'd certainly been enough heat and sand to last a lifetime. It simply made no sense to pass out and wake up in a snowpile, more underdressed than he'd been in the summer sun. It's an understatement to call Scott alarmed. He scrambled to his feet, ears straining for the sound of something other than the whistling wind of a cold breeze. It must have been the fight he'd had with Mystique. He'd obviously lost, and she'd had him shipped to a different corner of the globe instead. Is she planning to keep abandoning him in different places until the elements kill him outright? He doubts he'll last long in sub-zero conditions without even a blanket to insulate him.

No. Scott decides instantly that he isn't in the mood to die today. Nothing good comes from pessimism. He'd found people in the bowels of a foreign country before, and he'll just have to do it again here too. Judging by the temperature, there might at least be some Inuit family that might be willing to share their igloo.]

Hello? [He ventures a greeting cautiously, and dares to crack a single eye open to see if there's some sort of civilization nearby. The small gesture alone sends a bright red beacon ripping through the flurrying snow -- hopefully not into anyone's personal property. There seemed to be some manmade structures just off to the left of the snapshot image he'd gotten. It wasn't enough of a visual to notice the journal lying open at his feet, but he isn't really in much of a reading mood anyway.]

I-is... anyone there? [He tries it again, more assertive now despite the telltale shiver in his tone. If there's at least one house, then there has to be people somewhere. With people come options. Maybe they'll have a phone he can use to call the mansion and get help sent out, or perhaps they'd at least have a first-aid kit and would be nice enough to patch up whatever injury was causing that bone-deep pain in his shoulderblades. If nothing else, hopefully the people here speak English.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yes. See, where he might be a charming, intelligent man who is the best at what he does, I'm a charming, intelligent man who is the best as what I do and a superhero. [See? Simple as that.

He'd laugh if that fact wasn't so goddamn unfunny to him.] Afraid we don't have any choice in the matter, kiddo. Trust me on that one.

A superhero? [gerhjgklsfhzdsjkg TONY STARK IS A MUTANT?]

Yep. A superhero. That's what I said.

[HE DON'T NEED NO MUTANT POWERS TO BE SUPER.]

That's incredible news! Tell me more! [Pssh, ALL superheroes are closeted mutants.]

[Okay, well. He asked. Even if he's been less enthusiastic since...the draft.]

Well, I'm Iron Man. Self-made, widely-adored, completely indestructible. Oh--I have a suit. No powers. Which is better.

[Yeah.]

...You built yourself a robot.

[If it sounds like he hates the idea, it's because he hates the idea. Scott's only a few weeks past fighting his first Sentinel. He's kind of anti-robot at the moment.]

Oh, sure, I build myself robots all the time. But I do the superheroing stuff in my suit. I don't send some bundles of metal to do my job for me.

You can go ahead and ask Rogurt about it, too. She's seen me in action. [If you're doubting. Which it sounds like you are.]

[..."Rogurt"?]

Pardon?

--Oh. Rogue. That's her nickname. See that you use it as often as possible.

[By the time Rogue gets to this part of the conversation, she has decided that she and Tony are going to need to have a Talk.]

[Whatever, Rogue. The talk wouldn't be necessary if it wasn't taking her so long to come find him in the first place.]

I'll pass. She deserves more respect than that.

You say that like it's disrespectful. On the contrary. It's a term of endearment.

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