i. arrival. pay attention, none of this is happening by accident. [Tropical paradises are okay. He's great with those, when he remembers those are a thing long enough to do something about before retreating like a...Whatever retreats into caves like he does his workshop occasionally. It doesn't matter. Point is, he's fine with the whole tropical vacation thing.
What he is not fine with is going on a tropical vacation without any warning while running some configurations for things he's working on (suits) out of nowhere, when moments before he'd been in his workshop. That's the part he's not okay with. He's also not okay, when he actually takes a moment to look around himself, realizing he's not exactly alone on this little adventure. You'd think with him knowing Norse gods and all the flat out weird of the last few years he'd be used to the weird coming to him and weird things happening.
And you'd be wrong.]
What is this, some kind of mass kidnapping by USS Enterprise or something?
ii. tortuga. they say money talks but you ain't sayin' nothing, shh. [Well, one thing Tortuga is not is a place to kick back with a mai tai and work on the old suntan while not even pretending not to look at beach bunnies wearing practically nothing. It is definitely not that kind of place. Tony's not exactly sure what he's been expecting, following the noise that slowly became far away music, which became lights and louder music and shouting and gunshots and the sound of distant fist fights. That hasn't included what he does find, when he actually reaches Tortuga proper, which is a slowly darkening sky and wooden ships crowded together down below, far down the dirt path that leads to the wide, clear expanses of tropic ocean, packed in together like sardines, more anchored off shore beyond that, and longboats lining what he can see of the sandy beach.
There are tents down there, as well, and noise from them as well as light, and as he starts passing building by rickety wooden building, he is painfully aware that 'authentic' might not be the word he's looking for. Not when he's mean-mugged by a guy with a peg leg and his eyepatched pal, not from the come-hither looks from a couple of women in a shadow corner, wearing more clothes than he's ever seen on a call girl and still managing to make it seem like he shouldn't get caught staring too long. No, given that, the lamps that have flame and oil hanging above on wooden posts, the music...The entire atmosphere, he's fairly sure the word he's looking for is real.
He can't explain it. Isn't going to try, he can't be sure he's not having a stroke or something. Maybe it's the way that, under all of that noise, there's silence. No undercurrent hum of electricity, betraying what he sees with his own two eyes. He's not even sure how he knows that, but he's willing to be he is.
He finally stops in front of a particularly noisy bar (tavern?), the doors constantly swinging open and shut as sober people go in, and drunk people stumble out, the latter significantly louder. Notable are the accents from a million different places, and yeah. He's sure real is exactly the word he's looking for.
And isn't that a terrifying thought? In a way? But he's saved from following that rabbit hole in his mind when he sees someone dressed a hell of a lot more normal than the Long John Silvers and Captain Hooks running around this place and does his best to appear nonchalant about it, as he makes his way over. And very much not like he's looking for normal people in what is quite possibly a town full of pirates.]
So what's the over-under on this being a mass hallucination, or are we just going with the theory that time travel is suddenly real and we'd better start brushing up on our sea shanties and binge drinking we haven't really used since college skills.
iii. mirror. everybody ain't got it, understand son - this shit is not random. [It hasn't taken long to figure out what the mirror does, and while it's crude, in his opinion, and perma-spotted, since he's scrubbed at the actual glass for forever and nothing's changed, it'll do. If it means long distance communication, or reaching the masses as a whole, that's probably the best case scenario he could hope for.
Which is why, though he feels really stupid talking to a mirror, he's doing it anyway, having found a nice corner of the beach that is not pirate-infested and where he won't be overheard.]
Alright, hopefully this gets to the new tattoo club - I mean, I can't guarantee it, mirrors don't work that way because science - but I figured it's time we all have our little meet and greet, implement some kind of buddy system since we're on Treasure Island Does Acid.
What I'm mostly interested in is where and when you're from. I don't know, maybe there's some kind of pattern to this thing and if there's a pattern to why we're here, maybe there's a pattern that'll get us home. So don't be shy, share with the rest of the class.
tony stark | mcu
[Tropical paradises are okay. He's great with those, when he remembers those are a thing long enough to do something about before retreating like a...Whatever retreats into caves like he does his workshop occasionally. It doesn't matter. Point is, he's fine with the whole tropical vacation thing.
What he is not fine with is going on a tropical vacation without any warning while running some configurations for things he's working on (suits) out of nowhere, when moments before he'd been in his workshop. That's the part he's not okay with. He's also not okay, when he actually takes a moment to look around himself, realizing he's not exactly alone on this little adventure. You'd think with him knowing Norse gods and all the flat out weird of the last few years he'd be used to the weird coming to him and weird things happening.
And you'd be wrong.]
What is this, some kind of mass kidnapping by USS Enterprise or something?
ii. tortuga. they say money talks but you ain't sayin' nothing, shh.
[Well, one thing Tortuga is not is a place to kick back with a mai tai and work on the old suntan while not even pretending not to look at beach bunnies wearing practically nothing. It is definitely not that kind of place. Tony's not exactly sure what he's been expecting, following the noise that slowly became far away music, which became lights and louder music and shouting and gunshots and the sound of distant fist fights. That hasn't included what he does find, when he actually reaches Tortuga proper, which is a slowly darkening sky and wooden ships crowded together down below, far down the dirt path that leads to the wide, clear expanses of tropic ocean, packed in together like sardines, more anchored off shore beyond that, and longboats lining what he can see of the sandy beach.
There are tents down there, as well, and noise from them as well as light, and as he starts passing building by rickety wooden building, he is painfully aware that 'authentic' might not be the word he's looking for. Not when he's mean-mugged by a guy with a peg leg and his eyepatched pal, not from the come-hither looks from a couple of women in a shadow corner, wearing more clothes than he's ever seen on a call girl and still managing to make it seem like he shouldn't get caught staring too long. No, given that, the lamps that have flame and oil hanging above on wooden posts, the music...The entire atmosphere, he's fairly sure the word he's looking for is real.
He can't explain it. Isn't going to try, he can't be sure he's not having a stroke or something. Maybe it's the way that, under all of that noise, there's silence. No undercurrent hum of electricity, betraying what he sees with his own two eyes. He's not even sure how he knows that, but he's willing to be he is.
He finally stops in front of a particularly noisy bar (tavern?), the doors constantly swinging open and shut as sober people go in, and drunk people stumble out, the latter significantly louder. Notable are the accents from a million different places, and yeah. He's sure real is exactly the word he's looking for.
And isn't that a terrifying thought? In a way? But he's saved from following that rabbit hole in his mind when he sees someone dressed a hell of a lot more normal than the Long John Silvers and Captain Hooks running around this place and does his best to appear nonchalant about it, as he makes his way over. And very much not like he's looking for normal people in what is quite possibly a town full of pirates.]
So what's the over-under on this being a mass hallucination, or are we just going with the theory that time travel is suddenly real and we'd better start brushing up on our sea shanties and binge drinking we haven't really used since college skills.
iii. mirror. everybody ain't got it, understand son - this shit is not random.
[It hasn't taken long to figure out what the mirror does, and while it's crude, in his opinion, and perma-spotted, since he's scrubbed at the actual glass for forever and nothing's changed, it'll do. If it means long distance communication, or reaching the masses as a whole, that's probably the best case scenario he could hope for.
Which is why, though he feels really stupid talking to a mirror, he's doing it anyway, having found a nice corner of the beach that is not pirate-infested and where he won't be overheard.]
Alright, hopefully this gets to the new tattoo club - I mean, I can't guarantee it, mirrors don't work that way because science - but I figured it's time we all have our little meet and greet, implement some kind of buddy system since we're on Treasure Island Does Acid.
What I'm mostly interested in is where and when you're from. I don't know, maybe there's some kind of pattern to this thing and if there's a pattern to why we're here, maybe there's a pattern that'll get us home. So don't be shy, share with the rest of the class.