Dinner and Conversation (Stark)

[aa_valkyrie]

=NYC= Upper Floors - Stark Tower - Midtown
Glass, stone, and metal frame a space of wide views and clean lines. The style is strongly architectural and explicitly modern -- modern enough to be rustic with stacked wood by the fireplace and rough-hewn rock. A detached balcony paths around in wide overlook of the city to lead down to the helipad; above, the Iron Man landing pad leads to wide stairs that track past the bar into the main living space. The alcohol is both plentiful and expensive. A recessed seating area is centered on an open fireplace. Large windows (shatter-resistant, thank you, Loki) admit plentiful light. Stark's private workshop is one level below and reachable by an open staircase. The private quarters above are an exercise in indulgence with technology pushing at every feature.

Of Thor's two blondes, Stark starts with the /good/ one. He forwards a dinner invitation with friendly formality and then loses himself in the workshop. No need to dress up, the invitation clarifies, for all its old-world formality; it is a meeting between friends, or at least friends of Thor.

It's a good thing that he pays his staff well, for they arrange details that he would forget: transportation on offer, foods chosen to be a blend of the familiar and the enticing, and lots and lots of alcohol.

It wouldn't be a Stark dinner without it.

Dinner falls late in the day, but despite the slow fade of light in the sky, Stark Tower remains brightly lit, particularly on the R&D floors. Scientists keep odd hours, are encouraged to keep odd hours, and receive appropriate compensation for their dedication. Valkyrie is greeted warmly, escorted to a private elevator -- that is less a concession to her mass and more a matter of practicality, for not all elevators go to the private floors -- and then left to ascend alone. Jarvis gives Stark a warning, which he acknowledges, then forgets about, and is left scrambling to try to meet Valkyrie when the elevator arrives. He's still carrying a set of wire strippers when he jogs up the stairs in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with strangely patterned lines that echo a faint glow from the center of his chest.

He did say casual, right?

She's had at least five seconds to look around when he catches up to her with a, "Shit. Sorry. Lost track of time. Uhm. Manners. Tony Stark," he says with the offer of his hand. "I've heard good things. Thank you for coming."

The odd, if cordial invitation is, of course, accepted and the arrangements are made through Stark's ever efficient staff to bring her here this evening. The only aspect she declines is a ride; instead arrives dressed in her casual leathers and jeans, sword forever near at her side. Those five minutes are not spent idly lingering, instead she surveys what comprises of his domain as if it where a throne room, touching little. Tony abrupt arrival finds the sharp-featured blonde looking not towards the still sinking warmth of the New York Sun over the shadows of her buildings, but admiring one of his pieces of modern art.

That effervescent glow of the sky at its last cusp of day steaks the pale blonde of her hair with gilt and rose, shadowing high cheekbones with the notes of fair lashes. Valkyrie turns as Toy arrives, all fluid grace with every muscle lending to the motion, offering her hand in turn. "Thank you for the kindly invitation. I admit it came with some surprise. Valkryie." Her large calloused hand folds around his, giving a brisk shake before releasing.

"A shame that it should be a surprise." Stark meets her clasp firmly, but he is certainly not foolish enough to make it anything like a contest. His hands are those of a smith and a sage: dextrous, but callused from the work of creation. He does his fighting inside the armor. "I should've introduced myself before this." He gestures, inviting her in. There is a dining area tucked in a nook behind the fireplace and next to stairs leading upward. The food has all the luxuries of home -- roasted meats, salted fish, fresh bread and fresher fruit. The fruit is where things begin to depart from Viking cuisine with a variety drawn from across the globe. There is also shawarma. It's a thing. "Can I get you something to drink? I picked up a couple of bottles of mead. You can tell me if they are any good. If not, I can provide anything you like." He doesn't leer. He just offers. He does try to escort her toward the food with a hand to the small of her back, though -- even if he has to reach up a little, Jesus she's tall. He can't help it. Tall hot blonde. He hasn't the sense of self-preservation or foresight of wisdom to prevent the effort.

"It is a time for surprising invitations, it seems. There may be something in your stars to guide the change." Val's words are wry, coloured with a somber blush of amusement as she speaks to soften the formality of her tone. "You are...an Avenger as well? I have seen SHIELD's documents but met few of the initiative." The choice of dinner tugs a smile to the corner of her lips, laid fully in place by his offerings of mead. "I would not insult my host by finding his table lacking. Although I will admit openly that the Earthen mead does not thankfully pack the same strength of its Asgardian cousin, lest more men be seen losing their humors over it. This looks very well," she demurs, or at least demurs in her fashion. She is very tall. There is also a sword ever so slightly in the way of his hand. At the touch to her back, her brows rise, she takes a half-stride forward, seemingly incidentally placing herself just beyond reach as they move towards the table.

"The fact that you have to ask does a lot to emphasize that you aren't from here." Stark eyes her sword with a rather more blatantly coveting look than he gives /her/ -- which is ... nice? He is the sword to appreciate weapons in all their forms: he is the Merchant of Death, or was. "I am Iron Man." From the look in his eyes and the curve of his lips, he still gets a bit of a kick out of saying that. "I'm lead vocals in the superhero boy band." If mostly by virtue of the fact that he doesn't shut up. He moves past the table toward the bar where he draws two tumblers down from a shelf and fills them with ice, followed by mead. There are glasses for water on the table as well as chilled carafes. He brings glasses and mead to join her, and takes a seat opposite. "How are you finding Earth? Midgard, right?"

"You look rather different when not donning your armor of gold and red. It is something about the features that television must distort." Valkyrie idly gestures towards her own face, indication of the mask of Iron Man. She isn't one to follow the Playboy and GQ magazines that would features the other aspects of his Genius, Playboy, Billionaire, Philanthropist self. Sorry 'bout that ego. "Superheros? Hrm." Her icy eyes track his movements as he collects their drinks, removing her sword from her back to hang it off the side of the chair. "It is your land, it ought to be called by the name you have given her. Earth is well, the last century has been...interesting to say the least."

It's okay. Stark's ego is self-sustaining at this point. "Quite different," he agrees. He drinks from the glass first and then settles comfortably. "But it is a good look for me, I think. I know it's a good look for Earth." His gaze skims past her shoulder to the sword and then back. He meets her gaze with a smile, warm brown to cool blue. I'm assuming blue, anyway. "Superheroes: a modern construction, an upgrade to the heroes of legend, or -- if not an upgrade -- then an update. Things have changed greatly in the last century. From my perspective, inside and amidst it all, we race faster and faster toward the future. What about you? You have a longer view, I think."

Pity he can't use that as a sustainable power source. Ego-arc. "It seemed to be of much aid in the battle that struck New York, so I should agreed." You assume correctly, I should really write a desc. Her blue eyes, chill as the northern seas, following the shift of Tony's gaze as she lifts her mead to her lips. Valkyrie swallows before speaking. "A new name for an older concept. It is fitting. The Earth has a fascination with names as if changing them grants them new powers or purpose." Vaklyrie pauses a moment, faint lines deepening with her smile. "I believe the future is a thing that comes at a pace all its own. Your world expands reachingly, but it cannot change the progress of time herself."

The yields on that would be much too high. Hard to stabilize. It would be a disaster. "You are a warrior," says Stark, and he doesn't even seem to hiccup over combining women and warrior in that way. "You carry a sword. Do you know much of arms and armor? Of Asgard's weaponry?" He does not pry, exactly, but he is clear about his curiosity, intent and engaged. "It isn't just the names that change. Our understanding changes and grows, and so we find new names, adapting to the new world that we wake up to each morning. Names have meaning. Weight. Even tradition teaches that much."

"I am. And I do." There is a certainty to Valkyrie's tone that might cause his issues to waver should it be contested. She has a very large sword. "I know a fair amount of arms and armor, even a former commander remembers such. I am no smith, such as yourself," she answers simply, leaning back in her chair with feet flat to the ground. Tempered ease for a warrior even at rest. "Tradition does, but it also teaches the grace to hold to a word even when its meaning has become unpleasant. Those things have history. The world changes more and less than you think it to, each day men wake up and each day men fall. It is a few in a thousand who are exceptional enough to cause its course to shudder by their hands. The fabric of a name does not change the path of a man. It simply allows him to recloth himself in its prejudice. A hero is an act guided by the heart, not by his capability to draw down buildings between his palms."

He has no issues, not on this. He accepts her expertise with a nod not untouched by regret. "Not a smith, so likely limited knowledge of the creation of Asgardian arms?" There is food. Stark is totally eating. I hope she is too. I'm just too lazy to pose that many props. "I've never actually been much for tradition," he says in an apologetic tone. "I am, and always have been, a man of the future. I like changing. I like remaking. Words can change, and taking on new names can change the men who do so. Iron Man, Captain America, Black Widow, and Hawkeye: we're all a little different by those names, even if we are the same men." Or women. He leaves off Hulk and Thor for /whatever reason/. "Are you always Valkyrie?"

"Yes. I presume having seen Thor's hammer and those other gifts that have fallen to earth you seek to make your own?" There is little judgement in her voice, softened by caution as she picks at the wears of his table. Oh yeah. Eating. Totally. Valkyrie nibbles on shawarma. Nom. "You are a modern smith, son of Stark. There is little they do not seek to hone through the process of fire," she judges, smile broad. To build, to break, to recreate and make anew. "Names can guide inspiration, but they do not change the heart of a beast." As for herself, she shakes her head briefly. "I am always Valkyrie. I will be till my death. Your kind gave me another name once, though."

Stark smiles. "No. An understandable assumption, but I'm out of the weapons business. Mostly. I seek to /understand/ Thor's hammer, the Tesseract, all the Asgardian magics -- but I'm mostly concerned with identification and defense." Sigh slight, he lifts his glass in an ironic sort of salute. "Understanding first, however, above the rest. If you have time, I'd like to invite you to my workshop -- my forge, if you will. I'd like to study your sword or any armor you would be willing to show me. I'd like to hear about Asgardian arms, too, if you are willing to discuss them." He reaches across the table to draw a slice of some roasted animal or another onto his plate. "You introduced yourself as Valkyrie, though. You no longer use that name?"

"I will be of little use to you in the determination of their making," Val admits, mouth crooked wryly as she lifts her glass to meet his salute. "I have time above all else. However, I cannot leave my weapons with you -- no matter the purpose of your study -- but I could demonstrate sometime, if you choose? It is well to know what your allies attend to should we be assembled." It is sort of a compromise. She nods her agreement for discussion, tipping back her mead in a long swallow. "It is the only name I have. All Valkyrie are Valkyrie, although fewer roam the earth. It is a name and purpose both."

"That's all right. Thor allows me to study Mjolnir," Stark says, all 'see? it's fine. i won't try to grab your sword and run off with it; you can trust me; thor does' in his smile. "But he doesn't let me keep it. I'm used to those restrictions. I'd be honored to see you demonstrate, as well." He counters her compromise quite civilly, still holding out for a few moments under sensors. "That must get confusing at family reunions."

"Then you have much to keep you occupied for the time while I consider the idea," Val answers, leaning across the table to refill his glass with mead and then her own. 'All the /cool/ Asgardians are doing it,' doesn't seem to mesh with her mentality. Shame Valkyrie. You could be a cool kid. "Odinson's Mjolnir is of a greater power than my Dragonfang, but my blade is meant to serve a different purpose." She stops, taking a drink, and then laughs. "We know each other by face and scars. A name is less consequential to family."

"The power isn't important." Stark leans forward somewhat with an intent expression. "Your blade is different: different purpose, different power. But it still shares a similar origin. If there is anything to be found, any similarity, that could be /vital/ to help us identify Loki or the Enchantress or any other Asgardian with ill intentions. Defense comes from more than strength, and the sooner prepared we are, the better we can face common foes." He is too focused on this to continue the name banter.

Regarding him with a clear eyed gaze, Valkyrie shakes her head once more. "I am sorry. I understand your intent, but Dragonfang will not leave my company. You may look to it, but understand we Valkyrie live and die by our blades." It has always been so. "The Asgardians are not interested in your realm, what few fall to earth are abnormal in their attentions. It would be better to prepare for the enemies we do not yet know. Do you know of those whom Loki made allies?"

"Good." Stark means 'thank you'. "That's all I ask. I don't mean to part you from it or take it from you, and I'm just smart enough not to try." He salutes her with his glass and then reaches to pour another serving. He offers the bottle to her. More? "The Asgardians as a whole may not be interested, but enough of you have found your way here that I'm starting to feel a little twitchy. There's a whole universe out there that we are only just awakening to see." At her question, he shakes his head. "I don't know if he even has allies, not yet. I just know he's back in play. Have you heard more?"

"I think it would reflect poorly to break your neck so early in our acquaintance," Valkyrie...jokes. It comes with a smile least. She echoes his salute, throwing the bitter liquor back with a long swallow and nods to his offering. Yes, plz. "The Earth is convenient in its way, but any true engagements that Asgard has had with it have fallen away with time as your people grew and changed. I have walked here for many years and rarely encountered any of my kind, but perhaps your popularity grows with your technology. I know not." She nibbles on a bit of food. "No. I have yet to read through all the pages in terms of his prior visit. It seemed a glorious battle to miss."

"Just about the first thing Thor tried to do when we met." Stark meets her joke with a smile. "It ended up working out for us both, but at least be sporting and let me change before you try snapping my neck." After all, outside of his armor, there's just no /challenge/ to it. His laughter at her description -- glorious battle -- still colors his words as he addresses that: "It was certainly a /battle/. Messy. A lot of destruction, and too many deaths. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, though, saving a city. Saving a world. That on your list of hobbies?"

"He can be very modern in his courtesies," Val suggests somewhat dryly, shifting her drink from one hand to the other. Then her eyes brighten as she leans forward attentively. "I think that is a test I should enjoy, although it need not lead to demise." Challenge! Spar? That is what he suggested right? Ttly like a second date. Dinner and some bloodshed. "All battles are. Messy. It's only the poets that suggest otherwise." There is something about her tone that derides poets. "Well, I would not wish to boast...but such tasks may have been laid to my hands." There is a glint to her eyes that she is doing just that, boasting.

Oh God. Did he just suggest that? Startled regret is swiftly chased from Stark's features by a spark of curious contemplation. Think of what he could learn from such a fight! "I'd prefer to avoid demise, too. It seems a reasonable limit." Recognizing that glint her eyes -- likely from the mirror -- he further teases it out with a laugh and a wide smile. "It's not a boast if I ask you, is it? I'd enjoy hearing about such tasks." Story time! There's food and alcohol enough to make for a good story, and if she's lucky, he might even swap a tale or two of the Chitauri invasion so that she can catch up on what she has missed. He has what he wanted, after all: a promise to study, the potential for future learning opportunities. Now he can be a truly gracious host. But he's probably going to hit on her at least once more.
 

Val and Tony have a....dinner. She does not throw him out a window. That's for the second date.