quigonejinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quigonejinn) wrote2008-07-10 10:40 pm
quigonejinn) wrote2008-07-10 10:40 pm
Entry tags:
Mark this, Reynaldo.
SO. WHO IS GONNA POST A STORY AFTER DOOMFIC?
Here is how Tony Stark and Jim Rhodes meet: Jim Rhodes is a junior taking the graduate seminar in Flight Aerodynamics. Since he is a good student and keenly conscious of the fact that he is the youngest person in the room by a good half decade or so, he stays after class and has questions for the professor. Smart questions. Intelligent questions. Questions that make the professor nod thoughtfully and appreciatively.
"Let's talk while we walk," the professor says. He's young for a professor, which means that he's mid-thirties. Late thirties, brown hair, glasses.
They head out of the classroom, and standing outside the kid standing there in a dirty collared shirt and dirtier jeans. His sneakers are untied; he has his hands shoved his pockets, and he bounces in place.
"Jim Rhodes," the professor says, shifting his leather attache case from one hand to the other so that he can gesture. "Meet Tony Stark. Tony, this is Jim. What are you doing for dinner tonight, Jim?"
...
On the drive to the professor's house, Tony takes shotgun without calling for it, and Jim rides in the back. Station wagon. Very much still a grad student car, a kind of faded yellow and wood-paneled with clean, but worn leather seats inside. Jim keeps a sharp eye out for a rattle or a ding or a vibration that shouldn't be there, so he can offer to fix it, but it runs sweet as anything. It almost purrs as the professor guides it out of the parking lot.
It's a pretty fall day in Massachusetts.
"Did you go to Unified Engineering this afternoon?"
"No." Tony says and sinks down his seat.
"What about your morning classes?"
"No." Tony sinks down further into his seat. Jim can barely see Tony's head anymore; the voice sounds like it's coming from just a little above the seat belt.
"Tony -- "
"I got the numbers of some Wellesley girls, though," Tony says, suddenly sounding much happier, and he flashes a strip of wrinkled paper from between his hands. Jim can definitely see that. "They only asked me twice how old I was."
...
The professor lives in a nice house a little ways out.
A neat little house, a small yard, a white porch and a bench that swings. Not bad for a professor only a couple years out of being a post-doc, and dinner turns out to be burgers and corn and salad. Tony sticks around the kitchen, puts his feet up on the table, and reads the mail while Jim helps the professor get everything together. Stays out of the way. Stays astonishingly quiet. Jim and the professor talk about classes, Jim's family, what he thinks of junior year so far, and Tony is, in fact, is so quiet and good at slipping out of the room that Jim doesn't notice he's gone until the professor looks over his shoulder, listens for a moment, then starts explaining: Tony used to knock around the lab of the guy the professor studied under to get his PhD. Building stuff. Poking at your models and asking questions. His dad had gotten him into classes at Columbia as an auditor.
"He turned fourteen, and instead of high school, he decided he wanted to be an actual student. His parents thought he should stay with me for the first year." Jim is at the sink, washing the salad. "Wash a couple of those tomatoes, will you? I'm going to cut some up for the burger."
While washing, Jim does the math and comes up with a question: if Tony is fourteen now, how old was he when he started sitting in on Columbia classes?
Tony doesn't show up again until everything is ready. The professor yells; Tony comes clattering, noisily, down the stairs, and since the weather is still clear and the sun is still up, they eat on the porch. Tony has shit for table manners; even the professor winces when -- after deciding that talking non-stop while chewing with his mouth open isn't enough -- Tony wipes two long streaks of burger grease on his shirt.
...
After dinner, the professor pushes his chair back. Tony comandeered the swinging bench for himself; the professor and Jim brought chairs out from the kitchen. "You want a beer, Jim?" the professor asks.
"Yeah, I'll take one," Jim says, flattered and straightening a little in his chair.
"I'll take one, too," Tony says. He's been sitting with his legs crossed underneath him, staring off into the distance, but he had, apparently, been listening.
"You're still seven years from being legal, Tony. What would your father say?"
And the screen door bangs shut behind the professor.
It's cool outside -- summer is pretty much over in Massachusetts, after all, but there is just enough light to make out, through the blue, the mailbox and the house across the street. A light inside the house behind Tony and Jim, and guy walks past with his dog. The collar jingles; the dog is small and white, but a moment passes, and the sound and the guy and his dog are gone.
"Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris -- "
Jim turns and looks at Tony, who is still sitting on the swingin gbench. He's untucked his legs now and has stretched them out.
"And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
What company, at what expense; and finding
By this encompassment and drift of question
That they do know -- "
Tony breaks off. He'd been staring at the bushes in front of the house across the street, but he turns and looks at a spot above Jim's left shoulder. "You know, it wasn't just engineering and physics classes I sat in on at Columbia."
His voice is quiet, and he looks Jim in the eye, very briefly, then looks away. It's getting dark enough so that it's hard to tell when eye contact happens, in fact, and Jim looks at Tony for a while.
"No, I guess not," he replies, finally, and a moment after that, the professor comes out onto the porch with two beers for the adults and a bowl of ice cream for Tony.
...
Eleven years later, the professor dies at forty-seven from bone cancer, and Tony endows a chair at MIT in his name. His dad, he points out to the reporter from the alumni magazine, already has a Fortune 100 company named after him.
At the ceremony that goes with it all, Jim, now known to everybody but his parents as Rhodey, thinks of saying something comforting to Tony. He knows Tony was in Madrid, shopping Stark Industries technology to NATO governments, at the time of the funeral. Tony showed up to the endowment ceremony, though, which means he still feels something, but by the time Rhodey comes up with the words, the crowd has already swept Tony out of reach.
Here's the whole quote by Polonius from Hamlet, Act II, Scene 1:
Here is how Tony Stark and Jim Rhodes meet: Jim Rhodes is a junior taking the graduate seminar in Flight Aerodynamics. Since he is a good student and keenly conscious of the fact that he is the youngest person in the room by a good half decade or so, he stays after class and has questions for the professor. Smart questions. Intelligent questions. Questions that make the professor nod thoughtfully and appreciatively.
"Let's talk while we walk," the professor says. He's young for a professor, which means that he's mid-thirties. Late thirties, brown hair, glasses.
They head out of the classroom, and standing outside the kid standing there in a dirty collared shirt and dirtier jeans. His sneakers are untied; he has his hands shoved his pockets, and he bounces in place.
"Jim Rhodes," the professor says, shifting his leather attache case from one hand to the other so that he can gesture. "Meet Tony Stark. Tony, this is Jim. What are you doing for dinner tonight, Jim?"
...
On the drive to the professor's house, Tony takes shotgun without calling for it, and Jim rides in the back. Station wagon. Very much still a grad student car, a kind of faded yellow and wood-paneled with clean, but worn leather seats inside. Jim keeps a sharp eye out for a rattle or a ding or a vibration that shouldn't be there, so he can offer to fix it, but it runs sweet as anything. It almost purrs as the professor guides it out of the parking lot.
It's a pretty fall day in Massachusetts.
"Did you go to Unified Engineering this afternoon?"
"No." Tony says and sinks down his seat.
"What about your morning classes?"
"No." Tony sinks down further into his seat. Jim can barely see Tony's head anymore; the voice sounds like it's coming from just a little above the seat belt.
"Tony -- "
"I got the numbers of some Wellesley girls, though," Tony says, suddenly sounding much happier, and he flashes a strip of wrinkled paper from between his hands. Jim can definitely see that. "They only asked me twice how old I was."
...
The professor lives in a nice house a little ways out.
A neat little house, a small yard, a white porch and a bench that swings. Not bad for a professor only a couple years out of being a post-doc, and dinner turns out to be burgers and corn and salad. Tony sticks around the kitchen, puts his feet up on the table, and reads the mail while Jim helps the professor get everything together. Stays out of the way. Stays astonishingly quiet. Jim and the professor talk about classes, Jim's family, what he thinks of junior year so far, and Tony is, in fact, is so quiet and good at slipping out of the room that Jim doesn't notice he's gone until the professor looks over his shoulder, listens for a moment, then starts explaining: Tony used to knock around the lab of the guy the professor studied under to get his PhD. Building stuff. Poking at your models and asking questions. His dad had gotten him into classes at Columbia as an auditor.
"He turned fourteen, and instead of high school, he decided he wanted to be an actual student. His parents thought he should stay with me for the first year." Jim is at the sink, washing the salad. "Wash a couple of those tomatoes, will you? I'm going to cut some up for the burger."
While washing, Jim does the math and comes up with a question: if Tony is fourteen now, how old was he when he started sitting in on Columbia classes?
Tony doesn't show up again until everything is ready. The professor yells; Tony comes clattering, noisily, down the stairs, and since the weather is still clear and the sun is still up, they eat on the porch. Tony has shit for table manners; even the professor winces when -- after deciding that talking non-stop while chewing with his mouth open isn't enough -- Tony wipes two long streaks of burger grease on his shirt.
...
After dinner, the professor pushes his chair back. Tony comandeered the swinging bench for himself; the professor and Jim brought chairs out from the kitchen. "You want a beer, Jim?" the professor asks.
"Yeah, I'll take one," Jim says, flattered and straightening a little in his chair.
"I'll take one, too," Tony says. He's been sitting with his legs crossed underneath him, staring off into the distance, but he had, apparently, been listening.
"You're still seven years from being legal, Tony. What would your father say?"
And the screen door bangs shut behind the professor.
It's cool outside -- summer is pretty much over in Massachusetts, after all, but there is just enough light to make out, through the blue, the mailbox and the house across the street. A light inside the house behind Tony and Jim, and guy walks past with his dog. The collar jingles; the dog is small and white, but a moment passes, and the sound and the guy and his dog are gone.
"Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris -- "
Jim turns and looks at Tony, who is still sitting on the swingin gbench. He's untucked his legs now and has stretched them out.
"And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
What company, at what expense; and finding
By this encompassment and drift of question
That they do know -- "
Tony breaks off. He'd been staring at the bushes in front of the house across the street, but he turns and looks at a spot above Jim's left shoulder. "You know, it wasn't just engineering and physics classes I sat in on at Columbia."
His voice is quiet, and he looks Jim in the eye, very briefly, then looks away. It's getting dark enough so that it's hard to tell when eye contact happens, in fact, and Jim looks at Tony for a while.
"No, I guess not," he replies, finally, and a moment after that, the professor comes out onto the porch with two beers for the adults and a bowl of ice cream for Tony.
...
Eleven years later, the professor dies at forty-seven from bone cancer, and Tony endows a chair at MIT in his name. His dad, he points out to the reporter from the alumni magazine, already has a Fortune 100 company named after him.
At the ceremony that goes with it all, Jim, now known to everybody but his parents as Rhodey, thinks of saying something comforting to Tony. He knows Tony was in Madrid, shopping Stark Industries technology to NATO governments, at the time of the funeral. Tony showed up to the endowment ceremony, though, which means he still feels something, but by the time Rhodey comes up with the words, the crowd has already swept Tony out of reach.
Here's the whole quote by Polonius from Hamlet, Act II, Scene 1:
Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,And yeah, in my head, Tony keeps the guy's car running in that perfect order. The house is an over-the-top "hey, thanks for babysitting my son, so I don't have to!" present/payment from Howard Stark to the professor, who would have pretty much done it for free anyways, and yeah. In my head, Tony has been knocking back Scotch and whiskey and vodka for years at fourteen. Beer? Jesus Christ, son, why're you drinking that?
Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;
And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
What company, at what expense; and finding
By this encompassment and drift of question
That they do know my son, come you more nearer
Than your particular demands will touch it.
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;
As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,
And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo?