Hell
Title: Hell
Fandom: Dresden Files (crossover with the first Ironman Movie)
Characters: Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Tony Stark
Prompt: #037--Hell
Word Count: 630
Rating: PG
Summary: Dresden attends a party. He doesn't really care for it
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files belong to Jim Butcher; Ironman belongs to Marvel; written for fanfic50
After all the things I’ve seen and all the things I’ve done in my life, I thought I would have a pretty decent idea of what hell would be like when I got there.
I was wrong.
“If you had wanted me to suffer,” I hissed to my companion as yet another socialite flounced away with her overly muscular, overly tanned date, “you could have just had Hendricks break my legs or something.”
“Really, Mister Dresden, it isn’t as bad as all of that.” Marcone hid his amusement at my discomfort behind a polite, neutral smile, but I could see it there, dancing in his evil, evil eyes.
“You know, you say that, but somehow I just don’t believe you.” I scanned the crowd as I spoke. I wasn’t sure exactly why Ivy, the Archive, had called me up on the phone and suggested that I attend this particular event, and I wanted to figure it out as soon as possible.
Marcone opened his mouth for what I had no doubt would be a very snappy rejoinder when he was interrupted by someone standing behind us.
“Normally, I wouldn’t believe him either, but as this is my little shindig, I think I might just take offense.”
We turned to find a man whose wildly disheveled brown hair was more than offset by the suit he was wearing, perfectly tailored and no doubt more expensive even than Marcone’s. His smirk was perfectly outlined by a neatly trimmed goatee and even when he obscured his wicked smile by taking a sip of something ice cold and invitingly amber his brown eyes continued to glitter at us in the low light.
“So,” I said, turning to face him fully. I refused to be intimidated by anyone, no matter how much attention they were used to getting or how much power they thought they were throwing around, “you’re the superhero.”
“So,” he countered perfectly, “you’re the magic man. Thank you, Mister Marcone, for making sure he made it all the way here. I believe the woman you’re interested in talking to is over there, by the bar.”
Tony Stark pointed over to a knot of people where a dark haired woman wearing a very becoming dress was pointedly not talking to anyone else. Marcone and Stark exchanged a few more pleasantries before Marcone moved away, leaving me stunned in the presence of the invincible Ironman.
“You know,” Stark downed the rest of his drink in one go before setting it down loudly on a nearby table, making the elderly couple sitting there start in surprise, “for a man who advertises in the yellow pages, you are surprisingly difficult to track down.”
“What can I say? It’s been a busy year.”
“Yes, and add that to the unlikelyhood of any airplane you board actually making it to its destination, I couldn’t just fly you out here.”
This made me suspicious. Usually, when scientists take an interest in me, it’s with an eye to discredit me. Which, of course, none of them had yet been able to do. They’d tried, though. A few of them had even published papers. Never seemed to do their careers any good, though.
“Why,” I asked, thinking maybe it was about time to get a drink of my own, “would you want to fly me out here in the first place?”
“Didn’t I say?” He looked genuinely surprised when I shook my head in the negative. “No, no, of course I didn’t. Well, for now, let’s just say that I’ve found myself looking into alternative forms of energy recently. I was talking to a mutual acquaintance of ours, and your name came up…”
Fandom: Dresden Files (crossover with the first Ironman Movie)
Characters: Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Tony Stark
Prompt: #037--Hell
Word Count: 630
Rating: PG
Summary: Dresden attends a party. He doesn't really care for it
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files belong to Jim Butcher; Ironman belongs to Marvel; written for fanfic50
After all the things I’ve seen and all the things I’ve done in my life, I thought I would have a pretty decent idea of what hell would be like when I got there.
I was wrong.
“If you had wanted me to suffer,” I hissed to my companion as yet another socialite flounced away with her overly muscular, overly tanned date, “you could have just had Hendricks break my legs or something.”
“Really, Mister Dresden, it isn’t as bad as all of that.” Marcone hid his amusement at my discomfort behind a polite, neutral smile, but I could see it there, dancing in his evil, evil eyes.
“You know, you say that, but somehow I just don’t believe you.” I scanned the crowd as I spoke. I wasn’t sure exactly why Ivy, the Archive, had called me up on the phone and suggested that I attend this particular event, and I wanted to figure it out as soon as possible.
Marcone opened his mouth for what I had no doubt would be a very snappy rejoinder when he was interrupted by someone standing behind us.
“Normally, I wouldn’t believe him either, but as this is my little shindig, I think I might just take offense.”
We turned to find a man whose wildly disheveled brown hair was more than offset by the suit he was wearing, perfectly tailored and no doubt more expensive even than Marcone’s. His smirk was perfectly outlined by a neatly trimmed goatee and even when he obscured his wicked smile by taking a sip of something ice cold and invitingly amber his brown eyes continued to glitter at us in the low light.
“So,” I said, turning to face him fully. I refused to be intimidated by anyone, no matter how much attention they were used to getting or how much power they thought they were throwing around, “you’re the superhero.”
“So,” he countered perfectly, “you’re the magic man. Thank you, Mister Marcone, for making sure he made it all the way here. I believe the woman you’re interested in talking to is over there, by the bar.”
Tony Stark pointed over to a knot of people where a dark haired woman wearing a very becoming dress was pointedly not talking to anyone else. Marcone and Stark exchanged a few more pleasantries before Marcone moved away, leaving me stunned in the presence of the invincible Ironman.
“You know,” Stark downed the rest of his drink in one go before setting it down loudly on a nearby table, making the elderly couple sitting there start in surprise, “for a man who advertises in the yellow pages, you are surprisingly difficult to track down.”
“What can I say? It’s been a busy year.”
“Yes, and add that to the unlikelyhood of any airplane you board actually making it to its destination, I couldn’t just fly you out here.”
This made me suspicious. Usually, when scientists take an interest in me, it’s with an eye to discredit me. Which, of course, none of them had yet been able to do. They’d tried, though. A few of them had even published papers. Never seemed to do their careers any good, though.
“Why,” I asked, thinking maybe it was about time to get a drink of my own, “would you want to fly me out here in the first place?”
“Didn’t I say?” He looked genuinely surprised when I shook my head in the negative. “No, no, of course I didn’t. Well, for now, let’s just say that I’ve found myself looking into alternative forms of energy recently. I was talking to a mutual acquaintance of ours, and your name came up…”