12 / 16 / 08 - Lisabeth, Stark
Snow falls over Manhattan beyond the big black windows that encircle the restaurant not-always-affectionately nicknamed 'Stark's Ego'. Metal and glass glitter atop snowy linen coverings at the tables set with a certain luxury of spacing. The bar is a gleaming expanse of well-tended granite and wood and brass, and the bottles behind the bar range in origin from East to West and all places in between. A low, subdued murmur of conversation carries over the gentle strains of music. Stark has cleared a space at one end of the bar by some subtle alchemy of personality. He is civil to those who cross his path, even charming, but no one lingers. He is, it seems, /waiting/ for someone.
He does not wait long. This is not a date, after all - there is no carefully calculated creation of anticipation. There is simply Lisabeth Stuart, elegant and a black dress with smooth lines and upswept hair and heels that border on dangerously high, smiling and confident as she approaches Tony Stark from across the room. Her purse is tucked up under her arm, and she lifts a hand to brush a strand of hair back into place before closing in on him. "Mr. Stark," she greets warmly.
Dangerously high? Why, that puts her head over his! "Ms. Stuart," Stark greets, turning toward her at the click-clack of heels and offering her a brief, courteous smile. The turn of his body reveals a half-empty glass behind the lines of an exquisitely tailored suit. He has clearly been busy. "Good evening." He extends a hand to clasp hers in greeting, and then retains the hold just briefly to assist her to the bar. "You look lovely. Something to drink?"
How very kind of him. Lisabeth's hand lingers in his long enough to accept that help with grace, her hand small but strong in his. Her smile broadens just a touch, and there's a flicker of silent amusement in eyes that look vividly blue tonight before she murmurs, "Thank you-- just a glass of red wine, if you wouldn't mind?"
The bartender, having drifted near, promptly goes to fetch. It is not long at all before a delicate glass slides toward Lisabeth, widely curving bowl partially filled with a fragrant red. Stark's eyes, not being of the color-changing sort, remain a warm brown, ever more expressive than the reserve of his expression. For now, they express humor, as well as curiosity. "So," he prompts.
"So," Lisabeth replies, matching humor for humor with a moment of a wider smile. She lifts her wine, swirling it a touch before she sips carefully. Brows arch in elegant approval, voiced in a murmured sound that doesn't quite manage words before Lizzie clears her throat. "Tell me, Mr. Stark. Were you serious about your interest in Zenith and her abilities?"
"Ah." One question answered, curiosity in no way receeds from Stark's expression; if anything, it grows. He glances away, picking up his drink. It is in a low, smooth glass without ice, liquid the color of ripe wheat. "Yes, I was. I'm quite interested in understanding what she does, so that we can reproduce it."
Lisabeth's smile grows a touch wider. "I don't know that you'll quite manage /that/. But if you are interested, I'm quite certain we can come to an arrangement. Zenith is intensely interested in being useful to the larger world - that doesn't mean granting you access simply so that you can attempt to fuss with gravity yourself, though. There are other companies who'd be interested in having her in their testing rooms, I'm certain." There's a brief pause, filled with a pretty smile, as Lisabeth leaves room for that point to breathe. "The primary reason she would be willing to undergo certain tests is in order to help the world become better equipped to deal with a certain class of mutants and their powers, safely. "
"We can certainly try," Stark says with the tiniest etch of a curve at the corner of his lip. It is just a little smirkish, a little cocky. It fades to something more thoughtful as he considers her additions, taking a slow sip of his drink. "To deal with them safely, huh?"
"Yes," Lisabeth says firmly. "There are other benefits as well, of course - I'm sure you can imagine the many advantages inherent in developing control of gravity." Her smile echoes, just briefly, Stark's smug smirk. "Even beyond the realm of science fiction and space. Zenith may wish to make certain conditions apply to the use of the research you do. The goal here -- /her/ goal here." There's a pause, a glint in those blue eyes. "Is not to become rich. Although that is always a pleasant side-effect. It's to provide a benefit that no one else can." Lisabeth pauses, drawing a careful sip of red wine before adding, "I'm sure we can come to an agreement that allows you the use of your exclusive data while still making some portion of that information open to other uses. A balance."
"What sort of conditions might she wish to apply?" Stark asks, eyebrow arching with a certain cynicism. "We've never received complaints about compensation for time here at Stark Industries. And we will ask little enough of her." Just a wheel, big wheel, and she'll even have her own water bottle, and--! "What sort of terms did you have in mind?"
"Compensation isn't the issue," Lisabeth answers bluntly. "But what you discover does no good if it remains locked behind the doors of Stark Industries. I'll leave the details to the lawyers, of course, but-- it's something you should be aware of, up front. The full intention here is to make useful information available to the world. /Not/ to create a monopoly on gravity control. Or on engineering that will stand up under it."
Stark grows a shade more reserved, expression guarded and thoughtful. He stalls with a sip of his drink. "We are not a publicly funded research institution, Ms. Stuart. We're a corporation, a very successful one, too, thank you. Is your intention to make information available, or to bring a real difference to people's lives? That's what we do: change lives. And we would get the technology where it needs to go. Any truly revolutionary scientific discoveries, of course, would be published in the appropriate journals. I could give you a few examples of publications made by scientists in our employ. But."
Lisabeth smiles slowly, inclining her head in a nod. "Yes," she murmurs in agreement, nodding. "I've read several of them. There's a reason we made the offer, Mr. Stark. I know that you're here to make a profit - and that your profit won't come cheap. I also know that you understand how to do so while also being responsible to the community." Here her expression grows slightly more serious. "You've built weapons, yes, but you also helped build the Sentinels," she allows quietly. "That's the sort of concrete benefit that Zenith can help progess to the next step. I think a deal can be reached, if you're interested. I simply-- wanted you to be aware that it /would/ be a deal, and not just one involving a paycheck."
"That's what I have lawyers for." A smile winks at the corner of Stark's lips, pulling with a boyish rue. "And also Obadiah. I think they can work something out to our mutual interest." He lifts his glass in teasing toast. "To lawyers."
Lisabeth's smile slants briefly toward a grin as she raises her glass to meet Stark's. "Then I'll have our people contact your people," she murmurs in approval. "To lawyers. And very good wine."
"I certainly hope it's good wine." Stark leans, just slightly, in unconscious expression of curiosity. Then he goes back to his own drink, finishing it. "The Sentinel armor is really something, you know?"
"It sounds like it," Lisabeth answers with clear and honest 'impressed' in her voice. She tips her glass slightly toward Stark and then smiles over the rim of it before sipping. "I haven't seen them in action, of course. Just read about them."
"I'd say, 'You really should see them in action,' but that could be a little--" Stark waggles his empty glass in a gesture which attracts the bartender's attention. Intention or not, he is happy to release it for another measure of alcohol. "--dangerous," he finishes, belatedly.
Lisabeth slides hers toward the bar in a silent request for a topping-off as she grins at Stark. "Well. I do try to avoid emergencies, and I think they tend to run toward them."
The bartender was already in motion to do so, and Lisabeth's graceful slide simply makes it easier. "Well, they get driven toward them, and then walk toward them. If you average it out, I suppose it is equivalent to running toward them," Stark says easily.
Lisabeth waves her hand, elegant fingers gesturing easy dismissal. "More importantly, it's the moral equivalent. They must be something, for the men who wear them to be willing to do so."
"They are," Stark says, adding with further conviction, "and they are just the beginning. There is a lot to be done to play catch-up with nature in terms of serving public interests, but it's a good start, and I think that your client will be able to contribute as well, in some way."
"It's too bad more mutants haven't made similar offers," Lisabeth allows. She shifts slightly on her barstool, adjusting the drape of one long leg over the other as she leans into the bar. "What do you see in the future then, Mr. Stark?"
"I see science and technology answering fear and spreading opportunity, of course." Humor flashes in Stark's eyes. "We might have a brochure for it. I think there will be a time when the average citizen no longer has to fear a violation of their thoughts. We already begin to see that, with the telepathic inhibitors, and there's research being done in the pharmaceutical sector, as well. I think that science will help the uncontrolled find control, and protect the vulnerable from harm. I'm an optimist, Ms. Stuart." Maybe a /slightly/ sinister one, but hey.
Lisabeth's smile warms, approval meeting amusement. "So I can see. I wouldn't have expected it, you know. I find it somewhat-- surprisingly delightful."
Stark's eyes narrow in reflection of a brighter amusement. "No? Perhaps not. People get all sorts of erroneous ideas, reading the wrong things." He takes a sip of his drink. His eyes flick down over the curves of her body behind the shield of his glass, and then lift to find her gaze. "I do enjoy surprising delightful women," he adds in a twist of her words. "Do you like surprises?"
Lisabeth's brows lift a tad pointedly at that flick, but when his eyes find hers again, it's only to find lingering amusement, touched now with a hint of deeper interest. "Only delightful ones," she returns.
"Ah. That puts a bit of pressure on anyone who might want to surprise you," Stark says, eyebrows lifting, as hers did, with an expression of Thoughtful Solemnity.
Lisabeth smiles a touch smugly, red, red lips just resting on the edge of her wine glass as she considers Stark before lifting it for a small sip. "There doesn't seem to be much sense in bothering with anyone not able to handle a little pressure," she replies.
"I work best under pressure," Stark says, a bit of matching smugness in his expression.
Lisabeth tilts her head, blue eyes flashing once more with that mixture of amusement and interest. Anticipation, perhaps. "I've heard rumors to that effect," she replies, and this time /her/ eyes flick down, taking in not curves, but the rounded edge of a life-saving device that is difficult to hide /completely/ even under expensively tailored shirts and suits.
Lisabeth tilts her head, blue eyes flashing once more with that mixture of amusement and interest. Anticipation, perhaps. "I've heard rumors to that effect," she replies, and this time /her/ eyes flick down, taking in the lines of him.
Stark's expression stills for a heartbeat, locked in frozen flirtation, and then jars into a warm melt of humor. "Sometimes, you /should/ believe everything you hear," he flirts lightly, but his posture alters just slightly into a greater reserve.
Lisabeth watches that stilling with canny, interested eyes, and her posture alters in response to his, although in the opposite direction. "Sometimes," she answers. She holds her position for a moment, leaned just slightly toward him (and with an excellent view of cleavage) as her smile settles into something quieter and more thoughtful, and then she pulls back and slides her glass to the bar. "But not often," she finishes. "I really ought to go, Mr. Stark. Thank you very much for the drink."
"You're quite welcome, Ms. Stuart," Stark says, lifting his just slightly in salute. What little of flirtation that remains in his expression is just his usual reserved charm, all else drawn back behind a wall. "It's been /quite/ interesting, and I look forward to hearing from you." Or, more accurately, to his people hearing from her people, but who is counting?
Lisabeth watches that retreat with a faint flicker of curiosity, intrigued, and as she slides to stand she leans forward to extend her hand. "Likewise," she murmurs.
Stark meets the clasp of Lisabeth's hand without hesitation. His regard is as steady as his grip, both warm, both sure. His touch lingers perhaps just a little, just a whisper of a second longer than strict courtesy dictates -- and perhaps not. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
"And you," Lisabeth replies, her nod a bit brisker, her touch a bit cooler, her smile a bit more thoughtful. And then she turns and, with a swaying step that emphasizes the benefits of high, high heels, moves toward the exit
Business, then pleasure! But not.