01 / 11 / 09 - Emma, Percy, Stark
If one would expect a Sunday afternoon to be quiet and lonely at the SRC, one would be mistaken. While not up to the full hustle and bustle of a weekday, students and researchers alike seem to gravitate toward off-hours in the hopes of claiming time on a overbooked piece of equipment or being able to eliminate distractions in an empty lab. It is, however, less common to find the board members randomly wandering the halls. Emma wraps a rubberband around a low-laying handful of hair and glances sideways at her companion. "I still think that there /has/ to be a connection. I don't believe in coincidences."
Hands shrugged deep into the pockets of his closely tailored jacket, Percy favors Emma with the slant of a sidelong glance, mouth twisted faintly but quirked up at one corner; his expression, the bastard son of smile and grimace. "I suppose," he intones on a breath, in a slow, musing voice, "that stranger things have happened." The glint in his eyes skeptical, he glances away from her to check the slim watch clasped at his wrist.
Lacking lab coat and scuffed sneakers, Stark is neither researcher nor student. He looks more than a bit out of place in his neatly tailored suit, companion to one the center's pet physicists. It is probably worth noting that the physicist is female, and Stark is being Charming -- but he is hardly particularly /secretive/ about his presence here. Their conversation is low, and apparently about batteries. Pepper is talking to the woman at the desk, comparing battle scars, and thus, out of the picture. Stark and his pal turn a corner. Oh, look! Emma! Percy!
"Am I keeping you from something /important/?" Emma asks, irritation laying like fog in the hollows of the hills of her bemusement. Their footsteps sound loudly, a drumbeat to the notes of life approaching from around the corner. Oh, look! Stark! Emma slows, then stops. She presses her lips into a neutral line and flicks a glance between the pair. Stark was probably /raised/ to be Charming, not Sincere. << Now what can /he/ be after? >> she asks, sliding the thoughts ahead of her into Percy's mind.
"I have an appointment later," Percy says with dignity, turning his wrist to flick a critical eye over his cuticles. But then Emma has stopped walking! Half a pace later, he pauses, turning slightly on his heel as he glances to see what in the world beyond this corner has drawn her attention. Gaze narrowing slightly as he considers Stark, he replies with silent scorn, << Ass, apparently. >> (Percy never comes here to get ass.)
Having met his equals in tailoring, Stark no longer looks quite so out of place. He does, however, look a little sheepish. Carefully, he works on extracting his hand from the cookie jar. "Emma," he greets. Percy gets a more formal, "Mr. Talhurst," because he has no idea what he looks like naked and Stark /did/ make a play at buying him out recently. "Isn't this convenient."
"Tony." Funny. Does that mean Emma is the only one allowed to call them both by their first names? She folds her arms in front of her, crushing the delicate fibers of the cashmere sweater. They drape onto her arm like overly bleached body hair. "Quite convenient. It saves you the trouble I /know/ you were going to go through of informing us of your visit." His cookie jar is given a very sharp look underneath a frozen smile.
Heels slanting a little wider as he opens to face Stark at Emma's side, Percy does not echo Emma's gesture but rather greets him with an open gesture, sardonic welcome like dry heat to relieve her sharp chill. "Mr. Stark," he says. "What a pleasant surprise. What can we possibly do for you?"
"Well, actually, Ms. Potts was looking into making arrangements to speak with -- well, you." Stark lifts clasped hands and opens them in a slight gesture.
His companion withers at Emma's look, smile helpless and baffled. "I," she begins, and falls off. She dips her head, shuffling feet. "G'afternoon, Mr. Mumble and Ms. Mutter."
Quiet voice recalling Stark's attention to her, he turns his head. "Ah. Right. And while she was doing that, I came over to speak with Dr. Stirling here. Thank you for indulging me." Only too happy to flee, she does so, leaving the happy trio. Stark settles back on his heels, features arranged pleasantly. "Do you know," he says after a moment, "we've had the /hardest/ time arranging something."
"Have we? That must be quite a novel experience for you," Emma purrs sweetly, sending another glance after the fleeing Dr. Stirling. << Remind me to issue a reminder of security protocols, darling. >> She shifts her weight but does not drop her defensive posture. "What did you have in mind?" Her smile turns dangerously inviting, like a venus fly trap.
<< Be they ever so strict, I am sure that it is impossible for some not to slip through the cracks. >> This is probably not a veiled joke about Stark's height, since it matches Emma's, but you never know. Percy lifts his eyebrows at Stark, gaze widening slightly with a sham of ingenuousness. "I can't imagine how that would have happened," he says lightly.
"I've always been one to pursue the unusual experience," Stark says to Emma, light enough, if one subtracts the slight downwards flicker of his gaze between one blink and the next. "So what else was there for me to do but to come? There is interesting work being done here, and I have money burning a hole in my pocket. I'd prefer to work together," he concludes, leaving the 'or' in the stubborn set of his jaw.
Emma is not one to be intimidated by the 'or'. << Do you think money is the only thing burning? >> She narrows her eyes and lifts a shoulder in a gesture of unconcerned dismissal. "Your coming is no longer any interest of mine, darling," she says airly, dropping her arms and taking a step closer. "As long as you do it through the proper channels. I'll be sure to let my assistant know to schedule Ms. Potts in."
<< Certainly, except when he pees. >> Percy hides the obnoxious curve of his smile behind the brush of his knuckles, although the glitter in his eyes reveals more than any bland courtesy he might express aloud. "Such a wonderfully cooperative soul you are, too," he says. "But I'm sure if all you wish is to divest yourself of some of that money in a good cause, you may find donation forms readily at the front desk."
Stark gives a slight, half-smile as Emma steps forward. "Oh, channels," he dismisses. "You ought to hire a new assistant. Your current one has had the most amazing array of difficulties, Emma, when it comes to scheduling." The glance he turns in Percy's direction is equal parts irritated and frustrated. It is not often that Stark is /thwarted/, and pheromones and empathy both reveal naked petulance.
"I will be sure to discuss that with him as well," Emma promises solemnly, though smug glee dances through the link to Percy. << Donation forms. Percy. Darling. All that was missing was something about tax deductions. >>
<< Oh, damn, what a missed opportunity! >> His brilliance thus undermined, Percy's expression flickers, and he answers Stark's cranky look with only the ghost of a smile.
Stark is silent a moment, looking from Emma to Percy and then back again. The silence stretches, drawn tight. Before one or the other of them can offer him an escort to the door -- biiiiiitches! -- he tips his head. He is grave in manner: "Thank you, Emma, I'd appreciate that." Choosing strategic retreat over ego massacre, he adds, "Enjoy your afternoon," and wanders off to find Pepper. Crankily.
Stark runs afoul of the HFC's bitchy queens.