For a moment that stretches out long into the realm of discomfiting quiet, the Legion don't move from their positions, hovering as a semi-circle of menacing- and slightly uncertain -synthetic intensity. Those two most forward suddenly begin their descent, with the expectation that she should follow, the other two units bringing up the rear. Flying swiftly, their aim is clear, even helpfully sent over to the other suit: a Legion installation in Midtown, landing lights blazing a welcome- with even more of the droids waiting on arrival.
Stark won't believe it. Not yet. Clearly someone stole his tech, of course, clearly there's something sinister here, a preemptive, malefic strike before the synod, in the wake of everything, Jane's defection, Rey's efforts... the theories spin out wildly, until JOCASTA feels the need to remind him to take a breath, his own gasp loud in his helm.
Not once in the past ten years has Pepper Potts arrived via the Porter. He knows that. He's checked. Every month, he paid attention to the lists of arrivals, searched and dug through digital files of factions that would never offer up their own freely. Others gained their loved ones without effort; they put out hopeful feelers into the wide networks and were rewarded with joyful acknowledgment, or they all straight up departed, vanished back into the worlds they came from. Pure serendipity, and he resented it so thoroughly, bitter for each happy reunion until he finally, finally had to let go. Pepper was never coming.
Please don't tell him she's here, now, after he'd given up hope.
The Legion land with her and go to join their identical brothers. Stark lands not long after, cutting repulsors for a quick, hard touch down. Mk 50 is inky black, gleaming like it's fresh from the fabricator, and presently informing Stark that his heart rate is dangerously high.
"I am only going to ask once. Who are you, and where did you get that suit?"
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For a moment that stretches out long into the realm of discomfiting quiet, the Legion don't move from their positions, hovering as a semi-circle of menacing- and slightly uncertain -synthetic intensity. Those two most forward suddenly begin their descent, with the expectation that she should follow, the other two units bringing up the rear. Flying swiftly, their aim is clear, even helpfully sent over to the other suit: a Legion installation in Midtown, landing lights blazing a welcome- with even more of the droids waiting on arrival.
Stark won't believe it. Not yet. Clearly someone stole his tech, of course, clearly there's something sinister here, a preemptive, malefic strike before the synod, in the wake of everything, Jane's defection, Rey's efforts... the theories spin out wildly, until JOCASTA feels the need to remind him to take a breath, his own gasp loud in his helm.
Not once in the past ten years has Pepper Potts arrived via the Porter. He knows that. He's checked. Every month, he paid attention to the lists of arrivals, searched and dug through digital files of factions that would never offer up their own freely. Others gained their loved ones without effort; they put out hopeful feelers into the wide networks and were rewarded with joyful acknowledgment, or they all straight up departed, vanished back into the worlds they came from. Pure serendipity, and he resented it so thoroughly, bitter for each happy reunion until he finally, finally had to let go. Pepper was never coming.
Please don't tell him she's here, now, after he'd given up hope.
The Legion land with her and go to join their identical brothers. Stark lands not long after, cutting repulsors for a quick, hard touch down. Mk 50 is inky black, gleaming like it's fresh from the fabricator, and presently informing Stark that his heart rate is dangerously high.
"I am only going to ask once. Who are you, and where did you get that suit?"