"Now I see. The demon is me."
Lisa May Stark is so much more than the child she used to be when she and her father were kidnapped in Afghanistan five years ago. She's Iron Man's daughter, she's the Red Raven, she's, well, you know who she is...
i thought my demons were almost defeated but you took their side, and you pulled them to freedom demons ───jacob lee
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south africa may 3, 2015
"I want you to stay on the quinjet."
I look up at Dad with wide eyes as the aircraft pulls around and lands in the middle of the African salvage yard. Abandoned ships lie around what used to be a water-filled harbor but is now a deserted mudscape. The sky is a bright blue and tall green trees hover at all sides of the quinjet as the belly of the thing rests down into the dirt. Everyone but Bruce is suited up, preparing to exit the bomb bay doors so that we can confront Jumbotron and the wonder twins who have apparently joined forces.
We're all ready.
And yet he wants me to stay here?
"Eh, what?" I straighten from where I've been tying my shoelaces, "Wait, wait, you want me to do what?"
Everyone is awkwardly glancing at us now, completely overhearing our conversation. Dad takes my wrist, stepping me off to the side so we can talk a little more privately. I don't look at others, hardly even remembering they're there. My sole attention is given to Dad as I stare up at his face with furrowed brows and a slightly gaping mouth. He's wearing a pursed frown and his eyes are looking into mine as if he is searching for something, only I don't quite know what. I jut out my chin, waiting for a response among his silence.
He visibly grits his teeth, shaking his head a bit, "We don't know what we're walking into, Smalls. And the last time you saw this guy, you sort of," he pauses, irritatedly rolling his eyes, "Honestly, I don't even know what happened. We just gotta be careful."
Careful.
God, I am so sick of being treated like a fragile chinadoll.
"You be careful; I'll be busy doing, I don't know, stopping the homicidal robot," Dad gives me a look and I continue on in a slightly higher tone, "I'm nineteen, Dad. I'm not that fifteen year old kid out on a racetrack. I've been trained for this. You've trained me for this. I'm helping."
"No. You're not."
"Yes. I am." I argue back, a little surprised that he's putting up a fight about this, "If anybody can negotiate with Ultron and the Maximoffs, it'll be me. The four of us have something in common: the scepter. Maybe I can use that to our advantage."
"Which is exactly why I don't want you anywhere near them."
I blink and let out a deep breath, trying to find some means to reason with him, "Dad, I can't pull out of a mission every time it gets a little too personal. That's not how the job works, right?"
