Forget Me Not

1: Forget Me Not

Tony Stark, billionaire philanthropist and the future not-so-secret pilot of Iron Man, was soaked, head-to-toe from the still-pouring rain, and tired. Not the normal tired either. He was the kind of tired that sent him straight to the bottle, more than ready to start a long argument with the Captain. Captain Morgan that is. He looked around, his rain-inhibited gaze sweeping over the various tall structures of Manhattan. Most the buildings seemed to be more window than structure, which he typically preferred, but that particular day he just wanted to find a good old fashioned bar. Somewhere that didn't cost a fortune to run, with people who were as far from any front page coverage as any typical bystander was likely to get in New York. He wanted simplicity.

Simplicity and a good therapy session with a bartender that wouldn't remember Tony's problems a few customers down the line. His eyes searched the buildings yet again, expecting nothing different when his gaze landed on a little two-story place he'd been sure wasn't there half a minute ago. Sky blue horizontal siding, a weather worn old wooden porch, sand from who knew where encrusted around the short wooden foundation where it kissed the ground, and a pink and golden conch shell hanging next to the metal white screen door that had little windows on either side of it. A rustic wooden sign hung above the door, the lettering in a strange language he couldn't read. Under which, in just as big a font, was another strange language. Thankfully, on the opposite side of the door from the conch was a small wooden sign that had what he assumed was the English translation, "Golden Labyrinth Bar".

Perfect. He walked up the steps, almost as if he'd simply forgotten it didn't really fit in between the two grand hotels on either side of it. The screen door creaked in that way he'd always heard in movies on farm houses. Even that seemed more like a welcome than he ever could have thought it would. It was almost vaguely familiar. While it creaked and banged quietly shut behind him, Tony's attention was enraptured with the building he now stood in.

An oak door that was really more window than door was held open with a door stop that looked like a realistic black-and-white horn with a jagged base and an odd, crusty black substance splattered on the tip. It looked like someone had attached a metal ring to its base so that it stood without tipping and its weight now held the door as though it were made for the task. The flooring it sat on was a beautiful honey-stained wood, free of any scuff marks or flaws, which was actually quite odd for a bar if he thought about it.

Dark brown, almost black, wooden tables and chairs littered the open floor. Strangely enough, quite a few of them didn't match. Some that were with the more out-of-the-way tables had seats that were absolutely massive. On the other hand, he could swear that on the table of a booth in the corner by the door sat several even smaller tables and chairs, as though they were made for fairies or something. Speaking of booths, the wall to his left was lined with them. Dark wood that matched the rest of the furniture with deep emerald cushioning. Oddly enough, the last booth wasn't against the back wall like he'd expect, but stopped a ways away from it. Tucked in that back corner were built-in bookshelves - filled to the brim with colorful covers - surrounding a brick fireplace on the back wall that held the dwindling crackle of a fire. The shelves continued along the back wall, going around the white french doors leading out the back and only stopping when they hit the edge of the bar.

On his right was the bar. The same dark wood was used, but the bottom was a glass case that revealed exotic unfamiliar liquor bottles of all shapes and sizes. Behind the bottles was frosted glass with hidden lights behind it to brighten the display. On the wall behind the bar were the expected shelves of liquor, these ones more typical and not all surprising to see. From the cheap Captain Morgan he'd been craving to the most expensive of brandies that he'd usually partake from if he were at home. In the middle of these shelves was a door that led to what he assumed was the kitchen.