Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒, 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀
ELEANOR
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
The water poured down on me, hot and leisurely, bathing me in the coverlet of steam. I dragged my hand through my scalp, perceiving the images of today's incidents screen past my eyes and my brain unable to comprehend the depth of the situation. My dark hair trickled over my back when finally I turned down the dial and the piped moaned in response. Bracing myself against the wall as I shut my eyes and felt the wave of illusion take me over once again.
The wand, the spells, Victor—it made no sense. Why would Victor, a man who prided himself in being an anti to the world, suddenly come to the aid of Iron Man? It didn't seem like he had false intent at all, from the way he spoke. And my god, he was distracting. With looks like that, why need an iron mask in the first place?
I snapped myself awake when I know I have taken it too far, swaddling a towel around myself and pushed open the shower curtain for an exit.
'Shit,' I cursed, nearly slipping over the wet marble when I spotted the untimely visitor in the bathroom. My eyes were wide and a hand planted over my chest in surprise. I felt like I had been caught voicing my thoughts, clearing my throat softly.
'There's the thing called knocking.'
Tony didn't reply, only tossing me an unamused glance. He was seated on the toilet bowl, lid closed and holding his head between his hands. He was still dressed in his casuals, the jacket he had donned earlier deserted over the floor. I leaned onto the ledge of the sink in the small bathroom, watching his battered self by cautious eyes.
'Do I want to know?'
He snorted. 'Take a wild guess.'
Rhodey had graciously let us stay for the night and we had taken the room next door. Tony left as soon as we had been 'teleported' back from Latveria, without a word, returning just now after nearly two hours. I had tried to change his mind, maybe follow him but he was serious about finishing this alone. He had come in with new bruises and judging by the size of them, whatever he had addressed had ended badly. I seized a shirt of Rhodey's I had stolen earlier, fitting it over my head and tugging the towel off. I dried my hair off slowly, letting it sink down my shoulder in wet, frizzy waves.
'You can talk to me,' I offered softly.
'Course, I can,' he sighed. 'I just—sometimes, I want to get lost, you know what I mean? Just be Tony. Tony the dad. Tony the inventor. Tony the sexbot.'
