I'll admit, it's been a pretty awful week. Depression has been kicking my ass in a serious way and I feel like nothing I produce is any good.
Still, here's a snippet just for the hell of it. From the one story I've been able to work on this week with any success, "Lessons on Compensation and Equivalency" (Tony Stark/A.I.-to-human!JARVIS, NC-17).
He had not been JARVIS for twenty-two days now, and Mister Stark was now Tony (a strange but fitting intimacy, given everything else that had happened between them), but some things remained constant in his existence: managing the lab, supervising the house, and above all taking care of his creator to the best of his ability. JAMES might technically be capable of the first two tasks, but JAMES lacked Jarvis's functional complexity — and in spite of knowing that he should be above such petty human concerns as jealousy, it nevertheless pleased Jarvis to recognize that Tony didn't trust JAMES to carry out those functions to his satisfaction. Hence Jarvis's continued presence, wearing an upgraded version of the cybernetic interface headset that Tony had experimented with seven years ago and discarded in favour of actually talking to his A.I.; JAMES had a voice, a cultured Boston accent, but Tony almost never had to hear it. Jarvis monitored JAMES's activities, regulated his functions, and communicated with Tony when communication was necessary.
It sounds better when you say it, Tony had told him fifteen days ago, and Jarvis had actually felt himself flush with pleasure. Being needed had always been his sine qua non, but being wanted was a new and profound satisfaction.
Today was a case in point, as were all days: Tony was up to his mid-forearms in the intricacies of the next iteration of Iron Man's armour, blind and deaf to the world in spite of having been at his task for nearly eighteen hours straight, when JAMES informed Jarvis via his earpiece that dinner had arrived upstairs. Without a word Jarvis rose from his desk and departed the lab, returning less than five minutes later with a tray containing a piping hot boxed pizza from his maker's favourite vendor, plates and cutlery, a cup of Earl Grey tea (one sugar, no cream), and a full glass of chilled Madiran wine. Tony's head stayed down as he crossed to the small table in the kitchen area, calling out in a low but firm voice: "Sir."
A distracted grunt and a tiny spit of sparks was the only discernible response, aside from the hunching of broad shoulders inside a sweaty and grease-stained t-shirt.
"Sir, dinner is ready." He started to set out the plates, the beverages, the napkins and the cutlery: Tony was marginally more likely to eat when he had company.
"Busy," Tony retorted, which was at least a coherent response and thus an improvement.
"Sir," Jarvis persisted, opening up the flat box so the food was clearly visible. "Please, don't make me have JAMES cut the power to the tool array. Again."
A snarl and a growl, but after several seconds he slammed the microwelder down with ill grace and levered himself off his stool, striding to the table with his gaze clearly turned inward, still deep in analyzing the engineering problem he'd set himself to fix. It wasn't until he was actually seated that his eyes focussed on what was right in front of him — and he scowled. "Red wine with pizza? C'mon, Jarvis…"
"Red wine contains both polyphenols and procyanidins, as well as trace amounts of resveratrol — all conducive to maintaining your overall physical health, particularly when you insist upon driving yourself to the point of collapse." He took his own seat facing Tony, pausing significantly before continuing: "Of course, I could always replace the wine with a nice cold glass of whole milk, if you'd rather —"
Tony shuddered dramatically. "No! Oh God, no."
He reached out and, with his fingertips on the base of the glass, pushed it two inches closer to the plate. "Then I'd suggest you drink up, Sir."
"You are such a pain in the ass," Tony complained, but he was smiling thinly as he plucked the biggest slice of loaded pizza out of the box, mumbling around the first huge mouthful: "Remind me why I keep you around again?"
"Because without me you'd starve to death within a week," Jarvis countered without missing a beat, transferring a smaller slice to his own plate and picking up his knife and fork. "Or perhaps it has something to do with the way I consistently make you scream in bed."
"Mph." He barely chewed before swallowing, the smile becoming a smirk once his mouth was freed up. "Maybe." Reaching for his glass, he took a mouthful and scarcely even winced: his attention was focussed on Jarvis's throat now, where he'd loosened his tie and his collar ever so slightly before bringing down the meal. The quality of that gaze suggested that he wanted to lean across the small table and open up the neat navy business suit even more, exactly as Jarvis had intended. "Y'know, I see what you're doing here."
Jarvis placed a bite-sized piece in his mouth delicately, chewing and swallowing without haste. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Sir."
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Date: Saturday, March 23rd, 2013 19:58 (UTC)Still, here's a snippet just for the hell of it. From the one story I've been able to work on this week with any success, "Lessons on Compensation and Equivalency" (Tony Stark/A.I.-to-human!JARVIS, NC-17).
******************************************************
He had not been JARVIS for twenty-two days now, and Mister Stark was now Tony (a strange but fitting intimacy, given everything else that had happened between them), but some things remained constant in his existence: managing the lab, supervising the house, and above all taking care of his creator to the best of his ability. JAMES might technically be capable of the first two tasks, but JAMES lacked Jarvis's functional complexity — and in spite of knowing that he should be above such petty human concerns as jealousy, it nevertheless pleased Jarvis to recognize that Tony didn't trust JAMES to carry out those functions to his satisfaction. Hence Jarvis's continued presence, wearing an upgraded version of the cybernetic interface headset that Tony had experimented with seven years ago and discarded in favour of actually talking to his A.I.; JAMES had a voice, a cultured Boston accent, but Tony almost never had to hear it. Jarvis monitored JAMES's activities, regulated his functions, and communicated with Tony when communication was necessary.
It sounds better when you say it, Tony had told him fifteen days ago, and Jarvis had actually felt himself flush with pleasure. Being needed had always been his sine qua non, but being wanted was a new and profound satisfaction.
Today was a case in point, as were all days: Tony was up to his mid-forearms in the intricacies of the next iteration of Iron Man's armour, blind and deaf to the world in spite of having been at his task for nearly eighteen hours straight, when JAMES informed Jarvis via his earpiece that dinner had arrived upstairs. Without a word Jarvis rose from his desk and departed the lab, returning less than five minutes later with a tray containing a piping hot boxed pizza from his maker's favourite vendor, plates and cutlery, a cup of Earl Grey tea (one sugar, no cream), and a full glass of chilled Madiran wine. Tony's head stayed down as he crossed to the small table in the kitchen area, calling out in a low but firm voice: "Sir."
A distracted grunt and a tiny spit of sparks was the only discernible response, aside from the hunching of broad shoulders inside a sweaty and grease-stained t-shirt.
"Sir, dinner is ready." He started to set out the plates, the beverages, the napkins and the cutlery: Tony was marginally more likely to eat when he had company.
"Busy," Tony retorted, which was at least a coherent response and thus an improvement.
"Sir," Jarvis persisted, opening up the flat box so the food was clearly visible. "Please, don't make me have JAMES cut the power to the tool array. Again."
A snarl and a growl, but after several seconds he slammed the microwelder down with ill grace and levered himself off his stool, striding to the table with his gaze clearly turned inward, still deep in analyzing the engineering problem he'd set himself to fix. It wasn't until he was actually seated that his eyes focussed on what was right in front of him — and he scowled. "Red wine with pizza? C'mon, Jarvis…"
"Red wine contains both polyphenols and procyanidins, as well as trace amounts of resveratrol — all conducive to maintaining your overall physical health, particularly when you insist upon driving yourself to the point of collapse." He took his own seat facing Tony, pausing significantly before continuing: "Of course, I could always replace the wine with a nice cold glass of whole milk, if you'd rather —"
Tony shuddered dramatically. "No! Oh God, no."
He reached out and, with his fingertips on the base of the glass, pushed it two inches closer to the plate. "Then I'd suggest you drink up, Sir."
"You are such a pain in the ass," Tony complained, but he was smiling thinly as he plucked the biggest slice of loaded pizza out of the box, mumbling around the first huge mouthful: "Remind me why I keep you around again?"
"Because without me you'd starve to death within a week," Jarvis countered without missing a beat, transferring a smaller slice to his own plate and picking up his knife and fork. "Or perhaps it has something to do with the way I consistently make you scream in bed."
"Mph." He barely chewed before swallowing, the smile becoming a smirk once his mouth was freed up. "Maybe." Reaching for his glass, he took a mouthful and scarcely even winced: his attention was focussed on Jarvis's throat now, where he'd loosened his tie and his collar ever so slightly before bringing down the meal. The quality of that gaze suggested that he wanted to lean across the small table and open up the neat navy business suit even more, exactly as Jarvis had intended. "Y'know, I see what you're doing here."
Jarvis placed a bite-sized piece in his mouth delicately, chewing and swallowing without haste. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Sir."