Beneath Golden Hall - Tony's Office Though "out of the way" is an understatement, Tony's office at least makes up for it by being huge, about twenty feet on a side. As in any good office, the centerpiece of the room is The Desk, a heavy wooden thing with a piece of glass on top, and enough flat space to compete with most dinner tables. Of lesser prominence are the three chairs in front of the desk, the long couch along a wall, and the large filing cabinets behind the desk. The colors and design of the room are cool and subdued, tending to light grays, blues, and off-whites. Recessed and reflected lighting gives the careful impression of connections to the outside world, and the ventilation system ensures cool, fresh air, leaving the lack of windows the only clue that the office is buried underground. Contents: Tony Obvious exits: Out It's been a while since Setsuri's felt so solidly /real/--and that's a pretty oxymoron right there, too, feeling solid and real in a place that is really no more than the gods' playground of the imagination. But lately she's been drifting, as if half-asleep and not quite... there. Or more precisely, as if the rest of the world wasn't really there, insubstantial things that she goes through the motions of existing in without quite connecting. The sending from Swan had changed that. Snapped her back into focus, so to speak--it had been almost dizzying, the speed at which she'd landed back in her body after the sharp, urgent message. And then the messages had come in, of the earthquake and the casualties, the cold figures that required handling. Not much handling, as it turned out--fortunate that the ones in charge were quite competent, and especially--even though it makes Setsuri sweat a bit--that Cagalli was there. Still is there, in fact, which doesn't make Swan's Priestess any happier. She's hardly the young woman's lover or mother, but there is very definitely an urge to protect her, even aside from Swan's own inclinations manifesting itself in His chosen. It doesn't bear thinking about if they lost yet another Sowilo. And anyway, the port needs some additional aid to protect it, doesn't it? It only makes sense that a Knight goes with it. The last matter is what brings Setsuri down to this office, hidden deep within the bowels of the Hill. If it were just herself going, she wouldn't bother, but the readying and shipment of a detachment of guards takes a while, and the moonpaths make travel for such a large group inconvenient, and are dangerous beside. If the reports that land occasionally on her desk are right, though, Tony Stark should have the solution for that. And so, she walks down and down through stairs and subterranean halls, passing the enormous bay with its mass of metal and swarming engineers, and straight to the office of the newest Knight. At which point she pauses and knocks once, politely. She can sense his presence, or at least someone's presence, through the door, but it never hurts to be courteous. Permission to enter the office is given without pause, and it's certainly Tony's voice. Tony is always so very Tony, difficult to mistake for anybody else no matter what the agency of contact is. To somebody who's been walking in a dream within a Dream for a while, though, recent differences are subtle but striking. The official word is that Mister Stark died not so long ago in a lab accident, and took a while about getting back. The body wasn't handed over, and remained hidden somewhere in the underground bunker. For somebody with a little more than vision, his body's aura might well be a little odd, owing to his new lack of a biological heart-- the faithful mechanical heart keeps on ticking inside his chest, though. More, his mind's aura has changed, getting older and more weathered and more... tired, perhaps. Tired or not, though, he has a smile for Setsuri, even knowing she won't see it. In the flesh, he looks /very/ tired, as he attempts to fulfill the duties of a Knight without lessening his duties as an engineer. "Setsuri," he says with genuine warmth. "Please, come in and sit down. May I get you anything?" Judgment pages: Awww. :D Well! It can wait. No need to rush you. I basically wanna comission a portrait of Jake here. XD I've always needed one, and you're an amaze-tacular enough Artist to pull it off really well. ^.^ Judgment pages: I don't have enough fundage for this month to pay for what I really want anywho. So it'll hafta wait till next month at least. XD "Thank you, Tony," Setsuri responds briskly, striding in upon the permission and settling herself into a chair as invited. "But no, thank you. I don't think this should take long at all, I only have a few questions, chiefly an inquiry about the status of the new ship you were constructing and whether it is airworthy as yet." The words come out in one long, even string, and she only seems to pause for breath at the end--but when she does, she hesitates. Tony's aura, dimmed slightly by the walls and door between them before, is now quite apparent at this range... and he does seem different, much more than he should be in just the short while since they'd last had contact. Although... when /was/ the last time they had contact? Real interaction, and not simply perfunctory nods as they go about their business? She can't remember, really, and so that might be why... but still. Head tilting slightly to one side, she comments, leaving the official line of inquiry aside for a moment, "You seem ... tired." The words are diplomatic--at least she doesn't say 'exhausted,' or 'half- mechanical,' or even 'old.' And 'old' is a very curious thing, too, considering they don't really age... although one supposes lack of physical aging doesn't necessarily mean a lack of mental maturation. "The new-- oh, yes. The Atlas," Tony says. The project has been nearly all- consuming for him for so long that it doesn't even count as the 'new ship' in his mind. He steeples his fingers in front of him and shrugs. "At this point, I'd say it's worthy of pretty much anything, physically. It's short-staffed, of course, but the numbers have been rising slowly. All of the Ouranos fighters are aboard and ready, too. I can show you the ship if you like." 'Old' is a curious thing here, and even in appearance, Tony has aged just slightly, only enough to be visible, though that won't be much help for the blind. Though a lover of people, the engineer hasn't been out of his hole and social much, lately. The junior Knight lifts and drops his shoulders slightly. "Never enough hours in the day, I guess. I've been working a lot." True, as far as it goes, just still an evasion. "You're looking well, yourself." Leaning back slightly, just enough to relax into the chair instead of sitting stiff-backed and prim, Setsuri raises a brow, the movement just visible above the scarlet of her blindfold. "I understand it can carry a significant amount of people--if that was it in the bay there," a word she's picked up from some of the secret reports about the construction going on, though it had been nonspecific at best, "it certainly seems large enough to carry a sizeable portion of the city. ... in fact, it may be too large for my purposes." She actually looks a trifle dismayed--perhaps she hadn't simply realized that it was possible to construct something /that/ large. "Is there anything smaller that is capable of transporting, say, a hundred troops or so?" She switches conversations with ease, elbows lifting to rest on the arms of the chair and fingers just touching each other over her lap, not quite steepled. "Don't drive yourself too hard," she chides lightly. This, coming from her? But she seems to make a habit of it now, mothering the other Knights and making sure they're not working themselves into an early grave--even if they would simply rise up again. "It would do no good if you wore yourself out and then didn't function as well if an emergency came around." Ah, there's her reasoning. Or at least her surface reasoning, but it is eminently practical. "And there /may/ be another emergency, for that matter. I don't trust the current state of quiet." Events at Bluefinger notwithstanding, but Bluefinger isn't quite here. "Its theoretical capacity is a bit in excess of a hundred," Tony agrees dryly. "Its full crew complement is five thousand, five hundred people, including support and combat personnel. At this moment, we have no smaller transports, but if you give me a time frame, I might be able to come up with something for you... or we could just overkill it a bit and send the Atlas anyway. Where did you need to drop the troops?" "I'm fine. I know my limits." Knowing his limits has rarely stopped Tony from doing anything in the past. "I'm never sure when it's a new emergency and when it counts as a continuation anymore," he observes, tapping his fingertips together. "Do you have anything specific that's worrying you, or is it just a general disquiet?" He can hardly hold that against her, world being what it is. "... yes, that may be perhaps a bit much," Setsuri sighs, her fingers tap- tapping together. "Ah, no matter, I suppose. There's no need to take it out so soon and alert everyone to our potential capabilities, in the absence of an emergency. It will simply take a little longer for the men to reach the port." Maybe it'll do them good to go on a forced march, stretch their legs. ... well, okay, not as much good as simply being carried there, but. Perhaps a contingent of cavalry, then? Even though that would probably mean having to ride one of those cursed beasts herself. "Knowing your limits does you little good if you disregard them," Setsuri points out dryly, apparently familiar enough with such evasive answers to recognize them when she sees them. She's employed them herself often enough, after all. "I wish it were something specific, but no, there is a cause for it," she admits. "At the time of the earthquake, Swan spoke to me and told me that it was the work of Thunderbird, and to keep watch in case He should try anything again. There's little we can do about a god's wrath, though, and even knowing that much doesn't help without any indication of what to look for... and given the nature of Thunderbird, I doubt there is little to indicate as it is." She shrugs lightly. "So, tension and increased wariness, but that has hardly changed little, of late." "I might be able to work out some land transportation in a fairly short time for you. Full-mechanical, probably, a steam engine... if Edward hasn't quit because I became a Knight, anyway..." Tony half-mutters the last under his breath in irritation, not really meaning to comment on that particular aspect of life in the engineering department. "Nothing comfortable, but quite rugged and serviceable, I think." "Thank you, Mother," Tony responds gently. "I'm a grown, responsible man. I can look after myself, I promise." He reaches up and pushes his fingers through his dark hair. "Your god isn't the most helpful, is he?" Tony asks, making an unseen face. "Still, perhaps it's an indication that we'll want to keep the Atlas close to home while we keep an eye out for Thunderbird's activity." "Does 'in fairly short order' mean something that could be up and running and get to Bluefinger within, hmm... a week?" Setsuri queries, leaning on one arm. That's about the time frame she expects a company of about a hundred to make the trip in... it could be a few days less with half that number, and even less if she went alone or with only a few others she knows can keep up, but larger groups always makes things slower. Not to mention the somewhat shifting topography of the land itself, even though it tends to remain more stable nearer the cities. Another brow lifts at his half-heard mutter, Setsuri catching only the name. "The Priest of Oilbird still works for you then, I take it." She can't say she's entirely easy with the young man involved in such a project, but she's not certain how much of that is just patron-shared uneasiness, and how much her own. But he probably knows his own assistance. The wry response draws a blank silence first, and then she half-grimaces. "Am I truly so meddling?" From the twist to her lips, she's not certain whether to be resigned, wryly amused, or just irritated. She does seem to get that comment a fair amount too, at least from those who don't mind telling her to her face when she's being interfering. "Not really, no. Sometimes, but not terribly often." It's nice to know when a Priest passes by, but in daily life that's really about as much use as it amounts to. And Swan-chosen tend to be an independent lot, not terribly given to coming to her for help--it is partly why He chose them, after all. "Indeed." "One week?" Tony figures logistics in his head, balancing supply availability and production time, along with any number of other factors. "I'm not sure I can pry loose enough manpower for that. I wouldn't want to use vehicles any larger than those suitable for ten to fifteen men, which means eight or ten engines, unless we get some spells out of some mages. But we're set up for the Stirling engines we use in the Ouranos class, so a little bit of tinkering, and... I'll have to check some things." He twitches his head slightly. "Ed? Yeah, he's been a big help. Winry, too." "Not really," Tony concedes, lifting his hands a little to surrender his point. "Certainly nothing compared to my real mother, as much as I loved her. Just consider your message received." He waves away the subject of old Swan. He's never put his faith in gods, anyway. He used to work with Thor, after all. "If you can get an estimate within the next day, I would appreciate it. Otherwise, I will send the company on by the usual way." The usual way being foot, most likely. Cavalry at a sea port might not be the most useful thing ever, if something did come up. "If it might mean going short on another project, don't concern yourself--it would simply be expedient, but it's not top priority." She doesn't /think/ anything will happen in the intervening time it takes to muster and march, or at least she doesn't think there's a high enough risk to pull people off other projects, or work those with spare hours to the bone. As for the subject of the Oilbird priest and his girlfriend, she merely makes a noncommittal "Hnn." "That is somewhat a relief to hear," Setsuri admits wryly. "I like to believe I'm not quite that old yet." She does have some vanity, odd as it is for someone who can't judge others based on appearance any more. Quite a bit of vanity, actually. "Just do keep it in mind. You are in an important position now, after all, and while it does bring many responsibilities, it also brings the wonder of delegation." And protection of the Hall extends to those within it, high and low. Now, working with Thor might be an interesting tale for her to hear someday--one supposes after working beside the sealed incarnation of a Norse God himself, one would get slightly jaded. But that's an issue for another time, if he ever brings it up. For now... "As it is, I should be going. I merely dropped by to ask a few questions, as I mentioned. Take care, Stark, and keep in mind what I said--Swan mentioned that dealing with THunderbird would be the affairs of the gods, but Winterheart or raiders might decide to take advantage of the chaos." Ever cheerful, she rises from her seat, absently smoothing out her hakama in a habitual gesture, and heads out the door with a nod to Tony. "I'll work on it," Tony promises urbanely, which means he'll probably know everything about it in an hour. The underground bunker runs like a top Fortune 500 company, or else. "Hardly old, Setsuri. And I do delegate. It's just that... I don't know." He stands up as she does, out of politeness. The stories he can tell about Thor, and perhaps will, someday... "The Air Guard will be ready," Tony promises. "Take care of yourself."