NOT just A ROBOT
shipping meme
There's always a right tool for the job, be it as simple as a hammer for a nail or on up to the much, much more complex. In this, the near future, the new tool for the abstract, post-modern job is no longer from the humble tool box - it's robots. Robots have taken over most sectors, such as assembly, law enforcement, and even health care. Things run so much smoother when they're automated. Yet the most impressive factor is that robots have just recently begun to enter a sector previously believed to require human touch: the personal sector. From personal assistants to robo bodyguards to pleasurebots, most anyone who's anyone has a personal robot these days. Of course, humanity being the narcissistic charmers we are, all "companion" sector robots are made in our own beautiful image, or close to it.
But you know this. You have a personal robot, after all...or you are one.
Whether owner or robot, it's important to remember one key rule: robots, no matter how human they appear, cannot feel emotions. Any appearances thereof are programming in the AI.
Robots certainly, absolutely, cannot fall in love. Again, any appearances thereof are programming in the AI. If that's not the case, and "love" still seems present...
...well, a toll that no longer functions correctly may not be right for the job.
HOW TO PLAY ➟
- Comment with your character, preference, and whether you want to play a human or a robot.
- Reply to others.
- Use the RNG to choose a prompt or pick one yourself.
OWNER ➟
- Long Time Owner → You and your robot are a well-oiled machine, no pun intended.
- New Purchase → Congratulations, you have your brand new personal bot!
- Second Hand → Someone else owned this robot before you, but it can't be too damaged. There's no way you could afford a brand new one, anyway.
- For Science! → Your interests in robots are purely scientific. No matter how yours begins to act towards you, honest!
- Rescue → Whether you took them from the dump or from a bad owner, you brought this robot from the jaws of deletion.
- Reluctant → You never wanted a robot, but you've got one thrust on you anyway.
- Cruel → They're just a fancy computer, so you'll treat them however you like.
- See the Humanity → Even if you know it's all machinery and programming, you can't help but see the human side of your robot. They shouldn't have to be a servant.
- What's Real and What's Not → The lines are beginning to blur between real people and their emotions and your robot.
- Incompatible → You can't be with a machine, either romantically or sexually. You're simply not compatible.
- Too Engrossed → They say you've created a fantasy world. You're forgetting reality, or choosing to ignore it.
- Don't Care → You won't listen to what the others say; you know how you feel.
- Have to Pull Away → The close relationship you had with your robot has to be put aside for your own good.
- Live a Normal Life → As much as you can, you and your robot live like a normal couple.
- Bad End → Your robot is taken away, reprogrammed, or destroyed.
ROBOT ➟
- The Perfect Robot → You know what you and exactly what you were made to do. You will not stray.
- More Human than Human → Whoever programmed you made you to be just like a human.
- Conflicted → There is no way you could have what they call "feelings." But what is this stirring in your circuitry?
- Confused → Why do people treat you like a robot? You're a living thing, damn it!
- Damaged → Somehow, you've been corrupted. You're a blank slate and have to be cared for, though it should be the opposite. Or it could be that you're showing erratic behavior that no robot should...
- Shown Kindness → When you're treated kindly by a human, you are unsure how to process it. It makes you feel - content.
- No Longer Just a Program → Your "love" and "affection" may have been shades and imitations at first, but that's not the case any longer.
- Obsolete Model → You know you're old. Will you be forced to leave your master's side?
- Jealousy → A robot should not feel jealous. Still, you envy those close to your master.
- Job is Personal → You were programmed to protect or to serve, though you also do it because you...care
- Second Chance → Your old master tossed you aside and now you are wary. But you've been given another chance instead of being used for scrap.
- Rogue → There is no way you will be tied to the oppressive system. You refuse to serve the Living Things. Somehow, though, you've become aligned with one.
- One of a Kind → There are no other robots like you, and perhaps you are intended for a sinister fate. Rather than face your true duty, you have escaped to take refuge with a human.
- Specialty → You were created specifically for this one special person.
- Reprogrammed → Because of previous defects, you were taken back to factory settings before. However, that treacherous virus, "love," is bubbling back up.
- Android → You can't just forget the part of you that was - still is - organic.
- Learn to Be Human → Despite the odds and the prejudices you both will face, you have decided to live as a free, living person with the one you care for most.
- Bad End → You're to be junked, impacted, wiped clean, or taken away from your owner.
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bakerstreet2018-08-13 08:08 pm
no subject
But seeing it with your own two eyes from the ground like a normal human is... different.
It's not bad. Not as bad as he'd thought it would be. Turns out he's not agoraphobic either, leaving the tower doesn't give him some kind of ridiculous panic attack, doesn't make him want to run for the hills.
No, really it's the concept of building social ties and the implications therein, it's the idea that he's the only one of him that exists and if he does eventually form some kind of connection with someone he will, inevitably, have to explain what he is to them. He can't exactly see that conversation going well.
Alternatively, he'll have to keep his entire being a secret, which is... perhaps a more desirable alternative, frankly, even if it does make him feel a little bit like a perpetual outsider.
Still, this is easier than he thought it'd be. He settles back into his seat to watch the world pass by, pedestrians and cars and traffic, looming buildings and life. This is New York. Somewhere outside of the car, he can hear someone yell fuck you, pal! and he can't quite keep the amusement off his face. ]
Friendly city.
[ He comments. ]
The people seem nice. Really gives you that home-y vibe.
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hates that it's full of terrible traffic, tourists, and a solid chunk of assholes that feel entitled to his time because they have opinions. He's all for talking to the average citizen, but when they come at him full of piss and vinegar he reserves the right to tell them to fuck off in turn.
And then there's the paparazzi. There's always one or two tailing cars that roll up from the basement and this Prius, while not as well known, has been tagged as something he drives now and then. A quick squint in the review mirror shows they're clear for the moment, but there's no telling how long that'll last. ]
For the sake of safety and my own sanity I'm going to ask you don't head out on your own anytime soon- it doesn't have to be me going with you, it can be Happy, he won't ask questions and won't mind- and if you want to drive you complete the simcourse Jarvis has rigged for the car you've got in mind.
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Is that even legal?
[ Like, technically he doesn't have a driver's license. But also, technically, he isn't a human is he? Self-driving cars are technically a thing, automation and the Google Maps care are riding high in the land of technical legality. He can't, however, imagine that conversation going over too well. ]
Sorry, officer, I don't have a license because technically I'm a blender?
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[ What deviance could his mild mannered, salty toaster possibly get p to that would warrant police intervention while on the road?
Maybe an accident caused by someone else but the nerves on Bruce lead him to think he'd be a fairly defensive driver. ]
Also, give yourself a little credit, companion-cube. You're a programmable coffee maker at least.
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[ Because those are a real thing that he doesn't necessarily need to do anything wrong to run into. License and registration are regularly checked, especially around major holidays. ]
Or maybe I've got a passing interest in back-street drag racing.
[ You never know, he's an enigma and a half, right?
Honestly, though he's the one that started calling himself a toaster or a blender or whatever other device he happened to think of at the time, something about it coming from Tony today just... sits weird in him. It's irrational, he has absolutely no right to suddenly get upset about a joke he'd started over himself, especially when he knows Tony only means it as a way of bouncing rapport off of him and playing along with his own jokes, but...
But he's got a couple of hickeys on his neck that sure as hell didn't come from a programmable fucking coffee maker.
And he sure as hell did make Tony a cup of coffee or two.
The sentiment's ringing a little too closely to the truth, hitting a little too close to home today for his liking. He internalizes it completely because he's already done enough to make things weird. It just... sits there, like a rock in his throat he can't quite swallow. ]
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...Right you'll have happy drive you if you want to go anywhere. Tell him to chill in the car and he'll- probably find a way to shadow you to keep you safe anyway which is more of a headache than it's probably worth since you don't need that kind of protection but it makes him feel useful? So.
[ Generally, Tony lets him. Making him head of building security cut down on moments like this but now and then Happy feels like getting behind the wheel and Tony likes indulging him; revisiting the better parts of his garbage fire decade. Sitting in the car, talking about random bullshit with Happy, waiting for the next public appearance. ]
Smile, nod, ask for space if you need it?
[ Because if this is a successful experiment (assuming he understands the parameters of what Bruce is attempting to figure out) and he can wander around without losing his shit or getting overly anxious- allowing him that freedom feels...fucking terrifying, but he's not going to lock Bruce up for his own state of mind. It wouldn't be fair.
So. Bodily and social autonomy. It's a thing, he'll respect it, give Bruce all the tools he needs to figure out how to handle it himself, let J talk him through anything he finds confusing. Easy.
One track eases into the next, Highway to hell picking up as they finally start closing in on the museum proper. ]
I will say you're not going to get the average experience, J phoned ahead and we'll be slipping in through the back because...yeah. Me. Pretty sure you don't want to get mobbed by college students on your first ride out. It's less likely to happen once we get inside.
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Okay. Yeah, he can do that, that's simple enough. He thinks he can do that, and if things get overwhelming he can just. Leave. Go to the restroom, or just go back to the car, he's only here to get some shit out of his system, to get an answer to his question. It doesn't have to be any more or any less than what he wants, and if it turns out he absolutely hates everyone in society except Tony? Well, that's an answer. And if it turns out he runs into some... security guard or tourist or god forbid an actual scientist working in the microbiology unit of the museum and thinks they're the hottest thing since sliced toast, well.
That'll be an answer too.
He considers the thought of being mobbed by college students that all want Tony Stark's cock or his money or his autograph and almost artificially vomits. ]
As long as it's a sorority or the microbiology majors.
[ He says instead, dry as the fucking Sahara. If his palms could sweat, he thinks they would be. Otherwise, his composure's pretty admirable for his first time, he thinks. ]
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Could also be great but-
He's pretty sure his earlier call will help Bruce decide if he likes other people besides someone he's obligated to live and work with.
Leading him in through the back is as simple as shooting a text to a security guard that knows him by name (and Tony responds in kind without having to look at his badge, Hey George, how're the kids, good to see you) before they're led to the actual exhibit hall. Plenty to choose from, honestly, and it's not all that full of people. No field-trips today so there's a distinct lack of screaming children, just marble floors and high ceilings, airy spaces full of bones or dioramas, placards and stands with relevant identifying information that's easy enough to focus on as the spattering of attendees settle into a pleasant white noise for Tony. ]
Alright, Bruce. the floor's yours. [ A beat. ] You lead, I follow. I've been here plenty so.
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They're granted a wide berth, and Bruce finds he actually enjoys people watching. Seeing kids interact with parents, seeing couples lean into one another, grin, chatter, push each other. Seeing friends hook arms or chat idly. He's almost more fascinated by the interpersonal interactions than he is with the exhibits themselves, and he wanders forth with an interested expression and his hands in his pockets.
Tony, it seems, does, in fact, settle into the background. For the first time in days or weeks, or ever, he's not hyper-aware of the other man's presence. He wanders in no real hurry toward the hall of biodiversity, because there's an exhibit on protists. He brushes past people tentatively, searching faces, watching body language, looking at sloping shoulders and smiles which he returns automatically out of sheer politeness.
It's.
Something. ]
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Sure he needed an archivist, Jarvis wanted extra hands in the lab but- he made him personable. Gave him a face. Let him grow, encouraged him to be an individual- it brushes up against the 'don't build friends' thing and. Yeah this is going to be an argument.
Might as well have it in realtime over text, get ahead of the heat.
Now and then he peers up to check on Bruce but for the most part? He's background noise. Just part of the scenery, taking in the life around him while he multitasks. It's all very low key and chill, people being civil and no one finding anything off about Bruce (because they wouldn't, because he's perfectly human in every way that matters), and it's just another pair of the curious wandering the halls until they approach the hall of Biodiversity-
When his microbiologist buddy he'd sent a message to earlier walks up, hand outstretched to Bruce, introducing herself. Tall, slim, dark hair, dark eyes, kind smile. ]
I'm Doctor Elizabeth Ross, I work in the microbiology unit here. Mr. Stark mentioned you might appreciate a guided tour?
[ Tony waves from where he's a few steps behind Bruce, waving. ] Hey Betty.
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He shakes her hand automatically like he doesn't even have a choice in the matter like he doesn't even consciously think about what he's doing, he just- does it because it's expected and because she's. Tall. Beautiful. A doctor. ]
Yes- that- yep, that is exactly what I want.
[ He agrees, and a beat later shoots Stark some kind of look over his shoulder. Not judgement, or ire, or anger, or appreciation. Just a... look, like he can't quite wrap his head around it, but, you know what, he's rolling with it.
And then, because he probably ought to introduce himself: ]
Bruce. [ A beat, and because a last name is expected of him, he chooses one he'd tossed around in his head over the course of the last few weeks. It had been one of about twelve candidates, but he's a surprisingly big fan of Lois Banner, so that's the one he goes for. If he's going to give himself an identity he might as well pick his own last name, right? Bruce Banner it is.
He smiles. She smiles. She leads in with a right this way and he follows, and from the very start they get along likea house on fire.
It might just be because she talks about her work and not herself, and he asks keenly interested questions about Archaeplastida and she's utterly enthusiastic about answering him. It's less like he's getting to know someone and more like he's just... learning about something from someone who knows a hell of a lot more than him about it, so the conversation flows easily and attentively. She's also probably glad he's not even remotely trying to hit on her like half the assholes who come in here do, so that's a bonus.
Stark, it seems, has done a Good. ]
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Betty takes care of Bruce and, as he thought? They get along perfectly well. She needs more company in her life that isn't her asshole of a father or old men in labcoats that don't appreciate her brain first and foremost- and that seems to be all Bruce appreciates about her in the moment so. Everyone's happy!
Or they're happy and Tony's working down a mental list of reasons why he can't sit in for the rest of the day and drink himself into a stupor but the important thing is- Bruce is having a good First Day Out and might be Making A Friend. Wins across the board, here.
Now and then he peeks up from the textual evisceration he's getting to make sure things are proceeding as planned (aka, nothing's on fire and no one's bleeding or having a panic attack), and keeps a few steps just behind. Conversation flows over him like water and it's- genius white noise. A subject he doesn't know near enough about and doesn't have enough reason to devote to learning right this minute but if he ever did? Everything ever of Betty's is what he'd read up on first. But Bruce gets it, is interested, and their back and forth is as soothing as the frustration in his phone is gutting. It balances out to a reasonably neutral 'maybe one scotch tonight' rather than 'three bottles of vodka and a stripper'.
He's maturing. Excellent. ]
no subject
It's good. It's better than good. It feels like a fresh purpose, a reinvigorated interest, something to devote himself to. He walks away at the end of it all a few hours later with a couple new contacts in his phone and one weird look for not having a Facebook account. Elizabeth leans in to give him a polite kiss to the cheek for the first time ever and the way he ducks his head earns a fond smile that he can't quite decipher.
It's given him a hell of a lot to think on, a lot to introspect about.
He considers it a success. ]
no subject
Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, swims like a duck, so none of the other ducks give a fuck that he might not be the exact same species of mallard.
And that's worth the accusations. He smooths his expression into one a little more PR friendly, shaking hands on the way out, thanking them for their time, catching the end of that exchange with Bruce and Betty out of the corner of his eye and-
Good. That? That's good. It's sweet, and he clamps down hard on the fucking ridiculous swell of- disappointment? That doesn't make sense. They get along, they're compatible, they've only just met, there's no point to mourn something that isn't gone and isn't even his to fucking have in the first place. ]
So. [ He finally pockets his phone, painting on his PR grin because digging for something sincere feels in-fucking-possible in the moment. ] Was the experiment a success?
no subject
The expression he pins Tony with is something earnest, searching, something infinitely complex, and he's completely honest when he says: ]
I don't know yet. Too soon to tell.
[ He's got to think, got to replay. Got to have a little more time to speak to and get to know the people he met today and see how they stack up. See if he finds himself comparing them to Tony or vice versa.
He needs more data, and more time.
But it's a start. ]
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He can't read it, not really. There's something inscrutable there, layered with a vulnerability he doesn't think he's ever seen on Bruce and that is both fascinating as it is horribly unhelpful as all it does is invite further consideration of his face. Which is a face Tony is trying not to think about too much. Fuck. Last night didn't help near as well as he might've liked if he's still wondering, a little, what it'd be like to do more than pat Bruce on the shoulder or squeeze his wrist.
Nope. Nope. Power dynamics are fucked he's just- no. Focusing on the drive. ]
Fair enough.
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He feels, for once, a little more in control of the situation.
And so he flicks the radio back on, but he changes it from ac/dc to zeppelin without another word.
They head home. ]
no subject
Not informing people earlier, sure, but. Today was good. It was a sign of growth, of direction, and he's just going to hold on tight to that smile when he's in Pepper's office. They pull in, he replaces the keys, checks in with Happy, and slips out of the car, ready to face the music. ]
You head up to the Lab. I've got a meeting with the boss. [ A beat. ] SHe might call you in the lab to form an opinion after she's had it out with me but you don't have to answer if you don't want to. That's your choice.
[ Unlike Tony, who has zero options but to stand and face the wrath of a woman trying her best to keep him from going off the rails. The current winning argument is 'do you want to be like von doom' which is a real mood killer, let Tony tell you. ] I don't know if it's relevant or- anything but the lab in the floor directly below the workshop is empty right now. I've got no one leasing it. If there's something you want to work on or research or- anything? It's yours. Tell J what you need.
[ And it's probably a little unfair, dumping this on Bruce as he breezes past to the elevator that'll take him straight to Pepper, that he's gone from seeing and dealing with Tony at his most open and honest to this locked tight, flippant shell but. He can't crack open right before heading to the firing squad. ]
See you in an hour.
no subject
It's fine.
[ And he means it. He appreciates the offer to use the floor below the workshop as well, but this isn't the kind of experiment that necessitates a place to work. Not yet, at any rate, unless things get to a point where he involves... someone else, in which case...
Yeah he'll just hold off on that plan, no sense counting his chickens before they hatch.
Tony's ten-mile high wall also isn't much of an issue, not right now, not when he's got so much himself to think about. So he gives a tight smile, something of a constipated looking nod, and shuffles himself loose of the company.
Heads back to his workstation to find out what the fuck Facebook is. ]
no subject
His latest tweet was from yesterday, RE crawling around in vents like John McClane, not fun, do not recommend.
Snippets of the life he gives the public because damn near everything about his life has always been for public consumption. That's never changed.
One hour becomes one and a half, Pepper does in fact call, voice calm if stern. The usual questions, does he have a satisfactory quality of life, has Tony tried to force him into anything, does he feel any latent homicidal urges- that last one gets a muttered 'what the everloving fuck, Pep?' from Tony in the background, low and small and wounded before she considers herself satisfied that he's not a legal or physical threat to Tony Stark.
Tony himself comes up another half hour after that, stalking straight to the sofa so he can fucking collapse finally. All the fire's burnt right out of him, all his pride, everything he could've thought might've been a good reason for doing this was found decidedly lacking, Pep wrapping it up with the neat bow of 'what if he never wanted this in the first place' has him thinking way too hard on what he's doing, how he's fucked this up and-
He needs Scotch. Desperately. ]
Fuck. Everything.
no subject
Half an hour after that he gets a call, and he feels what he imagines teenage boys feel like when talking to their girlfriends' mothers. Yes, Ms. Potts he has a satisfactory life. No, Ms. Potts he hasn't been forced into anything that makes him feel uncomfortable. Well, Ms. Potts if we're honest he sometimes feels like strangling Tony Stark to death with his tie, but that usually passes because he's got good intentions and, you know, it's Tony.
By the time he comes back to the workshop, Bruce has accomplished a hell of a lot on his to-do list. He's feeling pretty centered, in fact, which is a direct juxtaposition to Tony's own mental state, evidently. He wanders over, sort of ambles really, and makes Tony a drink without being asked.
Not like a bot would do, mind you, but like what a friend would do. He feels like the distinction is important. Once he passes it over he settles kindly into the couch, crossing his arms absently over his chest and settling Tony with an amused look. ]
Rough meeting?
no subject
Really, under the scowl he's fucking ecstatic.
So. Not taking it out on Bruce, he can manage that. Barely. It's literally not Bruce's fault. It's no one's but his own and all Pep did was give him too much to think about, another layer of shit to worry about on top of 'was this the right call, why did he do this in the first place, your intentions are always questionable no matter how well you mean shit, the path to hell is paved with-
Etc etc ad infinitum. ]
Understatement. [ He takes the scotch and downs the glass in one long swallow, keeping his eyes on the ceiling because that? That's safe. He can't glare at someone that doesn't deserve it if he's staring at the ceiling. ] So we're pushing ahead with our AI rights legislation about a decade earlier than Pepper thought we'd need to and that's going to be...a thing.
[ Currently there's nothing down because- there aren't enough to warrant it and no one knows how to define this shit in the first place. Point one of sixty five reasons Tony is Pepper's Personal Nightmare today. ]
no subject
Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut. Knows he wouldn't have the right words to say, knows there might not actually be any, knows his existence is the reason this is happening in the first place. Doesn't know how he feels about it, but that can wait for now.
Does not know what the right... thing to do is. How to be a good... supportive... thing, right now. Does Tony consider him a friend? Or is he, like, a lamp? A piece of decorative art, an absent addition to the workshop? Whatever the case may be, doesn't know how to be a good one of those. He considers saying thanks for the whole AI rights thing, but... yeah, he's going to raincheck that for a better time when he might not be poking a bear. Instead, he just nods vaguely like he understands, just a sign that he's listening.
Maybe the best thing he can really do is say nothing and just... exist supportively, quietly, somewhere a foot or so to Tony's right. See if he wants to, you know, vent- if he does, Bruce is sure the words will spill out without his prompting. If he doesn't, well, conversation wouldn't be the right move anyway. ]
no subject
Call him bitter, he is. Call him not entirely well adjusted- that's not untrue.
But it's given him a distinct inability to hold this shit in when he's somewhere he feels comfortable and- that's always been the workshop. Rhodey's not here because Rhodey's slept through this revelation- so he's got an earful to look forward to in the morning when HE gets on the hype train to how Tony's fucked it all up- but usually? If he can't talk to Pep, he talks to Rhodey. If he can't talk to Rhodey- he talks to Jarvis.
Bruce is here and...trying. While Tony knows damn well he's trying, so. With a cracked giggle that's on this side of hysteria, barely, he scrubs a hand over his face, groaning into the air. Seal popped. Out come the words. ]
I didn't think it needed to be a thing till after I died, just a way to make sure that no one tries to use J or the boys or hurt them when I'm gone but it's kind of impossible to give someone a social security number if their legal status is a shrug emoji. Getting it put through won't be an issue, Jarvis exists as a benevolent precedent so it's not all on you- but keeping it quiet? That's the bitch of it. Because I don't have enough people claiming I'm the anti-christ trying to force the techological apocalypse on mankind or some shit, and that's what it'll be all day, every day, which'll influence the vote, and there's no way to spin this beause people will want to know why and I can't fucking answer that in any sort of boilerplate because I don't fucking know.
[ Which. Is the real bitch of it, really. He does't know. He saw he could do the thing and did the thing because of an impulse. Because- he doesn't know. Inspiration comes and he follows it until he has a product. ]
And it's not the first time I haven't had a fucking plan for what I've made, something sticks in my brain till I need to make it happen just to get it out and stop haunting me and as long as it's something we can market and sell, ho shit, that's the best thing ever, way to go Tony, keep up the good work, keep cranking out those golden fucking eggs-
[ Ah, fuck, bad thought, worst posture for that particular thought and he knows he's fine, he knows, he's absolutely fine but a hand snags and claws at his shirt till it's over the reactor, pressing down until he can feel the hum and thrum and reminder that it's there in his chest and he's fine, it's fine, everything's fucking fine.
Except it's not, it's hard to breathe and, fuck. Now is not the time. Now is very much not the fucking time- he sucks air in through his teeth, hunching forward, one hand over his eyes, the other still pressed tight against the reactor. He's fine. It's fine. Everything is fine. ]
no subject
He has, however, had his fair share of anxiety attacks. He knows the look of them, he knows the feel of them, he can tell by the way the words tumble out of Tony's mouth because that's how it feels in his head when it's happening to him. He's had one maybe every other day for a couple weeks, give or take, and they're... they're rough. They're hard to break through, generally he does it by laying on top of the otherwise unused sheets in the suite he's been given, staring up at the ceiling and letting it roll over him in waves while he tries to introspect his way through them.
Sometimes even thinking through them logically doesn't help, because some problems are bigger than simply understanding, just because you know the solution to the problem doesn't make the problem suck any less. He knows there are methods to divert his mind from them, like burying himself in research or reading or filling his mind with pointless music.
He knows that when he has them he feels wholly, insurmountably alone.
So he reaches out tentatively to settle a hand on Tony's back. Just a careful, flat, still touch somewhere beneath his shoulder blade. If he pulls away that's fine, he'd understand, he won't take offense to it. You never really know what people need as a comfort until you've tried, or you've asked, except he gets the feeling he wouldn't get a straight answer right now anyway, so. He'll try this, and if it's a swing and a miss he'll file that away for future reference.
A beat later, he offers up an earnest-sounding correction: ]
My legal status is the poop emoji.
[ Which is... not helpful. It's not. He just doesn't know what to say that is. He's got no way to offer any kind of consolation, he doesn't know the legal precedent, he doesn't know how to apologize for making Tony's life abruptly more complicated than it needs to be, he doesn't know the right way to deal with the political fallout of it all.
He just.
Doesn't.
All he can really do is be here. ]
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