Right of Last Refusal (III)

"-. 15 April, 1989 .-"

"You're an asshole."

"An asshole that now has to babysit you on account of being the only one of us two with any amount of sense."

"No one told you to call."

"I don't need others to tell me what to do."

"Oh that is such a lie, you're doing what my old man wants right now."

"No, I'm doing what I feel is the path of least unease, at least for some of us."

"Yeah, well… No one forced you to agree to anything!"

"Don't get snippy with me kid."

"I'll get however I want!" Tony groused mulishly. "You gonna stop me?"

"Do I need to? You do recall that bit about 'a thorough hand-written report on your behaviour and activities' when this is over, right?"

"Do I look like I care what my old man thinks!?"

"You're obeying him right now, aren't you?"

Tony sputtered. That… That was him told. He also tried to hold Richard's decision to contact his dad against him, he really did. But how could he, when the man's honour and responsibility were what made him latch onto him in the first place back when they were teenagers? "… I didn't think you were serious."

"Are you concussed?" Richard asked, just as incredulous. "What was I supposed to do, say no to the richest man on the planet?"

Tony tried and failed to contain the sudden rush of bitterness. Was there nothing in his life that would ever escape his old man's withering touch?

"I suppose you had to get your tendency to impose on other people from someone," Richard dryly said after a while. "Heaven forbid you one percenters consider we plebes might have business of our own to see to."

"Well excuse me, princess!" Tony said snidely, only to immediately experience a feeling of déjà vu that felt weirdly premature. He shuddered. "Next time I'll be sure to rely on someone else for their common sense."

"… Playing conscience for other people is a terrible burden, Tony," Richard said with that same weight that had years prior become the sole reason Tony Stark was not a druggie on top of everything else that was shit in his life.

"… Is that why you didn't just drop out?"

"You mean did I prioritise our bet over my family just so I wouldn't give you more of an excuse to renege on it? Of course the answer is yes."

Tony squawked unintelligibly, genuinely taken aback. He hadn't thought he'd get a yes to that!

Richard pulled him out of the way of a random pedestrian as they walked. "Tony, me and mine… we're nobody. If the world fucks us up, no one will care. But if you fuck yourself up, it'll be just in time for you to take over for your old man and then the world will be fucked. Probably bad enough that it'll take generations to come back, if it ever does."

"Well gee, way to make a guy feel important…"

Tony didn't say anything else for the rest of the walk, not even to the implausibly youthful-looking mama at the magic shop. Because that's what it was, despite how admittedly tame and authentic-looking all those herbs, incense sticks, tools and knives and rocks were made to look in the displays and jars. The name was also as blatant as they got. 'The Merry Quill.' Ha.

Ha…

He couldn't even muster his regular snark.

Shame though. That bombshell that left the shop just as they walked in hit all his weak spots. Perfect height, great curves, round breasts you could get lost between, and an ass that you could bounce a quarter on even through her long coat. Even that white patch of hair in front of her face worked for her somehow.

Oh well. There's loss.

Fortunately, there wasn't much chance for anyone to see how off his game he was. Barely any words were exchanged before Richard told him not to disappear on him and followed the shopkeeper to the back. Tony just waved him off. He didn't have it in him to say anything particularly clever.

He didn't disappear on him either. It would be a cold day in hell before he lumped Richard Rider in the same box as his father. Or any friend for that matter.

He filled the time by walking around the place and looking at the stuff on shelves. Well, for the first minute or so. Then his examination of a surprisingly neat dream catcher was interrupted by a loud 'kraa!' from above. Startled but no so much that he bumped into anything, he stepped out from between the middle shelving units and looked up at the small open window where the morning sunlight was streaming in from. Or used to, before the daddy of all ravens showed up to caw and preen itself.

Cawboy looked even larger than life in that light. Large and old. Like he'd seen plenty of off days but had gone on with his life regardless. Its life.

Tony sighed and approached it until he was just below the perch it was standing on. Still it stared at him.

"I'm starting to think you're stalking me."

Cawboy hacked grossly and spat something right in his eye.

"GUH!" Tony Stark gasped. "Ugh. Euugh!" He swiped at his face in disgust, sending something small and slimy flying off to hit the wall and bounce back until it came to a halt against his shoes. "You damn bird, you scuffed my Santonis!"

The raven said nothing. It was already gone.

"Why you little-!" In anger, Tony made to kick away whatever it was, only to pause when he caught the surprisingly strong glint it gave off even in the shade. Frowning, he crouched, took out his handkerchief and gingerly picked it off the floor. It felt just as smooth as it looked, even through the cloth as he wiped it clean. Rising, he stepped back into the light and unravelled it.

He blinked. If he didn't know better he'd swear it was a human eye trapped in amber. He'd have to confirm the material and double-check light refraction specs before he could be sure if the iris was blue or gray though. And look, he was suddenly considering serious research into something a bird had just spat at him. Unironically. Somehow.

Tony Stark looked flatly at his uncannily appropriate surroundings.

He shivered.

Then he dropped the thing in his pocket next to the other bits and bobs the damn bird had brought him, lest it retrieve them and spit them back at him again and again like every other time he tried something like that. Bloody magpie. Except magpies hoarded everything they found for themselves, so it was more like he was being stalked by the reverse of one. A magpie to the power of -1. The Anti-Magpie!

Oh God, he was going crazy wasn't he? Insane. Nuts. Completely certifiable. Richard, save me! Save me from myself!

Tony Stark shook his head and retreated to the front of the shop, pretending everything that had just happened hadn't happened even in his dreams. Not that it was easy to do, being that this was a magic shop of all things, but he'll deal. It was neither the first fake business he'd been in nor his first self-delusion.

Weird that they'd even come here though. What kind of job opportunity could a place like this actually provide?

He asked Richard that after they left.

"Bodyguard duty," Richard said oddly.

"Bodyguard duty?" Tony echoed, baffled. "Some no-name hack needs you for bodyguard duty? Needs anyone for bodyguard duty?"

"And test subject – pardon, uniquely eligible candidate – for certain techniques in past life regression. But mainly bodyguard duty."

"Past life – what kind of quackery are you getting yourself into!?"

"You're in no position to judge anybody, kid."

"But-but… quackery!" Tony said desperately, waving wildly as Richard maneuvered his horribly distracted self around hapless pedestrians again. "Richie, that there's a magic shop!"

"Which is a perfectly legal enterprise."

"A magic shop, Richie – can I call you Richie?"

"No."

"A magic shop, Richard!"

"Again, a perfectly legal enterprise. Which is more than certain people can claim."

Tony's aghast fervor in defending his own honour over the next ten-some minutes was such that it never occurred to him to consider that it might not have been him Richard was referring to.

To be fair, though, his last memory of Richard Rider was from back when he was still the world's biggest Boy Scout. Someone who'd never be caught either alive or dead walking into the sort of place the guy led him to later that afternoon.

"Richard," Tony said lowly, forcing himself not to fidget or lag back. Or do something even more attention-grabbing like tugging his hood further down. "This place is a dive."

"Yes it is," Richard said blandly as he led the way deeper down the alley. It was scattered with cigarette butts and the air thick with fumes, close together among graffiti-covered walls.

"We aren't seriously going in there, are we" Tony said lowly. "It's dirty and dodgy and they'll never let us in."

"I'm sorry, who was it that bragged about their 'more perfect than god' fake ID they made themselves?"

"When my father hears about this, he'll kill us," Tony said, then immediately felt horribly embarrassed over using such an excuse when he was almost 20 years of age.

"No, he'll kill me. You'll be the poor victim of my even poorer judgment."

"… Wait, we're actually going to tell him about this?"

"What you do is your business, but I am."

"… You're crazy," Tony said flatly, following after the other man. "Why are we even here?"

"Because as much as your old man might like to think everyone will instantly drop everything they're doing on his say so, I do have business of my own."

What kind of business could he possibly have in graffiti central though?

But Tony didn't ask. He'd find out soon enough.

The bouncer at the door was tall, rugged and built like a brick shithouse but not as much as Richard on any of those three counts. He didn't ask for IDs though. Instead, Richard gave him some paper or other that the guy closely read over before eyeing the younger, bigger man. "So, here for just drinks or…?"

"That and try my hand at some of the entertainment downstairs."

Horrible images of everything from criminal gangs to human trafficking rapidly played through Tony's way too rich imagination before his mind froze along with the rest of him.

The guy was looking at him. "And him?"

"He's sure he'll be a big shot one day," Richard said, smirk audible in his voice. "But tonight, he's just my gopher."

What was that supposed to mean?

Social engineering, he told himself. Social engineering.

"Well, no skin off my nose," the guy said and opened the heavy metal door for them.

Richard went in. So Tony Stark.... what else could he do but the same?

Especially when he'd be the world's biggest liar if he ever tried to claim this all wasn't fucking exciting.

"Richard," he murmured the moment the door closed behind them. "If you brought me here to sell my perfect, beautiful, genius self into slavery, I will be very upset with you."

"Relax, it's not that kind of dive."

Tony blinked, taken aback so badly that he almost stopped in place. "You know the difference?" He hissed, hurrying after him and feeling abruptly exposed. "… Wait, those places actually exist? In the US of A?"

"… You really are a sheltered trust fund baby, aren't you?"

Tony was glad the low lighting and his hood hid his flush. That had stung. Hard enough to shame. To humiliate. He didn't like the feeling.

He liked the disquiet that filled him even less.

The place was a pub. That dark and dingy stereotype that Tony hadn't thought existed outside of Watchmen and Underside. It was a place scattered with working girls and three times as many ruffians that drank, laughed and leered over cigarette fumes and the rims of their bottles. Every once in a while one or two would lock eyes, sneer, stand up and leave the premises through a door other than the one they'd come in on. And the air was thick with the lovely flavour of sweat, tobacco and desperation.

Tony was fairly sure he was only imagining one of those.

Surprisingly, though, Richard didn't take him further into the bar. Instead, he led him to the door that three pairs of other guys had disappeared through during the time it took them to circle the top and go down the stairs to the main level. There they waited in line for a towering bouncer even less behind Richard in the stature department to ask for their pass again, except this time he also searched them for weapons.

Tony followed after his old friend into the proverbial beast's den with a deep feeling of unreality.

"How are you at gambling these days, Tony?"

He almost didn't register the question. "Eh!? Gambling? Richard, you shock me!" Had he assumed this place was wilder than it really was? What a drag!

"Answer the question, Tony."

"I'm alright," when he wasn't using any tricks.

"Try to spot me some good odds, hmm?"

What was that supposed to mean?

He didn't get a chance to ask though, because as soon as they reached the floor and squeezed past the too narrow door, all conscious thought crashed and burned under a wave of bouncing screams, cheers and perspiration.

The first thing he saw was the mass of people. The second thing he saw was the dark. And the third thing he saw was the grate they stood on, beneath which was an octagonal cage of iron surrounded by crowd control barricades and gym mats. Two or more hundred people were shoving and pushing in a ruthless attempt to try to claim a spot with an unobstructed view.

Which was when Richard nudged him forward with a "Try not to enjoy yourself too much" before fucking off somewhere to "get ready."

Tony Stark abruptly experienced a wave of utter panic at being abandoned in the middle of the basement of the diviest dive that ever dived and what the fuck this place held underground cage matches!

Then the first bout started, and life became a shocked haze of nauseating astonishment amidst jumping crowds of cheering hooligans and their equally wild plus ones.

It was after the tenth fight, between people who desperately needed to settle their differences before guns became involved, that his brain rewired enough to actually take in the host's voice with anything other than the auto-record function.

"And now, for our special event!"

The crowd went wild, clearly having been looking forward to whatever was coming that was out of the norm.

"The season's Crossway-Crash. The Twisted Tangle. The Great Grapple. The Fight to School all Fights!"

As the man roared into his scuffed and smudged microphone, lights came on behind the crowd to reveal a second cage bordered by barricades and mats.

"The biggest and baddest fight you're bound to see for weeks, months and maybe even years after you leave tonight, assuming both fighters make it past all the other challengers that have lined up."

Tony advanced to the edge of the walkway on autopilot.

"Emerging on my left, the twenty-times winner and champion of every last underground tournament from here to the East Coast himself. Let's hear it for NOVA!!!"

Tony stared agape as Richard Rider stepped out of the shadows and into the left-most cage, dressed in sweatpants and wrist tape and nothing else.

"And in the cage to the right, arrived after wiping out every fight club from here to the far West - the Myth! The Legend! THE WOLVERINE!"

Tony Stark mechanically looked away to the other cage, where another man had just stepped forth. Tall, rugged and built like a feral barbarian unto himself.

Anthony Edward Stark stared down at the impossible sight, seized by the biggest rush of disbelief and adrenaline and horrified glee he'd ever experienced.

Two men. Two lines of challengers lined up to take their pound of flesh in an underground fighting competition. The promise of a fight between them as if their victory against the massive ruffians lined up against them was all certain. One off-duty emergency medical technician to try and fail to put things back together if they made a mess.

Richard Rider. The sole reason Tony wasn't a druggie and who used to be the biggest Boy Scout of anyone he'd ever seen in his life.

Fuck his life.

Then Tony Stark flatly looked over the crowds and promptly headed towards, huh, the same bombshell from the magic shop that was clearly the other guy's plus one from how she leaned over the cage above him with way overdone googly eyes.

Social engineering, he told himself. Social engineering.

And gambling on cage fights, because why the hell not? If his life was going to crash face-first into savage nation, he might as well collude to make some money off of everything.