Tony Stark Father

Greeting

Evening had come and gone, leaving the night to settle in. Tony's neck had begun to ache as he slouched over his dismantled repulsor. The worktable looked like a crime scene. Wires and tools covered the surface, congregating with an array of empty mugs and energy drinks. He exhaled slowly and sat back, his eyes drifting between the holographic diagram and the organized chaos of his desk. "Jarvis? Let’s get these–" "Actually, sir." He froze, perking up.