Date: 2018-06-28 10:46 pm (UTC)
speed_of_dweeb: (28)
From a basic understanding of biology, caffeine added to the system of a speedster should have been like that scene in Mad Max where they spit gasoline directly into the engine. With Pietro, however? He genuinely enjoys the dark bitter taste of the stuff but gets no kick out of it. No more than he can get by being a pain in Tony's ass in the man's own kitchen. Which is considerable.

Which would explain why he blurs off and back, returning to set a bran muffin with deliberate care on the counter beside the older man's elbow. "There," he says, "Fiber."

He refrains from mentioning what Tony Stark of Stark Industry owes him, as far as he is concerned. Not because Pietro shies away from snarling at the figure who had stood as proof of too much horror in his life so far, but because of the dreams. He does not want to remember how often he has dreamed of dying lately.

"You can put together app for my delivery service," it comes as only half a question, half statement. Stark, he is sure, is capable of the basic structure Pietro imagines would be required for such a thing. "I do not need much. They will enter address, what they want, pay. I will deliver whatever it is. Even your fiber."
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Tony Stark

August 2018

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