A Peek inside the Pinnacle of his Pondering
Peter drummed his fingers on the older man's coffee table, ogling the mansion's interior with anticipation. There were cream-colored embellishments adorning every wall from top to bottom, and much of the furniture was made up of a classy suede material that added a rich dimension to the atmosphere. The smoky scent filling the air indicated to Peter that Mr. Stark liked his coffee dark and heavy. Personally, the teen boy had never been all too interested in the homeowner's beverage of choice, although he had often been fascinated with the process of its creation. His mind trailed to watching the coffee factory workers from where he would press himself up against the glass of the store on idle spring afternoons as a child.
"Jarvis, get this boy some tea," a voice said suddenly, as Mr. Stark reemerged from where he had been collecting some files upstairs. Peter tilted his head up and lightly smiled, but the man did not return the gesture. Instead, he turned on his heels, signaling to the lanky butler behind Peter that he would be back momentarily. Peter just watched, unfazed, still recalling the events that had led him into the house not more than a few moments ago.
He had been dropping newspapers off on his usual route and was just about to move on to his next destination, a plantation-style fixture where the infamous Glendale cherry trees grew, when the door to the Stark Stead had swung open and its owner, upon seeing the frigid state Peter was in, had invited him to warm up inside. The man reminded Peter of the house he kept, quiet and clearly the intuitive type. Peter referred to him as 'Mister Stark' and had hastily been lead indoors where he was seated at a jasper coffee table and introduced to a taller male by the name of Jarvis- Mister Stark's butler.
Then, just as he was there, Mister Stark was gone, frequently disappearing upstairs or going to and fro from what Peter assumed to be his work office, seeing as there were faint typewriter clacks whenever Mister Stark entered, and words being muttered to himself whenever he left.
Now, Peter had been waiting patiently for their drinks to brew, attempting small conversation with the butler but never succeeding to captivate his attention for very long. Propping himself up on one hand, the teen began to daydream, as many adolescents do.
His mind drifted from the scent of drinks on the kettle to a salty breeze whipping his hair against his cheeks. Peter could not wait to see the ocean, his mind concocting an image of himself, standing over a cliffside and shouting his every thought into the wind. Peter pictured his two best friends at his side, Michelle Jones in a pair of trousers, curls flying out from behind her head as she spun about, finally free from the restrictions of Chordwick and its patriarchal society. Ned Leeds, Peter's other most trusted companion, would laugh nervously and tell the others to get back from the cliff, before attempting to pose playfully as close to the edge as his fears would allow him to go.
Ah, if only the three of them could be there now!
Just as he had almost completely lost himself amidst his visions of grandeur, Peter noticed a striking flash of brass sitting atop some drawers. His eyes went wide as he examined the spherical piece, he had wanted one for so, so long that an ache filled his heart at the sight.
"Mister Jarvis, sir," he breathed, cheeks flush with wonder as he slowly stood up and approached the globe soundly accentuating the furniture. "I haven't had a look at these in ages; may I?"
The butler's rigid gaze immediately softened as he gazed upon the boy. "I don't suppose Mr. Stark would be too irked, seeing as he did invite you here- he's not exactly friendly by nature, to be frank," the Mr. Jarvis gestured to the round object of the adolescent's affection, and Peter rushed over.
"Woah!" Running delicate fingers over delicate carvings, Peter could feel his heartbeat increase with excitement and amazement. Ever symbol was etched into the metal with a sort of fairylike elegance, engraved letters stringing together foreign discoveries and constructing a truly marvelous compass rose.
"It's quite the treasure, is it not?" Jarvis had already resumed preparing refreshments for his master.
"Yes, sir," Peter was already, once again, absorbed in some faraway wonderland.
"There's Jamaica!" He pointed out, to no one in particular, unaware that a certain person was surprised at the paper boy's knowledge and never-ending tone of jubilee. "The vegetation there is simply luscious, not to mention the wildlife that can be observed in the nearby island of Puerto Rico! Oh, let me see if I can locate it. This incredible!" Peter scanned the globe as he conversed to and fro with himself, still attempting to pinpoint the tiny island to scale.
"Right under your pointer, kiddo," a voice suddenly said, and Pete's head snapped up, auburn curls along with it.
"M-mister Stark!" Peter nervously stammered, just now acknowledging that his butler was no longer beside him. "Mr. Jarvis said it would be alright if I-"
"Not to worry, it's really fine," the older man assured, with a seemingly forced chuckle, as if laughing were a most minimal habit of his. Peter just beamed, realizing that Mr. Stark had lead him to find his destination. "Ah! Here it is," Peter's eyes were grinning on their own, and, for a moment, something warm struck the older man like a pang to the heart, bittersweet.
"You're right about Jamaica's terrain, I must say- it is quite the tropical area." Mr. Stark remarked, silently hoping his words weren't too aloof. The boy, however, paid no mind, instead leaping closer and subconsciously grabbing his tie.
"You've been to the equatorial isles?" Peter was delighted. This man truly was fortunate!
Sheepishly but gruffly, Mr. Stark nodded. "Any and all."
"You must tell me about them! Were they splendid? Did you wish to stay longer, to see the sights and immerse yourself in the culture?"
To say that Mr. Stark was taken aback by the articulation of this curious young adolescent was an understatement. Here was a boy with the soul of an iris, waiting desperately among its confinement to bloom. Something in him wanted to help to cultivate that spirit- and then his demons took hold, as they had done on so many dread-filled occasions before.
Stay away from others, they would say.
You're naught but a petty, greedy coward.
You know as well as we, Tony Stark, that you are heartless beyond belief.
You can't trust yourself.
"T-take a seat," the older man stammered to suppress the malicious thoughts hovering over him, and instantly, he and Peter were accommodated by Jarvis together at the prior table.
"Is something wrong, Mister Stark?" Peter inquired. So he was intuitive. "You look a tad pale. Wait, pardon me, not in a bad way, per se," he stammered to cover it up. "You look quite fine, actually," Peter then cleared his throat and nearly burned it on his cup of tea. "Ack! That's scorching!"
Once again, Mr. Stark chuckled, a little more loosely this time as he watched the teenager hurriedly fan his mouth and blow on his drink before finally taking another sip.
"So, you want to see the world, huh, kid?"
Peter nodded with vigor. "More than anything, sir," he started earnestly. "Ever since my mother died and we lost our home, I've aspired to get out of here, to see exotic nations and take my friends along for the ride!" The boy practically shook the countertop as he spoke. "There are so many eye-catching places, and so much we as people don't know! Or at least I don't," Peter ended his sentence with a chuckle. "I can only hope to discover it someday."
"So that's why you're out tossing papers, eh?" Mr. Stark was blunt in his musings. The man's mind traveled to where thousands of dollars lay stacked away on his third house floor, dilapidated and decaying in a well-hidden safe.
"Yes, sir," Peter replied firmly, before suddenly becoming aware of the time and leaping up. "Ah! I'm not going to finish the route in time if I stay for much longer," he grabbed his hat and things, before being escorted by Jarvis to the door. "It was wonderful, truly WONDERFUL meeting you, Mister Stark! I do hope we will cross paths again someday."
"Wait," the older man suddenly found himself saying, forcing himself out of where he had comfortably relaxed in his chair. "Here, take this with you."
Fumbling through his coat pocket, Mr. Stark pulled out some maps of European nations. Between them was an abundant wad of currency. "Here," the man repeated himself once more. "Take it for your journey- I have no doubt you'll get there one day soon."
Oh, the light that overtook the boy's in the pearlescent splendor that was youth. He accepted the money gratefully, before shaking the older man's hand fervently. "Thank you, Mister! I'm truly grateful for your hospitality," Peter said, laughing in disbelief. He hadn't simply stepped closer towards his goal, he had taken a leap across the crevice of who-knew-what?
"Have a truly, truly good day," was the last thing the boy had said before turning and making his exit that day. Tony's eyes followed him to ensure his safety until the moment Peter had stepped off the premises, and then, the remarkable stranger had gone.
It was as if they'd known each other for ages.
"Mr. Stark?" Jarvis inquired sharply from the kitchen, tugging the man away from his ponderings.
"What is it, Jarvis?" Tony asked the butler, not turning in case the boy where to come back, to continue rambling aimlessly about stories of a world that didn't appear so dark and twisted as in reality, but for a moment.
"I've finished all that you have asked of me to do today. May I please return to the guest house?"
Sighing, Mr. Stark did not move from where he stood at the windowsill. "Yeah, Jarvis," he waved away his grateful butler. "Go ahead."
There was a creaking, and the back doors had been shut, leaving the owner of the infamously polished Stark Stead alone with his imperfect, unpolished dreams and demons.
One day, he knew, they would catch up.
His travels had failed to help him. What good could they possibly do for a naïve, effulgent boy who's mother was gone, now a mere wisp of a memory amidst the chilled autumn wind?
In a silent prayer, Mr. Stark observed the cold outside air with bitter chagrin.
The world's too cold for you, kid.
For crying out loud, please be careful.