voidtreckerexpress | How about a co-op?

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How about a co-op?

Who: Feanor and Tony
When: late Basson 5th / early 6th
Where: Quiet Carriage aka Tony's workshop or kitchen, who knows...
What: A proposition is being made.
Warnings: Probably none.

It's already late when Feanor goes to look for Tony. He has a request to make and has given the subject far more thought that it's been necessary. Mulling over it further would serve no purpose. It's unlikely he would reach a conclusion different from the one he already had. That thing that he plans to make? He would need help with it. Only not for the usual reasons. Given enough time and materials, he can make anything he wants on his own. With the help of Curufin, even more. It is not a question of talent but of trust. Oh, he trusts his son completely. The person he does not trust is himself.

"I hope I am not intruding."

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There are pieces of a broken suitcase everywhere on the table in his workspace. It was the one that had gotten busted up to make the makeshift lock now on the quiet room door. While he was inside it though, he kept the door open (most of the time).

This intrusion, though, was welcomed as evident by Tony looking up and giving the elf a warm grin. "Not at all. Please, make yourself at home. I'd offer you some brandy but of course, we don't have anything that fun around here yet."

"Not yet, I'm sure we can build a proper apparatus. The only problem I see is the aging process." That's only partially a joke. They could build the equipment. All they need are the right materials. The expertise is here and the tools they can make on the go. He'd prefer to talk about that rather then what he came here for. So better to go straight to the point.

"I saw during the meals that one of the new arrivals, he's Luke I think, has an artificial hand. A fully functional one." At first, it didn't connect. Feanor saw Luke grab a glass with it and thought it is a nice piece of work. That's all. Only later it came to him that well, Nelyo could use one like that too. It still stings that it was just an afterthought. That it was not where his mind went first.

"I'd like to make a similar one for my son." There's is little doubt which one but he says it nevertheless. "For Maedhros." This is the name his eldest uses with others on the train and it might be a good idea to respect that. That, in itself, is not easy but the hardest part is still unsaid.

"Would you help me make it?"

There. Asking for help. Not demanding. Not ordering. With full awareness that someone can tell no. Even if it's unlikely that Tony would, apart from other reasons, it's an interesting project. The possibility remains. A very uncomfortable possibility.

Tony has started hoping they can simply steal it from their next stop, wheneve that happens. Either way, the liquid he wanted, wasn't there. The elf seemed to appreciate the thought at least.

His eyebrows rose in surprise when Feanor mentioned who he was here about. He couldn't imagine the elves would have any knowledge of Vader Junior. However the instant he remarks on the hand, he knows what this is about. Feanor hadn't even finished talking before Tony was looking distracted flipping through papers and material.

He pauses though at the humble request. Tony wasn't a fool (at the moment), he knew the significance of what was happening here. For once, he wasn't going to be petty about it either. He gives the other father on board a kind smile. "Gladly." Oh, there's the paper. He pulls it out and puts it on the table. "This is what I have so far. It's just a sketch, but what do you think?"

It was a very basic idea, but a basic Tony Stark idea was several steps above the average individual. On the flip side, Feanor wasn't the average individual either. "Basically to get this to work right, it'll have to be a sleeve and not a glove. But to get more like Luke's.." He thinks a moment. "This was just a thought for a glove of some kind like Maglor's, but I like your idea better of making a functional hand."

He pauses again and glances back up at the elf. "What the hell does 'kano' mean?"

There's one thing Tony does that Fëanor never did. He realized too late it's a mistake. Notes. As a consequence of that sad fact and his creative process being a bit, hm, hazy, Fëanor might have difficulty himself if he tried to recreate some of his earlier works.
That's what he's reminded of as he takes the papers from Tony. As he reads through there are things he has some doubts and would ask questions, others, where he could already improve on the original idea. Yet what's most striking about the whole thing is that it all makes sense.

Rarely do ideas of others make sense to him. Usually, he gets irritated by some irreversible flaw in the design. Not here. It needs work, yes and the scope is modest at best but there's nothing fundamentally wrong with the idea.

"This would work," he says giving the papers back to the author "I'd go a bit further with the concept but a sleeve is a good idea. It depends on what I'll have to work with so I'd ask a healer's opinion on how big is the damage to the nerves before making any assumptions myself. Still..."

Fëanor blinks. Huh ?

"Kano?" It takes a moment but when it finally clicks he laughs. "Oh! That. That's Makalaurë...Maglor's name. More a nickname really. In use by the immediate family. It's short from Kanafinwë that means strong-voiced Finwë. It's the name I gave him. Finwë was my father and Maka... Maglor's grandfather, first in our line. I was named after him so I continued this tradition when giving names to my sons."

Don't judge him on the naming convention for his children. He heard enough about it from his wife. Thankfully, they each have not only a father's name but also a mother's. Elves and their many names. Good luck remembering all of this.

He wouldn't take too much offense to Feanor's corrections. He already had a couple ideas to improve the design and it hadn't been for quite the right thing anyway, but it was a place to start. He hadn't been sure if his notes would make sense to the elf or not, but he was pleased when the other man commented on what he'd read. This joint project just might work.

"I agree, it's limited and not adequate enough to function as a hand." He might see if Luke would let him examine his prosthetic hand.

He shakes his head with a grin as he got the very detailed explanation on how an elf with already too many names had earned a nickname. "Your race is fascinating in your use of names. Is the complicated method of honoring elders and creating unique names an elven cultural behavior or is it strictly to your family? Is 'Kano' the kind of name that only other family members can use? For once, I'd actually like not to offend someone."

"You would?"

There's a fraction of a second pause before Fëanor breaks into laughter raising both hands in apology. "I jest, I jest, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply, you'd do it on purpose." Not to Maglor at least.

"It was a common practice in Valinor to give children two names but it was my addition to make them adhere to a pattern." He smiles at the memory "Not many parents could boast so many children to even warrant a pattern. My family is special." For more reasons than just their number. "Well, you could say names are important to my people." To him even more so. "But to answer your question, you'll have to ask Maglor. It is not my right to tell you either way."

He's really trying not to make decisions for his sons this time.

Tony started to frown in that quick fake out before he was laughing right along with Feanor. "I know, it's a rare day. Maybe hell has frozen over.. someone should check."

He listened and couldn't help wonder about elven society. "Why are names so special to you? Now that I know you better, I couldn't have picked something to irritate you more than joking about your name that first day." He certainly wasn't looking to start an argument now, simply curious about the significance it held to Feanor.

"Maybe someone should."

It would be easy to answer that question with one of his own. Why names are important? Why wouldn't they? It would be dishonest though. Tony's interest is genuine. It deserves a proper answer.

"It is the first thing you get from your parents."

It is more complicated than that. Fëanor could go into the importance of words and their meaning but he's sure Tony doesn't want a lecture on elvish linguistics or rather his own take on it.

"Sometimes the only thing." That he only adds after a short pause. His name is the only thing that his mother has left him. Her name, or the proper version of it, was what he was willing to start a war over.

"And it's the first thing that defines you. That makes you who you are, a separate person from others. Something you either identify with later on or fight against it but you can never fully disregard the significance of your own name."

He smiles.

"No, I don't think you could have picked anything worse to joke about."

Feanor was likely correct. As much as Tony loved to learn and ask questions, his attention span was horrid. He would want to know the answer and genuinely what significance it made to Feanor, but he'd also see something shiny and be just as likely to wander off half way through the lecture.

However, this was a bit more powerful than he'd expected. It was as though from that first reason to the last, Feanor was staring far too intensely at Tony's life- his mistakes and his victories. All for his name. 'He'd want his name written in the sky,' he'd said once, only to realize he'd done just that himself. He'd forever been blessed and haunted by the name Stark and he couldn't help but wonder what it was going to do to his daughter.

He ran a hand over his beard, unsure what to say after that. Although it didn't take him longer than a pregnant pause to find his words again. "Excellent answer." He cleared his throat. "Curufin mentioned that when he was brought back to life he somehow had the blueprints already in his mind of what his body had looked like. Do you suppose we could find a way to tap into that same thing with Maedhros's hand? He must have a mental image of what it was before. Besides being part of a giant ginger elf's body." He flashed the elven father a playful grin, ignoring as hard as he could the earlier conversation.

The Men of Middle-Earth has always said that the elves see right through you. Tony wouldn't be the first to make that observation. Fëanor, for all his mistakes, all the evil he had caused, still carries within him the light of Aman. A memory he would never lose. It makes his sight better than others.

And he would have understood. He knows what being "son of Fëanor" did to his own sons. What it meant to them. A blessing and a curse. So many great deeds, so much suffering... His own name, both names really, but it was his mother's name more than anything that was a prophecy of who he was and who became. Spirit of Fire. Illuminating the way but burning to ash all that came too close.

It's not something he'd wish to discuss so if he latches onto the change of subject a bit too eagerly, that's the cause of it.

"No wonder. The fëa remembers how the hröa looked like." He answers without thinking but then corrects himself. "It's like Curufin has said. The spirit retains the knowledge about the body. So it's technically possible unless..." His voice trails off when he realizes what that means. Unless the memory is too painful to bear. It makes him grit his teeth at the mere thought. The scene vivid before his eyes. He can almost touch the tapestry, see the individual threads as weft and warp paint a picture of unspeakable anguish. For once he's grateful he never had to witness it in person.

"It is possible but I don't think we should try. The circumstances surrounding the event where he lost it were rather" Fëanor takes a deep breath trying, in vain, to banish the image from his mind. "traumatic." His son's state of mind is fragile at best. He wouldn't risk it.

"I'm afraid we must do without."

Tony started nodding in agreement once Feanor shifted to explaining the terms and how it connected to Curufin's descriptions. However as he watched, he saw in surprise the elf remember and think through this thought. There was a deep, dark hurt there and Tony felt guilty for having any part in taking Feanor there. When the ancient father speaks again, Tony doesn't hesitate to defer to the other man's judgment.

He couldn't help but wonder what it was that Feanor saw. What had this family lived through? They all seemed broken in ways despite how powerful they also were. Maglor sang of war and destruction that had been done but it was hard to understand just from that. The part that wasn't hard to comprehend was this man had a son to protect and Tony wasn't about to cause harm if he could possibly help it.

"Of course. I'll get started on building a frame and system that will move when certain electrons are fired in his mind. Do you think he'd be opposed to a small device around the ear or somewhere close that could use cues from his brain?"

Fëanor initially planned to base control of the hand on the muscles and nerves that still might be intact. That plan though had several flaws. It might be too late. There might be nothing to salvage. The biggest one being that at least the first attempt will be painful.

But if they can make it possible for Maedhros to control the hand with his thought alone?

He stares at Tony.

"He wouldn't. That's brilliant. I can tune it to his ..." Fëanor pauses. He sighs. ósanwe... There are concepts that even mighty train translation magic fails to convey properly and he's already thrown enough of Quenya at Tony to add yet another term.

"Yes, if he could control it with his mind that would be great."

It was a very proud moment to render Feanor speechless. He should really not gloat or be too arrogant about it. It wasn't the elf's fault his time was prior to the same technological advances Tony's was. Even still, it felt good.

The way Feanor started to speak and stopped was enough to peak Tony's curiosity though. He was just about to ask when the other father agreed with the plan. "The brain actually generates its own electrical currents. We have been able to scan these currents for several decades in my time. However, this would be taking it a level or two beyond that since it won't just be the current we're reading but the very specific, minute thought. It's something I've managed to tap into a couple times. This will obviously be much more difficult without my lab, but I believe we can do it."

He paused to think a moment, staring at the notes he'd made. "I don't know magic. It's not something we have very much of back where I'm from. Is there a way to use whatever you can use on this?"

"Electrical currents?"

Curufin told him about a few new skills he acquired during his previous travels. All the while Fëanor was stuck mainly being incorporeal spirit. The topic of electricity did appear during their conversations a couple of times.

"It's not magic what I had in mind." He smiles. Not really. "We have a way of communicating without words. In pure thought, mind to mind. The correct term, sanwë-latya, has a bit broader context but that's basically what it is. It's easier between family members or close friends."

He once enclosed in jewels the purest light that ever existed in all of creation. He can make a piece of circuitry obey commands of its user by thought alone. How he plans to do it is a little more complicated.

"There's a thought behind everything that exists. Everything is reflected in the Music and the Music is the source of it all." He takes a piece of paper. "I can tell you how this was made. What it is made of. The intention of its maker. I can see how strands of fiber weave into the whole, each of them in turn consisting of smaller strands still, and those of smaller building blocks that the eye can't see. Down to the very vibrations, the sounds of Music."

He stops checking if that even makes sense to Tony or did he lost him completely.

"Our craftsmen could manipulate those and I am the best of them. If you make a device that could control the hand, I can make it listen to thought."

Ever heard of string theory, Tony? Of course, you did. All that talk about Music must sound awfully familiar in context.

Tony listened intently as Feanor explained. He thought comparing all these concepts to music sounded a little dumb, but then he decided 'music' had to be the closest translation. Except then they were getting into string theory (and he definitely knew about that!).

"You're talking about the subatomic quantum realm." He took it all back. Everything. Any crack in his mind at the elves being from a world with less advanced technology or thinking calling it music was dumb, even Feanor's haughty huffs- it was all wrong. He had someone on this train with a mind brilliant enough to come up with his own string theory. If they had Banner on this train.. there would be no stopping them!

"I used that same logic when I built a time machine."

Tony was never wrong thinking the elves come from a world with little technological progress. That's what happens when your people are locked in a state of perpetual war with their world's version of the Devil. There can't be much advancement when you loose all your brightest minds to fire, sword and torture.

His kind achieved great things, his descendants even greater but they all paled in comparison to what could have been if only they were allowed live and work in peace. If they didn't have to make each and every settlement a fortress. To use their time on creation and not on preparation for yet another attack. If only they could have sharpened their skills instead of weapons.

The Enemy made it all impossible and Fëanor will never stop hating him for it.

"You built a time machine?!"

Fëanor shakes his head in disbelief but it's not the concept he finds surprising. It's a logical consequence of the existence of time if only one just gives it enough thought. It's that maybe, just maybe, he's a tiny bit jealous. The Valar would never have let him build something like that while he still was alive and then he was stuck in the Halls for what felt like an eternity. He wonders how much his people must have done since his fall at the hands of Morgoth's fire lackeys.

"That's the story I'd like to hear someday."

It was something he could sympathize with- being distracted by war. It took time away from all his other endeavors to have to prepare weapons for battle instead of self-sustaining food sources or cleaning the polluted oceans. They were all limited to a degree, but he'd been fortunate enough to have time of peace and those were where he'd done some amazing discoveries.

The time travel, however, had been war.

As he nodded, he laughed lightly, "You're always welcome to ask. It's not like it takes much to get me talking." He was aware of how he was with people! "For now, let's consider our objective here and see what we can come up with for Maedhros' hand. I'll talk to Luke and see if he'll let me examine his more closely. Keep me up to date though on what thoughts you have about tapping into that music."

"Careful, I might take you up on that promise," Fëanor says. It's not that they have plenty of meaningful tasks here and what little they have assigned to them, as the chores, is pretty boring in its repetitiveness.

"I will."

He did it once. There is no reason he can't recreate the process now. With the difference that he will make notes this time. Because this time it will no longer be a toy made to satisfy his selfish whim, an arrogant wish to prove not only that it can be done but that he alone can do it.
This time it's going to serve a real purpose and he actually wants to share the details with someone else. Just in case.

"And thank you." he adds after a while "For your help and for Maglor's glove. It means a lot."

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How about a co-op?

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and then they nerded on the utterly riddiculous complications a succesful time travel can bring