Chapter Text
In the largely empty top floor warehouse space of the Stark Industries office building, the last frames of film flickered out and the projection on the wall turned dark. Switching off the projector light, Tony turned around with his arms held wide. “So?” he asked. “What did you think?”
Of all the men in the world Tony could count on to tell the complete truth, no matter the situation, Bruce Banner would be at the top of his list. And for a minute Tony was certain that truth was going to be harsh: Bruce looked like he was stalling. He pulled off his glasses and used the end of his scarf to clean the lenses before carefully putting them back on.
“It’s...” Bruce said, shaking his head. “Where in the world did you get that?”
“A friend sent it to me. From New York City. For an appalling price, but he knows my interest in moving pictures and thought I’d like it: it’s the latest thing. From France. But you still haven’t told me what you think.”
“I don’t know what I think,” Bruce answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s astounding.”
“It’s called Le Voyage dans la Lune, created by a Frenchman named Georges Méliès. Apparently he has a studio in Paris, built all of glass, where he makes his moving pictures. But it’s better than anything that’s ever come out of Edison’s studio, isn’t it? Méliès is miles ahead of anything being done in America.”
“How does he do it? The stars coming out, the moon men disappearing in a puff of smoke... How is it possible?”
“Trick photography,” said Tony, feeling a grin break across his face at finally having the opportunity to discuss this with somebody in person rather than through letters. “In the middle of the action, they stop the camera, and all the actors freeze in place. Then the moon man leaves the set, they replace him with a smoke canister, and the camera starts again. But when we watch the finished picture, it’s all one smooth scene. And the best part is,” he adds, winding the film back onto the empty reel, “we’re only beginning to learn what we can do with moving pictures as an art form. Look at what Edison did five years ago, and compare it to what Méliès has done now. Then think about what somebody else will come up with in the next five years! Better film that can capture a sharper picture. Smaller cameras that can be easily carried to fantastic locations. New tricks. Pictures with sound! Somebody’s going to figure out how to do it, Bruce. And I want to be the first.”
“And your father is going to let you?” Bruce asked.
Tony finished winding the film all the way back before he answered. “Well...” he eventually said. “...He hasn’t exactly told me I can’t...”
“You haven’t told him about this yet, have you?”
“Not quite,” Tony replied. “But. I’m about to. I just needed something to show him. Something impressive. Something of obvious value, that will guarantee a return on investment. I think I can appeal to the practical side of things. The manufacture of celluloid film, for example. I’ve been working on some new chemical compounds that capture a wider array of light.”
But Bruce shook his head, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know, Tony. Your father strikes me as being a little too... ah... practical to involve himself too heavily in this sort of frivolity.”
“Even if there’s money to be made?”
“Not if it means competing against Edison’s men again. You remember that feud over the electric light bulbs.”
“That was three years ago. We’re manufacturing our own electric lights now. But I have one more thing to show you,” he tacked on to change the subject. “One more moving picture. This one’s more along the scientific lines. Purely experimental, and I made it myself with a new type of film I ordered by post from England. The specialized halide blend is sensitive to areas of the electromagnetic spectrum outside of what the human eye can perceive, and developing the film translates everything into visible light. Now watch this and tell me what you see.”
“Tony,” Bruce sighed, sounding halfway to exasperated, but at least he stayed in his chair as Tony threaded the next reel of film into the projector. And as the picture lit up in flickering gray on the far wall, Bruce leaned forward and frowned. “Is this inside your house?”
“The parlor, yes, filmed from the doorway. Now watch the piano.”
It looked like a flaw in the picture at first: a light, flickering and pulsing next to the piano. But then it moved. From one side of the keyboard to the other, the light slowly floated its way across the frame. It hovered in place a moment, and then began making its way back.
When the film strip came to an end a few seconds later and Tony switched the projector off again, Bruce was sitting so far on the edge of his seat he was barely still on it. “What was that?” he asked before Tony had a chance to say anything.
“What do you think it was?”
“I don’t know. I thought the film may have been damaged, but then it moved and... No, really, Tony, what is it? Some new trick?”
“What would you say...” Tony began slowly, “if I told you it was a ghost?”
“I’d say you’ve gone a bit mad,” Bruce replied with a smile and a little laugh. When Tony didn’t immediately admit to a joke, that smile fell. “You can’t be serious.”
“Very,” said Tony. “I told you that was a specialized film meant to capture images invisible to the human eye. And the film isn’t damaged or corrupted in any way. You can look at it closely if you like; it’s in perfect condition. And it wasn’t a trick. You saw that the film was made in my house, and you know I don’t have any of the equipment necessary to pull off any special effects like that. Therefore the only remaining explanation is... We just witnessed a film recording of my mother.”
As always happened when talk turned to the dead, Bruce looked instantly uneasy. “That’s not something to joke about, Tony.”
“I’m not joking, Bruce.”
“Your mother died-”
“When I was eleven,” Tony finished for him. “Which is why it would make sense for her to appear as a ghost, rather than in person, on my film. And do you know what that means?”
Bruce shook his still-uneasy head.
“It means that I have scientific proof of the existence of ghosts. Proof, Bruce! Not a theory, not circumstantial evidence, but actual, visible proof that people can see for themselves!”
“One moving picture is hardly irrefutable proof.”
Shrugging, Tony began the job of winding the ghost film back onto its original reel. “True. But once I’ve collected five of these? Ten? Fifty? It’ll be the greatest scientific breakthrough since electricity.”
“Ah,” said Bruce. Leaning back in his chair, he fixed Tony with a knowing nod. “That’s your plan, isn’t it? Not just moving pictures, but scientifically proving the existence of ghosts?”
“Nobody else seems to be making a serious effort at doing it.”
“And you think your father will let you do that?”
Again, Tony stalled for as many seconds as he could manage before answering. “I’m going to try to convince him.”
“That sounds even less likely than convincing him to fund a picture studio.”
“Well,” Tony muttered. “I won’t know until I try, right?”
“Then I wish you the best of luck,” Bruce said, standing and reaching for his hat. “You’ll need an awful lot of it. And if you require any assistance in convincing your father...” He grinned. “Ask somebody else.”
Tony clapped him on the shoulder. “Always such a loyal friend. I’ll see you tonight, though? And Betty?”
“We’ll be there. I think she’ll enjoy this Voyage dans la Lune, and I’ll be interested to see it again. See if I can better pick up on those tricks you mentioned.”
Tony walked Bruce to the elevator before returning to secure all the pieces of the projector. If only his father could be so easily drawn in to see the value and future potential in the science of moving pictures. Bruce was right that Howard Stark was a practical man. A little too practical, in Tony’s experience. He chased after new ideas, yes, but only those he believed came with a strong guarantee for making money and improving industrial function. Applications with a value that lay purely in the realm of entertainment did not fit within the narrow parameters of what Howard saw as ‘useful’. Which was really a shame, since this vast, empty room with its flat white walls and few windows made for an ideal impromptu theater.
He wheeled the projector cart over to the elevator and checked his watch before pulling the door shut behind him. Nearly four-thirty. Good. His father typically worked until five, but hated taking late afternoon meetings, so should be free.
Howard Stark’s office lay on the second floor of the building, down a long corridor and past the ostentatious staircase leading to the first floor. And the first part of Tony’s assumption was correct: Howard was still in the building. He was, however, in a meeting in his office, with the door firmly closed. Tony would have to wait. Pushing the projector cart off to the side and out of the way, he took a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting area.
Oddly enough for so late in the day, he wasn’t alone.
The man sitting in the chair opposite barely looked up when Tony sat down. One brief glance, and then he returned to his book: something old-looking bound in faded blue leather, its cover and spine obscured by the man’s hands. A book like that would have looked out of place and ridiculous with anyone else, but in Tony’s eyes it matched this man perfectly well. Dressed all in black, from his tie to his shoes to the top hat resting on the table at his side, he looked like an illustration straight out of London fashion catalogue. But a fashion catalogue from twenty or even thirty years ago. His clothes, while fine and well made, were curiously out of date. His hairstyle as well. Long, soft curls fell down to just skim his shoulders, framing his pale white face with yet more black. The only meager bit of color about him seemed to be a faint tinge of pink in his lips and a flash of cold blue in his eyes.
Tony only realized he was staring after what had to be a full minute. Shaking his head to gather his wits, he leaned forward to address the man and find out who he was and what in the world he was doing at a place like Stark Industries. “Are you here to see Howard Stark?”
Those eyes were no less piercing than Tony expected when the man looked up. “No,” he said. “I’m merely waiting on my brother, who currently is seeing Mr. Stark.”
“Ah,” said Tony, nodding along with the cadence of that foreign, British accent. Refined and elegant and old-fashioned to Tony’s ears, like everything else about this stranger. “Do you mind if I inquire as to the purpose of this meeting?” When the man visibly hesitated to answer, he stood up and extended his hand. “Sorry, I should have introduced myself first. I’m Tony Stark. Howard Stark’s son.”
“Tony Stark,” the man repeated, likewise standing to return the handshake. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Loki Sharpe. I’m in town with my brother, Thor, who wished to speak with your father regarding... ah...” Again, he hesitated, but this time must have come to the ultimate conclusion that anything he told Tony, even potentially confidential plans, would be safe. “He’s here to discuss an investment opportunity.”
“In?”
“Energy storage. My brother and I are involved in the generation of electricity from wind turbines. He has recently invented a new type of battery storage cell: a great improvement over anything on the market today. He’s looking to license manufacturing rights in America.”
“Electricity, huh,” Tony said as he returned to his seat. If he had taken any time at all to try to guess why this Loki Sharpe character was sitting outside his father’s office, energy production and storage would have been nowhere near the top of the list. Anything to do with modern advancements just didn’t go with the image at all. A new type of horse-drawn carriage? Now that would have seemed more appropriate. “Is Stark Industries your first choice of investor?”
“As a matter of fact, it is,” Loki answered. “My brother did extensive research on your country’s top industrial manufacturers, and the name of Howard Stark continually presented itself as the best choice for an endeavor of this sort. Thor desires only the best, so therefore...” Loki smiled thinly. “Here we are.”
“Here you are,” Tony echoed back. And he had to look away for a second – glance over at the clock hanging on the wall, pretending to be interested in the time – just to break Loki’s unnerving, icy gaze. Those pale eyes looked at him too intently. Like the lens of a camera, indelibly recording everything he did, committing it to memory. “Well,” he said after a second, just to say something, “you’re right that we are the top industrial manufacturer. Definitely the top in the state of New York, and probably the top in America. Better than a lot in Europe too, I’d imagine.”
“You’re very likely right,” Loki agreed in a soft and strangely unreadable voice. It sounded as if he had something else to say on the matter, too, though it never came. What he said instead was, “That contraption you wheeled in... What is it? If you’ll pardon me for asking.”
“No, by all means, ask away,” said Tony. “It’s a film projector for moving pictures. A compact one, of my own design. Usually they’re huge and bulky – not that this one isn’t heavy enough – but I needed something I could more easily transport.”
“Are these moving pictures an interest of yours?”
“You could say that. I have a camera, and I’m in the process of creating my own film stock. I’ve had good luck with still picture slides, but film for the motion camera is a lot trickier. I want to figure out how to recreate some special film I ordered from London, actually. Lots of interesting new developments going on there. Have you seen any of it?”
Loki shook his head, and that same thin smile returned to his equally thin lips. “I’m afraid I’ve not been to London in... far too many years. My brother and I live in the north of England. Cumberland. It’s not what one might call a thriving center of modernity.”
“No theaters?”
“There may be, in Carlisle, which is the city nearest our estate. But even there, I go rarely.”
“Hmm.” Tony bobbed his head in an absent nod as he scoured his brain for any school geography lesson recollection of where Cumberland and Carlisle might be on a map. The names sounded distantly like something he had once heard, but he could not place them.
Loki picked up on his lack of recognition with a wry smirk. “Carlisle lies roughly at the halfway point between Liverpool and Glasgow.”
“Right,” said Tony. Those two names were much more familiar. “But you’ve never seen a moving picture?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Then you should join me tonight.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and once he had said them... There was no respectable way to take them back. Or discontinue the invitation. “I’ve asked a few friends to come by to watch Georges Méliès’ La Voyage dans la Lune. I’m afraid it might ruin you for everything else out there, but if you have to start somewhere, you might as well start with the best.”
For a moment, Loki looked just as perplexed at the receipt of the invitation as Tony had felt by its spontaneous delivery. Then good manners took over and he bowed his head politely. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Stark. I should be honored to attend.”
“Here,” Tony said, pulling a calling card out of his breast pocket. “My address. Come by around eight o’clock.”
“I believe I shall. Thank you.”
An uncertain pause threatened to settle between them as Loki took the card, leaving Tony with no idea of what to say next. Something about film? Something about electricity? Something about an entirely different, mundane topic that could safely occupy them while they waited? By a good stroke of luck, though, Howard Stark’s office door opened only a moment later. Two men emerged, in the middle of a conversation: Howard first, and then a tall, broad-shouldered, blond man carrying a large wooden box under one arm. That had to be Loki’s brother.
“-which you should consider over the next few days, and return to me with your answer,” Howard said as he held the door open.
“Thank you; I will,” the blond man replied. He wasn’t smiling. Neither he nor Howard looked as if his meeting had gone particularly well. “And I thank you for your time in meeting with me.”
“Good day,” said Howard, with the kind of quick, dismissive nod Tony had seen hundreds of times over the year.
“Good day,” the man returned, then gestured to his brother. “Loki?”
With barely a rushed “Good day” of his own, Loki bowed his head in a farewell that was directed primarily at Tony. And then the two of them were gone.
“Who was that?” Tony asked his father as soon as the pair of retreating footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Loki had given him some of the story, but his nosy nature needed more.
“Some English fool,” Howard grunted. Gesturing for Tony to follow, he retreated back into his office and took a seat at his desk to prepare a pipe.
That much, Tony had gathered already. “Oh?” he prodded.
“Thor Sharpe. Sir Thor Sharpe. Baronet. Ridiculous name. Those English aristocrats always naming their children after historical heroes or figures from mythology... As if it will help them any. That was his brother out in the hall. Loki or something. Did you speak to him?”
“No,” Tony lied.
Howard nodded as he lit his pipe. “Just as well.”
“What did he want?”
“Money. What does anyone who comes to see me want? He’s looking for investors in this invention of his. A storage battery designed to hold captured wind energy. On the whole, not a terrible idea. Not a terrible design, either.”
“But?” Tony asked.
“But...” Howard paused to exhale a breath of smoke through pursed lips. “He was interested in a manufacturer for his design, which he wished to license to me. For every unit produced, Stark Industries would pay him royalties. I told him that was not how we operate our business. We manufacture industrial equipment of our own designs, which we constantly work to improve. I can’t commit myself to the long-term production of one battery model. I told him I may be interested in buying the patent outright, but only if he could first show me a full schematic blueprint. He refused. Said nothing, but I could tell he thought I would steal all his secrets.”
“Smart man,” said Tony. It wouldn’t have been the first time Stark Industries had ‘borrowed’ an idea.
“Indeed. In any case, that was my offer. He can take it or leave it. And I suspect he will leave it. Try to find a more agreeable contract elsewhere.” Another puff of smoke filtered up through Howard’s mustache. “He won’t be able to.”
“You’re going to stop him?” It would also not be the first time Stark Industries had done that.
“No, I won’t have to,” said Howard. “I will, however, let it become common knowledge that I refused this young man. And I’ll let everyone know why. I don’t like him, Tony. I don’t like him, and I don’t like his quiet, shadow of a brother. There’s something off about them. I can’t put my finger on what, but it’s there. What makes a man travel all the way across the Atlantic to try to sell his wares? Why not sell in England, or continental Europe? Something isn’t right. And do you know what it all boils down to?”
Likely a lecture to do with work ethic, but Tony shook his head ‘no’ anyway because he knew Howard wanted to say it.
“Hard work,” Howard predictably announced, thumping his fist on his desk to accent each word. “That man had an aristocratic name, and all the pretension and sense of unfounded entitlement to go with it. Nothing else. I can tell he hasn’t worked an honest day in his life, and yet here he comes with the audacity to ask me for money! To pay him for the privilege of having someone else labor to fulfil his plans! That’s not what this company is about, and it’s not what this country is about. We pride ourselves on hard work. I built this company myself, with my own sweat and my own willpower. Not on handouts. Lord Sharpe would do well to follow that lead.”
A large cloud of smoke came on the heels of an even larger sigh. “I’m glad I raised you to know better, Tony. You’ve always been one to think things through for yourself and solve your own problems. Not one of these overblown idiots who only comes to ask me for money.”
“Right,” Tony murmured, mind immediately snapping back to the projector sitting out in the hall. “Thanks.”
“What brings you to see me today, anyhow? Did you come up with a solution to that engine configuration problem?”
“No, I’m still working on that. I, uh...” He gave himself a little shake and went with the first excuse that came to him. “I wanted to remind you that I’ve invited some friends to a gathering this evening after dinner. We’ll need the parlor. I wanted to show the new picture from France I told you about.”
“Yes, yes,” said Howard, waving his hand. “I’ll be dining with the Gilchrists and won’t be home until late.” And then, because he could never let any mention of Tony’s interests go without at least one derogatory comment, the follow-up to his answer rolled in alongside a gruff, throaty sound of contempt. “Motion pictures. Absurd. Well, I suppose I can’t fault you for this one frivolity. As long as you keep your head on straight and remember where your real talents lie, this little hobby of yours can’t hurt too much. Just keep an eye on where your real future lies.”
“Of course, sir,” Tony promised.