14155/Trust Me: Overqualified

Trust Me: Overqualified
Date of Scene:	26 February 2022
Location:	Tony's Office - Stark Tower
Synopsis:	Super Genius Business Mogul Meets Business Moggie. Finance ensues.
Cast of Characters:	Iron Man, Jax Miller

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Iron Man has posed:
Mid-afternoon in the City that Never Sleeps. The clouds outside are dark, gloomy, which means the ambient lighting is in full gear to continue illumination, thanks to the skies without. Today is a perfect day to stay in; rain storms, grey, nasty sky and the weather is dropping from the few pleasant, spring-like days.

Regardless of which groundhog one listened to, both are teases.

Within the office, while the city may never sleep, there is the form and figure of Tony Stark behind his desk reclined back in his chair, eyes closed and is, well, sleeping. In the background is the buzzing of voices; someone talking about growth, the S&P, NASDAQ, and the breaking of ground in Dubai for yet another project of one of his sub, sub, subsidiaries. To his benefit, at least he's in a suit jacket? Well, more like sport, t-shirt underneath, jeans, sneakers.

Another day in the office.

If anyone complains later? It's all Pepper's fault.

A melodious tone sounds, lights in the office shift from ambient to a little brighter just over his desk. <<Sir,>> the voice sounds as if it belongs to an English gentleman, so particular his enunciation, <<you have your three o'clock appointment.>>

With a start, Tony sits up, looks for his coffee mug quickly with one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. "JARVIS," and there is complaint in those tones, "how many times do I have to tell you not to bother me when I'm working with central casting?"

<<Yes, sir.>> There's a sound of subdued resignation in the tones before the voice speaks again, <<Your three o'clock is arrived. Shall I let him in?>>

Tony takes a swallow of now what is most definitely cold coffee and waves his other hand in the air in gesture, "Sure, sure.."

Jax Miller has posed:
    Three o'clock. Go time.

    For the past fifteen minutes, Jax has been haunting the outer office in a supreme effort not to be late. The weather tried to stop him, stop signs tried to stop him, and it's half a miracle he got here with time to spare thanks to some creative driving. Okay... breathe... it's nothing special, it's nothing to be worried about, it's only an appointment with one of the richest men in the world...

    He can be forgiven for nearly jumping out of his skin when the cultured voice told him to go in. A last check of his hair, a final smoothing of fur in front of a mirror, only to find that the mirror is on the other side of the door that is now opening by itself.

    Cue Jax, the cat mutant, standing there framed in the doorway, suddenly looking along the full length of the large office, one hand halfway through finger-coming his hair, the other clutching a briefcase.

    Vaudeville-style, he finishes the smoothing motion and takes an exaggerated first step into the office, as if nothing at all whatsoever unusual has just happened. To his credit, the kid has made an effort to look respectable. That suit is Armani. The sunglasses are Ray-Ban. That watch is not a Rolex but it's a damned good Tag-Heuer. Only the shoes give him away, but then he only has the shoes that have been custom made for his digitigrade legs, and they're all sponsored by Nike.

    With a bright smile on his face, possibly entirely misreading his audience, Jax strides in, confidently. "Mister Stark. Thanks for seeing me."

Iron Man has posed:
Tony doesn't bother rising; that'd be nice. Courteous. It'd make things easy.

Tony watches the production from the door, and to his credit, he doesn't seem to blink when he sees an anthropormorphic Maine Coon cat at his door. With a briefcase. Slicking back fur. It's.. probably one for the books, and he offers a dead-panned,

"Okay kid, you've got," and there is a glance at his watch before he looks back, "twelve minutes to lay it out." Dark, keen eyes are studying the newly arrived, looking for something, anything that might give him a hint. "This isn't a sales call, right?"

Leaning back in his chair again, there is the hint of a light glow just beneath the fabric of the t-shirt. Blue. "You made it onto the schedule, so lemme hear it." Fingers wiggle in that full-hand 'give it' gesture before he folds both hands on his stomach, his gaze not flickering.

Full, undivided attention for all the words.

Jax Miller has posed:
    "If I had anything to sell, you'd have bought it already." Oooh, starting strong. There's enough self confidence in this teenager to float a battleship... but then, that might be the cat in him talking. What feline isn't supremely confident in themselves? "But at the end of this, you might buy something that isn't usually for sale."

    With a flourish, Jax sits... tries to sit... it takes two attempts, the second of which sees him angling his body just slightly to stop his tail from getting trapped behind him on the metal seat. And he can clearly catch a hint as well as the next visitor... a man who has metal seats in front of his desk is not a man who expects you to stay for very long.

    "To begin at the beginning, my name is Jake Alexander Miller, and as you can see, I'm a mutant. Proudly a mutant, have been all my life." Why does he bring /that/ up? But then that face might be familiar... "I ran a campaign called 'Just be you' when organisations were offering the so called mutant cure last year, to remind people that it's fine to be a mutant. It went well. So well, in fact, that the NFL, the MLB, the NBA and even the CFL got in touch to start offering training camps and holiday camps for mutant children. Honestly, it all got a bit bigger than I was expecting."

    If there is a point, he seems to be coming to it, pulling the briefcase onto his lap and opening it. "To be clear, I'm not looking for charity. But it's too big for me to run, I... I don't even know where to start. Honestly, I need help to make this happen."

Iron Man has posed:
Tony bobs his head ever so slightly on the first attempted mic drop. //Nice style, plus one for guts, kid.// He's silent, however, all through the spiel, giving as little feedback as possible before he puts a hand up about the same time when Jax is coming to a slightly awkward, frustrated end.

"Hold on there. No mutants out there anywhere to give you a hand on this? What about the want-ads?" It sounds basic, ground floor sort of stuff, but he's not entirely certain where the kid's head is in terms of business, organization and the like.

"So," Tony leans forward, his attention still keen, "So, what's your background? Non-profits? Charities, I just pass over to my assistant; she heads the Foundation. But," He considers before rising, and coming around to the other side of the desk, he leans so there isn't that distance between them as they talk. He does cross his arms across his chest, however, as he continues, "Are you looking to underwrite it? Hand it off to us, we run it and you head it? Is that what I'm hearing?"

Jax Miller has posed:
    "My initial plan was to bring it to Roberto DaCosta." Jax admits, finally opening the briefcase and revealing what must be a legal envelope, because they don't make legal parcels. But it's straining the definition of the word 'envelope', and straining the brown paper as well. "But he's even harder to get a hold of than you, Mister Stark, and quite frankly I don't want to make this an exclusive mutant affair. I've always thought that sports is the way to integrate mutants and non-mutants together, and I can't do that if I attach this to a mutant centered company." The fact that attaching it to the Stark name would give it an immediate greater legitimacy is unspoken. Loudly unspoken.

    "As I said, I'm not looking for charity. I have ..." awkward pause. "... I have the funds to run it."

    And with that, the 'envelope' is put on the desk, and indicated with an almost weary motion. "In there. Somewhere. The Miller Future Trust. I put the plan to my grand father, Charles DeWitt, and he agreed to fund it. But only if I was involved in the management of it, and could figure out a way to make it work."

    And now the truly, absolutely, extremely awkward part. It even comes out as a nearly silent whisper, as he looks at the package on the desk. "I dunno how to read that."

Iron Man has posed:
DaCosta? Tony files that away for later, catching more hints. 'Mutant'. JARVIS, no doubt, will have an entire profile within minutes for his perusal later.

"No, you cut out literally 90% of the population when you do that. You might pick up here and there, but mid-America? Overseas?" He shakes his head while indicating the groups and sounds as if he can continue the list but simply doesn't for brevity's sake.

Tony's no fool. His name opens doors that are closed to governments; his company takes in more than the GDP of most of the countries in the world. And his face is plastered on almost every magazine, newspaper, website in the world. He's household, partially due to Iron Man, of course. Which is why he's actually very protective of his brand, even if his public persona may not seem it.

"Right, okay." Tony cuts off, and as the envelope is put on the desk, his gaze follows it there, brows rising. That's a lot of reading which, thankfully, he's not going to do. That's Pepper's job, and legal. That's why he pays the big bucks. But the admission?

Tony still holds that mild surprise as he brings his attention back around to the furred one. "Can't read it.. how? As in, it's in legalese? Can't read? Or in a different language?" The fact, perhaps, that a name was dropped doesn't have the genius ushering the visitor out, or perhaps it's curiosity. Cats aren't the only ones,, after all.

"If he's your grandfather, I don't recall seeing your name on the white papers coming out."

Jax Miller has posed:
    "Okay..." deep breath. But this is Iron Man. If anyone understands, it must be Tony Stark, right? Possibly out of a desire to be at an even level again, or possibly because he does his best thinking while on his feet, Jax stands up and tries to find a place for his hands for a moment. The sacrificial lamb is the pair of sunglasses, which get removed and fiddled with as the mutant talks, his obviously feline eyes now fully visible, still a bright blue. "My family has started having some trouble, a few years ago. Anonymous letters, threatening calls, fake explosives planted around ... " Pause. "... around the garden. A few just outside my window. The works. My father decided I'd be better off somewhere nobody could find me. These days I go to a private school up state, we kept that quiet. My grand father wasn't happy with it, because he wanted me to go to an Ivy League college or university, just so I don't grow up to be a football player." Some family history there, no doubt.

    "Everything is funded hands off. The fund exists, and up until the whole campaign, I didn't even pay attention to it, it was just a way for me to afford the best toys." Those must have been some /very/ good toys. "I don't run it, I don't know who the trustees are. It's all in there..." accusatory point at package "... and I've taken some classes on business management, working on my Bachelor's already. But this... it's just..."

    And he seems to think the only way to explain is to actually open the package and slide out the entire thing. It doesn't look inviting. In fact, even the front page looks designed to make people want to read /anything/ else, in dense small font. And a flick to page one indicates the horror of horrors. There is no index. Just text. Plain text, black on white, without breaks. Page after page after page.

Iron Man has posed:
Tony understands a great deal. He understands legacy money, expectations, boarding school, the works. Only, by the time he was this kid's age, he was in MIT and beginning his lifestyle, that is working hard and partying just as. As the litany of wrongs done to them begins, he rolls his hand in a circle under the crossed arms, waiting for it to finish. "It's what happens in the public eye. I can't tell you how many things have been leveled against Stark Industries over the years." And, by the way, his kidnapping..

Tony drops his hands finally; the minutes are ticking, and they're six minutes in. He promised twelve, and he'll keep to it. "Okay," and he reaches a hand over to look at the paperwork. He picks up about ten pages, and looks it over, dark eyes scanning the words. He's got keywords he looks for, phrases, and if he doesn't find them, not interested. He'd been played before, and he's jaded. Stane taught him many things, and one of them is to protect the company with heart and soul. It's his baby.

"It's garbage," and Tony tosses it back onto the pile. If it's in order, it'd be a miracle. "I'm not gonna sign an NDA, nor is my legal department. But, what I will do is have JARVIS actually format that into something that can be read, and he can have a copy of it in your imbox by tomorrow morning. Best I'll promise right now." Because it doesn't require any work on his part. "After you see that, then you tell me what you want to do. I hope you have a good lawyer you can trust on this one."

Tony's on his feet, and he wanders the few steps to the side of his office where he, of course, has a bar. Pouring himself a glass of something from a clear glass decanter, the light amber color is poured into his tumbler. "As for a partnership, underwriteing, whatever, you let me know when you have a better idea of where you stand. I'm not gonna take advantage of that. We both need to know what we're looking at and getting into." He dips his head, looks inquiringly at the cat, "Okay?"

Jax Miller has posed:
    Wait, what?

    There is a moment where Jax is utterly nonplussed. It's easy to tell, because the main disadvantage of being for all intents and purposes a humanoid cat is that it's impossible to hide surprise or strong emotions well. Those ears swivel upright, his tail actually slaps against the side of the desk, and his eyes dilate far enough that he seems to be looking at infinity and beyond. "I thought..."

    Blink.

    "I mean, it's dense, but... you've... seen worse. Right?" Clearly the revelation that this document isn't actually useful in its current format has come as a great surprise. "I've been getting them like that for... I thought..."

    Enough babbling. The change, when it comes, is about as startling as watching snow vanish under a blowtorch. One moment Jax is flustered and uncertain, the next he's back to his self assured self. Another hazard of being in the public eye... "That would be much appreciated. If I can get a clearer handle on the actual finances, I'm sure we can come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement. And I have a good lawyer. The best."

    Taking the pouring of the drink as his cue that time is running short, Jax closes his briefcase and snaps the locks shut, now almost a mirror image of when he came in a mere seven minutes ago. "Thank you, Mister Stark."

Iron Man has posed:
Tony takes a sip of his drink as he watches the young cat.. person flicker through the emotions, starting at the ears and working its way to the tail, and hitting all spots in between. As Jax gathers his things, and expresses his gratitude, Tony nods his head, his voice soft,

"Good luck, kid."

Jax Miller has posed:
    "Thank you. But I always make my own."

    And with one final nod, Jax leaves in the same even tread as he entered, or... not quite. As he strides his way out, he's forgetting to alter his gait, and is accidentally making no sound again. If he weren't observed, it'd be impossible to tell he was actually there.

    And he's going to need a new briefcase... those are claw marks on the handle.