[for Peter] Rematch.
That his house and, by extension, his workshop no longer looked like venues for an impromptu musical number was a step in the right direction. There hadn't been any right angles, and while it had been marvellous inspiration for thinking about spacetime and the curvature thereof, and ways in which that applied to the pocket universe the island was theorized to be, mostly it just made him a little dizzy. Maybe that was the palladium making itself felt again, but he was pretty sure it had been the Whoville business.
But he had his right angles back. He had his aesthetic. He had his project, he estimated a week out from being ready to fire up and see if he had managed to do it again, and he had a gift wrapped package.
He hadn't had anything to do with that last one. It had shown up on the floor as part of the redecorating - the un-redecorating, perhaps, or the dedecorating - and he hadn't immediately opened it, having received a lot of wrapped packages over the years. There were occasionally fun contents. He'd had admirers. There were occasionally... less fun contents, because he had admirers that didn't know how to draw the line.
This was, naturally, more likely to be one of those island things. He'd had Jarvis scan it, anyway, and when it had proven chemically uninteresting he'd pulled it open, and he had to admit, he was pleased. There was a boxing ring on the island already, and gear about the place, but publicly available boxing paraphernalia? People sweated in those things. They were designed for people to sweat into. It wasn't a comfortable thought.
Changing the world and saving his life, thus, could wait for a half hour or so while he hung up the bag, strapped his hands, and pulled on the headgear and gloves, and limbered up.
But he had his right angles back. He had his aesthetic. He had his project, he estimated a week out from being ready to fire up and see if he had managed to do it again, and he had a gift wrapped package.
He hadn't had anything to do with that last one. It had shown up on the floor as part of the redecorating - the un-redecorating, perhaps, or the dedecorating - and he hadn't immediately opened it, having received a lot of wrapped packages over the years. There were occasionally fun contents. He'd had admirers. There were occasionally... less fun contents, because he had admirers that didn't know how to draw the line.
This was, naturally, more likely to be one of those island things. He'd had Jarvis scan it, anyway, and when it had proven chemically uninteresting he'd pulled it open, and he had to admit, he was pleased. There was a boxing ring on the island already, and gear about the place, but publicly available boxing paraphernalia? People sweated in those things. They were designed for people to sweat into. It wasn't a comfortable thought.
Changing the world and saving his life, thus, could wait for a half hour or so while he hung up the bag, strapped his hands, and pulled on the headgear and gloves, and limbered up.