FF->PP: Post 10: FIC: Stars, Marvelverse, genderflip AU, gen
RELEASE THE BABY STARK GEEKGIRL.
*****
New York City, the Upper East Side, fall of 1963
"Andrea!" Howard bellows. "What have I told you about sneaking into my workshop? You should be upstairs with your tutors. Go, young lady, you're a mess. Go, go." He slams a stack of papers down on the table, turns to the man following him with a sudden air of flattery. "I'm so sorry, sir, as you can see I've hit a roadblock in the development--"
Andrea Stark, twelve, lean and dark haired with piercing blue eyes, stares at her father with faint disdain.
"--pardon me, sir--go. Upstairs. Now."
"Are you talking about this?" she asks, pointing at the portable launcher laid across her lap.
Her father freezes, turns slowly red, then purple.
"This project," the other man says darkly, "is not a toy for your children, Stark--"
"Only child," Howard says sharply, almost on reflex.
"--it's unacceptable, in fact, for you to be letting--"
"I don't let her do anything! The little brat takes it upon herself to pick the locks, Director, pick my locks and run free in my workshop--"
The explosion takes out a chunk of wall larger than both of them. The room rocks; lights flicker; debris scatters and the men scream and duck. Andrea remains perfectly still, the light of the gas backburn playing over her sharp features.
"You should've routed the pressurization up, not sideways, and used a two-three ratio," she says calmly, when the noise dies. "It works better this way."
*****
This post is part of the Fanfiction Frenzy for Planned Parenthood, which is wired_lizard's outing for Day of Blogs, and has raised $215 so far. Like what you see? Please consider donating!
*****
New York City, the Upper East Side, fall of 1963
"Andrea!" Howard bellows. "What have I told you about sneaking into my workshop? You should be upstairs with your tutors. Go, young lady, you're a mess. Go, go." He slams a stack of papers down on the table, turns to the man following him with a sudden air of flattery. "I'm so sorry, sir, as you can see I've hit a roadblock in the development--"
Andrea Stark, twelve, lean and dark haired with piercing blue eyes, stares at her father with faint disdain.
"--pardon me, sir--go. Upstairs. Now."
"Are you talking about this?" she asks, pointing at the portable launcher laid across her lap.
Her father freezes, turns slowly red, then purple.
"This project," the other man says darkly, "is not a toy for your children, Stark--"
"Only child," Howard says sharply, almost on reflex.
"--it's unacceptable, in fact, for you to be letting--"
"I don't let her do anything! The little brat takes it upon herself to pick the locks, Director, pick my locks and run free in my workshop--"
The explosion takes out a chunk of wall larger than both of them. The room rocks; lights flicker; debris scatters and the men scream and duck. Andrea remains perfectly still, the light of the gas backburn playing over her sharp features.
"You should've routed the pressurization up, not sideways, and used a two-three ratio," she says calmly, when the noise dies. "It works better this way."
*****
This post is part of the Fanfiction Frenzy for Planned Parenthood, which is wired_lizard's outing for Day of Blogs, and has raised $215 so far. Like what you see? Please consider donating!