poeticterms | (no subject)

Cal, who knows better by now than to think anything about this particular house is normal, does indeed pick his usual spot.

Though admittedly it doesn't occur to him that there's any pattern to predict there, or any reason to predict it. It's just - the best spot to park. That's all.

Humans are funny that way.

As usual, the door unlocks audibly when Cal approaches.

Should Cal ever pick a day to visit when something in the Stark residence has gone horribly wrong, the first sign he'd notice would be the door failing to unlock.

He lets himself in, calling,

"Hello?"

"Tony is in the garage and Sherlock is on his way down from the third floor," Jarvis says helpfully.

Jarvis's occasional announcements are something else Cal has gotten used to; he no longer has to pause to remember where the eerily human-sounding voice is coming from.

"Thanks," he says. It does seem weird to thank a computer, but Tony and Sherlock tend to address Jarvis like he's as real as he sounds, and Cal doesn't see any harm in picking up the habit. As long as he remembers to keep it confined to Jarvis.

Dryly: "You're welcome."

Oh, he does love confusing people. He is quite sure Cal does not realize how intelligent this particular artificial intelligence actually is, and it amuses him to no end.

Which does not escape Sherlock, because nothing escapes Sherlock.

"It's not polite to mock the guests, Jarvis," he says as he descends the last few steps. "Afternoon, Cal. I hope your adventures with the pencil sharpener were not too trying."

"He's still more polite than most of the actual people I know," Cal says with a shrug.

Then,

"I think I broke it." The pencil sharpener, not Jarvis. "I couldn't get it to fit back together right."

"And that would be why Tony prefers mechanical pencils. Not so high-maintenance. Fewer accessories."

"I usually have a pen," Cal says. "I lost it."

Of course he didn't have a back-up. Why would he?

"Not, I confess, a trouble to which I can relate."

"Yeah, I bet you bring like seventeen of them to school," Cal theorizes.

He considers for a couple seconds, then adds,

"And markers for the maps in history class."

Because there's always that one kid. And Cal would not be surprised if it were Sherlock.

"I bring two pens, in case the first one becomes irretrievable. But I am not in the habit of losing things. Tony, on the other hand, must have poured his own weight in writing utensils onto the floor of that building by now."

"They're easy to lose."

Cal loses them all the time. Or he would, anyway, if he used them much. Which he doesn't these days. He was never very good at taking notes even back when he still used to try.

"Apparently so."

A noise from the basement stairs.

"But perhaps I should stop telling embarrassing stories about Tony," he says, just in time for Tony to emerge into the foyer.

This is, of course, Cal's cue to play up the snickering reaction a little more than is strictly necessary.

Tony chooses the highly mature response of rolling his eyes and ruffling Sherlock's hair with a slightly grimy hand. A little motor oil never hurt anybody, especially not anybody as annoying as Sherry Holmes.

As long as Tony keeps his motor oil in the family, that suits Cal just fine.

"Hi, Tony," he says innocently. Or playing at innocence after "suppressing" his snickers. Whichever.

Oh, yes. Tony's motor oil is definitely remaining within the family.

"Hi, Cal. What lies has he been feeding you?"

"Just what you like to do with pens when you think no one's looking."

It's even true, in a very broad sense.

He cracks up.

"I claim total innocence in this matter."

Cal laughs, too.

"Of course you do," he says.