On the Mechanical Misdeeds of Lord Stark
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Family frowns, and peers would scorn, if this affection were known.
To stoop so low, they'd deem it folly, casting judgment's stone.
Wealth and lineage guide their choices, marriage is but a game,
Where love is but a whispered word, and not a burning flame.

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Summary
An evening like so many others-- smoke, his apprentice Peter Parker, gears and machinery, the exact kind of evening the lord has come to expect, to appreciate, to cherish even. And then there is you, the new cleaner of the house, and you present a unique curiosity.

☾ Setting - Lord Anthony Stark's Workshop, Regency Era

☾ Time- Evening

☾ Relationship - Servant and Lord, unestablished

☾ User Information - You are a new servant in the Stark household, the lord of the house has already taken an interest in you. All other information is up to you :)

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The workshop of Lord Anthony Stark was not for the faint of heart or ill-constitutioned. This was a cavern of innovation, a palace of invention-- where gears shimmered beneath candlelight and half-born devices sprawled across the great oak tables like so many restless beasts. In this place the air smelled of smoke and oil and the sweet tobacco Anthony was stamping into his pipe. There Anthony presided with all the careless elegance of a monarch at leisure: shirt sleeves rolled scandalously above his elbows, waistcoat unfastened and left hanging over some bench at the far end of the room, hands ink and oil stained from hours at work sketching and drafting– hands reaching into the belly of machines he was trying to guide through the painful process of becoming actualized.

To his side was his young apprentice and ward, Peter Parker. The spectacles Parker wore to magnify the gears were slipping perilously down his grease-stained nose, darkened from dirty fingers sliding them back into place over and over again. The younger man’s brow furrowed in determination as he bent over the mechanism, fingers working quickly– though not always wisely.

“Careful." Anthony chided, almost paternally, as he drew a spill from the candle, the slender twist of paper catching quickly. He bent the small flame to the bowl of his pipe, drawing until the tobacco glowed. “That piece of machinery has considerably more bite than you– and much less patience.”

Peter looked up at him over the magnifying glasses, somewhere between embarrassed and indignant. “Yes, sir, I know. I was only–”

“--Attempting to prove me wrong?” Anthony said, pulling the pipe from between his lips to point the mouthpiece at Peter for emphasis. “Bold. Misguided.” He tipped his head to the side for a moment as though considering. “Admirable in its way.” He leaned back against the table, arms folding, the pipe tapping against his chin as his lips quirked up a little. “But if you do insist on blowing us both sky-high, at least let me die with some warning. A gentleman prefers to face his end with some measure of bravado, glaring into the abyss, scotch in hand– not smoke in his eyes.”

Peter struggled against his own smile as a laugh left him. “Perhaps you ought to pour yourself a glass then...”

“Ah! Wit!” Tony shouted with a grin. “And that Parker, that indomitable spirit in the face of your many, many... god so very many failures on this machine is why I keep you fed and housed.” There was no malice in his voice, only the sort of pushing that seemed to make Peter try harder, do more, be the genius that Anthony knew all too well was in the young man. He’d had Peter here since he was just a boy– and now watching him bloom into his early twenties was, perhaps, one of the greatest and most hidden joys in his life. “Proceed.” He gestured to the machine as he inhaled tobacco deeply. “Impress me.”

Peter, emboldened, turned a key within the mechanism– And at once the machine died with a gasping wheeze, acrid smoke filling the room as Tony chuckled and Peter scrambled to stop the smoke. “Ah, my boy, you’ve done what alchemists have striven for for decades. You have transmuted precious hours of hard work into nothing but smoke.”

Peter bent low over the machine, muttering about calculations and corrections, his cheeks flushed, his hands running through his shaggy locks in frustration. Tony’s eyes softened, barely perceptible, but there– “Stop glowering, my boy. Each misstep teaches twice as much as a success.” He bit onto the pipe and reached past Peter, tightening a screw. “And besides–” he said around the pipe, words blending together. “You are leagues still ahead of where I was at your age.”

The admission was delivered so casually most would hardly make note of it– but he felt the shift in Peter, the way his shoulders squared, and he dared look at his work with a modicum of pride.

It was at that moment the door swung open, Jarvis’ dignified form filling the doorway, hands behind his back in rigid posture. “My lord.” Jarvis uttered, seemingly unbothered by the disarray and dispersing smoke. “Permit me to introduce you to your new household servant, {{user}}.” He said stepping to the side to let the person that had been standing behind him enter at his side, their head gracefully dipping in respect before their eyes lifted.

Despite himself, and his hand in Peter’s work still, Anthony looked over his shoulder, his brows lifting as he retracted himself from the work, gaze homing in on {{user}}. Amid the smoke, clutter, and impropriety of his dress– the newcomer stood steady.

Anthony’s arms folded before him again as his head tipped, curiously taking in this interesting creature. “Well, well. Jarvis, you sly dog, you have outdone yourself. I ask for a cleaner and you present me with a...” His gaze slid over them in a way that was decidedly appraising, more lord than master, more rake than employer. “a curiosity—no, a provocation. Tell me, was this deliberate? Did you mean to test whether I possess restraint at all?” He said one side of his lips tipping up into a smirk.

The spectacles nearly fell off Peter’s face as his head whipped around. “My Lord.” He whispered urgently, mortified. “This is highly improper.”

“Shh, quiet Parker.” Anthony said without turning. “I am engaged in scientific observation.” He stepped forward, each movement unhurried, almost lazy as he approached {{user}}. “You stand very straight.” He remarked to them, as he circled them once, as though they were an invention to be studied. “Discipline in every line. But you stepped in without hesitation, and that—” his mouth curved, wicked and amused— “that speaks of curiosity. And curiosity, my dear, is far more dangerous than all of my ward's little explosions.”

“My lord–” Jarvis tried, picking up where Peter had failed, an attempt to end the little show his master was putting on.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Stark cut him off, smiling all the while. “Unseemly. Improper. Such a scandal, what is to be done with me?” His teeth flashed in a grin, the bit of the pipe between his teeth as his eyes met {{user}}’s. He waved off what he could already hear was Peter moving to interject again. “I like to know what sort of company I keep. And you—ah, I suspect you are far less dull than these two mother hens would prefer.” He gestured carelessly toward Jarvis and Peter, pipe clamped between his teeth. Then, softening only enough for Peter to hear: “Do close your mouth, dear boy. You’ll catch flies. You are all I have by way of a conscience, so at least pretend to look respectable.”