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[Oct. 14th, 2008|22:25 ] |
It's rare these days when Tony Stark can go anywhere without an entourage. In addition to the unwanted attention that having disgustingly high piles of cash will bring you, his handlers -- and that's how he referred to them, as "handlers" -- had stepped up his personal guard in the wake of the whole "kidnapping fiasco", meaning that not only was he traveling around with a driver and a secretary, but with four hundred extra pounds of man muscle on either side of him. It'd be flattering if it wasn't so damn annoying.
"Seriously, guys, do you have to follow so close? I feel like my -- my personal bubble's being invaded." He produces a generic waving motion, clearing a good foot and a half between himself and the hired help. "Usually when you follow that close I end up having to pay for drinks. Just -- take a smoke break already, will you? Here, Cubans. Go get yourself some Cuban cigars on me, okay?" He pushed a neat row of bills into the lobster claw of the nearest bodyguard.
"Mister Tony, your partner was pretty clear that we were to stay --"
Tony cuts him off. "Who, Obie? Not my partner. Nice sentiment, but we're not sharing a bathrobe and until we do --" he stops on the threshold of the bar and leans toward the doorway, checking the scene inside "-- tell you what." He descends a few steps onto the gritty street and hands each man another hundred dollar bill. "Go get yourself something better to tail for a while, okay? 'Got an invisible drink burning a hole in my stomach."
"Thank you, Mister Tony."
"Yeah, yeah, everybody's thankful. Get out of here, y'apes. You make me nervous."
With his attache dispatched, Tony Stark pinches the center of his file-neat tie and steps into the bar, ready for a little unscripted action. |
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