[open]
The hundred year old guy and his buddy, the Manchurian Candidate, were no shows. Instead, there was a life-size standee of Captain America that made all of them look like slobs. Tony supposed that Pepper's plan to give Steve some quiet time actually worked. Still, she could've let him know so he didn't get some teeny tiny part of his usually stupidly optimistic hopes up, and bring a present to that party. Oh well. It was safe under lock and key, not to mention being monitored. Maybe later.
Tony spied Star-Lad nearby...or whatever the hell that guy called himself. The party wasn't up to Risky Business or Weird Science standards. It was tame on a level that many would deem 'family friendly' because Pepper planned it, and Pep was great at adulting. It wasn't anywhere near as bombastic as he would've had it, which was probably a good thing. Once upon a time he was hiring stewardesses that were actually strippers, and threw more than his fair share of hedonistically reckless parties. Peter was about eight years too late.
He was older and wiser and a stellar example of being an adult and....
"Okay, Star-Lard! That is a metric shit ton of hot dogs," Tony observed out loud, staring fixedly at them. "Are you seriously gonna maow down on all of those? I'm entering you in the Nathan's hot dog eating contest next Fourth of July."