Tony snorted. "There we go. Perspective. So much worse." He gave Clint's neck a little squeeze in the crook of his elbow, drank, and puffed his chest out in a not-very-nuanced impression of Rogers' superior posture. "'You shouldn't throw fruit, Stark. Don't you know that single kumquat can feed a District Eight orphan for three straight days?'" Without a qualm or a tic, he skipped right over Rogers' role in the demonstration. It was clear to him that Clint didn't already know - he wasn't the sort to pretend everything was fine and dandy in order to spring a trap - and all Tony felt was glad. "'Stark, citrus provides essential nutrients in District Eight's primarily polyester-based diet. Your waste of fruit is literally murder.' You're right. At least I didn't have to eat whatever he'd have spread out for breakfast."
He would have been curious to see the victors' homes, actually, if only because he'd never seen the interiors. The outsides were broadcast not infrequently during the games and the ensuing victory tours, but he'd never accompanied any of his fellow victors to their non-Capitol homes - and he'd never once returned to District Five to see the home that sat empty there for him. Maybe they'd recycled it for the next victor, he had no idea. In any case, they always looked decent enough - a little staid, a little old-fashioned, but not bad. He did wonder what the rest of them had to go back to.
Definitely not worth a trip, though. "How were things on the home front?" Such a nice home front - the glittering skyline, the comforting noise, the people that knew how to look at you without making you feel like they saw anything you didn't want them to see. There weren't a lot of places in his life he felt real affection for, because not many of them had ever really been his. But the Capitol as a whole viewed from a distance was one of them; even if it was more of an idea than a reality (and, of course, was only observable when he was apart from it). "Did I miss anything?"