The movement drew his eye; he glanced up, surprised to find himself mildly annoyed at the thought of Jarvis just going about his business while he was sitting here talking to him - what did he care, it wasn't like he could talk back - and then snorted quietly when he came up with a bottle. His mouth twitched to one side, a wry half-smile. "Yeah." One more sip was all it took to empty his glass, ice cube and all. It crunched noisily between his teeth as he nudged the glass across the counter. "Good idea. You want to rinse that out, first."
Tony watched him, considering - and that was easy to do, of course, far less awkward than it often was in his day-to-day life when he decided to stare. Suggestions weren't really supposed to be in your Avox's toolbox. For Tony to stretch the bounds of propriety was one thing; he was holding all the cards (not a position he was all that used to, really). So he wasn't supposed to address him with anything more than a direct order, all right, but what the hell was Jarvis going to do about it - tell? But maybe his behavior was encouraging presumption. Frankly, he didn't care. He was stifling here, alone; and he very much wanted to encourage a full glass.
"I didn't used to like this. I guess it's an acquired taste." Having been partaking for an entire five or six years, Tony was, of course, a seasoned connoisseur of all things alcoholic; he'd closed the chapter on his embarrassing youthful preference for sweet wine and glorified fruit punch lo those many months ago. He'd switched over out of a natural sense of obligation. This stuff was what men drank (at least, one man); so this stuff was what you drank when you wanted to be taken seriously, which did help while trying to convince someone to buy your tribute an arrow or two. And now here he was: an expert. "That's the ten-year. That's pretty good. I mean, I've had better, but people give you this stuff, and then it's here."
Now that all the pressure and chaos surrounding last year's games and the subsequent tour was over, he imagined he wouldn't be consuming it at such a breakneck pace anymore, anyway. It had been an obligatory part of the constant social meetings and negotiations, and then a necessity to get him through the days and nights between, but now he could cut back and stop waking up feeling like his head was about to fall off. Well, maybe not now - he and Barton would still be up for interviews and ceremonies until the next Victor was crowned. Next month, then.
"Anyway, it gets the job done, right? That's the important part. When I was younger I didn't realize how much they recycle every year for the lead-up to the Games, but man, it's getting harder and harder to sit through the same talking points and - I guess you didn't watch last year's, huh." No one in his house could have had sufficient downtime to sit in front of a screen. And ... Jarvis probably hadn't had any since the year Tony had won, had he. Tony plucked awkwardly at his long spiral of lemon peel. "Well, you're not missing much. That's no surprise. The Gamemakers are still recovering. Their talent pool got shallow, can't do much about that."