Tony laughed, drank, and dropped even more heavily back in his seat, a rare note of self-consciousness bleeding into his otherwise self-satisfied grin. It was just possible that he was aware - sometimes, in relation to very specific people and situations - that he was a little bit of a handful. "No, a sculpture. That's good. Life-sized statue, maybe. Yours truly. I think we can make it happen."
Or one of the scrapped prototypes from his more extensive workshop over in the government complex, maybe. (Or an active one. Why shouldn't the front room be given over to his work, just like this one?) No one had ever accused him of being subtle, and really, most of what he was looking for in decor was a series of conversation pieces. As long as it didn't actively annoy him, as had the late lamented piano, it all tended to fly beneath his radar, anyway. As with most of the readily visible parts of his home or, indeed, anything he presented with any regularity to the multitude of people who flitted in and out of the superficial layers of his life, it didn't mean an awful lot to him. As long as he could step over it without tripping, what the hell did he care?
"Whatever it is," he pointed out, "it'll make less noise than that hunk of junk I had there before." He balanced his glass on the arm of his chair, and spread his hands, giving him a smile that was no doubt far less convincing than it was meant to be. "So that's a win. Right?" And something that required no maintenance he couldn't perform with a torque wrench was probably ideal. They both had enough to keep their hands full, when it came to keeping things alive.