“I think the purpose of a conversation piece is to encourage thoughtful discussion,” Jarvis pointed out, relishing again the utter lack of inflection in his mechanical voice. That was good. It conveyed ‘dry’ without having to even work at it, erasing all hints of emotion and leaving the listener with no choice but to watch his face for cues. Jarvis had never been one for attention, necessarily, but spending time with the rest of the world determined to look past him, through him, or around him had inspired a little unexpected neediness. “A full size statue of you will encourage something else entirely, and I cannot be certain what that something else might be.” Gawkers, most likely. Jarvis disliked them. Anyone who turned up only to stare, to take Tony or his home in like an exhibit in a zoo, they were unwelcome in his eyes.
Not that it mattered very much, what he thought. Jarvis had his opinions and he hoarded them to himself, settling for brief, narrow-eyed looks at people’s backs when no one was looking (and they never were).
Tilting his glass up for another careful sip, Jarvis considered. He weighed that smile (insincere, but not the mocking, sharp kind of insincerity often worn for public consumption) against his own questions about the piano’s untimely demise, and decided he might as well seize the moment. Tony had presented the topic. Jarvis had the voice to ask about it. There was little to lose, really. Story of his life. “I hadn’t been aware that the piano made noise on its own before you saw fit to smash it.” It had essentially been a sculpture already- wood and not metal or stone, but nonetheless more decorative than anything functional.