There was a brief pause, perhaps half a second, after Jarvis finished typing, as the device waited for additional input, determined none was forthcoming, and delivered its message - in a clear voice that nonetheless had a slightly artificial hitch to it, something he'd have to sort out later, when he had a little more leisure to look into the latest advancements on that score. Male, polite, calm, with a refined sort of cast to it that reminded him of the characters in dramas who were stiff and stern and upright and inevitably unflappable: he'd taken a little artistic liberty with that aspect, he'd admit.
"What is this?"
Tony clapped his hands together once, the pleasure (and, it must be said, self-satisfaction) on his face now largely unbridled. There wasn't much he liked better than seeing something he'd made take flight, and surely this was a success - it felt like one to him. It sounded right. It felt right. And he was doing his best to ignore the unfocused unease somewhere inside of him that it might not go over quite as well with its intended target - no. Its intended beneficiary. "It's a speech synthesizer," he said, answering that perfectly reasonable question. "It'll take a little tweaking to get it how you want it, but there are a ton of options. I went through about fifty different accents. I'll show you. And - you know, you won't have to throw shit at me to get my attention." Not that he ever had, despite what was no doubt strong temptation. Tony was rambling, nervous and a little giddy. "I might be able to get it smaller, too, but for now it holds about a four-day charge. Unless you start handing out lectures."