"While I do so enjoy my entourage for official events - because The Ironettes make such a great addition to the scenery anywhere they go - Bruce is, as usual, right," Tony said as he ambled over. "Today, I'm here as Tony. Not that I didn't consider bringing the Ironettes and the armor, but I think you'd frown on a bunch of chorus girls seeing your Batcave. You'd have to move the entrances."
It took him a moment to remember the English Lit references, but at least he could say that the reference was familiar. "Bingley at least had fun," he pointed out.
Taking the glass of very dark liquid, he started to lift it to knock back the entire thing - warnings notwithstanding, because by this point in his life he had a very high tolerance for alcohol, and how back could alien ale be? - when Bruce made his toast. He sobered a little at the actual toast, and nodded. "Wouldn't be anywhere else," he said sincerely.
He still drank faster than he should, and waved to Alfred as he rolled down the cart. "See? Party is here, by way of Alfred. You should all be so very proud that I've learned to share my cake with people I like. It's just fortunate there's only three of us, because if I'm sharing my cake, it won't be with wimpy pieces." And this was what he was like before he was completely drunk.
He wandered over to the series of images, studying the kid thoughtfully. "Yeah, he does look like you at that age," he said quietly.