"I didn't say 'connections'," Tony teased in a lilting voice, drifting around to stand next to Sue as if caught in her orbit. "Good answer, though," he appreciated with a grin and puffed chest for the compliment. He kept his hands held respectfully behind his back so they might not escape and do any number of delectably intrusive things that humble Miss Storm was just asking for with that newfound skill of flattery. Or was it honesty? "I wouldn't mind connecting a few times," he added after a beat of watching handlers carry equipment and baggage off the jet, turning to stare at her over the frame of his sunglasses with his mouth set in strict seriousness. Just waiting for Sue's intake of breath to speak, he cut her off with a wicked smirk and pushed out of her orbit, sauntering out into the sunlight with his arms spread wide like he walked onto a stage. One of the handlers nearly dropped a crate at Tony's sudden shout: "Hey! Careful with that, highly explosive materials!"
On the runway-- actually a hard-earthed field with a lean-to for about six people to fit under for a bit of shade-- the teams were organizing themselves deftly, like there had been a rehearsal for Unloading In Haiti. A loaded truck was already pulling away by the time Tony touched the ground, others being efficiently packed, checked and recorded. Everything was in its place except Tony, who rapped his knuckles on a truck's hood and asked, "Can we ride with you?"