The movement caught Tony's eye, searching and waiting for her to pull something much more deadly from some hidden pocket. It may not have looked as lethal as a knife in Mystique's hands, but the ring was dangerously distracting, holding Tony's attention for a beat and making what she said impossibly difficult to interpret. The what? Was that gibberish? No, museum was a thing, but certainly lacked a walloping lot of context.
The shift made her a much easier target, though. With a twist of his wrist, aiming a glowing palm with tendrils of gold dripping up his fingers, the ironing board Mystique hid behind burst into two, half of it clattering to the ground and the other half smouldering with the smell of burnt hair. Tony wasn't buying any of it.