"Yup," was all Tony had to say on the subject, frowning and looking away as he fidgeted again, but the tone of his voice could have dictated volumes. Evidently, it hadn't been pleasant and he was not looking forward to recreating the experience. Maybe he didn't have his dad's good taste and low standards of human decency. Maybe he didn't like feeling slimy. Maybe he just didn't like being social. The Club was a snakepit, in any case, and Tony didn't feel adequately armored or immunized to step in. Holding very still for a rare second as the car pulled to a stop, as if he thought Emma might suspect what he was doing, Tony sent a quick text to Cap to make sure someone knew to come looking for him. That was a slight reassurance. Next, he took a deep breath before stepping out of the cab to start putting the armor on-- not the literal armor, though Tony's skin itched like it was too sensitive to be without it, but the composure he had let flag to show Ms. Frost his annoyance, all reassembling so he could step out onto the walkway with squared shoulders and a cool pout of disinterest. "It's cockroach, by the way," he announced. "I hate cockroaches."