This seemed horrifying to Tony, who raised his hands like the box was a contagion and he needed to limit his exposure. "Me?" he protested as she joined him and busied his hands with his own glasses, folding them against his palm and, oh, now he couldn't possibly open the box without spilling his drink. "It's not my birthday already, is it?" his anxiety was finally revealed with distaste, then he slouched into his seat, overwhelmed by his mounting years. And with Wicked looking so sweet in her little party outfit, what an embarrassment, this was wreaking havoc on his mood.