There was little response, or so much as a noise from Iron Man through the whole production. He could have been silently fuming over the reaction, or he could have not even noticed. It wasn't until they reached the table that he seemed to realize, when he stopped before sitting to suddenly snap his head around to look directly at the nearest amateur photographer. There he held while the guy tried to recover from almost dropping his cell phone until he could get the shot he wanted, then just as suddenly all the tension that came with the pose went out of Iron Man and he was sliding into his seat across from Cassie, dragging a menu towards himself carelessly.
He wouldn't lie about it, he did like the attention.
Only when the audience had digested this image and returned to their regular meals did he take his helmet off, the sigh of the seals releasing dying away long before he could actually bring himself to lift it off his head and push it onto the table. With the underarmor melting away, without the cover of Pepper's expert make-up and without any particular care for himself for the last several days, Tony didn't make for the most glamorous dinner companion. Needing to shave was just the rough draft. There was bruising along his cheek, and his hair was matted with sweat and some blood when he pulled his fingers through it, making him wrinkle his nose and tuck his gloved hands quickly out of sight under the table. "Stilt-Man's kind of a rite of passage," he said suddenly, quickly, before she could make any comment.