"I'm retired on both counts," Tony reminded her, "but it couldn't hurt to prod along a budding entrepreneur from a magical universe a quarter century in the past." Because that was the joke, wasn't it? Not the tea-slinging elf who was way too enthusiastic about his job, but where they were now. Alive–both the Doctors and the wizards had assured them as much–and well. Well, alive anyway.
Tony shrugged, as if the question had been an innocent one, and not Natasha's way of checking up on him. "Pretended to ignore the awkward tension between our two roomies from the greatest generation and busted out of Magic Town for a while. Hit up Spillers." Cardiff, of all places, boasted the oldest record store in the world (according to some), and reminded Tony of the places in the Village he used to frequent when he was younger. He never bought anything, just browsed the vinyl, listened to the store clerks shoot the shit, and killed time. There was so much of it now.
He eyed Natasha's book and tea. "You been here long?" he asked as a way of inquiring about her day.