They are standing on a sidewalk across the road from a building that has been in their plain view for at least a few blocks now so Tony is being a little disingenuous, as if somehow, 'it' had only just popped into view. 'It' being the massively wide and far, far taller structure of what Tony still sort of secretly on the inside calls Stark Tower but has been renovated (had been renovated) to house more than only his ego. Look up and up and up, and an A for the Avengers is prominently displayed by the landing pad.
It's not an uncomplicated sense of nostalgia. To think that this was the simpler time, out of all of them that came after. "Home sweet home," Tony says, an obligatory finishing of the phrase, and he adds, "One of 'em, kind of. C'mon. Green means go."
Important street crossing rules. He stops short of holding their hands, but he will if he has to.
The lobby is large, glossy, marble-lined, a water feature, a tall ceiling and a reception desk, and a row of silver doors that Tony makes a beeline to. He has had some time to re-adapt his wardrobe, in a suit that fits in just fine with other sleekly dressed people that move around. A few glances dart Tony's way, an acknowledgment of presence that doesn't encroach beyond a couple of nervous smiles or polite nods, one or two Mister Starks that Tony breezes by—
More keyed into the two people he is with than he seems, probably, as he summons an elevator. Something bad's gotta happen eventually. The whole place starts melting, or the receptionist turns into a rage demon, or worse, that happens to the next person they run into.
Or it's all somehow real, time discrepancies or no. What a nightmare.
earth-199999. closed to wysteria and ellis.
They are standing on a sidewalk across the road from a building that has been in their plain view for at least a few blocks now so Tony is being a little disingenuous, as if somehow, 'it' had only just popped into view. 'It' being the massively wide and far, far taller structure of what Tony still sort of secretly on the inside calls Stark Tower but has been renovated (had been renovated) to house more than only his ego. Look up and up and up, and an A for the Avengers is prominently displayed by the landing pad.
It's not an uncomplicated sense of nostalgia. To think that this was the simpler time, out of all of them that came after. "Home sweet home," Tony says, an obligatory finishing of the phrase, and he adds, "One of 'em, kind of. C'mon. Green means go."
Important street crossing rules. He stops short of holding their hands, but he will if he has to.
The lobby is large, glossy, marble-lined, a water feature, a tall ceiling and a reception desk, and a row of silver doors that Tony makes a beeline to. He has had some time to re-adapt his wardrobe, in a suit that fits in just fine with other sleekly dressed people that move around. A few glances dart Tony's way, an acknowledgment of presence that doesn't encroach beyond a couple of nervous smiles or polite nods, one or two Mister Starks that Tony breezes by—
More keyed into the two people he is with than he seems, probably, as he summons an elevator. Something bad's gotta happen eventually. The whole place starts melting, or the receptionist turns into a rage demon, or worse, that happens to the next person they run into.
Or it's all somehow real, time discrepancies or no. What a nightmare.