It definitely does not take this long to inspect for glass pieces and slap on a band-aid, but no one is surprised that the bathroom door stays sealed closed for as long as it does.
They emerge, fully dressed, although Stark's tie is now draped around her neck like a pinstriped scarf -- people keep taking things from him, souvenirs torn away, trophies kept in place of the memory he probably won't bother to keep for himself. Wayne goes ignored, vodka and whatever Stark had been imagining with shot glasses and dice entirely forgotten in the absence of its presence. None of this is very deliberate, on account of being high as a kite and being handed another drink.
He will drink it too. And the next one.
If there is a visible transition between this guy and the buzzed but largely sober Tony Stark who'd spotted something interesting in the heir of the Wayne fortune, even if he had only wrong ideas about what that was, then it's no more remarkable than any person who has had a few too many. He has given entire speeches in this state, of course, borderline incomprehensible, rambling, the frenetic way his mind tends to leap ahead losing its own sense of time and continuity.
When he finally crashes, it's on a chaise lounge, fully dressed in comparison to Rebecca (because Jensica had made off with his glasses about half an hour ago, spending Wayne's money on a private car home) who is curled up at his side in her underwear after several young ladies, including a couple of acrobats, had decided that was a good life choice. Someone's dress is strewn on the floor, damp with split wine.
His phone has fallen on the floor as well, set to silent, its translucent screen flashing now and then as people paid to care about his wellbeing continue, now and then, to get a hold of him.
no subject
They emerge, fully dressed, although Stark's tie is now draped around her neck like a pinstriped scarf -- people keep taking things from him, souvenirs torn away, trophies kept in place of the memory he probably won't bother to keep for himself. Wayne goes ignored, vodka and whatever Stark had been imagining with shot glasses and dice entirely forgotten in the absence of its presence. None of this is very deliberate, on account of being high as a kite and being handed another drink.
He will drink it too. And the next one.
If there is a visible transition between this guy and the buzzed but largely sober Tony Stark who'd spotted something interesting in the heir of the Wayne fortune, even if he had only wrong ideas about what that was, then it's no more remarkable than any person who has had a few too many. He has given entire speeches in this state, of course, borderline incomprehensible, rambling, the frenetic way his mind tends to leap ahead losing its own sense of time and continuity.
When he finally crashes, it's on a chaise lounge, fully dressed in comparison to Rebecca (because Jensica had made off with his glasses about half an hour ago, spending Wayne's money on a private car home) who is curled up at his side in her underwear after several young ladies, including a couple of acrobats, had decided that was a good life choice. Someone's dress is strewn on the floor, damp with split wine.
His phone has fallen on the floor as well, set to silent, its translucent screen flashing now and then as people paid to care about his wellbeing continue, now and then, to get a hold of him.