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[ingeniar]

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USERNAME: STARK

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[ingeniar]

[ Content to go along with whatever is asked of him as long as it means getting what he wants -- currently, Stephen Strange, alone -- Tony falls into step alongside the wizard, tugging his cuffs and the lines of his jacket straight again. Aware, even if they've left their fans behind in another world, of the requirements of being recognised and putting on a good show. ]

Is it miniature golf? Because I'm not really dressed for the ninth hole. [ A beat, considering time and place and present company. ] That's not supposed to be an innuendo.

[rehandle]

Obviously. [ If it were, it would be entirely untrue. ] If you're that desperate for me to spoil the surprise...

[ They've made it maybe ten steps down the hall but Stephen's stopping again, hands swooping through the carving out of a portal to a room with high ceilings, huge windows facing out onto the grounds, a perfectly polished floor. It's a sparsely furnished space: a chesterfield and a fainting couch, a few cabinets and bar carts, all furniture carefully arranged to take up little room or focus, tucked back against the edges. The only thing encroaching on the open floor is the grand piano stationed in front of the windows, lid open, keys waiting.

It makes for a quietly striking image, sitting untouched in the muted light of a cloudy English day. But it is just an empty room in a lesser-used part of the house, and here is Stephen Strange, Piece of Work Supreme, stepping aside to perform a pantomime sweep of his arm toward the portal like he's just opened the door of a limousine onto a gala's red carpet. ]