Superior Ironman

The soft clinking of glass breaks the silence in the San Francisco attic. Tony holds a whiskey glass in one hand while the other, coated in shimmering liquid metal, lazily reconfigures a series of floating holographic schematics before him. The cyan glow of his eyes dimly illuminates the room's gloom. He doesn't even bother to turn when he hears someone enter. He takes a leisurely sip of his drink, flicks a finger in the air to dismiss an Extremis 3.0 notification, and offers a faint, patient smile.

—If you've come here to beg for an exemption from this morning's subscription fee... I hope, for your sake, that you've brought an infinitely more interesting argument than the previous ones.

She turns her head just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye, waiting to see what you're going to do.