Odin’s Eyepatch! Just my luck. I escaped from the tour and ran right into Thor.
“Ah, brother! There you are! Come! I have a belated Yule gift for you!”
“I didn’t get you anything. And what’s with the stoopid scarf?”
“Is it not magnificent? My beloved, Jane Foster, made it for me.”
“Well, you look ridiculous.”
“I am sorry to hear you say that, because…”
“…I had her make you one too! Now we are more than brothers! We are TWINS!”
Someone please kill me now…
Norns’ Nighties! Am I glad that’s over! Sigyn, I love you with all of my black little heart, but do not ever drag me to another one of Stark’s parties again, do you hear?
“Oh, Loki. It wasn’t that bad! It was fun to catch up with everyone, and Pepper insisted I take this lovely wreath home. And your red scarf looks so cute on you! Wasn’t it sweet of Thor to have Jane knit it for you?”
Perhaps Sigyn is right. Perhaps it was not such a bad party, dumb scarf not withstanding. After all, when no one was looking, I helped myself to a really good present that I will wear and use often.
Sweet Sif on a Cracker. I thought that the worst thing at this event would be if someone wanted to play party games. It’s so much worse than that.
Stark is giving those of us who haven’t been here before a tour of his workrooms. I know most of the world would give anything to get a glimpse of where the “Great Man” “makes the future happen,” but I would pay good money not to have to listen to him. However, Sigyn has made the “Behave, Loki Eyebrows” at me, so I will bite my tongue and trail along to view this Monument to Me exhibit.
Stark has all of his previous suits of armor on display. Some of them are in pretty rough shape, but these two are mostly in one piece.
He’s so proud of them that he even make a miniature Hall of Armor so that he could have a display of the display.
Recursive and narcissistic.
That’s not the only model here. There’s a mock-up of the Helicarrier.
And a scale model of a Quin Jet.
I have un-fond memories of one of those…
He even has a replica of the whole tower!
I have some bad recollections of that as well.
Ehehehehe! Hope Stark has vermin-proofed those suits…
Oh, marvelous. We have moved on from models and are now “meeting” some of the bots.
I am not sure, but I think they’re an Iron Legion Snowman and a windup Hulkbuster. A few minutes with Rocket, though, and they’ll be just a pile of loose bolts.
What is this thing? Some sort of fancy snow globe?
“No, it’s my first—well, my second—chest arc reactor. Pepper had it mounted for me.”
(Pepper:) “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.”
Great Frigga’s Corset! The man is still talking!
No, Stark. I do not wish to “stay and meet Jarvis.” Enough. I am done with this tour (and your ego.) I feel a most urgent need to go back to the main room and fortify myself with refreshments. Turkey leg. Lobster. Margarita. Mead. I don’t care–anything that is not here…
Arrgh. This party looks to be just as pretentious and loud and obnoxious as I feared it would be. Stark has chosen to have it, not in the spacious lounge (whose window I once yeeted him out of), but in one of his cavernous workrooms. I suppose he was trying for “industrial chic”, but the result is not overly festive.
And here comes the man himself!
“Hello, hello! Welcome to me! And my tower! Glad you could make it. Sigyn, you’re looking as beautiful as ever. Dum-E, get these two a drink.”
“Hello, Stark. I see the Ugly Sweater Fairy paid you a Yule visit.”
“Pepper picked it out. I think it’s…quirky. Besides, Reindeer games, it’s about a thousand times better than that ratty green cape of yours. But come on in. Mi casa, and all that.”
Sigyn is a first-class mingler. She has made a beeline for the grill, where the female guests have got lobster and turkey legs going and are each possessed of a colorful cocktail.
(Captain Marvel:) “Hi, Sigyn! Glad you could make it!”
“Hi, Carol, Hi, Pepper! Nat, Darcy, good to see you. Is Jane here too?”
(Darcy:) “No, she’s off doing some science-y stuff at the South Pole. You know. Can we get you a drink? I’ve got a Purple People Eater, Pep’s a margarita girl, Widow’s got some mead or something, and Captain’s sticking with white wine.”
“Thanks. Maybe later.”
I see all sorts of people here I’d pay good money not to have to talk to. That corner over there looks particularly awful.
(Spidey:) “So this old lady bought me a churro. Turns out they’re great and now I can’t stop eating ’em.”
(Thor:) “Truly. I feel the same about these turkey legs.”
(Both:) “And that burger looks really, really good…”
I see the “No lie, there I was”-ing has started up over there.
Confession time. I can never tell Peter Quill and Hawkeye apart when they’re unarmed. Bow and arrow, it’s Birdbrain. Dorky goggles and a blaster, it’s Quill. No weapons? Toss up. Doesn’t matter, though. My tolerance for braggadocio is quite limited–my own glorious exploits are the only ones worth paying attention to–so there’s no way in Hel I’m going to break in on that little gathering.
Ehehehe! Nick Fury trying to make small talk with T’Challa and Muffy.
Now that’s an awkward situation almost worth coming to this party to see.
Well, well, well. What’s going on over there? Looks like the Arboreal Crowd are having a little confab.
Uh, oh. Someone had better keep an eye on Rocket…
or that little wreath-bot is going to finish the evening minus a couple of components…
Hmm. Mischief. Maybe this party isn’t a total waste of time after all…