With someone else, it might be invasive. With Bruce, it’s okay. More than okay, it’s comfortable, and Tony’s hand is lax and malleable in his. He feels felt in geometrical shapes, but isn’t quite there yet on figuring it out. Not until Bruce explains it, and then he gets it. It makes him laugh. Genuine, amused, almost gleeful laughter, and he tightens his grip on it like he’s just discovered something precious and is worried that someone is going to steal it from him.
“I’m going to have to make it talk now. You know that, right? Not having a talking Brave Little Toaster just isn’t acceptable.” How he’s going to do that when he can’t see and doesn’t have JARVIS to guide him, Tony doesn’t know and refuses to dwell on it now.
“This makes my two part present pretty lame. Just FYI. I can’t even say you can return it if you hate it since there’s not really anything to return.” Keeping a hold of the toaster, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out what looks like a card envelop. With a crooked smile, he holds it out in Bruce’s direction. “Here’s part one, anyway.”
Folded with neat, almost painfully anal, lines into thirds is a thick piece of paper. On it is a drawing in black ink. It’s no masterpiece of modern art. Or any art whatsoever. It’s obviously hand-drawn by someone who isn’t very practiced at drawing people but has given it a try anyway: two men, one with curly hair and one with a goatee, wearing clothes that look a little too hip and who are in the process of either having spasms or dancing, it’s difficult to tell. Bruce thought of the toaster portion of their first conversation in Cape Kore, whereas Tony brought the boy band duo to badly drawn life.
no subject
“I’m going to have to make it talk now. You know that, right? Not having a talking Brave Little Toaster just isn’t acceptable.” How he’s going to do that when he can’t see and doesn’t have JARVIS to guide him, Tony doesn’t know and refuses to dwell on it now.
“This makes my two part present pretty lame. Just FYI. I can’t even say you can return it if you hate it since there’s not really anything to return.” Keeping a hold of the toaster, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out what looks like a card envelop. With a crooked smile, he holds it out in Bruce’s direction. “Here’s part one, anyway.”
Folded with neat, almost painfully anal, lines into thirds is a thick piece of paper. On it is a drawing in black ink. It’s no masterpiece of modern art. Or any art whatsoever. It’s obviously hand-drawn by someone who isn’t very practiced at drawing people but has given it a try anyway: two men, one with curly hair and one with a goatee, wearing clothes that look a little too hip and who are in the process of either having spasms or dancing, it’s difficult to tell. Bruce thought of the toaster portion of their first conversation in Cape Kore, whereas Tony brought the boy band duo to badly drawn life.