Weapons Dealing

When your back was against a wall, it was time to return to basics. That's what Tony Stark told himself, anyway, as he entered the ever-glossy Copper Cafe, looking his sharpest in a dark suit vest, slacks and a goddamn proper haircut.

Was there any reason to look sharp for a raccoon? Probably not, but he was returning to his past life as a weapons manufacturer, here. You always dressed to get the best. Now that he was putting on weight again, he could finally fill a suit vest up. There was a little vanity in there. There was always going to be vanity in there.

And there was the raccoon, right there in the corner. If he ever imagined what a workspace for a trigger-happy bipedal Procyon lotor looked like, what he was seeing would have been it. Clashed with the ingratiatingly happy eatery just a tad. Tony could guess by the way no one having said anything there was probably a pretty good damn reason for it.

Approach. Not too fast, casual-like. Position yourself adjacent, not head on. Glance over. Pause, but not for too long. Attaboy.

"Rocket. Right?" Tony cleared his throat, leaning back against the wall. "Tony Stark. I'm seeking your expertise."