Oh, Tony. When are you going to stop poking weird things with other things? Don't you know where that leads?

Because no sooner does that first word begin to be uttered than the figure moves. Whirling. Red lighting glows hot, angry, sharp as knives. Plating in his face shifting. It's about as close to seething rage as his face is capable of emoting. And it's usually enough.

Oh no. No, not him. How dare he. He comes here now? After everything--?

There's no suit. Darting, dangerously gleaming eyes latch onto that, raking the human's form up and down.

"Oh, yes. I would say it certainly is."

Before he swings a fist for Stark's throat.