With time to heal (thank you magic springs) settle (eh) and shove past the whole maybe coping emotionally with what he'd come away from alive for some reason and throw himself into a truly absurdly long project list he's got posted on the far wall instead? Tony's doing better. He's got direction, he's got a very real, tangible set of things that need to be done for either individual comfort, his own curiosity, or the good of the settlement.

And he'll get liquor out of a few of those deals, how about that?

He's past sketching, well on the way of delicately hammering out a swirling, floral design over a dished curve sheet, the bones of Peggy's Teapot strewn about around him. The forge offers the most light, banked as it is, the roar cut down to a dull murmur interrupted only by the steady tink tink tink of hammer and chisel as he chases another petal into being. It's got a steady enough rhythm to it that Tony's humming under his breath mindlessly, unaware of any potential company.

He really needs to rig a bell or something over the door. Pulling his hammer away to wipe his eyes he starts at the sudden company, spine going tight, jaw locking as the bulk and shape of the guy registers but- hoodlum back home probably isn't the same kind of problem here. Maybe. "I haven't gotten half of what I need built yet. Give me a month. What brings you to IronMan's Iron Works?"

A beat.

"Nah that doesn't sound right. Stark Smithy? Alloys R Us? I'll think of something."