That's a semi-familiar look. One Tony knows well enough not to draw attention to- shared wine and woes aside, they're hardly close enough to start discussing vulnerable moments with each other. So he focuses instead on the kitten, the thrumming contentment soaking into his skin, banishing anxiety and frustration and guilt from his former profession all in one adorable purr. "Play the narrative. Being the smartest man in the room helps with that."

For him or, well. For Dorian and Bull. They seem more than savvy enough to pull that particular gambit if pressed.

"Mm? I designed weapons. A little more advanced than the axe I made Bull things like guns- do you have guns? Um. Cannons. Do you have gunpowder? Explosives, drones, mortars, missiles. Long range munitions, smart weapons that wouldn't require soldiers to stand in the line of fire when they were used, shit like that. Kind of the family business. Stark weapons were the best, the most reliable, the most lethal, and the most reasonably priced. So." Merchant of Death.