The—bird? cat?—is irritatingly persistent. Connor scowls, fingers curling away from the soft tickle of fur as he forces it down. It latches firmly in his lap, but there, at least, it can't reach his face. Or so he assumes... until the back half swishes. Connor barely manages to close his mouth on a retort in time to avoid sampling feathers.

"Someone—again?" He shoves the tail back. "I took apart a faulty machine. Just like you did. But I'm sure that won't be much of an issue." The words are pleasantly spoken, but there's a cold, analytical focus as he stares at Tony. Checking for the slightest micro-expression that might give more away.

"Unless there are any other deviants to deal with?"