"Oh, please," Tony trilled, puffing his chest for a delicate hand to his heart with the other raised, pinky in the air, "No need to prepare the banquet for my sake. You know I'll settle for a good vintage and a nibble of the season's caviar." As he exhaled the lofty breath, the whole performance went with it and he finally dropped bonelessly into a chair where he slouched with his legs outstretched and chin against his chest, frowning.

"Is he okay?" he asked after a moment of sulkily wiggling his fingers, trying to avoid the admission that the question demanded entirely. He let Echo decide which men that had walked out without a farewell that Tony meant, because Tony wasn't sure which one he did himself, and it seemed like Echo knew better than he did in either case.