The security was officially overdue. While Tony watched closely for any sign of movement or possible exit strategy, the best he had the moment Felwinter started to move was definitely too slow; he was left with one arm thrown up, barred across his chest, the gold nanites still knitting together over his fist and bathed in the glow of a hundred tiny repulsors as the disparate plates of the armor flew up before him, singing together as they blew apart to catch the spread of buckshot. None got too close to Felwinter to avoid blasting the shot back into his face, leaving Tony still far too exposed, enough that he could blink between Felwinter and his Ghost in the strange silence that followed the trigger.

Apparently, they did not share a sense of humour.

Incrementally, Tony let his arm drop, the shards of armor moving with it like the tug of an orbit, then collapsing back together with a ring of metal and click until the forge was left feeling shockingly dark without their glow. As he became more confident that he wasn't about to be in parts himself, Tony found his voice to complain, "Didn't anybody teach you not to point a gun at people? Basic firearm safety. I have a heart condition, you can't be doing that kind of thing, you probably don't even know CPR." Which was only slightly more annoying than the revelation that this was what might have been wrapped up for Felwinter among all of the festive packages. Why did everybody else always get useful stuff? The Agrii were still making up for dropping Tony into this situation naked, apparently, so he was a few years out yet from getting a weapon of his own, by his calculations. It was still with disarming confidence that he announced, "You've come to the right place for a trade, luxury goods, absolute bargain deals for a broken shotgun."