"Is that what I'm supposed to be doing?"

Between the mild tension that had formed around Yseult's mouth and Byerly's more explicit, verbalised protestations, and the general resignation to the fact that none of them could actually stop him, save maybe physically, Flint could probably take him out—

"Are you saying I'm not doing awesome? At that." Tony folds his arms, hands tucked, as if they were never doing anything shady.