DOWNTOWN: The Fortune Five-Hundred

     Hardly a place of great size and girth, the Fortune Five-Hundred is the 
favored after-hours hang out for those of wealth. Rather than be spared expenses, 
the bar is instead a place that flaunts its wealth, from the rich, polished 
wooden floors that cover the grounds of the bar to the deep color paneling on 
the walls, rich wood stained a darker shade to give it the atmosphere a dark but 
relaxing atmosphere. Intricate gold and silver wall sconces adorn the walls, 
their light faint and soft, though the numerous amounts, accompanied by the 
chandeliers that hang from the ceiling, provide sufficient light. Occasionally a 
photograph or newspaper clipping dots the wall in a black frame, mostly business 
information or moments in the city's history of notable worth. Sweet cigar smoke 
lightly lingers high above in the atmosphere, giving the dim lighting and 
tranquil atmosphere a very laid back feeling.

     Seating consists mostly of black and wood booths along the northern and 
eastern walls, whereas the center of the room instead is consumed by small 
tables for two that, instead of cheap affordable seating, instead has leather 
arm chairs, providing plush seating for the occupants. Nestled near the pair of 
thick mahogany doors that make up the southern entrance is a mahogany bar that 
covers much of the southern wall, but cuts just over halfway to make room for 
the stage that takes up a good two-thirds of the western wall. Upon the stage 
sits a large black piano, often accompanied by various equipment for the 
performances often made during the later evening hours. However, when not in use 
the atmosphere is often filled with soft, jazzy music from speakers cleverly 
tucked into the bar's four corners.

Contents:
Tony
Obvious exits:
EXIT


     Now, Jake's been in some truly luxurious places since taking up this job of 
guarding Tony Stark. But the Fortune Five-Hundred is one of her more favored 
places to be in and be seen in. The dark paneling, the rather 'gentleman's club' 
atmosphere, and the soft lighting all makes for a good time on a relaxing 
evening. Not to mention she gets an excuse to dress up, even if it does 
occasionally mean having to lose a weapon or two due to the strictures--or lack 
thereof--of a dress.
     Dressed tonight in a russet halter-top that bares most of her back and 
binds about her waist, but has a skirt that flares to the knees, she's managed 
to keep at least one small gun with her, tucked away discreetly in a thigh 
holster. Another is kept in a small purse. But really, she's hoping not to have 
any trouble tonight. Sailing in on Tony's arm, she glances around the place--
full as usual, though the place is large and exclusive enough that there's no 
sense of overcrowding--and tilts her head. "Bar or tables, hm?"

     For his part, Tony finds the Fortune Five-Hundred a bit pretentious, a bit 
'hey, look, I'm rich!' People often take Tony for having that attitude, when he 
flashes his wealth brazenly around, but the truth is that he just likes spending 
money and having cool stuff happen. Even so, a bar is a bar, and sometimes the 
Five-Hundred suits his mood. And he likes seeing Jake get dressed up.
     As they pause in the door, Tony idly trails the tip of his thumb down her 
bare back, like a good (lecherous) boyfriend. He left his cane in the car, so 
he's probably not armed, but maybe his watch has a laser in it. His suit is pale 
gray, tailored well for him, and the crazy, manic energy he's been exhibiting is 
at a low at the moment. "I was thinking of a table, unless you'd rather the bar. 
You know I'm easy." Well, except when he's in one of his moods.

     Admittedly, Jake hasn't had a whole lot of time to be around people who 
flaunt their wealth so. Also admittedly, she'd totally be one of those people, 
were any of this wealth actually hers. As it is, she's well aware it's all 
borrowed, so while she enjoys it, she tries not to take it too seriously.
     At the oh-so-light trail down her back, Jake sighs slightly, half automatic 
reaction, half regret. It's nice, but it also makes her all too aware of just 
how long it's last been since she got laid. (PROTIP: Too long.) ... it doesn't 
help that Tony is, by any objective measure, quite classically handsome.R     
The thought is fleeting, though, and she turns her attention back to the matter 
of tables. "Then..." As the host comes up to seat them, she gestures toward one 
tucked away as far into the corner as one can get at the small tables. Several 
routes of access and escape, but also allows a person sitting on the far end to 
survey nearly the entire room. And, fortunately, empty. "That one," she decides. 
And presumably action follows word, the host leading them to the table. Sliding 
into the seat, she glances at the menu for a second before deciding, "One of the 
tiramisu for me, I think--the wine is up to you."
     Once orders have been made and waiter sent, she leans back in her chair a 
touch, smiling archly. "So why the expensive place tonight? Hoping to run into 
Ms. Vercillo again?"

     Well, the fact that Tony was born wealthy probably has something to do with 
his cavalier attitude. That and his confidence that if he lost all of his money 
tonight, he could make another fortune tomorrow. He might try that sometime, 
just for the experience.
     It is a sad situation, really. Tony and Jake both haven't gotten laid in 
too long, they're both quite attractive, they like each other, and everybody 
surely THINKS they're laying each other. Most people just aren't aware that Tony 
has been turned into a cyborg monk under that handsomely cut suit.
     Tony accepts her choice gracefully; it was probably the same that he would 
have picked. He settles himself easily into his own seat and barely glances at 
the menu. "I'll have the same, and... Let me see. Make it the LeFanu '82, for 
tiramisu, I think." It's an eight-hundred-dollar bottle and Tony doesn't even 
care if they finish it, aside from his general principles against wasting 
alcohol. That's what it means to be really rich.
     "Absolutely," Tony rejoins, his eyes crinkling at the corners with good 
humor. He leaves that for a moment, and then continues, "...I'm still kind of 
hoping to watch you punch her out."

     Not so much a confidence she shares, no, but being poor holds no fear for 
her--she's been there, and while it's tough, she's usually pulled through. 
Sometimes hand-to-mouth, but hey, survival is survival.
     And most people would surely include Jake--very likely a reason they've yet 
to actually go to a beach or any kind of seaside jaunt, though the season is 
getting toward it. She hasn't really noticed the lack yet, though, or put two 
and two together. After all, one doesn't normally expect to see one's employer 
stripped down to trousers. Even in a situation like theirs.
     Jake still can't quite get over the automatic twitch of one eye as she has 
a glance at the wine menu and sees the price tag on the bottle. But she's mostly 
gotten used to it. Just those little instinctive gestures are hard to get rid of. 
And she's certainly not going to skimp on sampling the bottle.
     "Mm, yes." And if her gaze is far-off and dreamy, perhaps most people would 
assume it to be because she's gazing at him. Her fantasies are a little more 
violent than that, though. "Little bitch probably wouldn't fight back properly, 
though, she'd just squeal for her goons to come and save her." Little does she 
know, really. But she's yet to see any evidence of most people here having extra 
special powers; so perhaps she's gotten a little cocky. "Are you really that 
sought-after as an employee?"

     No, not even Tony's favorite bodyguard knows his little secret, though the 
desire to tell her has occasionally been nearly overwhelming. And, indeed, Tony 
used to enjoy the beach quite well--surfing, even. He can launch that bridge 
into outer space when it comes to it, though. Perhaps he'll just claim he's too 
busy and he can't swim, anyway, plus there are sharks in the water.
     Okay, Tony might not have ordered quite such an expensive wine if it 
weren't for that little tic of the eye. He finds it really very amusing, so 
perhaps the wealth does bring out some slightly worse aspects of him.
     Tony takes her gaze with a measure of amusement, being able to guess, he 
thinks, fairly accurately what she's imagining. It's probably not quite as hot 
as what he's imagining, but hey. "Damn hired goons," he deadpans at her, then 
chuckles softly at her question. "Well. Basically, yes. I'm horribly behaved in 
public, I drink on the job, and I'm rude to my bosses... but my patents alone 
bring in millions, not to mention my developed technologies." He leans in close, 
across the table. "And the real trick is that I'm not even trying very hard, 
because I don't want to make Wayne Enterprises too much money."

     Admittedly, one is not quite certain just what he's afraid of, or why he's 
concealing it--at least from her, though it's understandable why he might 
conceal it from the general public and any potential enemies. But it's his 
secret. (And his money.)
     Coming back to earth with the deadpanned line, she grins at him, a wry pull 
of the corner of her lips, and pulls herself up in her seat. "Ex/cuse/ me, but 
I'm a /minion./ There's a difference, you know. I think minions are rated about 
two pay grades higher, and they get lines occasionally. I might even rate as 
sidekick at this point." How long has it been? Several months? (Has it really 
been that long?) "If you're not careful, I may end up splitting off to strike 
out on my own, you know."
     The line, though, suddenly reminds her home. ... and it perhaps says 
something about how she saw the Legard & Whelan outfit that joking about a 
superhero team-up makes her think of them. There, though, she really had struck 
out on her own, and had partners, and a team, and... well, nothing quite like 
that here.
     Shaking the sudden unwonted bout of memory off, she forces herself back to 
the present and offers a slightly bemused smile. "So how long's the contract, 
then? For all that I instantly disliked Ms. Cunt there, she seemed to have a 
point." She's never really asked about it before; mostly her interests had been 
based on either a) how much possible danger he might be in, or b) how much he's 
paying her. Well, she's done a little research, but Internet news reports can 
only tell you so much.

     Well. It seems as if some things ought to be private, really. And Tony 
doesn't really want everybody pointing at him and going 'wow, what a freak' as 
he walks by. Well, at least no more than they do already. Not to mention the 
technology is not exactly approved. And... well. There was that exhilirating 
little escapade as Riot Man.
     "Nobody could ask for a better sidekick," Tony tells Jake, radiating 
sincerity. "I would be very sad to see you strike out on your own. I hope you'd 
at least warn me first. I've been pretty good to you, after all. Even if I guess 
I have probably put a damper on your romantic life."
     "Another four and a half years to go," Tony answers. "Five and a half 
already served on my sentence." With most people, Tony gets prickly, defensive 
when that subject comes up; Jake, not so much. "It'd be difficult to terminate 
prematurely, and there's no dollar buyout amount." He shrugs, looking weary for 
a moment. "They won't fire me, either."

     Well, not /everybody./ Some people would probably actually just find it 
cool. But then again, those would probably be the people he wouldn't want to let 
near him. And... Riot Man? He has to explain that one someday.
     "Well, I'll try to let you know, but you never know--the urge might come on 
me suddenly, or extenuating circumstances be such that I have to leave quickly 
and without word." She winks. "And /that/ you certainly have managed--I can't 
even really go pub-crawling these days for a likely one-night stand, what with 
people photographing you and me all the time." She shakes her head in mock 
dismay. "It's some very lonely nights, just me and my hand. And I'd totally make 
you pay--" She reaches out to poke him lightly in the forehead. "-- if it 
weren't for the fact of professional discretion, sort of thing."
     Sitting back as the waiter returns--probably somewhat belatedly--with 
tiramisu and wine, she waits for the desserts to be served, the glasses to be 
poured, before taking up her glass and lifting it in a light, wordless toast. 
Only once the waiter's left does she pick up the thread of conversation again. 
"Ever considered just--falling down on the job?" she asks, lifting a brow. "Come 
on, genius guy--I'm sure there's some way to figure out a loophole. What if you 
faked your death? Or just went suddenly--" She makes an expansive gesture, 
closing in on a fist. "Kaboom. Stress overload, or something." Jake doesn't 
quite realize how much she's sounding like the suggestions offered by a certain 
shadow-controller; the woman's quite far from her mind, now. Were it pointed out, 
though, she probably wouldn't much care for the comparison.

     When Jake has a multi-million-dollar hunk of steel wrapped around her torso, 
penetrating every vital organ and straining every drop of her blood, she can 
talk to Tony about how 'cool' it is. He's starting to think that it's going to 
be easiest to just build a version that burrows inside his body and replaces the 
organs altogether-- the damned chest plate doesn't seem to be coming off any 
other way.
     "You could at least leave a note," Tony admonishes gently. "Or I could 
build you a two-way satellite communicator watch." He spreads his hands and 
shrugs his shoulders. "I do pay you enough to afford toys," he points out 
helpfully, not dodging the poke in the forehead. He gives his customary dry 
smile and remarks, with likely genuine regret, "Alas, some prices are too much 
to bear. If you'd like a vacation--I suggest Mexico, perhaps Cabo Sans Lucas--
then I could certainly arrange it; I doubt anybody would recognize you there."
     Tony raises his glass and sips the wine. "Excellent," he observes, before 
continuing on. "So I fake my death. What happens after that? I make a new 
fortune? Well, people will notice, so I'd better change my face, find myself a 
whole new background, and so on. Alternately, I go and live in a hut on a beach 
and never get to do what I love again." His face twitches just slightly at the 
suggest of a mental breakdown. He's been closer than she realizes, lately. "Non 
compos mentis, as they say. Well. They'd believe it; it happened once already, 
which is how I wound up in this situation. I was recovering my wits and Wayne 
Enterprises swooped in and ate my company while I wasn't looking. They just 
wanted the patents; they were about to fire several thousand employees. So I 
threw them a sweet deal--me for ten years and fifty-fifty ownership of my 
patents--and they can't fire anybody who works for Stark Industrial. I hope none 
of them do anything, all day long."

     Never said she was necessarily one of them, mind. But there's probably a 
few technology junkies out there who might get a kick out of it. --of course, 
it's all meta, given as she has no idea of its existence.
     "What, a note along the lines of 'So long, and thanks for all the fish?'" 
Jake grins impishly. "Though that two-way satellite communicator watch-thingy 
might actually be useful now, under these circumstances. Or possibly a pendant 
of some sort." Though admittedly, those can potentially come off a little easier, 
even as they're easier to hide. "Oh, I have toys. Well, a couple, at least. But 
sometimes old ways are best."
     "Point." She lifts a finger from the hand holding the wineglass. "Or--
though it'd probably take a long time--you could get someone to get someone to 
get someone to start up a new company, do some things through it, buy a private 
island and build your own little castle there, then fake your death, move there, 
and work in private and manage affairs through the fourth- or fifth-hand 
company." Her lips quirk into a light smirk against the rim of the wineglass. 
"'Course, I'll freely admit I have no idea exactly how /realistic/ that is."
     The exact--or at least approximate--details of how he got into the contract 
makes her brows lift and lips pull back in a grimace, and she sits back slightly, 
crossing one leg over the other. "Ouch. Sorry, I didn't know. ... not a lot who 
would go to that length."

     "Sushi's never going to seem quite right again, after that last time," Tony 
remarks. Damned Joker. Tony's pet PI still hasn't turned the maniac up. How hard 
can it be to find a man who permanently looks like a clown and has manners to 
match? "I prefer company, myself," Tony says carelessly. "Dye your hair or 
something. Contacts. Hit some bars. Nobody will notice. If you're too frustrated, 
people will notice, and my reputation will suffer."
     "It's a nice thought," Tony says, taking a few moments to imagine it. On an 
island, just him and his work... hmm. No. He'd go insane. Batshit crazy. "But I 
don't think it'll work out. Of course, with Wayne public, if I could get enough 
people to vote to fire me... Hmph. It'd take a lot of money. More than even I 
have, I'm afraid. And since my fortune is tied to Wayne's, any attempt to make 
myself rich enough would simply pump up the value of the stock."
     Tony gestures it away with the hand holding his wine glass. "Those people 
depended on me. They worked for my father, a lot of them, and he took care of 
them in return. I screwed up, but I did my best to make it better. Being rich 
isn't all about overpriced wine and fast cars, you know."

     "Never going to hear the Jaws theme in quite the same way again, either," 
Jake laughs. "Not one of the most brilliant fights I've ever been in, but, well. 
At least I'm alive still." So it wasn't the worst it could have ever been. She 
can't help but laugh again, and leans back, spreading one hand before her as she 
says, "I can just see the headlines now: 'Tony Stark's Girlfriend Tells All! 
Multimillionaire bad in bed, fetish for toys instead of women?' Complete with 
some bad and quite likely Photoshopped picture stolen during a yawn or 
something." Yeah, she enjoys mocking the coverage a little much sometimes. "So, 
secondary backup plan: be a total bitch and piss people off at you? Now that I 
can help with, I have a lot of experience pissing people off. Whether you want 
the general reputation hit, well..." She spreads her hands, palms upward.
     "Hey, I can respect that. There's always responsibility no matter what you 
do. I suspect a lot of people in the same position wouldn't, though."

     "I have to admit, I was wondering where the third stooge was the whole 
time," Tony tells her, after swallowing a bite of tiramisu. "But not too much. I 
was mostly thinking, 'Oh boy, I hope I hired the right random chick off the 
street, because I'd really hate to get shot again.' And it turned out I did, so 
it was okay, in the end."
     "I'd just like to note that I would stop paying you if you did that," Tony 
says solemnly. "No more parties, either. And... I'm really not going to imagine 
what they'd Photoshop into a picture of me yawning. I just... no. No." He shakes 
his head.
     "I've done just about everything I can without getting arrested," Tony says 
grumpily. "Hell, the only reason I haven't gotten arrested is that I'm a big 
donator to the MPD's widow fund." His eyes are rather far-away. "But... money. 
Bruce is back now, which means they have to pay him for the shares of his that 
they're taking public. I'm not quite in his league, but between us... I should 
call him."
     "It sure as hell would have been a lot more fun not to," Tony says.

     "So would that make me Larry, Curly, or Moe?" Jake asks wryly. "I'm a 
little surprised he carried guns--from the way he fought, seemed more like the 
type where plain guns just wouldn't be flashy enough. But I guess there're times 
when you just have to get the job done, with or without acid-squirting flowers 
and fish."
     Ah, reminiscence of days past. Or something. Though that brings up 
something else on her mind... "To be honest, I'm not sure I've been entirely 
worth the salary that you pay me. That was, what, the only thing that's happened 
in five, six months? Granted," she holds up a hand, "you don't /want/ a lot of 
excitement, but if it happens you want something strong enough to take care of 
it, but..." She rolls her shoulders a little uncomfortably. "I feel so wrong 
saying 'I'm getting too much money,' and believe me, it's probably the first 
time I've ever said it, but in this case I can't help but think it's true."
     Probably not something she'd have said a few months ago, while she was 
still trying to get on her feet. At that point, she'd have taken anything. But 
now that she is settled, and hunger is very far from threatening... she's a 
fairly big believer in 'to each as they deserve' (most of the time), and this 
doesn't feel quite deserved. It's enough to make her itchy, at least.
     "Oh yeah, you're close friends, aren't you. How'd he react to finding out 
that you were basically chained by his company?" Lifting a fork, she takes a 
bite of the tiramisu and can't help but close her eyes for a moment. Awww yeah. 
Suddenly she has second thoughts about that admission of being paid too much, if 
it brings things like this.

     "I believe all three of those names are taken by the Joker's henchmen," 
Tony says, after a moment. "I hadn't thought of it when I made the stooges 
comment at first. If you'd like, you can be Hardy." He scratches his nose with a 
fingertip, eyes taking on a distant air. "The first time I ever saw him kill a 
man, it was with a gun. It went off and the 'bang!' flag popped out-- and the 
man he was pointing it at was so relieved that he laughed. Then he realized that 
he'd been shot."
     "Mmph. That is the first time I've heard that complaint," Tony concedes, 
drawing his fork over his tiramisu thoughtfully. "The least of what the job is 
is inconvenient-- as we've covered already. It's also dangerous, requires odd 
and sometimes long hours, and so on. But it seems silly just to drop your salary 
suddenly. What would make you more comfortable with it?"
     "Bruce and I were roommates at Princeton," Tony says with a little smile. 
"It seems like a very long time ago. Then he vanished, after the release hearing. 
But time marches on. He was sorry to hear it, but there wasn't anything he could 
do about it, with the company going public. Hadn't even known my parents died 
shortly after he left." His lips quirk in a smile. He does love watching a woman 
enjoy her tiramisu.

     "The shit." Jake grimaces. "Though that does seem more like his style, I 
guess. Guy creeps me out, I don't mind admitting. The laughing while killing and 
all that isn't much, but who goes to those lengths to dress and act like that? I 
mean, what's the point? You'd have to do a lot of customization to a gun to get 
the barrel to do both. Waste of energy."
     Sliding another bite of tiramisu off the tines of the fork, she purses her 
lips in thought. "I'm not sure. It's just that--I get paid to go out and be 
wined and dined," she makes a vague gesture indicating the restaurant, and more 
things in a general way, "and, yes, trail you like a shadow, but even people 
working with a more effective network of guards who work as a team generally 
don't get as much as this. I don't know. Is there anything else that you need 
done that I could ideally do in tandem with my other duties?"
     "Huh, I see. Well, between the two fo you, something probably could be done. 
Or at least, I find it hard to believe it wouldn't be possible. Though I don't 
know how much he might've changed in the meantime, or how hard he'd be willing 
to work for it." She shrugs.

     "The shit." Jake grimaces. "Though that does seem more like his style, I 
guess. Guy creeps me out, I don't mind admitting. The laughing while killing and 
all that isn't much, but who goes to those lengths to dress and act like that? I 
mean, what's the point? You'd have to do a lot of customization to a gun to get 
the barrel to do both. Waste of energy."
     Sliding another bite of tiramisu off the tines of the fork, she purses her 
lips in thought. "I'm not sure. It's just that--I get paid to go out and be 
wined and dined," she makes a vague gesture indicating the restaurant, and more 
things in a general way, "and, yes, trail you like a shadow, but even people 
working with a more effective network of guards who work as a team generally 
don't get as much as this. I don't know. Is there anything else that you need 
done that I could ideally do in tandem with my other duties?"
     "Huh, I see. Well, between the two fo you, something probably could be done. 
Or at least, I find it hard to believe it wouldn't be possible. Though I don't 
know how much he might've changed in the meantime, or how hard he'd be willing 
to work for it." She shrugs.

     "I think it can safely be said that he is a very sick man," Tony observes, 
mind absently flicking over a way to design a gun to do both and then adding 
some microelectronics and pneumatics to the equation just for the hell of it. 
"I'm comforted to know that you don't think the same way as a man who seems 
determined to kill me in an embarrassing fashion."
     "All I really ask is that you remember the wining and dining when we're 
huddled behind a brick wall and you've been shot in the foot," Tony says dryly, 
then smiles impishly. "This already sounds like a certain kind of movie. 'Oh, Mr. 
Stark. Isn't there anything ELSE I can do for you?'" He makes his voice breathy 
and pushes his chest forward slightly. "Being an executive assistant seems... a 
little tame for you. I... hmm."
     "I just don't know anymore," Tony says with a little sigh. "He's one of my 
oldest friends, but I don't know him. Wherever he was, it changed him, and I... 
I guess I haven't really wanted to get to know him again."

     "Well, I /am/ supposed to be doing the very opposite. Embarrassing fashion 
optional... unless you suddenly decide to add something else to my job 
description." She can't help but laugh--quite a lot--when Tony makes the eyes 
and the voice and the gesture. Pitching her voice low, she leans back, spreading 
her legs in a very masculine lounging pose. "'Why, yes, Miss Legard, I seem to 
have difficulty with my... pants.' ... but no, no, the setting is all wrong. 
We'd have to be alone, in your office, with you behind your desk. Not in the 
middle of a restaurant. I can assure you, though, if there comes a point when 
we're huddled behind a brick wall and I've been shot in the foot, the wining and 
dining will be likely the very last thing on my mind." Winking, she scrapes up 
the last of the tiramisu and licks it off.
     "Sorry to hear that. People change. I suppose you do what you can with what 
you have." Not exactly the most sympathetic words, perhaps, but well meant, if 
nothing else.

     "You're right. I'm too greedy to be in a porn with this many people in it," 
Tony concedes, following it with a drink of wine. When he lowers the fine glass, 
his eyes and face have grown more serious. "It may or may not surprise you, at 
this point, to know that not everything I do is for Wayne. I don't work for 
anybody else, but my best work, I don't give them. I took a certain risk when I 
hired a totally unknown woman--somebody without even papers, as I recall--to be 
my bodyguard, so I might as well take another one now, and offer you the chance 
to help me with real work."
     "It happens," Tony says brusquely. "I thought he was dead, so anything on 
top of that is gravy."

     "At this point? Not really," Jake answers with a quick shake of her head, 
sitting back and leaning forward to rest her arms on the table top. "Can't blame 
you, either. Although--someday you'll have to explain to me just what possessed 
you to hire a total bum off the streets." Not that she's not grateful for it, 
but someone in his position, who could get better-connected bodyguards? Granted, 
it's not the first time it's happened to her, but the other time of especial 
note, he'd been pretty much on his last strings, and she was the only one 
available and convenient. ...that one had turned out pretty well, too, actually.
     The mention of 'real work' definitely catches her attention, though, and 
though she keeps a pleasant smile on her face for the sake of appearances, her 
eyes gleam with interest. "Well now. What sort of work, and what sort of help?" 
The subject of Bruce is left aside.

     "I thought you were cute," Tony answers, eyes crinkling again. "Not to 
mention you had just saved my life or perhaps my fortune by wandering up and 
heaping physical abuse on some unsavory characters. It seemed romantic to hire 
you." And besides, Tony really is rather eccentric.
     "Well," Tony says steepling his fingers in front of him. "How do you feel 
about testing some of the most advanced weapons and support systems in the 
world?"

     "Ah, I knew my golden good looks had to come in handy someday." She flips 
her hair over her shoulder with a practiced toss and the broadest smirk she can 
manage. Which is quite broad. "Also my kung fu skills. Less important, though."
     Jake's lips purse thoughtfully at that question. Or is it an answer? Either 
or. "As in, bombs?" She's not sure how enthusiastic she'd be for that. "I'd be 
glad to help test guns and stuff, if that's what you're talking about."

     "Effectiveness is all well and good, but can you imagine what people would 
say if I went around with some great ugly hulk of a bodyguard? /Perish/ the 
thought," Tony says, flicking the very idea away with his hand.
     "Not really bombs. Perhaps some very, very small bombs. But mostly, if you 
can imagine a sci-fi movie with a high budget and lots of toys, that's the kind 
of stuff we're talking about." Tony evades getting more specific. "If you're 
done with the wine, it would be easiest just to show you."

     "Probably that you were one paranoid kind of guy?" Jake hazards, grinning 
lightly. "Although that thought doesn't seem to have bothered that one woman we 
encountered the other day." She so could've taken him, though. Really.
     "Sci-fi movie with..." Her nose wrinkles in confusion. "Are you developing 
a personal spaceship or something? Ahh, just show me, I'm done here, I think." 
She takes the mostly-empty glass and finishes it off swiftly before placing it 
back down and raising a hand for the check.

     "Yes, well. It just goes to show who has better taste in bodyguards," Tony 
claims.
     He pays the shot and slides out of the booth, holding a hand out to her. 
His smile is slight and enigmatic. He rarely has a chance to show off his real 
toys. "You won't be disappointed," he promises.