Anthony Edward Stark

This bears a lot of similarity to those Harvard psychedelic studies, but he does get his answer from the pleasant, telepathic, faceless lady: cutaneous respiration. As a bonus she even demonstrates for him her species' method of eating, engulfing one of the colorful cubes he'd shoved in his pocket before he'd wandered away from Tony.

She has pity on his incoherence and directs him back toward the tower where he can stumble inside and back up to the penthouse, but not before pressing a pass into his hand and making him promise that he'll come see the show at her theater that evening.

Of course, that might not have happened at all. He won't trust his memory of the experience later, but he does come away with all limbs intact, no new tadpoles, minus one dinner cube, and with a blinking dot stuck to his palm.

And the penthouse is empty.

"Hey, FRIDAY," he spends a little time looking at himself in the suit's reflective surfaces before remembering what he had started to ask. "Where's Tony?"

He peers blearily at the map she projects for him, showing Tony's location relative to the tower and mumbles to himself before he finds a stick of metallic blue something - eyeliner? - and draws a wobbly map on his hand.

It takes him about an hour to follow that map to a Sakaaran rave, where he gives up on trying to believe his eyes and just starts yelling, "Tony!"

Some of the dancers pick up the yell, then a few more. Soon everyone's shouting "Tony!" Which doesn't really help Bruce find him.