“Talent?” Bruce, this is where you tell him no. This is where you take your reverse cricket by the band and lead him to the audience section. This is where you do not let a visibly high Tony Stark wander off to try and be some sort of talent. “What kind’re you looking for?”

The rhino-headed bouncer snorts. “Not you,” he says, thankfully negating the need for Bruce to have to do anything drastic to keep Tony in line.

They are ushered off to some seats, though not very good ones. The early birds had caught the best ones up front.

Tony, unused to being slighted like this, pouts twice as hard as usual and crosses his arms like a child over his bare chest.

“These people have no idea who we are,” he complains.