starkingenuity | (Reply)

From:

Bruce doesn't have time to be the sensible one, and that's likely for the best, because sensible would be going back to the penthouse, sobering up, and getting the hell off of Sakaar as quickly as possible.

He drops into his seat and shamelessly gawks at the other people in the audience, couples and small groups of people clustered around the venue, seated at small tables.

Scoots his chair closer to Tony, he leans in as though he's going to confide a secret. "I know who you are and we aren't eating anything else we find on this planet."

These are clearly two related thoughts.

The lights dim and the back wall of the room they're in disappears, showing the faceless woman who'd invited Bruce. "That's her!" He nudges Tony with an elbow. "The telepathic cutaneous respiration lady."

Her "voice" is clear and warm, appearing in each guest's mind, bypassing language to impart meaning rather than words.

Or maybe that's the drugs.

At any rate, what Bruce "hears" is a welcome, an invitation to enjoy, and a promise that the variety of performers will ensure that there's someone to appeal to even the most discerning tastes. If you're lucky, one of the performers will take a liking to you and ask you to join them.

"Nuh uh. I've had enough alien joining to last the rest of my life." Did he say that out loud? Really loudly? Maybe it was just in his head.