Tony waved his hand as the younger man spoke. “Yeah, have at it,” he said. A smile touched his lips as Atticus spoke. Although he may not admit it out-loud, at least not in the most touching way, but the kid tugged on his heartstrings. “I would look pretty good in one of those long tan robes,” he said. “I’m about that guy’s height, too.” For some reason people always expected him to be tall when they met him. Maybe it was the suit. Or the money. Or some combination thereof. He grinned. “No, you don’t have to start doing that until you get your W-9 form in,” he teased. Tony raised his eyebrows as the younger man spoke. He really wasn’t sure what topic to start with. “Girlfriend, huh?” he said, choosing the more fun one. “I don’t know how easily impressed she is, but feel free to name drop as much as you want. Any of the Avengers, too. Not Natasha, though, she’ll find out.” He pointed at his own eyes with two fingers and made a gesture around them. “You never know where she is. She could be listening right now.” A grin flashed across his face to underline the point that he was joking. Mostly. Probably. You could never really tell with Nat. Or Barton, for that matter.
Pen already pressed to paper, Atticus gave a fervent nod as if he hadn’t been about to make the notes regardless. “Well, you know, there are actually studies that suggest that the way one carries themself has a lot of influence into how they are perceived. For example, you carrying yourself with a lot of self-confidence and so...You’d totally hire a therapist if you wanted to hear why you’re the way that you are, huh? I’ll shut up” he loosened a heavy sigh, an embarrassed grin spreading over his lips as Atticus caught himself mid-ramble. The only person that seemed to enjoy when he would run off on a tangent like that was Stephanie, and even then he was a little convinced that she was only humouring him sometimes. Atticus blinked, at least ninety percent certain that the older man had been joking. That didn’t stop the gentle furrow in his brow as he reached for his notebook, however, mouthing the words as he scrawled them in black ink. W-9 Form. “Well...It’s not technically something official just yet...” he admitted, a warm blush settling across his high cheekbones as Atticus fidgeted with the pen in his hand with a quiet but off-putting click, click, click. Bruce had grown used to Atticus’ anxious tendencies, and had even bought him a stress ball for his desk - something to occupy his hands that was quiet. “Oh - I’m not so sure that she would care so much about all of that...” he informed him, blinking as he realised what he had inferred unintentionally. “But I think that it’s very cool! The coolest” Atticus felt as if it was hard to breathe suddenly. If he lost his job at Stark Industries within the same fifteen minutes that he had started it he would have no choice but to move to a different city and change his name out of sheer humiliation. “Does she sneak up on you a lot?” he found himself asking, anxious for a change in subject.
