Tony Stark wasn't famous and he wasn't sure he wanted to be. He didn't want some money-hungry talent agent discovering one night and promising all his dreams would come through as long as he made it rich. He didn't want the paparazzi breathing down the back of his neck like a pack of hungry wolves. No, he was happy just singing in this lounge every night.
Taking a brief pause to breathe in the smoke from his cigarette, the smoking whisping around his head like a contorted angel halo, he waited for his queue to start singing again, "I think I'll burn that bridge when I come to it, I'll burn that bridge when I come to it, I'll burn that bridge when I come..." The music swiftly ended, the piano coming to a stunted halt as a few of the janitors and servers clapped at his warmed up round. He gave a small bow and hopped off stage, pressing the dead butt of his smoke in the ash try and listening to it hiss. Bernie, the senior bartender for the club, sauntered up to him, clapping. "Sting would envy you."
Tony quirked a small smile, sitting on the edge of the stage. "I'm sure he would. But let him keep his fame. I'm fine here."
Bernie huffed a laugh before he spoke again, "Listen, we got a new guy coming in, bartender. We gotta show him the ropes, but I'm books for the Mencino family party tonight. I know your set isn't until later tonight. Mind showing him around a bit? You been here ten years, you know this place better than anyone."
Tony gave a shrug, his black blazer stained with cigarette smoke rustling. "I don't mind." He said.
"Great!" Bernie said, peering over his shoulder. "There he is now. Hey! Over here!"
