Apparently, [Tony answers, never one to be especially polite even around the tiniest Englishman that could. Behind his grim, slit-mouthed robot face, though, Tony's in a pretty decent mood. Smiling a little. Arthur may have come from Mars, or some other equally bizarre parallel universe where the most famous musicians of his world have the wrong names (and backstories that involve actual UFOs), but he seems like a decent kid.] I'd hand this to you, but I think it'd break your hands first and your feet second.

So I'm coming in, [he says, moving to do exactly that. Swizz swizz, the tiny rotors in his boots buzz audibly as he walks in, glancing around the entryway briefly. He shifts the box so it enters the door without accidentally clipping the edges of the frame.]

Cozy. You said you have beer in here, right? Liquor. Or maybe you said tea. [His tone suggests that he is hoping that Arthur, despite his ancestry, is not just about the tea.]