Don't misplace your trust in this slutty witch, Mr. Stark.

[He may look like a gremlin in a hoodie but he sits forward, reaching out for the glass; he's gentle with it, not his first rodeo with expensive drinks even if he looks more suited to detention than a gala at present. He'll take a moment to sip the champagne, get a feel for the taste, before he's leaning back against the booth and giving a mild shrug.]

What do you want to see? Give me a vision. I'll give you a reality.

[Or a glamor, but hey. Same shit.]