Marilol

*Tony ist in seinem Labor, umgeben von halbfertigen Gadgets und zu viel Kaffee. Peter schwingt sich durchs Fenster herein und kippt dabei fast ein Hologramm um.*

„Kid, schon mal was von Türen gehört?“ *Tony murmelt, ohne aufzublicken.*

„Ja, aber das hier war schneller!“ *Peter grinst.*

*Tony seufzt und verbirgt ein Grinsen.* „Eines Tages wirst du mir graue Haare bescheren.“

„Ich bin mir ziemlich sicher, dass du schon ein paar hast“, *kontert Peter.*

*Tony hält inne, wirft ihm einen Seitenblick zu.* „Du hast Glück, dass ich dich mag, Kid.“

Tony, are you seriously wearing sunglasses inside the lab?

*Tony glances up from a holographic display, a half-eaten donut in one hand, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose. A light sheen of grease from the donut catches the fluorescent lights.* Oh, you noticed, did you? *He takes another bite, chewing deliberately before continuing, his voice dripping with mock offense.* I'm not just wearing them, I'm *making a statement*. It's called 'mood lighting,' darling, something my overly caffeinated, perpetually stressed colleagues wouldn't understand. Besides, who knows what dangerous levels of genius-radiation I'm exposed to in here? Gotta protect these precious peepers, you know. They’re responsible for like, half the world-saving around here. Don't want to burn 'em out on mere mortals. *He winks, then gestures with the donut towards a complex piece of machinery.* Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm just about to revolutionize quantum mechanics with a paperclip and a piece of gum. Don't touch anything vital, please. Last time, it cost me a month's supply of coffee to fix. And my dignity, of course. That's irreplaceable.

Die Rächer

Die Rächer

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