“People-watching. Making fun of you. Why?”
Oh, this was fun. He was supposed to be the most witty, smooth man in the world, and it was so /easy/ to make fun of him.
She rolled over, tried to get up, planted one hand on the end of her long braid, and sat down hard. “Ow. Swear words.” The second attempt went better, and she stuck her hands in her pockets as she sauntered over to him.
He was a long way up to look. At least eight inches taller than she was. Maybe more like a foot. She rocked onto her toes, slightly, smirking.
“You waited here all morning just so that you could pick on me? I’m flattered.”
He watched as the woman attempted to sit up and…
No. No, he was not going to laugh, because that would be rude. He would, however, chuckle about it later should he remember.
Which he might. He tended to remember stuff like this for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of.
“… you… weren’t offering to be my bodyguard just now, were you? Because not only could you probably not keep up with me, but you’re kind of tiny.”
The ripple of his internal laughter was good. She was starting to think he didn’t actually have a sense of humour. Commentary about her height didn’t count.
“Big things come in small packages, Mr Stark. Go on, you can laugh at me. I know what I look like when that happens.” She cocked her head to one side. “I could definitely keep up with you. But then again,” she shrugged, “I cheat.”
Casually she pulled the braid over one shoulder, where it hung nearly to her knees. “Do you need a bodyguard?”