"It wasn't suppose to be a fucking hostage situation. It was suppose to be some pot shots into the crowd to stir everyone up and then faggy wine, Glee, and dinner." Moran has his arms crossed and his lower lip out but God forbid anyone mention that he might be pouting. Pouting is not in Moran's vocabulary.

Stomping around and acting like a pissant, however, is very in character and he gladly embraces it as he does just that. Stomp stomp stomp. Assholes.

The sound of springs signal that Moran's fallen into bed and Tony sighs.

"I'll give you the number of where I got Pepper. Very good."