Work Text:
Tony was droopy near the toilet, after throw up the content of his stomach, waiting to see if that was really all. While it Jarvis was searching the answer for a very deep question.
"Sir?"
"I’m kind of busy now Jarvis, you see."
"Oh yes Sir, it’s for sure a very complicated task."
"Talk J."
" …How are you feeling, sir?"
The man feels something behind the AI’s question.
"I’m pretty sure that you can find in your data base the symptoms of a hangover, Jarvis. Actually, it was one of the first things that I put in there."
"I know the words Sir: qualm, headache, vomit, shakes, quiver..."
"I’m seen a 'but' coming."
"But, I don’t... truly understand it."
"And why do you want to know such useless sensations?"
"I just want.
Tony could have appointed that he wasn't made to feel this sensations, or that his stupid “argument” wasn't apply to a machine, but he was, surprisingly, too much tired to be a jerk, and was as much honestly that he could be:
"First of all you had the feeling that your stomach is been revolved and wiggled, like a soup that already have pass the time. If you don’t spit it sooner, then it’ll shove out of you, just as if the cook has given up of all that shit. Then you’re empty. If you had lucky the headache just comes after all this, if you hadn't." He shrugged. "It’s like as your head was an anvil and the blacksmith was in a very, very bad day. If you ask someone who is the smith, they will tell you that he is God. I tell you that I really don’t know if that is the truth, what I know for sure is, doesn't matter who the hell he is, he truly hates me."
"Or perhaps he just wishes that his anvil stay sober the couple of hours necessary to do some of work, sir."
"Shut up, J."