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Lindsey isn’t sure when going to charity benefits became boring. Maybe anything can become boring if you do it enough, because she’s been to dozens of these things now and it’s all she can do to keep a charming and attractive smile on her face. Would it be different if she was one of the people with money? Probably not; most of the smiles she’s returning are just as fake-polite as hers. At least the pay is good.
Tony Stark is attending this particular party, and that might have been a saving grace if Lindsey could get anywhere near him, but her client for the evening isn’t interested in Stark. How you can not find someone who synthesized an entirely new element interesting Lindsey doesn’t know, but she’s biased: her degree is in materials science.
Despite the uninterested client, Lindsey has been keeping half an eye on Stark since he arrived, which is how she ends up getting about five seconds warning before the screaming starts.
Stark and his companion, Doctor Strange, stiffen and then whirl around to face the ballroom entrance. He says something, but then the screaming starts. Lindsey has no idea who has come into the room or what they’ve done—the crowd is blocking her view—but she can do anything but stare. Stark taps something on his chest and the armor is flowing out of nowhere, crawling over his body like liquid and yet forming into rigid armor plates and repulsors and goddamnit, how does that even work? She wants to say it’s like magic, except that magic is right next to him and it’s an array of intricate light forms, sweeping over Strange from head to toe and leaving him clad in layered robes, his Cloak unfolding from an impossibly small triangle and swinging onto his shoulders.
The screaming dies down as the heroes step forward. Lindsey glances around and sees shock and awe and relief and envy on the faces around her. Suddenly, they all seem a little less jaded.
The Age of Heroes, Lindsey thinks, looking back at the two men, is good for your sense of wonder.