"…No, see, that's where you're wrong."
Tony speared a piece of chicken on a chopstick and held it aloft for the group's inspection. "This is definitely cooked, but it's still pink. This isn't chicken."
"Hand it over," Pepper insisted, and Tony gave her the chopstick, which she held up with the air of a zoologist identifying a new species. Her eyes narrowed.
"Look," Bruce said through a mouthful of donburi, "If you don't want it just don't eat it."
"This isn't just a one-time event, Bruce, this is a matter of principle," Tony said, leaning in to inspect the mysterious meat with Pepper, who was squishing it between her thumb and forefinger and frowning. "If this is uncooked chicken, then it's a hazard and I need to call some kind of health code on their asses. If it's a meat other than chicken, then it's lying to me and I can sue their asses. Honestly, either way I can probably sue their asses. Anyway, it's the principle."
"I love that visual," Rhodey said as he leant over and stole Pepper's katsu beef. Pepper didn't notice, intent as she was on identifying the probably-chicken-lump. "'Richest man in New York sues some family-run takeout over some chicken.' I'm sure the press will take your side."
"What, just because I'm rich I don't have rights?"
"Just take them off your contacts, Tony," Bruce retorted.
Pepper set the chopstick down on a napkin. "Definitely chicken," she announced.
"Not that I want to encourage this argument— at all—" Rhodey said, leaning over to pick up the piece of maybe-chicken, "But this is not chicken."
"Which of us worked catering in the past, and which one of us went from MIT straight to military barracks?"
"I bet you were a shitty cook," Rhodey said, absently ripping the chicken piece in half. Tony had graduated to just eating rice, and attempting to do so with chopsticks, which, for the sake of everyone's sanity, the group was ignoring.
Tony's phone buzzed.
"I'm a great cook," Pepper said. "And I know chicken. I had to prepare a wedding banquet one time back in LA? I was chef de partie. I couldn't look at chicken for weeks after that."
"True or false, was that catering gig the job you were fired from?" Tony asked.
"…Fuck you."
"You got fired from a catering job?" Bruce offered a high five, to which Pepper grudgingly responded. "Snap. What'd you do?"
"…Gave half of a wedding party food poisoning," Pepper grumbled. The group burst into laughter and Pepper raised her voice defensively. "It was a poor quality supplier!"
"Oh, I'm sure."
"Okay then, how'd you get fired from your catering job, Bruce?"
Bruce blinked and dipped his head slightly. "Uh…long story…"
"He's not gonna tell it," Pepper sighed overdramatically.
"Take bets?" Rhodey offered.
"Oh, come on—"
"—Fucked a turkey, evens," Tony said immediately. The group began laughing again—
—Until Tony's phone buzzed, a different pattern this time, three quick pulses, and everyone went immediately quiet. Tony picked up the phone without hesitation.
"What's happening?" He said. As seconds dragged along, Tony's face changed to something ashen. The group were still going for their own phones when he hung up.
"What is it?" Rhodey asked. Tony looked down at his phone, then up at the group.
"Jarvis. Find a news channel covering DC."
Jarvis brought up CNN. "They all are, sir."