Tony's clothes began to morph into a confusing array of mismatched fashion as he yawned and meandered about (though he wasn't able to wander all that far with his husband's steady grip on him), nodding in agreement with Thor's statement. He gave his own cheek a little smack and his ensemble settled on a charcoal gray jacket with dark chinos. He squinted suddenly, as if processing their surroundings properly for the first time.

"Spooky. Did someone hit desaturate?" They colors were still there, but they were somehow darkened and muted. He bunched his shoulders up to cover his nose with a materializing striped scarf, ready to complain if a door was left open somewhere for the chill. He caught a reflection of himself in one of the mirrors, but he found himself observing the way none of the countless mirror frames lining the halls were perfectly aligned.