(Untitled)

[nexttimebaby]

"...Really?" says Jim Rhodes dubiously, in response to the note on a napkin he is presented with when he tries to order a cup of coffee. "I don't know if this is a great idea

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[works_in_space]

The man on the other side of the bar is also in uniform, but maroon rather than blue, and made from a fabric that probably doesn't exist in Lt. Col. Rhodes' time.

"What makes a martini dirty?"

[nexttimebaby]

Rhodey glances up.

To his credit, he doesn't gape or swallow his tongue; he blinks once, startled, and then he recovers fairly smoothly when he says: "The secret's olive brine instead of vermouth. You've got to really appreciate olives to like a dirty martini."

He wasn't a super nerdy kid, growing up, but everybody knows this guy.

[works_in_space]

"They actually make a drink like that? I think I'll stick to coffee." He wonders why the man seems a bit startled. Maybe it's the uniform.

"US Air Force, obviously. Pilot?"

[nexttimebaby]

"Desk jockey," he says, wryly. "Former pilot. Get you a cup of coffee?"

[eisenheimhaus]

"Could I order a lemonade please?" a small boy with curly brown hair asks in a soft accent. "With ice. If you do not mind."

[nexttimebaby]

Kids. Rhodey's not great with kids. He's not terrible with them, he just -- doesn't have a lot of experience.

"Sure," he says. "Just gotta give me a minute, here." He has stepped back and is eyeing the array of bottles and refrigerators available.

[eisenheimhaus]

"Of course."

Eduard's perfectly capable of amusing himself at the bar.

(Also, he doesn't tend to see that many not-white people at home in Pressburg. He'll be polite, but it's a novel experience.)

[nexttimebaby]

A carton of Newman's turns up, after Rhodey digs through the nearest cooler for a minute or two. Another quick search reveals a high glass and a container of straws; after that, the ice is easy.

As he pours, he says, "Sorry; this isn't exactly my usual gig. I'm still learning where everything's at."

[imthegoodguy]

"...can I just have a milkshake?"

[nexttimebaby]

Rhodey leans on the corner. "Sure can," he says. "What flavor?"

[imthegoodguy]

"Chocolate, please."

:D?

[nexttimebaby]

Chocolate.

Okay.

This can't be that hard, right?

Milk, chocolate syrup, chocolate ice cream, a little bit of sugar and vanilla extract.

(Rhodey knows this because he pulled out one of the books behind the counter and thumbed to 'milkshakes' in the index.)

"Sorry," he says, as he digs out the necessary ingredients, each taking a minute or two of searching in the wrong places. "I'm new at this."

[fanofthegenre]

"What's in the Iron Man?" a voice asks.

It's coming from the female detective sitting just down the bar.

[nexttimebaby]

Rhodey glances over his shoulder, then back at the woman.

Yep, she's talking to him.

"What?" he says, a little sharper than he means to; startled and a touch suspicious.

[fanofthegenre]

"The Iron Man," Beckett repeats, and then points.

"It's on the sign."

[nexttimebaby]

Rhodey turns all the way around. His brow furrows as he reads the sign, and then he scowls, just a little bit.

"Is this somebody's idea of a joke?" he says. "I don't even know what's in that."

[almosthonorable]

Ben's brushing dust from the brim of his hat as he approaches the bar; Gabriel was in a mood and a half during today's afternoon ride.

Settling on a stool, he's half-surprised to see a 'tender behind the counter.

"Tell me 'bout the Ironman."

[nexttimebaby]

"--For the last time, no comment," says Rhodey.

Milliways now, too? Seriously?

[almosthonorable]

Ben quirks an eyebrow.

"Well, hell, I reckon I'll take two."

[nexttimebaby]

Rhodey gets a second look at the guy who asked the question.

A cowboy?

A cowboy.

Well, all right then.

"What the hell does that mean?" It's a more exasperated question than a confrontational one.