Darren offered a resigned<span style="font-style: italic">tsk</span>at the question, but took the proffered menu anyway. "Yeah, something like that," he mumbled more to himself than Alan, flipping open the Holy Bible of food right to the burgers. If there was one thing that could make him weak in the knees and blush like a schoolgirl, it was a damn good burger. He opened his mouth to speak again, to clarify exactly what the house call entailed, but barely got past the inhale before he was interrupted.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"We're all here now, right?"</span><br/><br/>In any other circumstance, Darren would have sat the menu down and politely explained the courtesies of tableside mannerisms in relation to being wait staff in a restaurant. He had been a waiter all throughout high school and part of college. He knew how to pick out when guests were having a more serious discussion and when to back off and wait your turn. But this one was cute - too cute, in fact, to maintain that overzealous enthusiasm. If he were to throw some manners in there, he sincerely feared that smoke might start to pour out of her eyes and ears from overload. Or something like that.<br/><br/>"Yeah, we're all here," he assured her after a long moment of purposely making her wait around - because again, annoying but kind of attractive. "I'll start with whatever you've got on tap. Something local if you have it. And-" He stopped, looked again at her nametag because fuck if he was paying attention the first time she told them. "-<span style="font-style: italic">Cathy,</span>what do you have in the way of recommendations on that?"<br/><br/>Without so much as missing a beat, Cathy began counting off on her fingers. "We've got a couple of locals. If you're a fruity kind of guy-" The twelve year old in Darren wanted to laugh. "-we've got MIA's Miami Weiss."<br/><br/>"Two of those, then, for me and my friend. We'll be fruity together," Darren told her, shifting in his seat until he could pull out his wallet and slap his ID on the table. His focus was on Cathy and beer, but his eyes were on Alan. In an otherwise generally unresponsive face, Darren had learned to read Alan's eyes. Eyes were the gateway to the soul, or some similar bullshit, and Alan's were like giant books printed in size 38 font all the way through. He had a plan, and having sweet little Cathy take his ID and get a few beers gave them a chance to talk.<br/><br/>Cathy left them, leaving with only Darren's ID (which was about as real as his sense of humor) and an order for two beers. He was almost thankful that she didn't ask Alan for his ID, but that was still breaking Tableside Manners Related To Restaurant Employment Rule #2. Whatever, he didn't care.<br/><br/>He waited until the waitress was out of earshot to meet Alan halfway across the table. "So what's up?"