No. No. It’s the—no, not that… good Lord, do you even know what vermouth is? Alright. Just stop.

( he rescues the glass from thomas’ trembling (can a robot tremble? apparently so) hands, skating it along the surface of the bar and towards himself before the thing can ruin it any further than it already has. john peers at it critically, his scowl deeply etched onto his face. the problem is, he’s rather particular about martinis, and quite frankly he has no idea what the thing threw in there towards the end. (actually, strike that. he does, the information slipping into his mind almost as if to taunt him: lime juice, so it’s more of a gimlet than anything. dissatisfaction deepens his frown further, though he can’t find it in himself to place too much blame on thomas. the android seems to be trying his best, even if the endeavor seems to only make his performance as bartender worse. john glances to the tall, blond young man sitting nearby before passing the drink toward him. )

Here. It’s not what I wanted—though, it should be fine enough. Assuming you don’t dislike gin, that is.

( he’s already resolved to making his own drink, even if diving behind the bar to try to find wherever they’ve hidden the vermouth is well beyond him. instead he’s reaching over to nick a glass already filled with ice, waving thomas along to (poorly) tend to the next customer down the bar a ways from where they’re seated before reaching out to claim the bottle of gin that had been left on the counter. )

Anything else, you might just want to make for yourself. I don’t believe dear Thomas can be trusted.