[ Poor, dear, sweet Alfons. They clearly selected the greenest and most helpless of the bunch to send to the wolves' den, thinking they'd haze the newbie or else give them less than the gold standard of service. Maurice thinks he's pretty fucking clever, does he? Yeah, well, if sweet little Alfons plays his cards right tonight, he could wind up with a diamond in his pocket, a fat stack of cold, hard cash, the favor of two of the most powerful men in the world (each in their own ways, as it were), and also maybe even get invited for a threesome (to be cashed in at a later time, maybe—tonight is just for them unless they decide to get real freaky). It all depends on you, kiddo.

Reno's wicked little grin softens at the kid's nervousness and politeness, but when it's his turn to order, the teeth are showing again as he glances across the table. He contains his laughter and says, extending one finger to tap the menu, in as debonair a voice as he is capable of using: ]

Yeah, I'll get the Douche Burger. With the foe-y grass and gruh-yur cheese, all that. Yep. Oh, and extra gold leaf. I like my douche as gilded as possible.

[ Alfons is having a fucking crisis. Alfons furiously writes that order down, his face beet red. Y-Yes, sir. And for your side, we offer— ]

Fries. [ whoops. ] Please'n'thank you.

[ O-Oh. Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Will there be anything else? ]

Yeah... do me a favor. After you drop off our order, step out back and have a laugh where no one can hear you. You probably get sick of holding that in all day, huh?

[ There's a pause. And then, quietly, It is a struggle, sir. ]

I'll bet.