A compelling argument, if it weren't for the fact that the Institute had been the ones to plant it on him in the first place. As far as either of them knew, the second they handed the card over to pay with they'd end up being crisply informed that 'Richard Browning' was in fact the name of an ancient old woman they were used to seeing as a regular around here. Not that Depth Charge thought that the military would want to screw their own mission, but he didn't put it past them to throw in a few deliberate hiccups.

Any chance he might have had of being cautious, however, was promptly removed when the Scarecrow made the decision for him. Richard it was. The waitress didn't blink, so presumably that meant it was a man's name- that, or they'd managed to get a particularly liberal-minded waitress. It was probably for the best that he'd been named, anyway. Left to his own devices he'd probably have ended up defaulting to Peter Petrelli out of caution. Hey, Peter would have understood.

Which didn't, of course, make up for the fact that he was the one who'd been left to come up with a drink. Shooting the Scarecrow a little glare, he racked his processor for options. Petrol, energon shots, rocket fuel, gas... how many of those are lethal to humans?

"I'll have a-" Slag, was there a menu somewhere? The table was empty, but-- ah, there! Over the counter hung a chalkboard, helpfully labelled 'Drinks' with a picture of a steaming cup. He plumped for the first entry in the list, attempting confidence. "Coffee."

"Any milk or sugar with that?"

Just what did this woman have against him, anyway?

"Milk and a little sugar," he answered carefully. It must have been convincing enough, because with that she was gone with the promise that she'd be 'back in a minute'. He turned to the Scarecrow again. "What in Primus' name did I just order?"