the fine art of Figuring Out What The Hell You're Doing

[tactician]

Technically speaking, there was nothing about the situation that wasn't at least vaguely familiar. The locale was in the same area, if not the same bar (for some reason, Bentley seemed strongly opposed to that option and Evan supposed it was all right, since they might as well canvas what the area had to offer while they were at it anyway). Evan was half-sure they were playing the same songs, personally sure that they were serving the same drinks. The faces might have been different, but strangers were still strangers until they...weren't, which was the point of this entire outing to begin with.

Bentley still seemed a little...stiff, although that too was something that was, perhaps, also the same.

Evan forcibly wedged a tall glass of rose-colored something into Bentley's grasp, managing it despite the lack of cooperation and the fact that he was balancing a drink of his own in his other hand. The drink was transparent and fizzy with carbonated bubbles, adorned at the top with a modest sprig of green mint or whatever the local planetary equivalent was. It even had a delicate little straw, for the doctor's delicate little sensibilities. Evan pushed Bentley's hands into raising the cup to at least mouth-level, even if he couldn't force the other man to take a drink.

"Don't look so spooked," he encouraged, clinking the edge of his cup against Bentley's drink before taking a sip. "You've done this before, remember?"