While she was waiting for the Johnson to answer, Iris mentally browsed around the open connections in the eatery. There were a few, not many but a few, herself included. She suspected that, like hers, most of the ones she was seeing were burner 'links, though the bar and food counter had an open connection for ordering, and it was from here that she ordered what drinks had already been requested, leaving a tab open on her credstick and flagging the ARO for the rest of the table. On the one hand, she no longer had a reason to slip away and speak with Deckard, but on the other hand, she didn't have to figure out how to carry drinks from bar to table while still being able to get to her wand in a hurry.
Drinks came, a gin and tonic with something that in a dim light could pass for lime for her- on the basis that gin already tasted like jet fuel, so it couldn't be much worse for being in Angel's- and scotch for Robyn and Al, delivered by a dead-eyed, impassive looking teenage waitress with way too much mascara and eyeliner that met her halfway between bar and table with a tray. Iris left her a hundred-nuyen tip and a small smile in gratitude, then leaned against the edge of the booth, sipping her drink and trying not to shudder. It tasted like the bar looked, and Iris idly wondered if the wretched stuff would eat a hole in the floor if she spilled it. Probably not, she reflected. The building was still standing, which meant that it had to be tougher than it looked.
Iris turned her head to ask Isaint about himself, but she was interrupted by seeing Al's jaw clenching and eyes bulging around a mouthful of scotch. At first she thought that the scotch was even worse than the gin, or maybe that his glass had been filled with devil-rat piss by mistake- probably not that uncommon in a pit like this- but then she realized that Robyn was just pulling away from whispering something in his ear, and Iris was immediately on alert. She took in the whole situation, the look on his face, and hers, the way she was oriented toward him, the stories she'd told about him during their months working closely to locate Calista, and it all snapped together in a flash of clarity.
Iris' eyes flashed hotly and her lips turned down in a scowl that she knew Robyn couldn't see. She was irrationally angry at the thought that Robyn might have feelings for this man when she still didn't know what had happened to Calista. Yes, it had been months, and yes, Calista was probably dead. But they didn't know and Iris certainly wasn't going to give up her friend. Iris took a deep breath and schooled her face back into a pleasant mask, turning her attention away from the reunion and looking to Isaint and Deckard. Again she went to speak and again she had to stop as Al leaned across the table, apparently missing her return with the drinks, despite having actually drunk one.
Hard to fault him, that scotch looked particularly harsh, and he was getting up there in years, if his face was any indication.
Iris took another drink from her glass and leaned against the booth, waiting to see if Al would speak to her directly.