"Swimming in a sea of vodka and feeling like I need to get put to bed." He twisted his neck awkwardly to look up at James. "Are we on for Tuesday still?"

The conversation droned on, a back and forth about collecting dues and maintenance schedules and Francine's upset about an oil-stained blanket. Veronica took the opportunity to prop her boots on the low table, swirling the greasy vodka and watching it cling to the sides of her glass. Her attention was only dragged back by Arcade tapping his fingers on her arm, saying are you still here? until she glanced up.

Satisfied that he had her attention at last, he gave Veronica a sly look then twisted around in his chair enough to address James Garret directly. "James," he started, ignoring Veronica's immediate flap of her hands and mouthed refrain of shut up shut up I hate you. "Did you know my gal here is a wiz with technology?"

James perked up. "Really?"

She glowered at Arcade before reluctantly answering in the affirmative.

"You should talk to Francine," said James happily. "She was going on the other day about getting someone in to repair the broken slot machines. What are your rates?"

Veronica said 'prohibitively expensive' at the same time Arcade peevishly said 'more important technology than that, you moron.'

"Oh," said James, then oh! as he finally realised what Arcade was hinting at. "We don't get many women, uh, engineering fans here."

"She's breaking down the gender boundaries," said Arcade smoothly, slouching in his chair even further and graciously allowing James to top up his drink. "Did you know it's her birthday?"

"It's not."

"It is. She is definitely not born in July, no."

"She isn't?"

"It's her birthday. Trust me." Arcade patted at James' hand, still firmly placed on his shoulder with the kind of easy familiarity that made Veronica's eyebrows raise. So robotics appreciation apparently happened in groups? She added it to her list of reasons to never join Arcade in Freeside on Tuesday nights.

"Well then!" James gave her a sunny smile. "In that case, um..."

"Cass," said Veronica, already dreading where this conversation was going. "My name is Cass."

"Cass! In that case, Cass, let me offer you some one on one time. On the house. With FIS--"

"Thank you," she said a little too quickly, cutting him off before the table next door could work out exactly what he was saying. "That's a swell offer, but I'm, um." She took a sip of her drink, stalling for time and an excuse. "I'm not sure my... girlfriend would approve."

"Potential girlfriend."

"Yes," she said acidly. "Thank you, John."

"Libenter hoc facio, Cass."

"A complimentary session," said James, keen to draw the conversation back to something he understood.

"Go on," said Arcade, grinning slightly too wide for a man who claimed to have full access to his sanity. "Get some of the kinks out. Get back in the habit. Blow some of the dust--"

"If you say 'blow the dust out of my pipes', I will punch you all the way back to the Hub." She debated whether it would be worth using her glass as a distraction. Maybe she could throw it at the cabaret singer and flee out the front door.

"Guaranteed no dust," added James. "You won't find dust or oil stains or rusted sixteen pin connectors on any Wrangler employees."

She instead balanced her glass on the arm of her chair and pressed her palms against her face, the flaming hot flush of embarrassment negated somewhat by her ice-chilled hands. "This is going to be a thing, isn't it," she said, voice muffled by her sleeves. "You're not going to let it go."

"Hey." Arcade attempted to grab her wrist and missed, instead landing on her shoulder and pulling her hood to the side. "Hey, I'm-- James, will you please go away? Later. I'll talk to you later."

"I'll send FISTO to the usual ro--"

"Go away."

Arcade finally realised what he was holding and let her hood go. She set it straight and tried to keep her face schooled into annoyance, fighting the urge to burst into laughter and ruin her act.