If only Brock could say he had the same reasoning for being here. He has his own lengthy experience in playing spy, but at the moment, all he really wants to do is get drunk. Or as drunk as he can, anyway -- the hard liquor seems to all be reserved for stupid, fanciful cocktails and you get weird looks if you just ask for some straight tequila or something.

So he's making do with beer, and it's slow going. But at least it's serviceable enough.

Brock's already glancing sidelong at this woman before she addresses him, always having a stupid weakness for redheads.

He snorts, lifting his own beer in a mock salute. "I've tried the other places, too. Pretty much the only normal thing across the board."