“May I get you something to drink?” she asks, opening her tool and giving Jane and Garrus an expectant glance.

“A Coke,” Jane says, menu pulled up so closely to her face and it nearly blocks her out of Garrus’ sights.

When Thelia looks to him, Garrus hums and answers before picking up his menu. “Do you have any S’rica?” The waitress nods and he returns the gesture. “Then I’ll take one.” She leaves them to look over the menu, and he stops midlift of his own as he catches Jane’s dark green eyes over the top of hers. “What?”

“What’s Shrica?”

He chuckles and shakes his head softly, slowing his pronunciation of the word. “S – rica. There’s a sharp pronunciation in the beginning.  A hiss, not a ‘shush.’” She makes her eyes roll, huffing loudly, and he recognizes that as a humorous, exasperated gesture. “You wanted to know, didn’t you?”

“I wanted to know what it was, not how to say it,” she responds, snorting and lifting a corner of her lips. “So tell me what it is now that you’ve made fun of the human’s pronunciation.”

Rumbling softly, he shrugs. “It’s a dextro beer. Quarian, if I’m remembering correctly.” He hears her snort and lifts a brow plate. “And that’s funny?”

She chuckles and smiles, setting down her menu. “Most people don’t really drink this early. It’s mid-day.”

“It’s after my shift,” he retorts, looking down to his menu to finally read it before the waitress begins to hover around, subtly trying to rush their decision. “And after a promotion, I believe I deserve one.”

He hears her huff a short laugh before she hums, the sound of disapproval that he’s heard from coworkers. From context, he doubts she truly feels what she’s saying through her vocal cues because the air around them doesn’t seem to have weighed down, and she’s still wearing that quirk to her lips that a frown usually replaces when humans are upset.

“Alright, alright. You got me there.” She shrugs and her attention drifts out to the crowds of Citadel citizens passing by the restaurant. “By all means, get hammered.” Snorting, she looks back to him with one of her red colored brows lifted. “But I’m not dragging you out of here if you’re too drunk to walk a straight line.”

Garrus chuckles, trying to imagine someone so small trying to carry the burden of a drunken turian of any size. He may be slightly taller than average, but even a smaller than average one of his species would easily topple Jane over despite whatever training the Alliance may have given her. Even if she managed to get a turian over her shoulders, the drastic height difference would limit maneuverability and hinder balance. It’s just not logistically possible, at least not without some serious difficulties.