"My purpose?" he repeats, eyebrows brushing his hairline. He weighs his options, but the pause is minuscule. "Patron."

Steve's dressed down in khakis and a checkered oxford, his brown leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. He doesn't have to be Captain America here -- not that he wouldn't like some responsibility, but for now he's just along for the ride like everyone else. "Like you."