She just got a whole lot more interesting really fast. Franco laughs, storing up the one-liners he can use on her while he heads over to one of the food replicators. He figures they don't keep Italian sodas behind the bar.

"All right," he mutters under his breath, still at a loss over which buttons to press. Someone said these things were voice activated, right? "One Italian soda."

The thing chirps at him. "We have twenty-six varieties of Italian soda on record."

"I don't care," he grumbles. "Surprise me."

Another chirp. "What flavor would you like? There is strawberry, peach, strawberry-banana, orange, orange-mango--"

"Jesus Christ, strawberry, OK?" he snaps. A bottle of strawberry Italian soda materializes. He snaps it up and returns to the bar, hoping this chick didn't catch all that. Time to dial up the charm.

"Would you like a straw, milady?" he grins, holding out a hand. "I'm Franco, by the way."