Fives can't help but laugh. "And how about things you're not supposed to do?" he asks impishly, and steps a little closer... just as Echo calls, "Your order's ready, sir!" and gives him what he clearly means to be a quelling look.

Fives, of course, ignores it as his littermate slides their drinks onto the service bar. His is in a waxed paper takeout cup, but the General's is in a white ceramic mug, with an elaborate little three-dimensional fox sculpted out of the foam on top, right down to his black nose and whiskers.

"That's amazing, Echo!" He grins at his brother. "I don't know how you do it, I'd never have the patience." He looks at the General, hoping he'll be suitably impressed by Echo's effort to please him, knowing that Echo's doing his best to look calm and collected rather than desperately eager.