He flinches visibly at the slam. Damn it, he messed up again. He'd expected to be given a few more tries, though, so he's not sure whether Steve is taking pity on him, doing it for him, or if he's got no patience for failure and this was his only chance to stay on his good side.

The demon behind the counter glances between them -- none of her business, really, whatever is going on here, and rolls her eyes. "This is Hell, we don't do weak here. Watered down cocktail it is. Do you want a fucking umbrella with it?"

Bum is vaguely aware this must be meant as mockery, but honestly, he thinks an umbrella would be neat -- he knows better than to express this sentiment aloud, however, first glancing toward Steve to gauge his opinion about it so that he can try and model a safe response.