The frequency with which Jarvis heard the name Steve Rogers- and an increasingly creative variety of derogatory nicknames- had only increased over the years. Reasons for that had never been explicitly disclosed, but Jarvis had his suspicions. He always did, had been inferring what he could from Tony's erratic responses for so many years now that it was habit made impossible to break. Tony grumbled. Jarvis took guesses as to why.
In this case? It was misunderstanding. No genius himself, Jarvis nevertheless had decided long ago that things Tony could not understand, manipulate, dissect, or torment into suspicion were going to needle at the other man until he found some way to overcome the obstacle in question. Unfortunately, this obstacle seemed equally stubborn, and that guaranteed a regrettable amount of grumbling (and drinking) yet to come.
Sighing, Jarvis twisted to collect the woefully neglected pitcher of water- now tepid, but no less palatable on the whole- and gestured with it, a pointed wave of his hand to indicate that Tony was better off switching beverages. He didn't expect it would work. It never did. Still, it made him feel better to try, and once he'd made his (likely to be ignored) point, he shook his head and rummaged out the voice synthesizer meticulously crafted for him by his erstwhile master. Clasping it on was now the work of a moment, no longer awkward and cautious fumbling, and he cleared his throat before venturing a dry, "You are an authority on fashionable, I'm sure."
There was a strange, sibilant hiss that made him pull a face, but it was fine. Any noise from the synthesizer was still a vast improvement on the garbled sounds he would make otherwise. "Have you considered that your sense of humor is something of an acquired taste, and he's not yet had the misfortune of acquiring it?"