Super powers. Enhanced. Radioactive spider. Irene would have laughed again if he hadn't seemed so serious about it. Not that it was easy to be serious about any of these things, like something out of a storybook or one of those blockbuster movies she never went to see. She wanted -- badly -- to believe that she was being told just such a fantastical story, that this bartender was pulling her leg and was just very committed to his lie.
But Irene had a lot of experience with liars, and even the pathological ones, the ones who didn't seem to have a reason for it, didn't lie like this. Good liars knew not to jump straight to this level of fantastical. Which is not to say that she believed him. (How could she?) But whatever was going on here, her gut and her not-insubstantial knack for observation told her that at the very least, he thought he was telling her the truth. Which was almost worse, really, though she supposed she'd handled mad people before. At least for the moment, this Peter person, if that really was his name, seemed like the harmless sort of mad person. For now.
She'd only gotten as far as realizing her mouth was slightly open by the time the woman she'd texted over the phone breezed in, and something in her spine unclenched (albeit very slightly) at the sound of another British accent. Good. At least she had something in common with someone here. Her lips did prick downward slightly when the woman -- the Doctor -- chattered about how water was safe, and Irene gave another untrusting glance at her drink, then at the man who'd given it to her. "I'm Irene, yes," she confirmed, turning back to the Doctor. "He's been telling me all about his..." she looked up at Peter again, "Radioactive spider bite and all the G-Men who fight crime. And you," she turned her head toward the Doctor, "Were saying something about time periods, yes? Peter explained the... the... pocket dimension."