Ha! I trapped the drink you ordered in a weird ice sphere. Bet you weren’t expecting that. Don’t even try melting it with your tongue or some shit, because I also lit the glass on fire.
You’re going to wait for this lackluster drink to become consumable (not counting the 2.5 hours you waited for bespoke frozen water). And I’m going to wait and delight in your eventual disappointment.
Let’s not mince words—this is your fault for coming to my establishment and ordering a Game of Thrones-themed drink. Have you ever seen that programme? The plot moves at the pace of a handicapped snail traversing a river of half-dried glue. Let this cocktail be your Arya Stark saga. Go ahead. Drink it. You’re going to hate it.
Now get out of my bar.