"Fuck off, no," the immediate kneejerk.

Izzy rolls forward to lean his forearms on his spread thighs. Oh yes.

"You're not weaponizing cocktails, I'm not fucking having it, Spriggs."

In actually fact, Izzy doesn't give a single fuck about cocktails, and barely knows what one is except a waste of nice spirit, but if that is the way this is going, he is not going to let this little tart slander him with god fucking awful drinks.