Flynn glances at the bartender, who stares back impassively, and then back at Alec with a slight frown. There's a sort of simmering baseline of disrespect, or something, that he can't put his finger on. It's not as if he's great friends with the bartender, but it feels wrong to simply let it slide.

"I wouldn't... precisely call her a minion, although certainly she doesn't have much to say that's helpful. Honestly, I'm not sure what you would call her, and the way the drink tastes is hardly her fault. They all taste like that. Well, no—try the lemonade, it's much more interesting, especially if you dash some hot sauce into it. Here—" he slides his own drink over. It is, in fact, lemonade with a strange orange tint to it.