[Clint wrinkles his nose, a passing amusement crossing his face.] Beets, well, then I can't blame you for taking the trip to the smell of chlorine instead.

[He does not actually know the 'correct' amount of mix, but he knows you don't go overboard with grenadine unless you have the world's biggest sweet tooth, so. Ice, soda, drizzle of the syrup, stir it up. He even manages to find a still-wrapped straw. He slides it all over.]

Don't forget to tip your bartender. [He thinks he's funny.] Or maybe tip over a particular bartender. This is a pretty nice enough incursion. Nothing seems to be trying to kill anyone so far.