The amount probably wouldn't shock Martha, as she's known Olaf long enough, though she admits she might end up being surprised. And, him being the god-avatar-being he is, she at least doesn't have to warn him not to mix much for fear of a fatal OD. "I can go for vodka," she says. "Stirred, not shaken, of course, with lemon peel."

Olives do not belong in a martini, in her mind. Bloody mary, sure, and other savoury drinks she's totally not able to think of at the moment. But not a martini.