It is, indeed, absinthe. And the spoon, indeed, is silver.

And then there's someone in the chair, a knotted muscular figure eight feet in height and almost twice as broad as a normal human form, clad in thick black leather and an opaque helmet of black glass with horns rising from its temples.

Zir voice is a staticky growl, polyphonic and distorted.

THAT IS THE IDEA.