There isn't much gesture to be made, a fact which is likely as maddening to Strange as it is easy for the native mage: he simply takes the cup in his hand, carefully balancing the base of it between his fingertips, and looks at it.

A glyph would be laid out on the ground, but here he's enchanting the cup itself with cold drawn out from his hand, which begins to make itself seen through little white tendrils of frost rising from where his skin meets the glass.

It's quite beautiful even in its quickness-- and it is too quick, starting out subtle and then almost immediately freezing through with an icy tink sound, which Benedict greets with a grimace and a whispered "shit".

He glances apologetically to Strange, still holding the drink.
"I can warm it back up again," he offers sheepishly, "or you can just... wait, if you like."