He held off on getting a drink but it was Jenkins, walking by on his way to chat with some of the friends he'd made in the Capitol, other assistants and numbers-crunchers, that made that decision for him. Jenkins handed him a glass on the fly in one smooth gesture and continued past him. Archer had been standing just to the edge of the dance floor, on the supposition that Olinger wouldn't be over there for really any reason. He accepted the drink with a startled, "The fuck?" and didn't even look to see what it was even as he called, "Jenkins, what--"
"Archer, my boy," Jenkins interrupted in a voice that carried, "In case the decorations and the music had you terribly confused, you happen to be at what is commonly known as a party. Not at work." The older man had stopped walking and tossed the comment over his shoulder without quite turning around. He tended to be a worrier, a holdover from the days when he worked with a team that included Archer, Cal, Bran, and a few others, during the height of the zombie infestation in Austin. They'd been dark days. Jenkins started to walk away again before Archer could hunt down the words for an appropriate reply. "Have fun!!" he said cheerfully.