"I do not normally imbibe," Joachim said absently, watching the serving girl ladle some of the punch into a cup. "Alcohol rots the spirit and destroys the reflexes. An army man must remain sober if he is to be of any use."
He sounded pompous even to his own ears, and he accepted the small cup with a grimace directed at himself. He wasn't really an army man at the moment, was he? Not quite a lame duck, but not as he once was, either. The major looked down into his drink, saw small chips of ice floating in it as they gradually dwindled in size. He turned his back towards the table so he could not be observed, then took a sniff at the contents.
"It is likely to be sugary," he told the other man. "But it appears untampered with. Unless someone who fancies themselves to be a humorist has added spirits, of course."