He holds the brandy out to you with a deceptive smile upon his lips. You reach out and take it, before resettling yourself comfortably in the chair. As you swirl the liquor inside the glass, your enemy eyes you boldly from his armchair, as if daring you to take a sip. You won't give him the satisfaction of giving yourself away by refusing to drink, if that is indeed what he's trying to do. So, you smile lightly at him, raise your glass to him in thanks and take a moderate swig.
You swish the brandy around in your mouth for a moment or two, making a final decision as to whether it really is a bad idea to swallow or not. Finally, you gulp it down, trying to asses the after-taste for a hint of something foreign.
"Wonderful brandy," You offer slyly. "What year is it?"
"Mmm," He offers in agreement. "A '67 Cles des Ducs Armagnac; quite brilliant."
"Ah." You nod in appreciation, although you know nothing about brandy whatsoever.
You shift in your chair, but try not to look nervous. You need to start getting information but you're not sure how to approach the situation.