Faust rarely drinks. He likes his mind sharp, in case of danger, and he's cagey about taking something from someone he doesn't know. But Samata likes drinks, so they're here in a bar, listening to the everyday talk of everyday people, and Faust is cautiously sipping...something, to show willing. He's not quite sure what it is. Samata had ordered it. He drinks from the glass like he expects it to explode.

"What did you say this was again?" The bitterness isn't agreeing with him.