Hello, Capustan. The Bridgeburners have arrived. - Steven Erikson

Tehol collected his cup and carefully sniffed. Then he frowned at his manservant.
Who shrugged. “We don’t have no herbs, master. I had to improvise.”
“With what? Sheep hide?”
Bugg’s brows rose. “Very close indeed. I had some leftover wool.”
“The yellow or the grey?”
“The grey.”
“Well, that’s alright, then.” He sipped. “Smooth.”
“Yes, it would be.”
“We’re not poisoning ourselves, are we?” – MT 237

The act of taking offence becomes a weapon, and its wielder feels empowered by the false indignation.

I don’t like being retired. It’s like announcing an end to your worth, whatever that worth was, and the longer you go on, the more you realize that that worth wasn’t worth anything like you once thought it was, and that just makes it worse.