Jim is starting to get a pleasant buzz going on as the cinnamon-ish stuff goes to work on his boosted alcohol tolerance, though it doesn't evoke the same kind of giggly, carefree attitude as last time, with the Asgardian mead. Just a comfortable numbness, putting a soft wall between himself and the annual birthday bullshit that he dreads every year.

"So I'm gonna be your guinea pig, huh?" He doesn't sound like he thinks that's a bad thing.