How did she learn all this shit? Avery blinked and shook his head slightly, because taping beer cans sounded lame as fuck. (Although... kind of fun? Like, if he didn't have a mission and if his brother wasn't lurking around, would he have a go?)
Lyra was pulling him up the stairs and he followed, looking around and trying to take it all in. There were photos of the frat framed on the wall along with memorabilia, and Avery caught a glimpse for a moment of "Our Illustrious Founders", and shit old AG the First was the very spit of his grandson, with an older hairstyle. Uncanny, one might say.
At the question of meeting Archer, Avery felt a rush of nerves, but in a good way. The thrill of doing something he shouldn't be doing and getting away with it was unmissable. "I'll stick with you," he said as the reached the top of the stairs. (Had he had this cup of punch in his hand the whole time? Oh well, he drank it anyway.) A handful of girls were hanging outside the bathroom, and they all exclaimed at Lyra's coat and wanted to touch it.
"Oh my god, are you Irish?" one of them asked, looking at the teeshirt and Avery's red hair. Before he could answer, he was kissed on the mouth, and two pairs of hands were pulling his teeshirt off over his head and replacing it with a fringed open yellow vest and a magenta cowboy hat that clashed violently with his hair. "Welcome to America!" they cried, falling about laughing.