"Right," Avery said, glad that she didn't seem to be looking at him disparagingly for getting into the booze. "Cure it or kill it." He was a little surprised at how much easier it was to talk to people when he was feeling such a sense of relief at not shivering and shaking from the cold. He knew it was because he felt forced into it, but there literally wasn't anything else he could do but bite the bullet and try to seek out others.
He took a sip from his glass and nearly lost his breath, not used to hard liquor at all. At least he didn't cough and splutter and spit it everywhere. "Louisiana, yeah," he replied, surprised that she'd picked that out about him just from hearing him speak. "I'm Avery Weston. Pleased t'meet you." He was glad he hadn't taken off the gloves, because this way he didn't have to be squeamish about shaking her hand. She was pretty in a girl next door sort of way, and he didn't really want her thinking he was weird. Which, well, she might anyway, but what could he do?