"I set up in Mexico," he said, "but I've never stopped looking for oranges." He rummaged blindly under the counter to come up with--yeah, that wasn't so bad. Rum. He could deal. "Vitamin C. Very good for you. Protects against scurvy." That could be a real problem. Scurvy. Very bad if you got it. He'd shored up some vitamin C pills through raiding along the way from Mexico, but that definitely didn't ease his mind. Oranges were always better.
He unscrewed the lid and peered down into the bottle with one eye, then pulled up and looked at her. "Fought for a while. Then I went into commodities trading. Pretty easy south of the border."
He took a swig of the rum and then held it out to her. "I don't have rabies. Or the zombie virus." He turned his head, tapping a finger along his bite-mark. "Runner got me, a while ago. I got him back. My mark stayed." Either way. "It's good rum, as rum goes."
Let her make her decision without more pushing. Women, he recalled, didn't like to be poked and prodded at.