((Lol. And yet I've never had a character named Griff... Feels uneven!))
"Nurse," Marcus clarified, deciding not to be cagey with the guy. Maybe it was the accent, but he had a hunch that this man wasn't one to judge. Most of the shit he took for his chosen profession came from southern-fried rednecks who prided themselves on how early they'd abandoned the public education system. This man seemed like he'd appreciate the information and leave it at that.
"Heh." He snorted at the suggestion of washing the booze down with water and pills. At least that order was better than what he'd been suggesting. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he glanced up. "So long as you give me informed fucking consent first, I'll let you do whatever you want, mijo. Just don't blame me for any regrets you got after."
The smirk spread outward, settling back into the full grin as he dropped his attention back to the contents of the bag. "I got good tequila I'm willing to share share, and half a bottle of shitty rum you can fucking have if you want... dunno where the fuck it even came from." Probably Sarge's party, he decided as he extracted the bottle in question. Rum of any variety was not his beverage of choice, and wasn't at all useful in a medical sense (he had cheaper disinfectants on hand, anyway, so didn't need to waste drinkable alcohol on sterilization). He held both bottles out to the other man for inspection. "Pick your poison."