Malcolm Bright

"Oh, I brought my own," Malcolm told him, flexing his left hand wide open and then into a tight fist and then resuming the alternating hand wringing that he'd been doing earlier, squeezing one hand with the other and then switching, back and forth and back and forth absently.

"Basic life support: don't leave home without it," he joked awkwardly.

He looked at Raylan sidelong. "I would have pegged you as a red meat man. And... whiskey. Bourbon, specifically. Is that a stereotype?" he asked almost more to himself than Raylan. "Well, I guess stereotypes come from somewhere."