Daisy obviously wasn't buying it. She squinted at him, trying to work this out with a sidelong look, what his fucking issue was and where he got off trying to justify it. He was in tights on fucking Christmas was what it came down to. Maybe he was butt ugly. Obviously, he didn't get that she was onto him, though. She would have to lay it out for him. "Your identity is so secret that you can't tell your juiced up friends," she started, gesturing with her glass to the cloud-people around them, "but it's fucking important that you're with them on Christmas?" Maybe she had a skewed concept of how important Christmas was to normal people, or even super-people, or just other people, but she thought it was super fucking important, like tolerate-the-most-outrageous-bullshit-to-spend-it-with-your-family important. Her family had been more in the we-tolerate-each-other-every-other-day, Christmas-is-a-capitalist-fabrication camp.
Point was, from what Daisy gathered from studying these creatures in the wild, being with people who weren't allowed to know your real name seemed fucked up.