Silently rolling her eyes but in too blissful of a mood to give any scathing retort for the scolding, Mabel finished licking off her fingers before screwing the lid back onto the jar. She didn't like her father enough (though god bless his paranoid gun hoarding) to allow any other man to attempt fathering her over her lack of manners. Especially not at her age and especially not while covered in the guts of the undead. Using the shelves once again for support, Mabel slowly pushed back to her feet, gritting her teeth as her ankle protested but managing to keep down any more pained whimpers.
Repocketing her pistol and staggering down to where he left the cart for her (the only indication she needed to determine he was an insufferable asshole), Mabel tossed in the nutella and a few other things that caught her attention on the way over. Wasting no time, Mabel loaded up the cart with anything that sounded halfway decent and would keep well. Getting a wide selection seemed important for a balanced diet, and she avoided getting too much of one thing unless she was certain she already liked it. And when in doubt, Mabel ripped open packages and sampled whatever was inside, leaving rejected packages of food spilled on the floor in her path. She'd been avoiding anything from the fridge aisles herself, because while the frozen food was still good, it thawed and spoiled far too quickly to be much use while traveling.
But there he was as she passed by with intention of skipping it entirely, and Mabel slowed down and then backed up curiously, quietly staring down the aisle while watching him eat something out of a tube. Strange.