"It has nothing to do with hunger," Chuck muttered defensively, pushing through the kitchen doors. Honestly, Blair was so stupid sometimes. He supposed he couldn't totally blame her, however. It wasn't as if this was a situation that either of them were particularly prepared for. It was actually kind of a wonder that he even had a clue what he was doing, not that either of them really had a choice in the matter.
Chuck found the knives in short order and picked up the one that he thought was the sharpest. He stayed away from the most gigantic of the blades, afraid that it would be harder to control, and stuck with the chef's knife. The blade felt awkward and a little dangerous in his hand, but it actually made him feel a little better to hold it.
"Here," he said, turning to her. "Take one of -- gah!"
Seeing the look on Blair's face, Chuck's eyes widened and he instinctively backed away. "Holy hell," he whispered. They were in trouble. Real trouble.
"C-come here," Chuck stammered. "Come here Blair." He took a few long steps across the kitchen, instinctively holding his breath as he passed by the body, and grabbed Blair firmly by the forearm, guiding her across the floor and back to his little corer with the knives.