“I wasn’t going to do it at all. It’s pointless. All of this is. Caring about Christmas trees, making cookies, pretending Santa is real? It’s all stupid.” Carl admitted to Audrey with a heavy sigh. He didn’t get the feeling that she would clutch at her pearls - or that she even owned pearls to clutch - over that comment the way some of the group might have. She didn’t seem like the overly sensitive type. “But everyone else cares. They want to think things can still be good, and that it matters.” He shook his head, “It doesn’t.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.” He said as he reached for the mug, both hands wrapping around it to secure his grip. It was warm beneath his palms, though not nearly as warm as the rush of embarrassment creeping through him at Audrey's brief touch. The second her hand retreated, his replaced it to guide the hair back over the bandage. He needed the extra shield of it to feel even slightly normal, especially when he was already so out of his depth. Holidays and social graces and that hint of discomfort that he couldn’t quite let go of. He’d have rather have gotten snowed in to the stupid sea lion’s cage.
Freezing to death would be much simpler than this.
“These are for our squad, they don’t need to be that fancy.” Carl explained, putting the cup down momentarily to reach for one of the boxes. He tapped it free into his hand, before handing the knife across to her so she could look over it. They were practical. Black so they wouldn’t reflect, spring assisted to make them easy to open, with a built in belt clip that he hoped would make it convenient enough that everyone remembered to wear them. Audrey had already told him that this squad was filled with survivors, but it was hard to do that without the right tools. “But River’s and Amos’ should be.” He added after a moment of hesitation.