"I'm glad you think I give a shit of your opinion of my creativity," Charles retorts just as dryly, starting to walk determinedly towards the stream. He's very aware of the time of day, and the fact that he's somewhere that is most definitely not the West Indies, and he doesn't have a coat to combat cold.

"But I'd rather get a move on and maybe find something to have for dinner rather than try and bring myself to care, since we'd starve to death before it happened."