"Sure, if the tats were Double Q's..." she mutters, staring at the back of his head like it's suddenly sprouted horns. Deirdre takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh, her cheeks puffed out and her eyes narrowed. Maybe it's better to be angry. Angry, after all, is preferable to being annoyed.

She lifts an eyebrow when she spots the fire. Alright. Boy scout here is good for something. There's no need to warm her hands, but it's nice to know they can cook, boil water, all that survival shit.

"Excuse me for making conversation." You unpleasant asshole. Best not to say that until he teaches her how to make a fire.