[This is insane. This man's stoicism borders on either obliviousness or callousness, and James honestly can't decide which. He just sort of stares as he's unburdened by a few kittens.

His face twists into a frown. His side stings. He's holding a bunch of nervous baby animals. It's cook-off hell in here.]

You think so?

[Sarcasm! Just a bit!]

...I need to get out of here. I can't cook with an armful of cats and a wound now. You should keep a better eye on that knife of yours.

[Whatever he's asking for with that outstretched hand, James makes no move to fulfill it.]