“Fine.” The word comes out clipped and irritated. He’s not enthusiastic about this alternative, but it’s better than his armor being constantly sticky and catching dirt and grit. And if it ends with him looking a bit foolish then so be it. It’s not like there is anyone out here to see him anyway.

He’ll deal with it.

Tarn stretches his back as he stands up to take the canister from the fire. He uses the discarded tarp to protect his hands from the burning metal as he hefts it to drag back over to his spot on the floor.

“I’ll pour if you hold the bucket.”