Hopefully he understands that categorising him as dead weight isn't personal. Everything that Abby does while she's here has to serve the practical, the wider safety of this little group of people she's accidentally grown to like. Most of them have the skills required to make it through this, enough that they can spread out and cover the gaps, but Abby has a sinking feeling in her gut anyway. Can't shake the thought that none of them really understand what's happening, that they won't actually get it until something goes wrong. Hopefully he also understands that her face, glowering, serious, brow furrowed, is probably going to look like this until they're all out of here safe.

The sound of boots on the floor makes her look up, pulling out of her thoughts. Her frown eases off (a little) as she catches the can, cradles it in close to her chest, reading the label.

She mutters, "Oh fuck yes," and slots her finger into the pull tab. When the can cracks open with a sigh, the room fills with the sickly sweet smell of expired syrup. Abby scoops out a wet, soft segment of fruit and pops it into her mouth whole, sucking her fingers clean. Holds the can back out to Strange.

"You did good," is what she's saying to him around her mouthful, "with the hoard." That was a lot for them to take on all at once. It went a lot better than Abby expected it to.