Shit just appears in his bags. He quit nicking shit that caught his attention when he turned sixteen. Things just keep falling into his lap and not all of it is worth the trouble. Somehow he feels like this might be one of those things- but Carolina's not that bad. Not really. SHe's gotten him food and is trying to help him do better so- could be worse!

"And now I can't find my lighter. Awesome." Not in his pockets- maybe in his coat? He checks the beaten leather thing hanging off the back of a chair, patting down the pockets till he finds a matchbook. Eh, it'll do. "I could join a club or something. Got an invite to a coven but- yeah. Not an actual practitioner. Got an invite to a school paper and also didn't...go well. Sort of got intense over military shit. They had an anti-war idiot running the stories on it and let's just say they have parents in high places or some shit cuz there's no way anything they're printing is unbiased."

It takes him a few tries to get the matches to take- but it does and he drops the whole thing on the book.

Part of him wonders if he'll regret it later.

The rest of him knows damn well how dangerous that shit was. Better that it burns.