"I'm not a thief," Carlisle argues, but he does finally glance toward the door with an utterly defeated look, realizing he's probably stalled as long as he can before he starts making Kabal angry -- and if what he saw in the bar was any indication, he does not want to do that. Perhaps if he managed to settle his nerves long enough to think about it, he'd realize this masked man doesn't want to risk being rotted himself; however, given he can think of plenty of ways someone could hurt him without actually getting close to him, Carlisle doesn't even need a tangible threat. His mind does all the work itself when it comes to riling his fears.

He steps closer to the door, putting a hand on it and just... waiting. And waiting. And waiting a little more. Focusing on the door doesn't seem to be helping; nor does him trying to will the door to rot away beneath his touch. How is it he can do this so easily by accident, but when he's actually trying, he gets stage fright?

He glances over his shoulder. Maybe Kabal got bored and left. The answer is, unfortunately, a thorough no. "I, um. I've never done this on purpose before."