"I don't want to learn," he cuts back, his brow tightening in irritation. That's not entirely true: while Carlisle isn't interested in using his necrotic powers for breaking and entering, he'd like to learn to harness them properly, if only so he can prevent himself from rotting a hole in the floor every time he loses a fight with his own nerves. He's easily agitated these days, constantly at odds with his undead nature and the acrid temperament that comes with it; being all too aware what a danger he presents just by existing in the same space as everyone else hasn't helped at all.

He would leave and isolate himself to the wastes, but a few notable people insist their lives are bettered by his company. Ever a coward through and through, Carlisle is desperate to avoid suffocating in the solitude that so burdened him in life, and so, he remains, despite his good judgment. That puts him in contact with people -- and in healthy doses he has belatedly realized he needs -- but also in proximity of less savory characters like Kabal, hence his current predicament.

Rust blossoms beneath his fingers; he assumes Kabal will tell him if it's not working.