[Lust maneuvers herself over to a closet with a decorated door, or at least her torso portion. While she herself tends to mostly stock wines and their close kin, Hawkeye was always bringing and leaving hard liquor. She returns with a bottle of scotch.]

Here you are. It's Hawkeye's, so you know it's good. And I suppose that's one point in the snow's favor, but don't underestimate the destructive power of the cold. I almost lost my feet to it, back when I had them.

[Another reason she loathes it.]