The OC above you is cold

As a supposed harbinger of death, Brown was a bit agitated knowing that she was going to be beat to the spot by... Frostbite. Hypothermia. The deadly duo. It pissed her off, to keep it short.

"I have a coat," she bluntly told the other while motioning at the fur-lined apparel currently on her. Way to go, captain obvious. Brown blinked for a second before heaving out a sigh, then rolling her shoulder blades. "You think I will give up this material, or stretch it to unfathomable horrors, just to accommodate someone? Especially with... Especially with..." Her words fumbled for a second as she squinted at the younger party, then clicked her tongue against her palate. Great. All she needed to do was flutter her eyes menacingly, and then-

Strike.

Brown's hand actually hovered above her pocket as she wondered whether to take out her prized dagger or not. Iron blade, handcrafted handle. It was given to her by an old associate of hers, and she could feel her breath becoming more raspy just thinking about the bastard. Though... The fellow in question, complaining about the cold, seemed nothing like him. The aristocrat straightened her posture before giving her soft brown hair a shake. Then she took out the dagger as expected. Of course she did - the bitch.

Now recklessly waving it around, the apparent murderess growled, "In my opinion, being cold is one of the worst ways to die. I think... I think it is worse to die than getting your throat slit like a lamb's." What the actual fuck??? "And you would think that at the very least, your mask and your associates would be enough to protect you..." She laughed ominously before stroking her fingers against the side of her face. "... Do you think they will try kicking my ass if they find out what happened to you?" And then she continued to bark in sheer merriment, because why the hell not.

Not. Funny.

But eventually, she did relent and use the dagger to cut off a few strands of fur, then handing it to the youth in a huff, grunting, "I expect a fighter like you to be tougher, but you know this shit? That's cashmere. That can fucking sell for so damn much at the market, especially the black market..." Brown cocked her head. "So, if you go off to the right bazaar and sell those strands of fur, you can buy pretty much anything else you want there. Trust me." You sure about that? Now giggling almost girlishly, the middle-aged aristocrat continued to twirl her dagger. "Or do you want the other option instead? You folks are always so damn fucking cowardly when it comes to this shit anyway."

Brown can be the slightest bit nice in spite of the cold. as a treat. mom said it's my turn for a follow-up.

Ah. Deutsche and -15°C temperature, even it's not winter yet. Luckily we have a German supernatural being that lived through thousand winters on mother German.

Daily checking, as usual.

"Seems like there's another diligence under this snowy, mind if I keep you company, madame?" He greetings tips his hat which was covered in a thin layer of snow to inform the woman about his present, and approaching, supernaturals aren't rare in this area, especially this station go straight to the other world. He knows, not all people will calm and chill when a 6'10" man in black come near them. Reinherz have to changed the red shades into a thin frame glasses, not only the snow, the fog as well. Neither you or others can see anything, those green eyes don't visible much, but they speaks in goodwillness. 

The atmosphere of the train station is warmer. A bit warmer, thanks to the train smokes. 

"Not a very comfortable weather to go outside, is it?" Base on how she dressed, doesn't seem to be a native. He say from a friendly distance on the bench they're sitting on. Somehow his instinct telling him about not to stay close with this madam, about the risk of he will be scolded or worse without a reason, bad mood by the cold? But nah, a man like him sure will not let a person, a woman struggles in cold. 

"I'm not in a state of underestimating your tolerance towards coldness, but I always pleased to know if you want some hot drinks," Reinherz gesture something with a station staff, breathing fog while whisper to them in his native languages, a "ja boss" before the staff bring him a vacuum flask. Hot drinks, you can feel the tempting warmth is ready to be offered.

To NP, he is not actually get cold easily but he still face-red and shaking a bit under the snow. You can offer him a warm thing. Or feel free to make him a silly look with your coat if you want (because I'm sure normal coat will be a little too short for him but Reinherz will appreciate that)

Zinnia was not entirely familiar with the red-headed daemon that she was trudging along the path with. In fact, one of the most recent experiences that had come to mind was the time where the two made egg tarts together. She remembered how the man practically coddled the young teenager, but she had nothing to say about that. It was good to be treated like a princess sometimes.

Zinnia's attention was mainly pinpointed on the leaves that were sprawled around the concrete pathway— that is, until her hand accidentally contacted the elder party's knuckles. The teenager abruptly whipped her head around to shoot a glance at the much taller daemon. Her eyebrows raised upwards; this man was visibly shivering, and that was when the girl began to fully acknowledge the wind that was thrashing around. It, admittedly, annoyed the teenager, due to the fact that she constantly had to nudge away the curtain of hair that was constantly getting in her eyes. The daemon, however—he looked visibly bothered by this. Zinnia, however, didn't want to be blunt about notifying the man, so she decided to glance around the block. Then, it caught her eyes: the café nested at the opposite side of the street. After shifting her gaze back to Reinherz, Zinnia tapped a finger against the daemon's arm before pointing across the street.

"Ooh, you know what? We should stop there!" the younger girl began,

"I wanna get a drink; something hot and fresh. Oh, and don't worry about paying for me, I have money!"

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NP, Zinnia dons a sweater a lot, but don't make that stop you! I don't care whether you make her sport one of her t-shirts in her alternate outfit tab, or you make her feel really cold. Go all out!

Blou was familiar enough with Zinnia, that she didn't yell anymore. Which makes everyone's life a bit better, especially Xander's. He didn't have to pluck the bird away from her over and over again. Calmness, peace. Tranquility.
Normally the bird slept on when Zinnia entered the room for her lute practice. But today, one of the many raining days of the late summer in Drakenburg, Blou looked up. It wasn't hard to guess why. Poor Zinnia... Someone had probably shoved her into one of Drakenburgs many stinking canals.
Bullies we're never fun.
"Luckily' for Zinnia, they removed her lute before the shoving,  which had spared the instrument. Zinnia herself, however, was shivering and shaking. Soaked to the bones and smelly. 

Xander had a very worried expression on his face while wrapping a horse blanket around the youth. Shortly rubbing her shoulder in a dad-way (™). Trying to get her a bit warmer.
"I filled the bathtub," Xander said. Before sitting down next to her. Every bath in Drakenburg had a small firepit underneath them. While boilers where a thing in this 'modern city in the North' most Kretts, Xander included, still relied on shoving a coal fire underneath your bathtub instead of the new boiler technology. You cooked the water, clean and steaming hot and letting it cool before jumping in. "It's cooling down as we speak," the lutist explained. "You can borrow some clothes from my daughter, I still have some lying around the place," Xander said. His voice soft, as if he like Zinnia could burst into tears at any moment. "Know that you're always welcome here lass. If you know their faces like we can report them to the police but everything at its own pace," Xander said. "I get you something warm to drink until the bath is cooled down, okay?" Xander softly raised back to his feet and went to his kitchen.

When he came back with warm honey milk he was surprised. Blou had left her stool and had taken Xander's seat next to Zinnia. The small dodo frame was huddled against the teenager, her feathers poofy. As if the dodo herself tried to warm Zinnia up. Blou stared at him, her head resting on Zinnia's arm. The look on her face could be described as: 'what? Why do you act so surprised to do this every day?' "Butter," she said. Flapping her wins oh so slightly while shifting closer to Zininia. "Butter."
Despite of everything, it managed to give Xander a smile. He gave Zinnia the mug. Folded her fingers along it as he continued to speak: "She rarely does that," Xander chinned at the bird. "I think she really likes you." 

--

OK asap is now >:(

"I used to think home-- I mean, the castle was so big and easy to get lost in. I never really thought about how cozy and warm it was, and seeing all the friendly faces and all the nice food..." That image starkly changed to the venomous stare he got from the servants, the vile they uttered when he passed by, the protests outside the castle walls. Although he didn't know, that castle would have been far colder than the winter here if he had stayed.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so gloomy," En mumbled as he looked down at the warm drink in his hands. His voice was listless and empty. It was clear he was trying his hardest to be positive and kind, but the weight of his situation was far too heavy on his shoulders, and it was showing. He'd been officially exiled a week ago, and in some form of divine comedy, a blizzard hit in the middle of it. His entire kingdom shunned him, even as starvation and cold showed on him. Had it not been for the music teacher getting out into the snow himself, he might have been frozen against some tree. Whether because of the snow or his state of being, he couldn't bring himself to smile. He tried for Xander's sake, but could only succeed in getting a half-smirk, one that was quick to droop.
"Thank you for letting me stay here," En said quietly, lifting his head to meet the singer's gaze. Xander may have given him a sympathetic, kind look, but all the ex-prince could see was disappointment and pity; a cold stare. He dropped his gaze. "I'll leave as soon as the blizzard is over. Maybe earlier. I don't want people to hate you too for sheltering me."

It had been a long time since En had been in a blizzard. The last time he had was probably one of the worst, and it was no doubt why he found himself in that negative state. He'd realized he'd been like this more often around Jun-ko than anyone, and he felt bad for it. His doubts always got stronger around her. She always had to save him from something: from getting hurt, from getting overwhelmed. He was a burden to her-- she must feel like some kind of babysitter towards him.
"You had a rough day, please relax."
En glanced over at Jun-ko, hesitating at her smile. It was so beautiful-- everything about her was, and it only made his guilt feel worse. She was wasting it all on him, someone who was talentless and despised. Unable to meet her gaze, he turned away once more. "My friends must be getting worried about me," he started quietly, already in the motion of getting up. "Thank you, but I--"
His words were cut off by the howl of the blizzard.
And the rush of warmth that spread across his entire being.

Summer had no clue why she was bundled up in so much clothing—she sported an oversized parka and about two layers of pants, but that was a lot in the toddler's opinion. Either way, she loathed every single second of it. How the clothes clung onto the child, as well as the decreased mobility, almost drove the child crazier than she usually was.

Summer's session of arm flailing was abruptly put on hold when she accidentally smacked the back of the woman in front of her. Her eyelashes abruptly fluttered when she watched the shivering woman whip her head around.

Summer still did not know much about humans, which was visible by the confused head tilt Summer did upon seeing the woman's reddish face.

"Woah! Are you half chameleon?" Summer blurted, pointing a finger up at Jun-ko's face.

"Your face is pink. It's so cold, brr. Ooh, you know what?" Summer abruptly shuffled closer to the human, licking her lips as she did so. Her hands reached at the collar of her coat, grabbing at it until she tugged off a scarf. The puppy then pressed the long cloth against the human's face, letting out a giggle as she continued to repeat this action.

"Mmh, squishy, squishy, squish," the pup cooed, almost in a sing-song fashion.

----------------

NP, go all out! Small note is that Summer hates getting bundled up in layers. Her complaints of being cold would more likey be tided over with hot food / drinks

Upon placing the pan of cream puffs in the oven, Dolores let out a sigh and stepped back from the oven. She was still used to making cream puffs under the lighting of a chandelier, surrounded on all sides by fellow workers and occasionally a supervisor as they hurried to complete the task before the set deadline. That, or making cakes and other "basic" baked goods within the security of her own home... Cream puffs weren't basic.

What am I thinking?

She brushed the baking powder, flour, and whatever else was on her hands before gazing over to face the puppy, who appeared less playful and more... Shaky than before. Dolores frowned, then stepped towards her. The heating in her house was adequate, so it wasn't like the puppy was suffering from the effects of frostbite or hypothermia, right? Right? A sharp whistling of the wind caused the elder to look up in alarm, as the gales outside started to build up. Seriously? Another blizzard... she thought to herself with a muted sigh.

"I can set up the fire if you want," suggested the older woman while glancing back towards the hallway, "I keep the firewood there, so don't worry about me going outside. You shouldn't be going outside either anyway. It's much colder than it is here..." And now that Dolores thought about it, she might as well ask one of the local carpenters to see if any drafts were leaking inside the house. She had to, anyway. Being that negligent probably wouldn't have mattered in the lowlands, but in the highlands? It was definitely a risk that wasn't worth taking.

Thus, she stepped towards the cabinet where the logs were stored, before taking a few out (with some effort) and carrying them back to the foyer (with some effort). Once she set them in the pit, Dolores took out one of the matches from a nearby tinderbox before lighting the firewood ablaze. Her eyes seemed to flicker in entranced intrigue for a second, before they wrested themselves away from the siren-like spectacle. It wasn't long before her gaze focused back on her guest.

"... You're fine with the fire, right?" she asked carefully, with a sheepish laugh, "I mean..." Dolores's eyes then traveled over to the oven- The oven! She perked herself up before hastily walking over to the oven, then crouching down to see whether the puffs were close to burning. They weren't. She sighed, then looked up at the other party once again, relief mixing with concern in a noxious, gnawing combo that only corroded at her gut.

All she could really utter afterwards was "I don't... I don't have a lot for you to do until the puffs are baked. Are you sure you'll be okay for now?"

nothing will ever give me as much tonal whiplash as listening to Britney Spears's "Gimme More" right after a super sad/angsty indie song.

that asides... follow-up time.

"ACHOO!!!"
Terry groaned, "I hate the cold", and rubbed his arms. Despite how thick his jacket was and the soft mittens, he was still freezing and shaking. He had his hood on, but every gush of wind, no matter how weak, would always push it back down. "News said it'd be warm today, not a single cloud in the sky. Yeah right." He looked up at the gloomy, gray sky and the cold front that came with it. He sneezed again and sniffed, groaned and looked at the lady besides him. She looked cold too, and greatly uncomfortable. He couldn't blame her. Hell, he probably looked the same way, and the same was probably for plenty of people who didn't expect the weather report to do a 180 like this.
Thankfully, Terry was prepared, and by prepared, he knew which stores carried a certain thing. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two, small, white packets and held them out her. "Here," he offered in a groggy voice. "They're hand-warmers. They heat up. Thank God for whoever invented them, I wouldn't be able to stand outside like this for more than five minutes without them." In fact, some were in his mittens, and boy did they feel great. "You ever want to get some for yourself, they sell it in small stores. Usually in the hunting aisles." Poor lady, stuck out in the cold. You'd think her grandkids would offer to go in her place with this weather... if she even had any. She had a lonely kind of smile, though, the kind that wasn't a "birds flew the nest" kinda deal but... he wasn't sure how to describe it. Terry blinked slowly and looked back forward, pulling his hood back up. He should focus more on getting home than trying to Sherlock Holmes some stranger's life. Hey, maybe he'll watch that when he gets home. Have some soup-- His hood blew back down.

Participating in this ritual stuff was...stupid, in Aiden's opinion. These things were done with the 'weirder kids', and Aiden did not want to participate. Personally, he was more of an atheist—he didn't believe in this God or Satan stuff, but that was what his parents taught him. So, the boy opted out of this ritual, preferring that he sat at the couch with furrowed eyebrows, internally mocking those gathered around the makeshift pentagram on the floor. He didn't take notice towards the demon that suddenly spawned.

Wait—demon?! The boy abruptly flinched at the shrill sounds that sounded from the other children, which was a mix between screaming and cackling. How did that even work? It definitely shouldn't have worked. Yet, everyone's expectations had been much different. Now, there were a few dissappointed faces when the demon mentioned his discomfort towards the chilly room. Aiden lowered his eyebrows more, glancing at the blanket that was behind him. He lifted it up from behind his back and haphazardly threw it towards the small crowd formed around Hank. Despite actually seeing a real demon, the boy still brushed it off as some weird prank put on the occultist teenagers. Demons were still stupid.

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NP, Aiden is never going to admit he's cold, even if he clearly is cold. Subtle signs he will give may include him rubbing his arms and his attitude becoming more crass.

Fitzgerald scowled as he felt the frigid air biting at his cheeks as he spat, “Are you fucking kidding me!? Out of all the days that we could’ve had a cold spell, this had to be the one…” His narrowed eyes traveled down to the notepad he clutched in his hand, before he finally acknowledged the teenage boy rubbing his arms. “... You’re still going to record these damn birds whether or not you want, though,” he instructed with a huff, “This is for your own sake as an honorary intern anyway! So you better take this seriously…”

In hindsight, maybe the young man was regretting this. Sure, he bitched and whined about it when M. Pourife first suggested the idea, and then maybe he warmed up to the idea a bit, but… It was okay when he was a bitch. It wasn’t okay when this fellow wasn’t.

“Serves you right for having a shitty sweater though,” growled the intern while staring at the teenager’s plain garment. Rude!? He sighed and grunted, “I told you to get something more… More- Fuck-” His train of thought had completely derailed, as he had to focus between clutching his coat tightly to himself, and making sure his notepad concerning birds wasn’t absolutely decimated by the gale that had started to pick up.

“Fuck, just give me a moment-” sighed Fitzgerald while finally getting the brainpower to button up his coat. It actually didn’t provide much relief to his face, which was still battered by the wind, but whatever. At least he could take solace in the fact that he, at the end of the day, still had the better outfit out of the two. The aristocrat was proud of it too, as he sauntered a few steps off to the side and placed his hands on his hips.

“That asides,” continued the brat as if nothing had happened at all, “I told you to get something more professional, and when I meant professional, I meant something that could actually be used for the cold. You really think these scientists just get anything that fucking hangs in their closets!? I don’t think so.” Well, that didn’t explain your questionable fashion choices either, Fitzgerald, and yet… “Like…” Fitzgerald scoffed with a wave of his hand, “Get some standards. I’m going to have to contact my boss about tightening the dress protocol for future interns.”

Please don’t actually make that a principle?

Also, he sure as hell wasn’t the other party out - in spite of his own misery - as the youth grunted with a wave of his hand, “But that asides, come on. The ptarmigans aren’t just going to come out for no reason. We’re going to have to find them whether or not their plumage is brown, white, or a mixture of both.” With a sigh, he started to walk off with much nonchalance. “... Besides, I have to get this sent in by the end of tonight, so stop acting like a crass bitch and come along now.”

LONG FOLLOW-UP TIME. Roswell wins the title of "shittiest not-father for Fitzgerald." is he proud yet.

Roswell held a quick passe in his steps as he lead Fitzgerald deeper in to the Old Chapel. Outside a watery blizzard was covering Drakenburg in a mixture of rain,hail and snow. Overall unpleasant. Deep in their coats the two stepped through the Chapel that was buzzing with live. Well, with thieves. Everywhere Roswell looked he saw one of his Krakers. Support beams were used alleyways, Kraker's squeezed themself among each other through the narrow corridors. The whole hideout smelled of sweat and melting snow.
Roswell finally halted his steps in western-wing. One that was more left alone by the common Krakers folk, and the place Roswell's cigar lounge was located. He opened the old door, hidden in the centuries old wall-painting and gestured for Fitzgerald to come inside.
The room was round, small and unlike the Chapel didn't smell like a defrosting gymnasium. But like cigars, musk and whisky instead. Roswell had been quite the entire time, something so rare too the leidsman that it wonder-strucked himself. Cold does that too a man.

"Come take a seat," he finally said. Closing the door of the lounge behind him and nodding at one of the two leather coughs. "Oi got an offer(!) for yer but, Bloody Void's arse let's get it on temperature first," Roswell cursed underneath his breath. Roswell then stepped to his fireplace. Knelt down in front of his coal stove. Opening its vents and placing the firemaker in between the dried wood curls. He lit the fire with his tinderbox and waited before shoving the coals in there. He allowed his fingers to regain some warmth before turning back to his guest. What marvelous host Roswell was. _{1 star on AIRBNB}. He smiled at Fitzgerald, deeply huddled in his expensive coat. "It gets pretty warm soon so yer can take of yer coat if yer want," Roswell said. Moving over to his drinking cabinet. Grabbing one flask of whisky, glasses and two cigars. Oh boy. With these in hand Roswell set down next to Fitzgerald. Folllowing his own advice and peeling his soaked coat (that sticked to his shirt like a bandage) from himself. He then set down the whisky and glasses. Putting the cigar between his lips and held the other out to Fitzgerald. What a dad he was. He shrugged at the refusal and poured the cheap whisky in the two glasses.
"Drink up," he said. Nodding at the whisky. "It makes yer feel warm on de inside," Roswell said.
Roswell took his own drink in hand and took a big gulp of it. Squeezing his eye shut and felt his face grimace from the heavy alcohol smell sweetened down with sugar and honey. With a clap he placed the whisky back down and rubbed his face clean with his upper arm.

"Roight now dat oi can think straight again," the leidsman said. Squeezing his fingers into fists, allowing some of the blood to regain its flow there, "- Oi knew yer not, a Kraker and don't worry Oi wont," he shrugged. "initiate you as one," no shady soul-linking-deals for Fitzgerald!... Yet.. "Oi want yer to steal somethin'. Somethin' small. Oi know, don't give me dat look sprung," he said with a quick laughter and a gulp from his whisky. "Oi've 'eard you're negotiating with Nathaniel roi? No worries, no 'ard feelings." Roswell said. Finally lighting up the cigar he'd been chewing on the entire time. "He 'angs his keyrings next to his office door. Yer only need to snatch it, and deliver it to me. Dat doesn't sound hard roi?" Roswell said with a big grin. "And in return oi can deliver a letter, to uh," his smile became sharper, "anyone yer want. Yer parents? Dat little maid dat took care of yer? Me? anyone, yer name it and oi get it done." Roswell said. Stretching his legs more in the direction of the stove. "Well, once dis blizzard calmed down of course, yer want some more whisky?"