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18
Who: Walter and anyone
Where: Island
When: 5th, morning
Style: Either
Status: Open
[The change is gradual and starts with faint discomfort when it actually affects him. The onset of something more severe begins much later.
Walter glimpses the network between then: I believe this week some of you might begin feeling a little chilly if you don't have physical contact with someone. He throws the communicator aside after that, and ignores the clatter of the thing against a table as he folds his arms.
He endures through Thursday, but by Friday, his senses have dulled and he doesn't quite see it or his paling complexion.
Something compels him to visit the island that morning. His gait on the way is more languid than that of his usual march, and he moves with a deaf ear to his surroundings, his inattentiveness being cause for the rare bump (or close call) into another denizen of Vatheon. But he cares little for the error and moves on without so much as a glance when it happens. He's strong yet – there's nary a stumble throughout the whole ordeal.
When he reaches shore, Walter sits where the tides reach. Perhaps it is against his better judgment, but his mind is a haze and why should he not sit there in the seawater? It belongs to the sea. He belongs to the sea.
His head rolls to the side in a fit of exhaustion, his ear brushing against the fabric of his attire. He's tired. Odd, considering he has neither fought nor trained recently, and he should be accustomed to a few hours of sleep; but he's tired nonetheless, the feeling reminding him of another time . . . a time he can't recall . . .]
Where: Island
When: 5th, morning
Style: Either
Status: Open
[The change is gradual and starts with faint discomfort when it actually affects him. The onset of something more severe begins much later.
Walter glimpses the network between then: I believe this week some of you might begin feeling a little chilly if you don't have physical contact with someone. He throws the communicator aside after that, and ignores the clatter of the thing against a table as he folds his arms.
He endures through Thursday, but by Friday, his senses have dulled and he doesn't quite see it or his paling complexion.
Something compels him to visit the island that morning. His gait on the way is more languid than that of his usual march, and he moves with a deaf ear to his surroundings, his inattentiveness being cause for the rare bump (or close call) into another denizen of Vatheon. But he cares little for the error and moves on without so much as a glance when it happens. He's strong yet – there's nary a stumble throughout the whole ordeal.
When he reaches shore, Walter sits where the tides reach. Perhaps it is against his better judgment, but his mind is a haze and why should he not sit there in the seawater? It belongs to the sea. He belongs to the sea.
His head rolls to the side in a fit of exhaustion, his ear brushing against the fabric of his attire. He's tired. Odd, considering he has neither fought nor trained recently, and he should be accustomed to a few hours of sleep; but he's tired nonetheless, the feeling reminding him of another time . . . a time he can't recall . . .]
no subject
[He plainly speaks the truth, and it doesn't occur to him that this is the result of his being so cold that he doesn't get it. Simply a matter-of-fact that, for whatever reason, he doesn't feel the temperature much.
In fact, he doesn't even know what to say after that. Not out of a need to be silent, but out of a lacking train of thought – a train of thought he's lost and can't put himself back on the track of.
His gaze falls to the side in the midst of the climbing confusion.]
no subject
[That is a momentary distraction, if nothing else. Yukari falls silent at his words and simply stares at him -- blinking. Still shivering and still cold. Why should she have to touch anyone, just for the sake of feeling a normal, comfortable temperature, anyway?
This is so dumb . . .]
Y'know, that's probably not a good thing.
no subject
Rather, he asks:]
What is?
[What is a good thing?
Even in his numbed state, he can name few to no things that are "good" for him. Most of his life – most of everything – has simply been the bad. The suffering. Joyless. Perhaps the same applies to this nothingness.
What, then, is a good thing?]
no subject
She's not exactly in the best of conditions to be answering it either way, but at least she can explain, since he doesn't seem to understand it.]
I mean the fact that you can't feel anything.
[. . . is that . . . desperation she feels suddenly, when she looks at him? And sees him shivering. Not to mention, she's shivering herself. What is --]
. . . Ugh. Just give me your hand.
[WHO SAID THAT.]
no subject
Hand?
He doesn't understand why she's suddenly asking that. Rather, he knows that such a touch should restore his internal heat, as well as hers, but he's not in the state to be piecing that together with the demand. Well, since there's no reason to be denying it . . .
He raises his hand a bit – and it stays there a little ways stretched ahead of him as he stares into his palm.
His hand would be cold. At the very least, it's coarse and tough as the result of his manner of combat.]
no subject
Which makes it easy for Yukari latch onto his hand with her own, and quickly, before she decides to change her mind about all this. There's literally no holding it in, either: she breathes a sigh of relief, feeling warmth pass through her body slowly after only a short few seconds.
The warmth only flows more strongly from there, and even though his hand is cold and very rough, she barely even notices it. At least not for now.
There . . .
[. . . She just wonders if this little miracle is working on him, too, and after that initial relief passes, she turns to study his expression once again.
She still hasn't quite let go of his hand yet.]
no subject
He still doesn't understand. But when the warmth sinks in, as does some clarity, he starts to get it; and he violently jerks his hand away, like he's touched something offensive, and while he's still rather cold, he doesn't want to perpetuate this experience – ]
– what the hell was that?
[His words come clipped and not nearly as strong as his usual volume. After all, this is unexpected.]
no subject
...It hadn't really occurred to her before, but the cold must have done more of a number on him than she thought; especially with how much of an angry prick he can be towards everyone. When he jerks his hand away (predictably), Yukari is only shocked for a moment before pulling back her own.
She glares turns away from him. This is apparently the thanks she gets.]
Me keeping you from turning into a popsicle.
[Though to be more accurate, she was really out for herself. But hey, he's got to recognize.]
no subject
But he doesn't appreciate the implication of her looking out for him (preposterous thought), and instead suspects something more self-interested – more harshly than he might have normally, when he remembers at that moment how much he had told her the last time they had met.]
I don't need your help.
[He doesn't want it, either.]
no subject
[Her tone is as sarcastic as it ever was; though really, she knows it didn't have to be her. In fact, it probably shouldn't have been -- because she knows there's at least one girl Walter's actually friendly with who could've done the job.
. . . Well. Too late now.]
Tch, and when you start to freeze again?
no subject
It's a mere cold. I could have handled it just fine.
no subject
Or if someone like her doesn't come along.]
Well you'd be numb, so maybe you're right.
[Sarcasm, of course. But . . . she just kind of gives up on keeping up the tone.]
. . . Whatever.
(Do what you want.)
no subject
The heat imparted unto him by Yukari has burned up his awkward patience from earlier, so with a final glower pointed at her, then at the sand between his boots, he turns away – almost violently – but only takes a few steps before he stops.]
This is the last time. Don't approach me.
no subject
Who would even want to, knowing this is always how he is?
Yukari finds herself wondering this as she watches his footprints trail away in the sand -- and yet even so, he was right. She was the one who approached him. Maybe it was the cold -- or maybe she was hoping to get another civil conversation out of him, just like that one time. But either way, she's left feeling unsatisfied. Like somehow, he's won.
Which is probably a stupid way to think, so she finds herself rolling her eyes and sighing, once she's sure he's left.]
Ugh.
[She turns back towards the ocean, enjoying the view so much more now in solitude; and even though she'd been about to retreat home where she wouldn't have to deal with anyone else, she decides to stay a bit longer.]