Out of the Frying Pan

Neron

you're so cold
put your hand in mine

It's underground, something that Neron can very much appreciate about this hellhole that is the Climb. He's had to sneak out of Halo, something he finds hilarious to this day, but he knows what would have happened if Morgan had found out about his little expedition. Namely, he wouldn't be going. And she probably would be, instead. Can't be having her showing him up as ungentlemanly, can he?

So off he strolls with Sam, all in black with a parasol and a wide hood to his coat to shade him from the sun, though he's got something a little different in mind for the heat. The Hailstorm stands beside the other man, hood pulled down and parasol tucked under one arm to gaze into the tunnels with eyes that easily pierce the darkness.

"Not especially," he tells him, raising a hand and conjuring a bit of will to let ice fringe the cave walls all around them. It instantly begins to melt, but he thinks it gets his point across. "I think we'll be alright for this bit of a trek, anyway. Why did we need to come here, again?" He's been told, probably, but sue him. His mind was on other things.

wise men wonder
while strong men die