「 praecantator / resumptus 」

Winter was a foul beast, designed in a manner to maximize agony and hammer in the cold reality of the uncaring and even cruel nature of the Constant. Maxwell should know, he was the one who designed it, after all. And he knew better to underestimate it, even when Winter seemed to lose its teeth, even when Charlie…

Charlie had opted to introduce additions that softened the blow, Maxwell held onto reason. Not enough, it would seem. He'd have commiserated more over his torrid fate, had it not been for the cold gnawing away at his life and slowing his mind considerably.

Bad enough to have been caught out during a rather harsh snowfall far less prepared than he should have, precious resources wasted and lost and the land around the stripped naked, far too far away from camp to have hope of making it, and forced to hide in between pitiful rocks and half cut trees for shelter… but he didn't even have the dignity to wallow in his misery in private. The shivering body sitting nearby yet not too close a reminder that — of course.

Of course, it was her that he'd be stuck with, here in the freezing cold with naught but a dying lantern to keep shelter from Charlie. His companion's back turned, huddled in on herself as if her willpower and sheer stubbornness alone could keep frostbite from claiming her.

...There was an obvious solution to this issue. Solution being a far too generous term, but something more they could both do than to accept their fate and freeze. Delaying their demise meant increasing the odds of one of the other survivors realizing they were missing and acted accordingly. Even if they cared naught for him, surely — surely — they would go in search for his company at the very least.

He'd much rather not continue wasting precious gems and other valuable resources on frivolity such as death, even if it was meaningless.

...Truly just his luck to have been stuck out in the freezing cold with the one idiot who was so idiotic so as to respect him enough that she would force his hand to be the one who... He grimaced and winced when the slight gesture tugged painfully at his frozen face, forcing him to be one who initiated. Could Wigfrid not see how foolish she was being?

Well. At least Maxwell could blame it on the fever that this weather would doubtlessly bring them. It's an awkward procedure to move, as covered in snow and frost as he was, yet closing the distance between them both... leaning against her... took far too much time and not time enough.

The feeling of another this close to him crawled at his skin, an unsettling discomfort akin to pins and needles that had him swallowing bile. Yet he couldn't deny his avarice for coveting what little warmth — or at the very least, some cover from harsh winds — there was. A strange dichotomy that he could have very well gone without, yet unfortunately, likely not lived.

"N- Not— Not a word ab- about this, Valkyrie. Not. A. Word." Maxwell managed to mutter, while he was far from certain how much he was offering on his end, far be it for such thought to stop him. He could only pray that he'd be conscious enough to move away by the time someone found them.

"Thank you again for… all of this."

Every word that fell from her mouth was wrong. Humble and refined. Regular. Normal. Too polished. Not polished enough.

Gleaming like an ornate piece of teaware, when she should have been glinting in the sun like a weapon.

This was not a weapon. This was not Wigfrid. This was something else.

"I'm sure you can imagine my confusion, winding up so suddenly in a place like… this… I think if I was on my own, I'd probably have… maybe stumbled into a ditch by now."

"It's… unnerving to know that I'm not the only one out here. But I suppose it's better than being stuck here alone…?"

To be quite honest, Maxwell felt rather nauseous. It'd been rather some time since he'd last felt as ill as he did in the current moment. A notable feat, considering there was hardly any shortage of disgusting occurrences worthy of throwing up at that happened in his day to day life.

Yet he'd find no hesitation in saying that this was far worse than piles of manure or the most sordid of gores. Those horrors were repulsive, true, yet they were familiar. They had their place, loathe as he was to say, within this world.

This, however...

She, however, didn't.

A blemish upon a world he'd once made his own. Her very presence a hoard of insects crawling beneath his skin. Her voice bringing force headache, soft tones worse than nails upon chalkboard.

A reminder of something that was supposed to have been long purged. A corpse walking, unaware of how she must have digged eight feet out of the grave with those pristine fingers of hers. A reminder of...

Heavens! ███████, would you mind if I made us some tea? You must hear the news, you see, Charlie—

...Repulsive beyond belief. It'd taken all his strength to keep himself from righting this wrong right away, or rather... it'd been his lack of strength that kept him tardy.