#frostborn.start

"oh shit. almost scared me." he takes a deep breath, standing up straight. " i think i'm done, s'all yours if ya want it. "

the thought reminded him of spring. ah. yeah. spring. something he’d most likely never see again. there it was. the dread of an eternity of ice had settled on his shoulders again. perfect. 

Maybe it was some light masochism that implored Shakti to always volunteer to work security's night shift, or at least that's what it felt like with the cold cutting into his bones like a million tiny knife points. Some nights the cold wasn't that bad-- usually the nights he spent in the wood shop, blood set to boil with how hard he tended to work in there-- but tonight, with this pattern of pacing and climbing/descending the walls for routine checks; the wind was a cruel and viperous thing. Some three or four hours into his shift, Shakti's expectedly-high nerves calmed a little bit, as lights and bonfires all over Jericho visibly began to fade, indicating that most people had turned in for the night. This meant that his job would be a little easier until morning. However, given his slightly-calmer disposition, it meant that he was only that much more panicked to hear the snow crunching beneath someone's feet not far from where he stood. He immediately turned towards the noise, reaching for his flashlight, and attempting to turn it on. A few calculated slams of his palm against the base of it, and it finally flickered to life, shedding adequate light over the nightwalker. Immediately, Shakti exhales a sigh of relief, laughing internally at himself for thinking that it would be an iceberg. The likeliness of it was surely nothing to worry about on an otherwise ordinary night. "I can't imagine you're just out for a leisurely walk in the dark," he says with a wry expectedness in his cold-fractured voice. "What are you doing out here this late? It's gotta be negative 60 with this wind chill."