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This is not going to plan.
Maybe that's an understatement. "Sure, we can take them on," Wonweek mimicks Blade's earlier words he had spoken to Kafka back to him, in a sudden rush of (righteous) anger. "What could possibly go wrong? Dumbass," he spits, crossing his arms and turning away from the other man, who stands - as he's been doing for a hell of a long time, just sort of not doing much - staring at the wall. Right. Thanks, Bladie. Real helpful. The Halovian shifts on the spot, his fake form flickering in his- not distress. Never distress. In his annoyance, the form he takes spasms from corporeality to a faint shadow of himself, again and again. Wonweek ignores it, of course.
As he usually does.
And Blade couldn't seem to care less, still just staring at nowhere. Wonweek wants to scream, to stamp his feet and throw a tantrum because doesn't he get it?- They're well and truly fucked, now, right? But he doesn't, channeling his inner Sunday and instead just crossing and uncrossing his arms repeatedly. It's cold, so cold in here. Maybe if he keeps moving, then it'll get better.
"Stop that."
"Oh, now he can speak," Wonweek lets out one short laugh. "There we go. Only took me pissing you off for you to remember I exist. Look, you-" he pokes his finger at Blade's forehead, but doesn't touch him- "might want to die, but I just got here, thanks. I don't plan on leaving any time soon, so if you could give helping me a shot - that would be real helpful." He's gritting his teeth, so he finally unclenches his jaw and exhales audibly, shoulders falling ever-so-slowly.
Aeons, it infuriates him how Blade doesn't even respond to him for the first five, then ten seconds, just looking blankly at the wall. It's getting colder in here by the second- because, of all places to get trapped, they're stuck in Bavelli-3's biggest freezer. On the planet, that is. And the planet's tradition of deep-freezing literally everything to prepare for after the coming planet-wide apocalypse described in all their ancient scriptures makes sense, but- gods. Did the residents think they were the Astral Express, or something? To ask them to help as they were travelling by - and Blade said yes.
What idiots. Nobody here has a brain. Wonweek because he's not even real, and Blade because he must be dumb as fuck. He sighs deeply and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling.
They're trapped in a massive walk-in freezer, temperature decreasing by the minute, because some poor guy on Bavelli-3 - he's never even heard of Bavelli-3! - wanted the Trotter meat he had stored in the freezer so badly that no, he couldn't get it himself, but needed two poor passing-by travellers to go get it for them. It's some sort of scam, he swears. There's no other logical way the door would have swung shut and locked immediately.
Especially not because he forgot Blade told him to prop open the door.
Yeah. Obviously not.
"-So we need to do something." Wonweek pinches the bridge of his nose and then stares Blade dead in his (dead) eyes. They're some sort of deep crimson colour, fading to a rich orange-yellow glow at the centre near the bottom, and so he looks away. "Literally anything. I'll admit I'm an idiot if you cooperate, but so help me, I am not freezing to death looking for fucking Trotter meat. I'm being serious, Blade." He drags out the other man's name as he says it. "That's the dumbest way to die I've ever heard. And you can't die here, you know it, so if you don't help me before I die, you're getting out of here alone. There's no signal in h- the hell are you doing?"
He says the last bit as Blade offers him his overcoat. It's freezing here, but Wonweek gives him a look. "Ok, I'll assume I can do the talking for both of us. Stop looking at me like that; if you do that, we're both gonna be cold. Don't be stupid."
"...you can."
The Halovian tilts his head to the side in that birdlike fashion to look at him. "You're gonna need to say more than that for me to get the context," he says, voice flat, and so Blade finally continues to talk. Took him long enough, really.
"You can do enough talking for both of us."
Since Blade's still got his hand out, offering the overcoat, Wonweek snatches it and throws it across the room. It knocks down three frozen lumps, and he pulls a face as they all shatter on the floor. "Oops," he says, quite dimly, the shards of ice scattering the floor with the crumpled garment sort of half-over them. "Never mind? That was, uh-" Wonweek steps over to them quickly and examines the labels stuck on the shelves they had lain on- "A cabbage, some poultry, and... an old potato. I think we'll be fine," he shrugs. Blade's followed him, he assumes, judging by the almost-inaudible footsteps that end just behind him, and he can feel the warmth behind him - a little too warm, and so he knows it's him.
Blade speaks again, and Wonweek finally feels like it's not just him trying to break the too-uncomfortable silence. "Why someone would spend so much money on storing such mundane items, I don't know."
He blinks, and then blinks again. Then looks at the taller man, and lets out a small chuckle - then starts laughing slightly more hysterically, clutching himself and bending over and exhaling puffs of condensation that turns to water then tiny droplets of ice almost instantly in the freezing air. And he's shivering, using this as an excuse to hold himself and ignore the growing burning sensation in his face and his ungloved hands - his chest aching with the cold air, the harder he laughs.
Oh, this is stupid.
(Oh, he's so fucked.)
"Shit, sorry," Wonweek says finally, straightening up and fixing his appearance with a quick, irritated yank at his hair. "I would have expected you'd say something like... uh, I don't know. Didn't expect you to say much, actually. More anticipated an annoyed grunt and maybe a sigh, if I was lucky," he shrugs. Blade doesn't respond (unsurprisingly), but he doesn't appear mad at his words. Doesn't smile or anything, but it'd probably be weirder if he did.
This guy is weird.
Whatever.
Without quite realising, Wonweek picks Blade's overcoat from the floor and half-shrugs it over his shoulders, leaving it there - Blade doesn't seem to be particularly affected by the cold, and he for one is affected. Very much affected. Really quite affected, and he can't say he's exactly a fan of that fact, but the overcoat is a lot warmer than he had expected. (He'll... thank him later. Not right now, of course. They have priorities.) Rubbing his hands over his face, he groans, and kicks halfheartedly at a boring-looking lump of ice on the floor. Blade crouches down, and picks it up, examining it closely.
"Really enthusiastic about the poultry?" Wonweek asks, sarcasm thick in his voice, but either Blade doesn't realise or doesn't care. Probably a combination of both, really.
There's a slight hum of assent from the other man, and Wonweek, accepting his face, crouches down next to him to look at it. "Not poultry," he says, and the Halovian's eyebrows raise all the way up into his hair.
"Huh."
"Yeah."
There's more silence.
Wonweek, after he offers it to him, takes the block of the godforsaken frozen Trotter meat and thinks for a second that he would quite like to hurl it against the floor, or perhaps to place it carefully underneath his feet and gently, lovingly smash it to pieces by jumping up and down on it. It's a legendary moment of self-control for him as instead he places it very carefully back in the other's hands, choosing instead to place his face into his own red, freezing hands and to silently scream into them (equally gently and lovingly). Blade watches him with the ghost of a raised eyebrow, but it only seems mildly entertained, and so he gathers himself and instead joins him in looking at the Trotter meat. (Truly, very interesting meat.)
The doors swing open, and the two of them spin around to stare at the figure - the guy who really wanted the meat, of course - as they prance in, snatch the meat right out of their hands and giggle brightly.
"Well, well!" they say, that elated smile on their face, and Wonweek pulls a face. Pulls the face, of all time. They continue speaking anyway. "You passed the challenge!" There's a little ding ding ding! sound effect as the figure's face melts away to form (and should he even be surprised, by this point? His life is going to shit) Sparkle's.
He suddenly, spontaneously understands Sunday's grudge for her.
Wonweek attempts to throw a punch, but she only laughs one last time and skips away out of the freezer, disappearing into Aeons-know-where, and so he simply turns to Blade with an impressively, genuinely confused expression on his face, and expects to see Blade looking at least a fraction of how perturbed he feels, but the other Stellaron Hunter only seems to be mildly amused by the whole situation.
"Did you know this?" he demands to know, and gets no answer as Blade offers him a hand up - which he takes, of course. but feels annoyed about it the whole time. "Blade. Blade. Blade. Answer me."
-And unsurprisingly, he continues to get no semblance of an answer, as the two of them make their way out of Bavelli-3's biggest freezer, looking quite odd with Wonweek still draped in Blade's signature overcoat.
(Gods, this thing needs a wash.)