Though the blizzard. Hardship provided strength, and a blizzard was certainly a hardship... Right? Maybe he should've worn his armor... The environmental inside would've kept him warm, and he'd instead be training his strength to carry the bulky suit about. A month, that's how long he'd worn it. Every time he put it on, the needles poked in. He trained with stimulants, as he trained with armor. He was becoming addicted to them. They gave him strength, helped him overcome the past. Isn't that what everyone here wanted to do? Overcome the past?

Black heavy boots, done up tightly, came past his ankles, disappearing into a heavy pair of jeans. A blue that faded into blackness of their own, they were of a high quality, thick, and above all else, warm. Well, as long as he wasn't stupid like he was being now, walking in a winter storm. Further up, he wore a longsleeved shirt, some dark red. Though, you couldn't see that for the thick coat over top. Wool on the inside, it'd been made before the war. How it'd ended up in his hands was unknown, but it was in quite the garment. Hands stuffed in the pockets, he made his way to the cafeteria.

Click, clack, he walked on in, boots clicking with each step. He still didn't know the squads official opinion on him... They'd never seemed to take to him, but that was alright. He could work as a team, he'd keep them alive, he'd made sure they knew he was valuable! A tray was retrieved, filled up with various foods. A scoop of mashed potatoes, a few slices of ham, gravy poured haphazardly over both. A biscuit lodged within the potatoes, he dragged back his lunch, or was it dinner? One could never really tell, when it was so dark and stormy outside. He dragged over the tray, deciding to... Socialize.

First, though, he poured himself a drink. Whiskey over the rocks, in a tall glass. Nothing else stirred in, aside from a shot of lemon juice and a shot of lime juice. Then he sat down by Andrew. "Hey there." Shedding off the winter coat, Devon folded it up neatly at his side. His arms had a dozen tiny scars, pin-pricks from where the needles jabbed into his skin when he wore the armor. "How's it been? We haven't talked much."