[center][h1][color=7ea7d8]Alfred Gunther/Frosbite[/color][/H1][/center]

While other prisoners were either screaming, scribbling random letters and numbers, or straight up just lying down on the floor, Alfred was doing something... different. The guards didn't really find any reason to come by his cell [i]too[/i] often, as he was one of, if not the most well behaved of all the patients/prisoners sequestered within these deep, subterranean hallways. He'd usually just sit there, using his comparatively low end cyrokinetic abilities to make pretty ice sculptures. Sometimes they'd take the appearance of simply but elegant pillars. At other times, the sculptured were penguin statues; a mark that deep inside, he had never left that bit if his childhood, that loving adoration of penguins that Alfre had always possessed. Sometimes, though, he makes heads, with faces with utterly well crafted features, enough so that any onlookers might just recognize who these were.

[color=7ea7d8]"Juneau City Council... aka, the Cabal..."[/color], Alfred quietly grumbled, an equally sombre voice of dread winter speaking to him in the back of his head, essentially repeating whatever he says. "Cold, cold, what is cold, but the absence of heat, the natural state of things... unlife?"

The man wrapped his arms around the pillow, cuddling as if it were a teddy bear or a beloved pet. [color=7ea7d8]"They deny the Primordial Cold its vengeance... yes, they do.  Must we wait for another year to finally have retribution? How long till we return to our dear mother, father?"[/color]

Dread silence, then another conversation with the wind. [color=7ea7d8]"Ah, yes, I miss the friends too. Though you have never met them, Frostbite... right, right, you wish to do so... no, the Cabal must be destroyed first."[/color]