[attr="class","spiral"] "Tch."

The loud thud of a boot against the wooden door gives way to the heaving footsteps of a man buried in a bundle of weathered clothes and loose wooloo fur. Each step dishevels the snow caked upon his shoulders, flaking with his movement while he tries his best to steady a pronounced hunch. With a fatigued gasp, he buckles underneath the weight of his cargo before muttering a single fuck underneath his breath.

The spontaneous BLIZZARD seizes them by their unpreparedness, buffeting winds bringing about a turn of weather that none could have predicted. The request for League personnel to handle the migrating Froslass proves more treacherous than first reported. Two to five would've been easy enough for a decorated trainer but more than a dozen proves too much for even the most capable trainer.

Fernando makes it out through sheer luck, expending his own energy with Tapu Fini's Z-Move and his own arsenal of ice type Pokemon. He's able to keep them at bay but proves unable to eliminate the threat with someone else in the crossfire. Retrieval and rescue always proves a more arduous task than extermination.

"People, towels, blankets."

His Weavile runs a single claw against his mane, ruffling snow off its crown as it snarls in reluctant obedience. With one last shimmy of its foot, the creature scampers off on all fours, looking for the closest person to rally over to its trainer's position.

Clinging to the last reservoir of his depleted tank, Fernando uses the rest of his stamina to slug his way over toward the roasting fire that serves as the lobby's seasonal center piece. With a stumbling haul, he sets his cargo on the floor, unwrapping both the obstacle in his way and the subject of his retrieval: Stormy Silph. The shift in weight from his backside to the lodge's wooden floor comes with a sudden relief, the pressure of carrying her back gone and replaced with a newfound ache as he rolls his shoulders back.

"Tch." Heavy eyelids steer him to start unwrapping her sweater, doting on her with the dry insides of their mutual winter wear. Anything to keep her dry. The fire will attend to her lack of heat but leaving her wet with snow will prove disastrous if left unchecked. Fernando can feel his own numbness abate with a sour spike in pain as the fire starts to burn away at his rawness. The winter claims another victim and he can only last so long before his own expenditure goes beyond his budget, lulling him into a non-consensual unconsciousness.