[attr="class","dreap i"]okay, heat and eyepatches do not, under any circumstances, mix. she's uncomfortable with the fabric against her eye socket, the way sweat seems to seep between the spaces and cling to her skin. it's almost suffocating in a way she despises. stupid thing. she's contemplating discarding it but the glass eye reflects the direct sunlight in a way that makes her skin absolutely crawl.

in the end, she suffers through. it could be worse. in fact, she could be that guy.

her eye sweeps toward a man and his ludicolo struggling through the sand. oh god, is that a turtle-neck? is he trying to die of heat stroke? she's openly staring by now, mouth slightly gaping at the sight. behind her, a haxorus grumbles irritably, tail sweeping through the sand enough to stir the loose grains into the air.

"are," a pause to collect herself, to school her composure into not scolding this man with the firm tone of a parent. "are you okay?" is settled upon because really, it's better than asking if he's stupid or dense. kinder in a way she normally isn't, perhaps. sand stirs beneath the movement of her feet, legs shuffling closer.

somehow, she's thankful she had half a mind to dress lighter today. sure, the yellow sundress is a little outside of her realm of style but it's pleasant and light in the heat. "what are you even doing out here?" her eye roams him for a moment. up, down, and then back up. and then, before she can even stop herself, she's raising an eyebrow as arms fold and settle across her chest. "wearing a sweater of all things." a snort escapes and she's almost smirking. "are you trying to end up in a morgue?"

[attr="class","dreap i"]there's an incredulous look gracing her features, the woman almost torn between outright laughing at him or prying further. of course, she'll settle upon both with a grin on her lips but that's neither here nor there. "okaay," she starts with a slight drawl, eyebrow pulling further up as if it wants to become lost in damp tangles of bangs. "maybe if you didn't bundle up for the sand, you wouldn't think it's a thousand degrees?" although, as another drop of sweat rolls down her cheek, she's in agreement for once. it's hot, too hot for snark perhaps and she's attempting to bite her tongue.

it fails, sure, but she tries. that counts for something, right?

"you're looking for a snake?" she questions and the curious leer is telltale enough. her interest is piqued. sand shifts beneath her sandals, grains easily diving between her toes. a light snicker escapes and she's leaning to stare up at him, ignoring the way their eyepatches almost match. "your complaining might be scaring away this elusive snake." doubtful but she's amused by the thought.

between the too-stretched collar and the throat clearing, she's momentarily distracted. her eye dips slightly to follow the movement of a hand only to flutter back up to a smile. misunderstood the situation, hm? her mouth parts and close to a dozen different choice words rise to the occasion. she can't decide between poking fun and questioning what exactly he thought this was. both? both sounds good. "how do you misunderstand finding a snake?" her head tilts toward the side as if the concept is weighing one side of her mind down. another laugh follows, perhaps too amused to be considered light, and she's grinning like a cat. "did you expect snakes to live somewhere cold?" with the turtleneck catching her eye again, that is definitely a possibility.

any attempts to restrain herself came crumbling into ruins, her shoulders trembling slightly once laugh after laugh bubbles out of her throat. a turtleneck, in style, in the desert? oh god, he can't be serious, right? one look at him and she knows he is halfway between slightly humiliated and genuine. it only makes her laugh harder. "you'd be better off wearing nothing if style's what you're concerned about," the words are punctuated by stifled giggles, a feeble attempt to compose herself.

the smirk solidifies further onto her lips with something akin to a satisfied lion. one hand plants itself onto a hip bone and she's not quite preening but almost enough to be considered prideful. "the one who would have to crack open your chest," she retorts. cut open his in style turtleneck and then his skin, crack open the ribs and dive in. mmm yeah, no, she'd prefer to not have to be on the receiving end of his morgue visit. best to not ruin such a stylish shirt with her scissors.