—— Ɩf there was something that Char loathed, it was the 'corrosive' rays of vitamin D rich sunlight beating against his skin's pallid canvas. Warm was gnarly, but this? Scorching heat was produced from the burning ball of blinding yellow in the heavens, and God forbid the idea of visiting the outdoors.
——— Ʈhere he was, situated cross-legged before this unheard of, bizarre machinery sending cool blasts of air, his golden strands of hair blown back by the subtle breeze; it was something apparently called a.. fan. He had witnessed Victorian ladies, their wrists flicking to cool off with hand fans, but this was more advanced.
——— ℰarlier, prior to this suggestion, it felt as if the collar of his shirt had become a suffocating noose around his neck, and the mere invention of this fan.. Char, was more grateful for than anything.
❝...I think I'll pass.❞
