We March On

[Albert Wesker]

In no great hurry as he was, it took a long while to actually get anywhere noticable. The ice-man gave up trying to keep track of time as it passed, but after slowly ambling along on his way for what felt in his tired mind like hours, he did let out a lazy yawn, slowing to a complete stop for a handful of seconds, pulling his coat back up higher on his shoulders. The Nexus was rapidly growing on him as a place he wanted to spend as little time as possible.

But standing around complaining wasn't going to get him anywhere. So he stuck both hands back in his pockets, hunched forward and put his legs to walking again. And as he did, he turned his attention back toward the other figure, who it would seem had picked up their own pace in the interim.

As the distance closed, more detail became clear. And the first thing that stood out was the almost sorry condition of both the armor and weapon the....person wielded. Looking more like weather-beaten relics than servicable equipment, it was quite apparent that the poor person had been put through the grinder -- literally AND figuratively, if they were in this place now on top of their own condition.

"Hail!"

As the man, by his voice, called out to him, Kuzan slowed his pace to a halt, quirking an eyebrow both at the man's....strange manner of speech as well as his greeting. At least he was polite, if nothing else. In return, Kuzan pulled one gloved hand from his pocket and gave a lazy wave in return. "I'm not sure how much help I can be...I just got here myself." He ran his free hand over his head, scratching at his hair. "But....I can tell you that this place..." He swept his opposite arm out and around, indicating the vast white expanse. "...is called the Nexus."

Both hands returned to his pockets. "Did you....uh.....you know...." His words deserting him, he turned his gaze upward momentarily. "....I forget." Looking back down, he tilted his head to one side. "But....you're new here, I take it?"