A puff of white, gusty air exhausted itself from Jacob’s mouth as he landed at Teleport Ops’ designated location successfully (for once). His wet mop of ginger hair was already beginning to freeze in the cold air of… what was this place again? Oh, Minnesota.
February was neither kind to Minnesota nor Jacob’s hair, so he cupped his hands and whispered a word of warming. Immediately his palms felt warm and oily. He ran his fingers through his hair, and Jacob was at once revivified.
“I’m fucking Vidal Sassoon,” Jacob said. “Well. Not literally. I don’t get into the necro-side of things.”
