Ugh, he's simply so - Kitty grunts in annoyance once when he ignores her hand, and again, louder, when he shakes himself and manages to spray her with water. Not that it makes that much difference, she literally can't get any more sad and wet than she already is, but - it's the principle of the thing.

She trudges behind him, huddled in on herself, hands shoved into her armpits, not saying a word till they make it to the door of the pub. Inside - Oh, inside, it is blessedly warm, a large press of sailors celebrating their shore-leave and a crackling fire in the hearth pushing the temperatures in the little shack almost high enough to satisfy.

The crowd also means that people don't really care so much about the two odd figures that have staggered in. They get a few curious looks, a couple of chuckles over their state, and that's about it. A barmaid, bustling by, doesn't offer any questions - just says to them, "Poor ducks. Find a seat and I'll be over with some stew, hm?"