( something feels... wrong.

he doesn't need to open his eyes to know what it is. there is neither the warmth nor the gentle crackle of an ongoing campfire — no rustling of feet or quiet whispers nearby. but more distinctly, he feels cold and moist, and mortifyingly exposed. brown eyes immediately opens wide as dwight fairfield pushes himself up off of the ground. he hears the loud beat of his heart hammering in his chest, threatening to beat its way out through his ribcage; yet he doesn't breathe. he doesn't dare to. instead, he stills and listens, analzying each and every little sound until he's certain that he's alone and he's safe for now.

he doesn't know what game the entity is playing, but this is new. very, very new. he has never just woken up in a new realm, especially not without his clothes on. what kind of fucked up new game is this? did the entity feel like there was a lull and needed to spice things up?

fuck it, he doesn't have time to stay put and ponder. he has no idea who he's gonna come up against and what they'll do to him when they see him like this. scrambling to his feet, dwight scans his surroundings to the best of his ability. it's a guesswork; it's always guesswork in a new realm. he just needs to keep going, find a generator, hopefully meet up with another of his crew and get this over with.

at least with the rush of adrenaline, he won't have to worry about how the temperature is affecting him just yet. he should be fine as long as he keeps moving. that's the key. keep moving, stay alert and cross shit off the mental checklist.

—except it's never that easy, is it? he's walking, walking and walking, yet he doesn't see any generators or hooks around. he doesn't hear any screams in the distance and, in fact, he hasn't run into anyone yet, except for some squirrels and lizards. what the fuck is going on?

by the time he actually encounters someone, dwight is already beginning to feel the onset of the cold against his bare skin. he instinctually covers himself with his hands and maintains a considerable distance from them, unsure but desperate enough to try calling out. )

Hey, uh... ( he doesn't recognize them. it's weird. he knows all of the survivors. it's his job to. ) Who are you?

( revealing clothes is better than no clothes.

he doesn't have the energy or the pride to be picky over free shit, when he has spent the past seven years mending and conserving what little resources he could gather. besides, it isn't that bad. he's seen the trickster wear more revealing outfits than the crop top and leather pants he has on. it helps a lot that almost everyone else in this town have similar taste in fashion. if they can embrace it, then he can stomach it, until he finds an alternative.

the bigger issue right now is that he's pretty fucking sure that he's on the verge of an anxiety attack.

it's too crowded, too noisy and too... everything. his senses feel like their on overdrive right now, overwhelmed by all the visuals, movements and sounds. it's been years since he was surrounded by so many people, who're just laughing and singing and dancing like nothing is wrong.

but everything's wrong. everything's so so wrong. he's gotta be hallucinating or maybe he's finally gone nuts.

breathe, fairfield. breathe. you aren't crazy. this is real. it's impossible, but it's real and you are not crazy. just count your breath out, slow and steady.

pinching his arm for the umpteenth time, he tries to stabilize himself with the sharp sting. it hurts. it hurts because this isn't a dream and this probably isn't a delusion. concentrate on something else. concentrate. )

Uh... ( he grabs onto the closest person passing by, his hand shaky and his voice shakier. ) Can you—... Can you help me for a sec?

( the food was a mistake.

he should've known better, but he didn't realize how hungry he was until he saw the stands with all their displays and everything was free. but maybe he should have paced himself. it's been years since he had eaten that much and now it's clearly fucking with him.

pushing his way through the crowd, dwight tries to locate the nearest bathroom, his stomach queasy and his cheeks flushed. something isn't right with him. he feels too heated and uncomfortable, and he seriously can't tell if he wants to throw up or—... or what? ) Excuse me—... Coming through. ( he's growing increasingly impatient as his anxiety spikes. ) Excuse me, can you please fucking get out of my way?

( sooner or later, he successfully arrives at a bathroom, but it honestly isn't the kind he was aiming for. frozen in place by what he's seeing with his own freaking eyes, dwight starts to back out. is it him or is it insanely hot in here? either it's the embarrassment or it's the fact that he's feeling a very real and noticeable ache, and he would rather not get into it with anyone here right now. unfortunately for him, that step back collides him straight into the person behind. )

Sorry, I—... I'm on my way out. ( this was a big mistake. a huge mistake. )

[ ooc | all prompts are malleable. play with them however you'd like! different points, different takes etc. if you're interested in doing something else that's not covered by the above scenarios, then feel free to hit me with it. don't hesitate to pm me for any questions and/or concerns. ]