[ He's okay with the snow. He's almost okay with the base and whoever all these people are leading them around, but what he's not okay with are the women dressed in lab coats. Egil protests almost immediately—loudly and a bit too violently when he's expected to follow them off somewhere. A few of the others who'd gone before him didn't seem to have an issue with it, but how could they know what they would do? How could they know what people like them have done? He's shaking when the soldiers drag him out, and when they finally dump him back into the room, there's a oddly wild look to him. He's paler than usual, a light sheen of sweat dampening the hair at the nape of his neck, and he scrambles into one of the corners, crouching low and watching the others sharply before he sinks down and slides his arms over his head. ]

« They're going to kill us. » [ It's mostly a mumble, the Icelandic rough on his tongue, and if anyone wanders close enough, he's just going to look up at them with a scowl. ] How can you believe them? [ The words are bitter, though it's mostly a front to hide just how terrified he is. ] They say we're exotic, but what are they?

[ Adjusting is easier than he feels it should be, but things have certainly been worse. He's used to the cold, hard ground and the sounds of the fiare close, a warmer comfort he might have appreciated than all of this pristine nonsense. The only thing he's marginally grateful for is the solidity of the ground compared to the roll of the speranţă, and it's around lunchtime that he finally drags himself from the edge of the bed he's shoved himself into. There's a routine he's picked up on, at least, and that makes whoever they are predictable enough that Egil is almost comfortable with it. Almost. The food, however, isn't anything he's ever seen before in his life, and a questionable look passes over his face, foregoing any utensils that might be readily available and inspecting it with his fingers. He jabs at something and watches it melt, frowning at it.

He glances at the person closest to him. ] Are you really going to put that in your mouth?

[ Egil doesn't know how long it's been since he'd last eaten. At this point, he's having a difficult time remembering what that might have looked like, but he's sure it'd been better than this weird thing. Anyway, he's not having any of it, and he crosses his arms with a huff. ]