[Barnabas in contrast is utterly unaffected by the cold, at least in how he holds himself. He is not dressed for the weather any more than he might otherwise--his typical attire being as it is, most of his chest exposed, his hands uncovered, and no attempt to bundle up beyond the layers his doublet otherwise provides. Whether this is some sort of flex or he is truly untouched by the weather, it is hard to say from a glance.

He isn't shivering, at least.

Vincent is met with a wry huff through Barnabas' nose, and if one were generous they might claim amusement in the fringes of his expression.]

It can understand words, whether it cares to is another matter. You believe yourself clever, do you believe yourself equal to the task as well?

[And with that, wisps of black mist start to form around Barnabas, slowly building upward, as if to swallow his very form.]