[It is incredibly cold. Tyki had not expected the chill, and while he's resilient to most elements by a matter of nature and self-will, this is different. It doesn't seem to carry the same worldly impact he's used to; it's almost unnatural how it bleeds beneath skin, solidifying in muscle and bone. Worse, he can feel the presence of Joyd shifting restlessly beneath the barrier of his mind, clearly agitated — and his scars are burning in direct protest to the heavy burden of moving around in this place.

It's not an ideal situation in which to find himself.

Perhaps that's why he's in a bad mood. Or a reckless mood. It's a game they've been cast into, that much is clear to Tyki, and he's competitive enough to wish to win it. So when he enters the room and sees the hourglass, crowned by several hands frozen in time, the goal sets itself.

Yet he's not alone. Tyki's eyes flicker over to the other man, surveying, unable to quite mask the dark smirk that warps his lips. An opponent at last? The Pleasure in him is almost consumptive, overwhelming, at the thought.]

Finders keepers, eh? You sound pretty confident you can stop me. [It's only then that he notices the ice in that hand, calling to mind a couple of conversations now, as well as a familiar voice. Tyki's brow arches.] ... Hold on. Are you that frosty one? In that case, it seems we're on the same side.