Wolfgang looks rueful when he accepts the quilt because, yeah, he's cold, not being dressed for the weather -- or for being seen period. He pretty much never looks like this and sort of wishes he'd thought to stop and at least brush his hair; he likes to pretend otherwise (oh, what? no, I just rolled out of bed looking like this...) but he's a little vain. It bothers him when he doesn't look perfect.

Wolfgang chokes and then shudders. "Well, that's a disturbing thought, thank you." As if the very idea of Baedal isn't disturbing enough. Monster rains, nightmare fog, creepy gods. "But, um, that's terrible to bring up, I'm sorry. Would you like to talk about something else?" Reminding people that they live in a prison -- and a near dystopia at that, he still flinches when people approach him from the wrong direction and starts to sweat whenever he sees uniformed Militia agents -- is, to his mind, a jerk move.