Spitfire was but a step or two (or three or four) behind his cold-blooded roomie, mittened hands in his pocket and a grin on his face. Fiery man that he was, cold didn't normally send him running for the nearest space heater, quite the opposite. He enjoyed the snow, whenever fortune smiled and allowed the stuff to fall and stay in harsh, Tokyo climes. His jacket served well enough for the weather of the day, closed over a spiffy, red knit sweater underneath the fur-trimmed black. Don't forget the earmuffs, fluffy and white and emblazoned with a little orange flame on each muff. Stylin', baby.
"Keep moving, old man," he quipped, striding forward to walk level with the bundled dinosaur. "I might lose you in the snow."