Flint nodded. Nodded again. Worked on pulling his mantle of control back together. He could only imagine how he looked right then and he didn't much care. Neither the air temperature nor the water temperature were particularly cold, but periods of long illness made him more sensitive that he ever could admit and wet clothing was far from comfortable. He didn't shiver, though. He was stock still once he'd straightened up.
He managed to do what he always did: stay calm, keep his facial expressions relatively bland, and in the presence of another person, find his voice. "Yes," he heard himself say, the words distinct and clear if not altogether loud, "Thanks."
She was trying to help him as he'd thought to make sure she was all right immediately following the blackout. This certainly wasn't an ideal social situation for the near-silent introvert but he'd been in much, much worse. His mind had sized this young woman up as an inherently nice person, so Flint responded in kind, managing a very slight (though genuine) smile.
So began the hunt for a towel. Sharp eyes scanned the immediate area. There was a stack of towels across the pool, near where he assumed his shoes were lying after he'd thrown them. Something closer? On their side of the pool, next to the dark shadow of a cabana, another small stack of fluffy white towels off to the side. As his shirt did, they reflected the emergency lights well, and Flint limped over to the pile, gingerly removed one from the top.
He didn't speak with his back to her, preferring to wait until he'd started his slightly uneven walk back over. "Thanks," he repeated, only wiping his face after he'd finished the word. Flint massaged his forehead with the towel, getting the sting of the chlorine from his eyes, and rubbed the towel over his dripping white-flecked grey hair.
He didn't know how well she could hear and he wouldn't ask. Unless they really had a problem communicating, he would simply treat her as he would anyone else.
There were only two differences: one, in the event she could -- and needed to -- read his lips in this low lighting, he would try and remember to face her when he spoke. Eye-contact wasn't assured with Flint. In fact, it was rare, but he would try looking at a spot just over her shoulder if he had to. Two, he came just a little closer to her than he would initially in approaching a stranger. In this unsettling emergency light, he felt better that they could see each other. Physical contact wasn't a problem for Flint but verbal expression was. He'd do his best.