Jack walked out from underneath the floating marquee sign, and turned to look at it and see what it said.

In giant, bold black letters, the flashing placard read "IMMUNITY TO COLD AND ICE".

You know, because of course it did.

For the second time in two minutes, Jack could not shake the overwhelming impression that Frumpkin was rolling on the floor with laughter right now.

"Well, 'at's sumthin', innit?" The large man said, his laughter calming as he wiped a tear from his eye. "Tho's I can't say it'll do ye much good roun' these parts now, willit?" And just like that, he fell into another fit of laughter.

Jack could feel his ears turning red, but before he could get too embarrassed or angry, Eleanor chimed in.

"Oh, don't be so hard on him! He's had a tough day." She walked over to the far side of the one-room house, and grabbed a pitcher of something off of a rough-hewn wooden counter that appeared to be covered with a layer of plater on its countertop. "When we found him, he'd been shrunk to pocket size and was hostage to a bunch of goblins."

"Oh, I'm meanin' no offense if I've given any, young mas'er. Jus' enjoyin' the irony is all. Now, why don' you come 'ave a seat at me table, and let us 'ave you be our guest for dinner. We're 'avin' mutton!" Simon said, motioning towards the table with his large brown hand.

"Thanks." Jack said, and walked over to the table. "Any preference on where I sit?"

"None wha'soever. Take yer pick!" Simon said.

Jack picked a seat facing opposite to the door he walked in, and rested his hands on the stone of the tabletop, which was mercifully slightly cooler than the rest of the hotbox atmosphere he currently occupied. By this point, every piece of clothing he wore was soaked through with sweat to the point that his socks felt like damp sponges, and he felt a faint squishing sensation on his backside as he took a seat. The worst part of the whole ordeal was that he very distinctly felt the sweat dripping out of every fold of fat in his body. He'd have to get a better looking form as one of his next upgrades, and sooner rather than later.

Shortly after he sat, he was joined at the table by Rose, Eleanor and Simon. Madeleine, for whatever reason, preferred to remain on the far side of the room, seemingly perfectly content with spending her entire existence staring Jack down.

The food was, frankly, pretty terrible. But, he'd had such a rough day that he was glad to be stuffing his face. At least that part still felt familiar.

As the four of them ate and talked, Jack began to get a better sense of his new compatriots. Rose was the only actual daughter of Simon. Eleanor and Madeleine were both orphans he'd taken in, largely on account of the fact that they, as Jack had so painfully experienced, tended to burn the bejeezus out of anything they touched. What with him and hiw wife and daughter all being Ifrits who were immune to that sort of thing, they were all two happy to take the two other girls when offered the chance.

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Of the three, Rose was the oldest, and had apparently been training with a sword from a very young age. Her uncle, Simon's brother, had apparently been quite the swordsman in his day, and made a point of teaching her everything he knew after she spent day after day begging him. Simon, for his point, spent no small amount of time bragging on her skills to Jack in the middle of dinner, to which she protested heavily.

"I've seen 'er split a 'air in two with tha' blade o' hers. Never seen nothin, like it before in me life!" He said, beaming at Rose, who grimaced at the attention.

"Dad, stop! You're embarassing me!" She said, and Jack couldn't help but notice that she somehow managed to get even redder at the open praise.