[Anderson's head is drooping by the time they reach the beach. He's arrived the tired stage of hypothermia, but he forces his eyes open, keeps himself alert, because he knows the last thing you want to do when suffering hypothermia is go to sleep.

The hot sand is pleasant, so he slowly descends to it- perhaps not entirely deliberately, since his legs are numb and weak right now.

His wet clothes aren't helping matters. They're just keeping the cold insulated. He manages to shrug off the cassock easy enough, but the rest proves difficult for his stiff-fingers, and he ends up having to make a vague gesture for assistance.]

Livid, as far down as where shame appears, were the... disconsolate shades within the ice... [His voice is a listless mumble.] Setting their teeth unto the note of storks. [He blinks blearily at Alucard.] The level in which Judas Iscariot resides.

[Seems appropriate, doesn't it?]