![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
[Zarbon is standing in the parlor, staring out the window at the snow. As frustrating as it was to wake up without prior memories of the place a prisoner before he could do his duty as Lord Frieza's right-hand man on Namek, it was even more frustrating to know he could be out there, scouting the planet were it not for the weather. Namek was to have been a temperate climate and Zarbon doesn't have much in the way of warm clothing. The leg/arm warmers he wears offer little in protection against the elements and being of reptilian ancestry doesn't do much either.
So for now he's left to sulk and stare out the window, at least until he reaches a point where he's willing to construct appropriate apparel from what he can find, despite the inherent ugliness that will no doubt accompany it.
How Zarbon loathes ugliness.]
So for now he's left to sulk and stare out the window, at least until he reaches a point where he's willing to construct appropriate apparel from what he can find, despite the inherent ugliness that will no doubt accompany it.
How Zarbon loathes ugliness.]